TEHRAN- Sudan began with a promise of liberation, with the image of a woman dressed in white who became the symbol of the revolution, and continued with slogans of dignity and freedom. Today, however, it stands beneath the rubble of civil war, famine, and mass killing. This is an account of the path that led a social protest to the collapse of an entire country.

Sudan is once again at the top of bloody headlines. The conflict between the country’s army and the Rapid Support Forces has not only failed to stop, but has entered a more grinding and ruthless phase. Khartoum—a city that was meant to symbolize a peaceful transition away from dictatorship—has now become a semi-abandoned city where the sounds of explosions and gunfire have replaced chants for freedom.

According to international organizations, millions have been displaced; vital infrastructure, from hospitals to water and electricity networks, has collapsed; and Darfur is once again witnessing ethnic massacres. What is unfolding in Sudan today is no longer merely a political crisis—it is the total disintegration of a state.

For many observers, this raises a fundamental question: how did Sudan move from a social protest—portrayed in the media as a “women’s revolution”—to this point? To find the answer, one must go back several years, to the days when the image of Alaa Salah captivated the world.

A woman on a car and the construction of a narrative

The image of the protests began with a young woman in a traditional white dress standing atop a car, leading the crowd. It quickly became the symbol of Sudan’s revolution. In Western media narratives, Alaa Salah was presented not merely as a protester, but as the face of a women-led revolution—one that was supposed to transform the Middle East and Africa.

This image was precisely what global media needed: a simple, easily understandable, and inspiring symbol that could be rapidly universalized. Yet behind this beautiful frame lay complex realities. Sudan was a country with a tribal structure, a powerful military, deeply entrenched militias, and profound social divisions—problems that could not be resolved through a poetic image.

An excessive focus on symbols meant that essential questions were ignored: who would take power after Bashir’s fall? What role would the army play? How would militias be contained? These were questions without answers, but the revolutionary fervor left no room to ask them.

From social protest to a war of generals

The protests in Sudan began with economic demands. Rising bread prices, economic hardship, and widespread corruption had fueled public discontent. Gradually, however, the trajectory of the protests shifted. Social demands gave way to a project of political restructuring, a process accelerated by external pressure.

Omar al-Bashir was removed, but the power vacuum that followed was filled not by civil society, but by the military and armed commanders. The transitional government was too weak to assert control over the armed forces, and competition among generals gradually turned into open conflict.

At this stage, the revolution was no longer in the streets; it had moved into the barracks. The result is what we see today: a war between the regular army and the Rapid Support Forces—a war whose primary victims are ordinary people. The women who were supposed to be the core of freedom now stand at the forefront of displacement and violence.

Women after the “women’s revolution”

In the official narrative of Sudan’s revolution, women were portrayed as its main heroes. In today’s reality, however, women are its greatest victims. Numerous reports speak of systematic rape in conflict zones, the collapse of women’s healthcare services, and rising maternal and child mortality rates.

Darfur, already scarred by past atrocities, has once again become a scene of crime. Women in this region have neither a voice nor a global platform. The image of the woman in white that once inspired the world has been replaced by images of women wandering through displacement camps with their children.

This gap between narrative and reality is one of Sudan’s most important lessons. A revolution that began in the name of women but continued without a plan for security and stability ultimately sacrificed those very women.

A familiar pattern from Khartoum to Tehran

Sudan is not an exception; it is an example of a recurring pattern. A pattern that begins with genuine social demands, but gradually becomes framed within larger political projects. Media-driven symbolism, external pressure, and the weakening of existing structures are constant elements of this model.

In Iran as well, from the turmoil of the Green Movement to “Woman, Life, Freedom,” efforts have been made to turn social demands—especially women’s demands—into instruments of political pressure. The difference is that Sudan, due to its structural weakness, collapsed much more quickly. Yet the logic of the project is the same: weakening sovereignty, creating social fractures, and preparing the ground for instability.

Sudan shows that protest, if left without a clear horizon and without regard for the realities of power, can move in a direction entirely disconnected from its original demands. The freedom that is promised, if not accompanied by security and independence, ends in scorched earth.

Today, Sudan is a living warning—a country that began with the sound of slogans and continued with the sound of bullets. An experience whose cost, if ignored, is far greater than the price of facing reality.