Replace the language of weapons and violence with dialogue
In the South Sudanese capital of Juba, Sudan's military leader and the head of a long-defiant rebel movement signed a Declaration of Principles that would, for the first time, formally separate religion from the Sudanese state. The agreement arrives after decades of civil war waged partly in the name of Islamic governance, and in the wake of the 2019 fall of Omar al-Bashir, whose regime had fused faith and power into instruments of exclusion and violence. It is a moment that answers old wounds with written commitments — though history reminds us that the distance between a signed principle and a lived reality is often where nations are truly tested.
- After forty years of armed resistance, the SPLM-N and Sudan's military leadership have agreed on paper to the very thing their wars were fought over: a state that belongs to no religion.
- The accord sends tremors through Sudan's political landscape, alarming Islamist remnants of the Bashir era who are already working to obstruct implementation and reclaim influence.
- Broad civilian coalitions — professionals, political parties, revolutionary fronts — have rallied behind the agreement, framing it as a chance to replace the logic of weapons with the logic of dialogue.
- The integration of SPLM-N forces into the national army offers a path toward military consolidation, but analysts warn the ideological fault lines run far deeper than any single declaration can seal.
- Direct negotiations are set to begin April 20, with force integration tied to the end of the transitional period — a clock ticking against decades of unresolved grievance.
On a March morning in Juba, two men signed a document that promised to remake Sudan's relationship with faith itself. Lt. Gen. Abdel Fattah al-Burhan and Abdelaziz al-Hilu, leader of the Sudan People's Liberation Movement-North, put their names to a Declaration of Principles before South Sudan's president and international observers — a commitment to separate religion from the machinery of state, something Sudan had never quite managed before.
For decades, Sudan had been governed by men who believed the opposite. Omar al-Bashir had built his state around Islamic law and identity, waging war against the SPLM-N partly because the movement rejected that vision. The SPLM-N had fought since the 1980s and had also led the struggle that produced South Sudan's independence in 2011 — a secession that left many Sudanese fearing their country might fracture further.
The new agreement addressed those fears directly. Sudan would become a civil, democratic state with no official religion, guaranteeing religious freedom to all citizens. Personal status laws would no longer be rooted in religious doctrine. The military would answer to the nation, not to any ideology. Analysts noted that the SPLM-N's integration into the national army would consolidate military power under constitutional rule rather than fragment it, and the agreement explicitly rejected any future right to self-determination.
Political forces that had toppled Bashir rallied behind the accord, calling it a chance to replace the language of weapons with the language of dialogue. Yet skepticism lingered. One analyst noted that Prime Minister Hamdok had tried and failed to win Sovereign Council approval for this agreement back in September 2020 — making the council's eventual sign-on significant, but not conclusive. Others warned that Islamist remnants were already working to obstruct the process, and that religion had been woven into Sudanese law and life since the end of colonization — too deeply for any single document to unravel.
Direct talks were scheduled to begin April 20, with force integration tied to the end of the transitional period. The question now was whether principles written on paper could survive the friction of a nation exhausted by war — and whether Sudan could build something genuinely different from what came before.
On a March morning in Juba, the capital of South Sudan, two men signed a document that promised to remake their country's relationship with faith itself. Lt. Gen. Abdel Fattah al-Burhan, who heads Sudan's Sovereign Council, and Abdelaziz al-Hilu, leader of the Sudan People's Liberation Movement-North, put their names to the Declaration of Principles agreement under the watch of South Sudan's president and international observers. The moment carried weight because it represented something Sudan had never quite managed: a commitment to separate religion from the machinery of state.
For decades, Sudan had been governed by men who believed the opposite. Omar al-Bashir, who ruled until his overthrow in April 2019, had built a state around Islamic law and Islamic identity. His government had waged war against the SPLM-N, a rebel movement rooted in the Blue Nile and South Kordofan provinces, partly because the movement rejected this vision. The SPLM-N had fought since the 1980s, always outmaneuvering Bashir's military attempts to crush it, always one step ahead with superior weapons and organization. That movement had also led the struggle that resulted in South Sudan's independence in 2011—a secession that terrified many Sudanese who feared their country might fracture further.
The agreement signed in March addressed these fears directly. It stipulated that Sudan would establish a civil, democratic state with no official religion, one that would guarantee religious freedom to all citizens and remain neutral on matters of faith. Personal status laws would no longer be rooted in religious doctrine. The military would answer only to the nation, not to any party or ideology. These were not abstract principles. They were answers to the specific grievances that had ignited civil war.
Analysts called it a turning point. Mohamed El-Shazly, a former Egyptian ambassador to Khartoum, told observers that the separation of religion and state would strengthen Sudan's unity and stability. He noted something else: the SPLM-N's integration into the Sudanese framework meant a large military force would eventually join the national army, consolidating power under constitutional rule rather than fragmenting it. The agreement also reassured those who remembered South Sudan's departure—it explicitly rejected any right to self-determination, closing the door on another secession scenario.
The political forces that had toppled Bashir rallied behind the accord. The Sudanese Professionals Association, the Sudanese Congress Party, the National Umma Party, and the Sudan Revolutionary Front all issued statements of support. Omar al-Dukair, head of the Sudanese Congress Party, told Sky News Arabia that the agreement would replace "the language of weapons and violence with the language of dialogue and debate." He urged all parties to accelerate the peace process so Sudan could turn toward reform and development.
Yet skepticism lingered. Hani Raslan, an African affairs expert, noted that Prime Minister Abdalla Hamdok had attempted to get the Sovereign Council to approve this agreement back in September 2020 and failed. The fact that the council itself signed on in March was significant—it suggested genuine commitment from the military leadership. But Raslan also warned that remnants of the Bashir regime were working to obstruct the peace process and find space for Islamists to return to power.
Musab al-Hadi, a Sudanese journalist, offered a more cautious assessment. Introducing secularism as lived reality would be new for Sudan, he said, but the ideological conflicts that had fueled war ran too deep for any single agreement to resolve. Religion had never been isolated from Sudanese law and life since colonization ended. The Declaration of Principles might reduce tension, he suggested, but it would not put a permanent end to the underlying disputes.
The agreement set a timeline. Forces would be integrated gradually, with the process completed by the end of the transitional period. Direct talks between the government and the SPLM-N were scheduled to begin on April 20 in South Sudan. The question now was whether the principles written on paper could survive the friction of implementation—whether a nation exhausted by decades of war could actually build something different.
Citações Notáveis
The separation of religion and state will increase the unity and stability of Sudan, particularly since the SPLM-N's involvement will allow a large military force to join the Sudanese army in the future.— Mohamed El-Shazly, former Egyptian ambassador to Khartoum
The agreement will replace the language of weapons and violence with the language of dialogue and debate.— Omar al-Dukair, head of the Sudanese Congress Party
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why does separating religion from state matter so much in Sudan's case specifically?
Because for forty years, the state had used Islam as the foundation for law and identity. That wasn't neutral—it excluded people, it justified violence against non-Muslims, it made the state itself a weapon in a religious project. When you remove that, you're not just changing a rule. You're saying the state belongs to everyone equally.
But the journalist you quoted seemed skeptical that this would actually end the conflict.
He's right to be. The agreement is a framework, not a cure. The real conflicts—over resources, over power, over what kind of country Sudan should be—those don't disappear because you sign something. What the agreement does is remove one major source of grievance and give people a reason to negotiate instead of fight.
The SPLM-N fought for South Sudan's independence. Why would they agree to stay part of Sudan now?
Because the terms are different. Before, they were fighting a state that was trying to impose Islam on them. Now they're being offered a seat at the table in a secular framework. They get to integrate their military into a national army, they get representation, they get a constitution that protects their interests. It's not independence, but it's not subjugation either.
What about the people who still want Sudan to be an Islamic state?
That's the real test. The agreement doesn't ban Islam or religious practice. It just says the state won't impose it or privilege it. But there are political forces—people loyal to Bashir's vision—who see this as a loss. They'll resist. The agreement only works if the military leadership actually enforces it, and that's not guaranteed.
So this could fail?
Absolutely. Implementation is where these things usually break down. But the fact that the Sovereign Council itself signed on, after the prime minister couldn't get approval last year, suggests the military is serious. Whether that holds when the real negotiations begin—that's the open question.