Tasis” and the Sudanese Dialogue: Between the Imperative of Inclusion and the Risk of Legitimising Division
Elwathig Kameir,
kameir@yahoo.com
This article continues the discussion prompted by my previous piece, “Why a Sudanese–Sudanese Dialogue Has Yet to Begin? (Sudanile, 13 August 2026). It also stems from an important question a dear friend and senior civilian figure within the Ta’sis alliance put to me. He asked whether my discussion of a Sudanese dialogue had effectively ignored Ta’sis: did the dialogue I had in mind envisage everyone taking part except the alliance? And could a dialogue that excluded it achieve its most immediate purpose — ending the war? He was also concerned that, unless this point was clarified, the article might be read as implicitly promoting General Abdel Fattah al-Burhan’s call for dialogue.
It is a legitimate question, because it goes straight to one of the most difficult dilemmas facing any Sudanese dialogue: how can it be genuinely inclusive, rather than simply a gathering of those who already agree with one another, without turning inclusion into recognition of parallel authorities created by war? How do we avoid legitimising division, or allowing armed actors to enter a civilian political dialogue through the back door?
There is no simple yes-or-no answer. This is not a matter of deciding whether to invite an ordinary political party to an ordinary political conference. Ta’sis is not simply a political current with a particular view of the war, nor merely a collection of civilians sympathetic to one side of the conflict. By its own declarations, it has constituted itself as a parallel political and governmental order, with a constitution, governing structures and institutions, in clear association with the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) and other armed groups. That makes the question of its participation fundamentally different from that of an individual civilian, a political party or a political force that happens to hold a particular position on the war.
In principle, no serious dialogue can be built on wholesale exclusion. Dialogue, properly understood, is not conducted only among friends or those who already agree. It is precisely a means of bringing together those who differ — even adversaries — when the objective is to end a war and recover common national ground. But engaging adversaries is one thing; recognising parallel authorities created by war is another. Opening political space to civilian and political actors situated within the camps produced by the war is one thing; conferring recognition on military-political entities or parallel governments is quite another.
This requires a distinction among three levels that are too often conflated in public debate: the RSF as a belligerent military force; Ta’sis as a political-governmental structure arising within the context of the war; and the individual civilian and political actors who operate within, around, or in political proximity to Ta’sis. Each belongs in a different place within any serious effort to end the war and build peace.
The RSF, as a military party to the war, belongs first and foremost in the military, security and humanitarian negotiating track: cessation of hostilities; protection of civilians; humanitarian access; withdrawal from cities and civilian facilities; security arrangements; the future of its forces; and, ultimately, the end of any armed formation operating outside a single national army. These are not matters that civilian political dialogue can settle. They require a clearly defined military and security track, however closely that track may be connected politically to the broader objective of ending the war.
Ta’sis, in its declared institutional form, presents a different problem. It does not stand apart from this military reality. In its structure, leadership, and circumstances of formation, it appears as the political and governmental extension of a war-created order. It presents itself not merely as a political platform but as an alternative or parallel authority, with its own constitution and governing structures, linked to the leadership of an armed force actively engaged in the war.
Inviting Ta’sis into a political dialogue in the capacity of a “government”, a “governing alliance”, or the political representative of an armed force would therefore amount, in practice, to a form of indirect political recognition. That would risk undermining the unity of the state and entrenching a reality created through war.
Another consequence is no less important. If Ta’sis entered the dialogue as a political-military bloc or parallel government, it would not merely alter its status within the process; it could change the nature of the dialogue itself. Instead of a broad political process among diverse civilian and political forces, it could become, in practice, a negotiation between the army and its allies on one side and the RSF and its allies on the other. In that case, the war would determine not only who negotiates, but also the very map of political representation. Forces such as Sumoud, and other civilian and political actors that refuse to align themselves with either camp, could find themselves marginalised, while Sudan’s political space is reduced to a binary created by the war itself.
General declarations in favour of Sudan’s unity do not resolve this problem. The issue is not simply what Ta’sis says about national unity, but the political and institutional consequences of what it has done: declaring a constitution and establishing a government and parallel structures of authority amid an ongoing war and under conditions of military control. Even when accompanied by the language of unity, such steps create a reality that weakens the state’s unity, opens the door to multiple centres of authority and competing claims to legitimacy, and may deepen de facto partition.
The argument, therefore, is not one of political hostility towards Ta’sis. Nor is it an argument for excluding civilian or political figures simply because they are close to one wartime camp or another. It is an argument about national unity and state sovereignty. A dialogue intended to restore the state cannot begin by legitimising parallel authorities created by war. Yet a dialogue intended to end the war cannot ignore civilian and political forces within the camps the war has produced. The answer lies in neither wholesale exclusion nor institutional recognition of wartime entities. It lies in conditional civilian and political participation that safeguards Sudan’s unity, rejects parallel authorities, distinguishes the civilian from the military, participation from recognition, and dialogue from accountability.
This means that civilian and political actors who share some of the concerns or ideas articulated in and around Ta’sis — criticism of the highly centralised state, questions of marginalisation and centre–periphery relations, justice and citizenship, the distribution of power and wealth, and the need to rebuild the state on new foundations — should not be excluded merely because of where they stand, their backgrounds, or some of the ideas they hold, provided they do not participate as representatives of a parallel government or an armed force.
For those who are organisationally or politically affiliated with Ta’sis, participation should likewise not be in the capacity of representatives of a parallel government or an armed force.
The test is not whether they change their name or deny their political affiliations. What matters is the capacity in which they participate and their acceptance of the basic rules of the dialogue: the unity of Sudan, rejection of parallel authorities, an end to the war, accountability, and a single national army. Only on that basis can legitimate political participation be distinguished from unacceptable institutional recognition.
It is equally important not to confuse geographic or social ties to areas under RSF control with political support for either the RSF or Ta’sis. Many Sudanese from these regions now live in areas controlled by the army and the existing authorities, or outside Sudan altogether. Some may remain silent or cautious in expressing their views because of fear, family and social ties, professional considerations, the risk of stigma or misunderstanding, or simply because they are unconvinced by the political projects the war has produced. None of this necessarily makes them supporters of either side.
Among them are professionals, academics, intellectuals, writers, community leaders, women, young people, and independent voices who could contribute meaningfully to any future national dialogue. Bringing these voices back into the public sphere is itself part of widening the dialogue. At a moment of such intense polarisation, Sudan needs these people to write, speak and disagree openly. Their positions should not be reduced to their geographic origins or social connections, nor should the public arena be surrendered to those who are most organised, most heavily armed, or simply loudest.
A serious dialogue requires not only a plurality of participating organisations, but a plurality of Sudanese voices. Originating from a particular region — or remaining publicly silent during wartime — should never be treated as evidence of political allegiance. Civilian and political forces close to Ta’sis, or operating in the wider political environment around the RSF, also have a responsibility to play a constructive role in moving that camp towards ending the war and accepting security arrangements, rather than turning proximity to armed power into a route to political recognition. Their national responsibility should be to separate politics from armed force: to participate politically in their civilian capacity while pressing the military actor with which they are associated to engage seriously in ending the war.
Nor should civilian and political forces simply wait for the fighting to stop before politics begins. Wars do not sustain themselves through weapons alone. They also draw strength from political and social environments that provide cover for belligerents, justify continued fighting, or preserve the expectation that military gains can eventually be converted into political power.
Political dialogue can therefore become part of the process of ending the war — not as a substitute for military and security negotiations, but as their complement. The wider the civilian consensus around certain principles — that territorial control does not confer political legitimacy; that possession of arms creates neither a right to govern nor a guaranteed share of power; and that the future of the state cannot be determined by battlefield outcomes — the narrower the political space for turning war into a pathway to power.
In that sense, politics need not wait until the guns have completely fallen silent. Building a broad civilian position around state unity, a single national army, citizenship, justice, and rejection of power-sharing arrangements that reward armed force can help shift the political environment that feeds the war and weaken incentives to continue it. But this remains a parallel and interconnected political track, not a substitute for military and security negotiations.
However, a genuine dilemma remains that should not be evaded. Armed parties may demand greater clarity about the political order or transitional arrangements that would follow a ceasefire before surrendering their military leverage. Some analysts and international mediators therefore argue that progress on the military track may require a clearer political horizon for what comes next.
The danger is equally clear. Assurances about the rules, inclusiveness and direction of a future political process can easily slide into guarantees of positions, representation or shares of power for the armed parties themselves. It is therefore essential to distinguish between providing credible assurances about the rules, inclusiveness and direction of the post-war political process, and guaranteeing the belligerents a predetermined political stake simply because they possess arms. Otherwise, war becomes, in practice, a means of acquiring political recognition.
The political and security tracks may intersect later on specific issues. That does not justify conflating them from the outset.
The same principle must apply to political forces that support the army. Civilian or political groups aligned with the army or close to the existing government should not participate as representatives or spokespeople of the army. The army itself, as a military party to the conflict, belongs in the military and security track, not in a civilian political dialogue.
There is, however, a structural distinction that should not be obscured. The existence of political forces supportive of the army or close to the existing government is not structurally equivalent to an organised political-military alliance with its own constitution, parallel government and governing structures, headed by the commander of an armed force engaged in the war. This is not an attempt to create an artificial hierarchy between the two sides. It is a necessary distinction between a political relationship that can and should be scrutinised and held accountable, and a parallel institutional structure that poses a direct challenge to the unity of the state.
A more complex case is presented by the armed movements that signed the Juba Peace Agreement, some of whose forces subsequently joined the war alongside the Sudanese Armed Forces. In my view, their position should not be equated with that of Ta’sis simply because both involve armed actors. These movements predate the current war as political and military organisations with demands concerning governance and peace, centre–periphery relations, and the distribution of power and wealth. Some were integral members of civilian and political opposition coalitions before the fall of the Bashir regime, including Sudan Call. They later entered the transitional process through the Juba Peace Agreement, which recognised them as political actors in the transition while placing their forces on a path of security arrangements and integration—a process intended to eliminate, not perpetuate, multiple armies.
The Sudan People’s Liberation Movement–North under Malik Agar provides an important example. Under the arrangements arising from the Juba Peace Agreement, it integrated its forces into the military and security institutions and later announced the completion of that process, along with the movement’s transition into political activity as a party without an armed wing. In principle, peace agreements should lead in this direction: from arms to politics, from military organisation to civilian party politics, and from multiple armies to a single national army.
This does not absolve the other Juba signatory movements of the obligation to complete their security arrangements, nor does it exempt them from accountability for their participation in the current war. Nor should the military forces they still retain give them any claim to additional political weight. Their right to political participation should derive not from their weapons, but from their political status and from the peace agreement through which they entered the transitional process. Their position therefore differs from that of a political and governmental entity created amid the current war, directly associated with an armed force fighting the war and controlling territory, which then establishes a constitution and parallel governing structures and seeks to be dealt with in that capacity.
The distinction is not simply between an actor that bears arms and one that does not. It is between a peace process that is supposed to dismantle the relationship between arms and politics and move an armed movement into the civilian political arena, and the reverse process: using wartime military control to create a parallel political and governmental authority and then seek recognition for it. This gives the Juba movements no “preferential status”. Rather, the difference lies in their political and legal foundations and, crucially, in the trajectories involved: one is intended, at least in principle, to move from armed struggle towards civilian politics and a single national army; the other moves from wartime military control towards the creation of a parallel political and governmental authority.
The rule must nevertheless remain the same for everyone: no actor should be permitted to convert existing military strength into additional political rights, guaranteed representation, or a predetermined share of power.
The dialogue envisaged here is not a negotiation over the division of power and wealth among the parties to the war, as in earlier experiences such as Naivasha. The context is different, the objective conditions are different, and the nature of the present war is different. What is required is not a political bargain among those who carry guns, nor another power-sharing arrangement that rewards the logic of war. It is a broader national process aimed at ending the war, restoring the state, and laying the foundations for a political transition that neither rewards violence nor reproduces it.
The question, “Can a dialogue without Ta’sis stop the war?”, therefore needs to be unpacked.
If this means the war cannot end without dealing with the RSF as a military belligerent, then the answer is yes: the RSF must be dealt with, and the appropriate arena is the track concerned with ending the war and negotiating security and humanitarian arrangements.
But if the proposition is that ending the war requires recognising Ta’sis as a parallel government, or as an institutional political entity representing the RSF, then the military and political tracks are being conflated, and the war is being turned into leverage for political recognition.
The question can also be reversed. If Ta’sis’s participation in its institutional capacity becomes a condition for ending the war, does that mean its political weight derives from the continuation of the war and its relationship with an armed force? If so, shouldn’t its first arena be arrangements for ending the war rather than civilian political dialogue?
These questions are not intended as accusations. They are intended to clarify capacity and track. Those who enter a political dialogue should do so as civilian or political actors, not as extensions of armed forces or parallel authorities.
The process should therefore be phased but interconnected. In the first phase, there should be a clearly defined military and security track for ending the war, involving the relevant military parties and addressing cessation of hostilities, humanitarian arrangements, protection of civilians, the future of armed forces, and the dismantling of armed structures outside a single national army.
At the same time, preliminary political consultations can take place with civilian and political forces across the different camps. Their purpose would not be to confer legitimacy on any entity created by the war, but to test willingness to accept common ground rules for a future dialogue.
At a later stage, once the rules of participation and the necessary guarantees have become clearer, the political process can widen to include civilian and political forces that accept certain fundamental principles: the unity of Sudan; rejection of parallel governments and authorities; an end to the war; accountability and rejection of impunity; and a single national army. Individuals and forces close to Ta’sis could then participate in their civilian and political capacities, not as representatives of a parallel government or an armed force. That is the essential distinction between legitimate political participation and unacceptable institutional recognition.
Once the war has ended and armed structures outside the national army have been dismantled, every citizen — including those previously associated with the RSF or Ta’sis — must be free to participate in public political life through existing parties or new organisations, in accordance with the law, the constitution and the rules of a democratic transition. The objective is not to deprive people of their political rights. It is to end the use of arms and parallel authority as routes to political legitimacy.
This leads to a broader point. The required political dialogue should not be a one-off conference to distribute positions or endorse a pre-written document. It should be a process that ultimately opens the way to a broader constitutional dialogue about post-war Sudan. The fundamental questions — the form of the state, the constitution, relations between the centre and the regions, justice, citizenship, identity, religion and the state, and the single national army — cannot be settled through a bargain among the parties to the war, or by an arrangement among political and military elites. They require a wider national process grounded in genuine Sudanese legitimacy.
In this context, the idea of the “root causes of the crisis” needs to be reclaimed from the political polarisation that surrounded it during the war. Some RSF leaders and close political figures have invoked the concept to explain the war and, at times, justify it. This has led some voices supportive of the army and the government to treat any discussion of “root causes” as little more than part of the RSF’s political narrative.
But the issues the concept captures long predate both the RSF and the April war: the nature of the state, uneven development, centre–periphery relations, citizenship, representation, land, justice, and the distribution of power and wealth. Any serious civilian dialogue must reclaim these as national questions belonging to all Sudanese. No armed actor should be allowed to monopolise the language of root causes, nor should it be allowed to use that language to remove those questions from the national agenda.
Regional and international actors also need to understand this sensitivity. A rush toward “inclusion” may seem pragmatic to mediators, but it can become destructive if it legitimises war-created authorities, equates the state with parallel entities, or turns armed actors into political stakeholders through civilian fronts. Conversely, supporting a selective process that excludes influential civilian and political forces because of their alignments will not produce sustainable peace. What regional and international partners should support is a Sudanese-owned process with clearly defined stages and tracks, one that is explicit about who participates, in what role, under what conditions, and with what guarantees.
Ta’sis therefore puts any Sudanese dialogue to the test. Is the process intended to restore the state, or to normalise parallel authorities created by war? Is it a dialogue for ending the war, or for redistributing its gains? Is it a civilian political dialogue, or a platform through which armed forces—directly or through political and civilian extensions—can influence who is invited, what is discussed, and who has the right to participate?
The conclusion, then, is that Ta’sis should not be invited to a political dialogue as a parallel government or a military-political alliance representing the RSF. At the same time, civilian and political actors within or around its political orbit should not be excluded if they are prepared to participate in their civilian and political capacities under clear rules that safeguard Sudan’s unity, reject parallel authorities, commit to ending the war, uphold accountability, and affirm the principle of a single national army.
The rule is straightforward: no wholesale exclusion, but no recognition of entities created by war; no political entry for the RSF through the back door, but no denial of civilians’ right to political participation; no dialogue for dividing power and wealth among those who carry arms, but no political process that ignores civilian forces situated within the camps created by the war. What is required is conditional civilian and political participation; a distinct but interconnected military and security track to end the war; and a phased political process that clearly defines capacity, conditions, timing, and guarantees.
Only through such an approach can inclusion retain its meaning without sacrificing the unity of the state; can dialogue become a means of ending the war rather than entrenching its outcomes; and can the political process become a pathway to restoring Sudan rather than redistributing its legitimacy among authorities created by force.