Few people are more elusive than violent aggressors who wield visceral state power. To pursue them is to risk putting a bull’s-eye on your temple. You hate them not only for their devilry but for their unshakable arrogance. Their actions—their brutal zest for blood and cruelty—stand in stark contrast to everything good, making it impossible to ignore the chasm that separates them from any human decency. Their atrocities contrast how you view life, how you live, though in ways that are hard to define. Memories of them unspool in your mind, fragmented and vivid, and with each picture, you cling to the hope that justice is possible. Yet, you’re never truly certain.
You were scrolling through Instagram when the news broke: in Sudan’s Jazirah state, over 120 women had taken their own lives just days before October 30, 2024. They died, reportedly, to avoid the imminent threat of rape by the Rapid Support Force (RSF)—a militia with a chilling history of sexual violence, which has now evolved into a relentless tool of terror. In one Instagram post, a Sudanese activist named Tarteel sounded this alarm. She condemned the drawn-out timeline of the Sudanese civil war—between the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) and the RSF over the nation’s leadership—and lamented the absence of global attention on the helpless civilians trapped between these forces. No accountability has been attained for the armed groups’ atrocities, she added, nor for those funding the violence. And in a chilling tone of voice, she pointed out, the women’s collective death was a choice made in sheer desperation, a final grasp for control over their fate.
You cannot stop wondering how many more women’s lives must be sacrificed to the wars of greedy men. It’s not a matter of men against women, you remind yourself. But when more than a hundred women are driven to the point of choosing death over life, and the world barely takes notice, you note this pattern of indifference. Out of frustration, you type “Sudanese women commit suicide” into Google. The top results are sparse: reports from the BBC, Hindustan Times, and a few minor outlets. Why is there so little mainstream coverage of this horrific event?
In one BBC report, journalists cite the remoteness of these villages and frequent communication issues as barriers to timely reporting. But you find this explanation hard to believe. Instead, you wonder if the world’s silence on Sudan reflects a larger, cold calculation that favors weapons deals and political alliances over humanitarian relief. Material gain, you suspect, continues to take precedence over basic aid or the cessation of these war crimes.
And this reasoning is not far-fetched. After all, how does the RSF coordinate its attacks so effectively in these so-called remote areas if network access is truly the issue? You see the selective lens of media coverage in other conflicts—such as the ongoing genocide in Gaza, where even with perpetual threat of famine and sheer depletion of human condition, their suffering remains largely contained to social media reportage. In contrast, still, Sudan’s tragedies are met with far more deafening silence. Perhaps it’s because Sudan lacks the profit-driven allure that propels other wars, like Ukraine’s, into the limelight.
Yet none of this is new. The memory of the women of Ender, as recounted by Zeinab Badawi in her chronicles of African history, comes to mind. When Arab enslavers attacked, these women, led by their leader Mbaka Diya, set themselves ablaze rather than be taken as slaves. And today, women in Sudan are echoing this desperate choice, opting for death over the double brutalities meted out by callous gun-wielding RSF wildings. You also recall the disturbing reports of Muslim women seeking Fatwas to endorse their suicides in the face of impending sexual violence, as well as the harrowing action of Sethe, in Toni Morrison’s Beloved, who chooses to spare her children from a life of slavery in the only way she feels possible. These histories intertwine, forming a testament to the unimaginable oppression these women endure.
War may be business, you tell yourself, but these women are not collateral. They were mothers, sisters, aunts, daughters, neighbors, friends, humans, with dreams and goals—not mere statistics. They were lives that are mourned in whispers but seldom acknowledged on any public ledger. You try to conjure their final moments. Were they gathered together, hand-linked like the forebears at the Igbo landing? Did they airplane prayer or curse into the heavens as they prepared for their final act? What last thoughts crossed their minds as they summoned the courage to take control of their fates, one last time?
These questions linger. And deep down, you know you have no answer.
…..
Image: Dall-E remixed