The year is 2023. A woman tells her friend on the telephone that the Civil War in Sudan gets barely mentioned on French television. A toilet graffiti reads: “we will not forgive/ we will not forget”. An airplane drops bombs in an urban area. Rewind four years and we are in 2019. We see a far more optimistic Karthoum, during the height of the Sudanese Revolution. Dictator Omar Al-Bashir has finally been removed, after 30 years of ruthless ruling. Democracy finally gets implemented in the third largest country of Africa. Civilians are jubilant. They chant nationalistic songs and exude national pride. They march through the streets of town confident that they have claimed control of their future
At a taut 76 minutes, Sudan, Remember Us takes viewers to the eye of the revolutionary hurricane. For the first time in their lives, young Sudanese people are allowed to dream. They immediately begin to concoct a better future for their country, one of self-sufficiency and justice. “We have a lot of gold, uranium and minerals, we don’t need to be dependant on Egypt, Saudi Arabia and the UAE; they are the ones who need us”, a young man opines. A woman returns from Saudi Arabia because that she believes that her native Sudan will grant her the full rights that she deserves. Another woman envisages her role in parliament: “I’ll be in opposition because I like criticising everything”. They question the role of women in politics, and reflect about the dangers of religion. Their ardour is contagious and inspiring.
It doesn’t take long before the fragile democracy begins to crack, and dreams turn to dust. Just two years later, the military are back on the streets. Shock and perplexity has replaced enthusiasm. Voices have been stifled and streets have been emptied. A soldier asks an ordinary citizen about his regime preferences: “military or civilian?”, captured by a precarious mobile phone. The barely visible person replies: “military”. The spine-chilling retort sums up the essence of authoritarianism: “if you had answered ‘civilian’, I would have had to kill you”. By the end of the story, the passionate young people from a few years earlier had to seek exile in the UAE and Egypt. These are very same countries from which the young man wanted gain independence. Perhaps these friendly neighbours benefit from the political turmoil in Sudan, and the country’s inability to assert itself as an international player.
Democracy in Africa is as unreliable as the European ability to grasp the complexity of African politics, something the film fails to investigate. Apart from two closing figures (12.7 million displaced people and 20,000 deaths since the beginning of the conflict), Sudan, Remember Us does not provide viewers with solid information and contextualisation. It does not attempt to dissect the root causes of the factionalism that has gripped the nation in the past five years or so. It never acknowledges the destructive legacy of European colonisation and the corrosive impact of divide-and-rule politics. It does not even identify the feuding military factions that have torn the nation to pieces, their ideologies and their allegiances. The artistic choice to remain entirely observational compromises the film’s ability to educate an d energise the international community. Instead, the documentary feels like a lonely lament, a scream in the dark following the tragic realisation that democracy is but a short-lived dream.
Like its title suggests, Sudan, Remember Us pleas the international community for their attention. It reminds peace and justice activists that a conflict with little media coverage is no less catastrophic than those featured every day in the news. Interestingly, the Sudanese flag is extremely similar to the Palestinian one, with the same colours and the same shapes. That’s something to remember.
Sudan, Remember Us premiered in the 81st Venice International Film Festival, when this piece was originally written. In cinemas on Friday, June 27th. On BFI Player on Monday, January 19th.
