The Silence on Sudan Amid Gaza’s Outcry

Exploring how selective outrage and ideological loyalty distort global compassion and accountability

In streets across the West, crowds wave Palestinian flags, chant for Gaza, and flood social media with passionate calls to action. They speak of justice, of solidarity, of protecting children and feeding the hungry. But there is something disturbingly selective about this outrage. Because right now, in Sudan, children are dying too. In fact, the humanitarian disaster there may be even worse, with famine, ethnic cleansing, and displacement on a scale that dwarfs most of the world’s current crises. Yet where are the protests? Where are the Sudanese flags? Where is the compassion?

Sudan is suffering through one of the deadliest conflicts in the world today, a brutal civil war between the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) and the paramilitary Rapid Support Forces (RSF), formerly known as the Janjaweed, the same group responsible for the genocide in Darfur two decades ago. Over 10 million people have been displaced. Cities like Khartoum and El Fasher lie in ruins. The UN warns of famine, with aid blocked, looted, or attacked. Mass graves have been discovered. Rape is being used as a weapon of war. And still, the world scrolls on.

This is not a hidden war. The facts are there. The evidence is clear. But Sudan is invisible in the eyes of much of the global public.

Why is that?

It is a hard question with an uncomfortable answer. Part of it is media coverage. Gaza dominates headlines. It has become a symbol, a lightning rod, a cause that aligns neatly with certain political identities. But Sudan lacks that same clarity for outside observers. Its conflict does not fit into the West’s preferred narratives. It is not about colonisers and colonised. There is no easy villain for protestors to denounce on placards. And perhaps most painfully, those dying in Sudan are overwhelmingly Black, poor, and not part of a cause that can be used as a proxy for larger ideological battles.

Meanwhile, in Gaza, every death is broadcast. Not because Palestinian life is more valuable, but because it serves a purpose in a larger political story. Hamas itself understands this. They embed in civilian areas, reject ceasefires, and thrive on sacrifice. They know every corpse is a media weapon. They do not just fight wars on the ground, they fight them with images, numbers, and outrage. And whether people admit it or not, some are happy to play along because it fuels their anger at Israel, at Jews, at the West, or at whichever power they blame for the world’s injustices.

And maybe it is time we asked who is actually responsible.

In Gaza, there is an unspoken rule: Hamas has a get-out-of-jail-free card. No matter how many Israeli civilians they target, how many Palestinian lives they knowingly endanger, how many ceasefires they violate, there are people ready to explain it away or worse, justify it. They have learned that outrage can be outsourced. That they can act with impunity and still have the world blame Israel. This is not just dangerous, it is power. Power without accountability. And what happens when a group knows it can commit atrocities and still emerge as the victim? How far will it go, knowing the narrative will cushion every act?

It is a question worth asking. Because if this power of deflection grows unchecked, what more could Hamas do with it?

Now turn your gaze to Sudan. A war not of resistance, but of power, ideology, and ethnic hatred. A war driven by Islamist militias and rival military factions, both with blood on their hands. The RSF, led by Mohamed “Hemedti” Dagalo, has been accused of ethnic cleansing in Darfur. The SAF, under General Abdel Fattah al-Burhan, bombs civilian areas and crushes dissent. Between them, they have shattered what little hope Sudanese civilians had after the 2019 revolution that ousted dictator Omar al-Bashir. And yet, even as famine creeps in, as children waste away, as war crimes mount, there are no marches. No global slogans. No rallies demanding justice for the Sudanese people.

Why? Why is it that when Islamic fundamentalists are the perpetrators, we hear so little? Why does Western activism grow so loud when it can point at America or Israel, but so quiet when the oppressors claim to be fellow victims or speak in the name of Islam?

There is another layer to this silence that is hard to ignore. Many Muslims I have spoken to are outspoken when Muslims are victims, but fall into complete silence when Muslims are the perpetrators. In Gaza, they mourn the dead. They chant “Free Palestine” and decry every injustice, real or perceived. But in Sudan, when Islamist militias commit rape, slaughter civilians, and block food aid to starving children, the silence is deafening.

Why is that?

For some, it may come from a misplaced loyalty, an idea rooted in cultural norms or religious interpretations that one should not speak ill of fellow Muslims. Some point to a principle found in Islamic teachings, often drawn from hadith, that believers should conceal the faults of others. The idea of satr encourages mercy and forgiveness among the community, discouraging public humiliation. But this was never meant to protect murderers or shield oppressors. In fact, the Qur’an clearly commands Muslims to uphold justice, even if it means speaking out against their own people:

“O you who believe! Stand out firmly for justice, as witnesses to Allah, even though it be against yourselves, your parents, or your kin.” — Qur’an 4:135

This verse demands moral courage and accountability. Justice cannot be selective. If your solidarity only shows up when the victim is Muslim and the perpetrator is not, then it is not justice. It is tribalism, dressed in religious language.

It is as if some causes are too messy to touch. Too inconvenient to fit the activist template. There are no Western bombs to blame, no embassies to target, no slogans to chant. So we look away. And in that silence, the killers work freely.

We cannot keep turning compassion into theatre. We cannot keep allowing ideology to blind us to suffering just because it does not fit a preferred narrative. If your anger can be turned on like a tap for Gaza but never flows for Sudan, Congo, Haiti, or Yemen, ask yourself what you are truly fighting for. Is it justice? Or just the thrill of picking a side?

Because real empathy has no borders. And neither should outrage.

If we only raise our voices for causes that flatter our worldview while turning our backs on others just as dire, we are not humanitarians. We are participants in a global hypocrisy that lets real evil flourish in the shadows.