Just Fall!

The endless lines outside bakeries and petrol stations seem to suggest a purposeful naivety to dire economic and politics woes. The Kafkaesque bureaucratic systems that requires an element of nepotism to vitalise it into animation. The lack of cash in banks, and the depreciation of the local currency forces the people to convert and conserve money. The increased taxes targeting the average citizen and the tax cuts for government associates, leads to distrust and disgust directed towards the government. The secret services arbitrary arrest of persons whom portray a slightly antithesis sentiment towards government doctrine, and the use of gulag-like hidden torture prisons.

All these phenomena and others have converged, and the implosion of this concoction manifests in the form of a wave of zealous righteous indignation that overwhelm every Sudanese person. There is a rumble in the atmosphere that can be felt all over Sudan. The echo of gun shots and tear gas booms a ripple to the furthest corners of Sudan. With the naming and shaming of secret service officials on social media to clashes between citizens and government, it’s a full-blown revolution.

Why? And why now? These conditions are by no means alien to Sudan. The ‘big brother’ tactics of the secret services unveiled itself in all its gory during previous protests, and the increased prices and scarcity of petrol is a reoccurring motif in northern Sudan after the split of 2011. The currency depreciation, though it is at its peak, was already on an upwards trajectory. Perhaps the biggest indicator to these troubling times is, it is customary to end all conversation with political discourse, a decorum practised by high and low. There was always a vivid understanding of the corruption in Sudanese politics. I remember talking to a rickshaw driver last summer. Naturally, the final subject matter of the conversation was politics. My question, perhaps simplistic, was, ‘Why do the Sudanese people not revolt?’ To which the rickshaw driver answered, ‘To what end? To end up like Egypt or Syria? We know the situation is bad but what happens when someone inherits a 30-year rule of corruption and debt? And what if the new president is as corrupt or worse?’ There seemed to be a synergy of political awareness between those who I talked to. The response was mostly similar to the rickshaw driver’s.

So, what changed? The frailty of the economy finally gave, and the economy collapsed. It is no longer financially sustainable to work traditional professions in Sudan. In one of my patience-building exercises of queuing up for hours or sometimes days in petrol lines in Khartoum, 9-year-old Mohammad came up to my window selling chewing gum. I was curious as to why he was still in the street at 11 pm. Where were his parents or siblings? Mohammad told me that, even though his father worked as bureaucrat and his mother was a teacher, he needed to sell all the chewing gum he had before he could return home and buy flour to make kisra or gurasa. It’s perhaps important to note, it was Mohammad’s summer holiday. In the not so far past, one bottle of water used to cost one Sudanese pound, today it’s 12 pounds, with no increase in salaries. Beyond that, if you had money in the bank, you could not withdraw, opportunistic black-marketers would stand outside banks and buy checks at 80% their value.

The causes of the status quo are multiple, from the 1989 coup d’état to the 1997 embargo. Beyond the overt etiology, I believe there are three marginalised complex happenings that may have aided in actualising today’s reality in Sudan. Firstly, fragmentation of Sudanese society; second, mass migration of the middle class; and finally, the dependence of the expatriate to stimulate the economy. Of course, this is not to relief any blame from the current government, or to anyway remove accountability with determinism.

In Sudan, fragmentation of society, ethnically and socioeconomically insured the persistence of the National Congress Party (NCP). The wars against South Sudan and west Sudan, and the propaganda programmes helped in dividing Sudan to the point of splitting the country. These tactics also prevailed a certain narrative that promoted the interest of the northern Arabic ethnic group in Khartoum. Today in Sudan, wealth and power is not spread equally, instead it is concentrated to a singular ethnicity. The longer the current government remains in power the smaller the circle of privilege becomes, in recent years even the northern Arabs felt the brunt of economic decline.

With the effects of economic decline being felt by most, highly skilled workers and professionals find themselves in a precarious situation, where the inevitable downfall will lead to redundancies, digression and pay cuts. Today, university professors earn less than USD 200 per month. Fifteen years ago, they used to earn more than USD 1,000 per month. These deterioration forced the middle class, and those who had the privilege, to quickly migrated for better opportunities. This mass exodus marked the obliteration of the middle-class, this had two effects to the socioeconomics structure of Sudan. Firstly, in their stead, the former middle-class, came the unqualified and unprofessional, who were not faithful to the work of their predecessors. Perhaps an adequate anecdote is, when the wife of the minister of health fell ill, the minister arranged for her to be treated abroad. Secondly, the gap between poor and rich became vast, and any person outside the umbrella of governmental privilege faced insurmountable obstacles, from arbitrary taxation to racketeering.

Following the proper chronology, the professional middle-class were successfully employed and managed to integrate in other societies even creating small cohorts in major cities such as London and Doha. With their financial ability, they would spend summers and other holidays in Sudan more often than not and even send money to relatives and friends in Sudan. With the lack of production opportunities and skilled capabilities, there is no substances to stabilise the currency. The money spent by expatriates in Sudan, and sent to family and friends is a major stimulus to the economy. The government relies on this stimulus so much so that expatriates have their own bureaucratic system – the Organisation of Expatriates Affairs, Khartoum – among other exclusive privileges. Due to the excessive corruption in the country, money from potential economic enterprises or foreign aide from other countries was devoured by government officials.

This dependency on expatriate cash flow proved to be destructive. Unlike the Philippines, Egypt or any other country that may have relied partially on expatriate contributions, Sudanese expatriates were not enticed with financial incentive schemes. On the contrary, expatriates are exposed to ‘special’ taxes, a targeted tax plan that exploits that bracket of Sudanese society. In addition to the specialised taxes, sending money to Sudan half-cost the sent amount through conventional channels; the black-market values the dollar at 70 Sudanese pounds if you’re paying by check, it’s 80 if paying by cash. However, the official price, that is not even used by the government, is 40. All in all, the currency has three values or more: 1) Cash price 2) Check price and 3) Transfer price. In recent years, the expatriates, having integrated in other societies, and creating a homely atmosphere there, coupled with the targeted corruption, has become more and more reluctant to splurge in Sudan. Consequently, this led to economic disarray, and of course, other variables.

Going back to the rickshaw driver, today’s protest slogan in Sudan is ‘Tasgut Bas’, which translates to ‘Just fall’. It seems to me that the synergetic political awareness was overwhelmed with dire economic realities, where the cost of one piece of bread today, is the same as a sandwich, a soda and a cheeky cigarette not 10 years ago. I would imagine if I asked the rickshaw driver the same question today, he would reply with ‘Tasgut Bas’. I occasionally find myself thinking about Mohammad from the petrol station. Does he sell chewing gum every holiday or even throughout the year? Where would he be had we not had a failed government? What if one day he needed more than flour? What would happen if something sinister happens to the child in the dead of nights? Would his family know what happened? All things outside of his control.

Currently residing in Khartoum and Nottingham, Mohamed Khougali is a person-centred psychotherapist and a Leftist activist. He occasionally writes articles on politics, psychology and history. He’s written for Mondoweiss, The Psychologist, The Canary, Middle East Monitor and others.