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For most of the last nine months, outside analysts have looked to Iran’s protests for signs that the country might exper...
27/05/2023

For most of the last nine months, outside analysts have looked to Iran’s protests for signs that the country might experience political change. These demonstrators, the vast majority of them young, certainly rocked the country’s elite with their cries of “Woman, life, freedom!” and their demands for democracy and a more open society. For a time, the protests were so large that outside analysts wondered if the Islamic Republic might simply collapse.

Alas, it was not to be. Tehran resorted to overwhelming force to quash the demonstrations, arresting thousands of protesters. It killed hundreds more, including via gruesome public executions. Today, embers of public discontent in Iran still smolder. But by and large, the demonstrations have subsided. They do not pose an imminent threat to the regime.

But the Iranian elite is not resting easy, if for a very different reason. Iran’s supreme leader, Ali Khamenei, is 84 years old and has a history of health problems. According to reporting by The New York Times, Khamenei was seriously ill last September. Traveling to a shrine in 2022, he told his entourage that it might be his last visit, given his age. He was treated for prostate cancer in 2014. Khamenei may be healthy now, but he will not live forever, and Iranian elites are worried about what will happen once he goes.

On paper, they shouldn’t be so concerned: the Islamic Republic’s formal system for choosing a supreme leader is quite straightforward. According to the Iranian constitution, the 88 members of the country’s Assembly of Experts will meet and nominate candidates. The Assembly of Experts has never disclosed the internal rules for these proceedings, but analysts know that the body deliberates for as long as it takes before voting, when it then eliminates candidates as needed until someone emerges with a majority.

But the actual process for choosing a new leader is not nearly so simple. Few of the assembly’s members—60 percent of whom are currently 70 or older—have real political clout. They are instead proxies for the regime’s leading politicians and policymakers, its security and military commanders, and the institutions they all dominate. This elite is riven with divisions and can struggle to reach consensus. Its members are, in fact, in near-constant conflict. Discord and fierce rivalry characterize the relations between and within every camp of the Iranian elites, who currently have no rule book, strong institution, or influential broker to manage their disputes.

Given all the mistrust and enmity, the struggle to succeed Khamenei is unlikely to be an orderly competition between the regime’s two major factions, moderates and hard-line conservatives. Indeed, it is unlikely to be orderly at all. Instead, the fight is likely to be much like the one that brought Khamenei to power in 1989: an ad hoc, transactional, and bitter contest. As different candidates battle, sudden alliances could emerge as quickly as they dissolve. Various elites could use the competition to settle scores, stab one another in the back, and air dirty secrets. The rules, insofar as they exist, will be manipulated. The ultimate winner could be a surprise to even the best-informed observers. The only certainty is that Khamenei’s death will bring great uncertainty—and chaos.

In the late 1980s, few people predicted that Khamenei would succeed Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini as Iran’s supreme leader. For starters, Khamenei, then a mid-ranking cleric, lacked the credentials constitutionally required to become the supreme leader. The country’s top religious figures suggested that he was a religious lightweight unable to divine Islamic rulings—no small charge in a state with theocratic characteristics. In a January 1988 open letter, even Khomeini said that Khamenei's opinions were “against his sayings’’ and asserted that Khamenei did not have a correct understanding of the critical religious doctrine that justifies having a supreme leader to begin with.

Khamenei certainly had friends, and he had amassed enough power to be a contender for the top job—in large part by winning elections in 1981 and 1985 to become Iran’s president. But at the time, the presidency was largely a ceremonial role, devoid of any real authority. Khamenei belonged to the regime’s political right, which believed that the supreme leader was not above traditional religious laws and that the state should respect the independence of private businesses. In those years, however, the Islamic regime was mostly controlled by the left. This faction has morphed into today’s reformists, but at the time, they were defined by their push for an aggressive foreign policy, for purging all dissent, and for creating a highly centralized economy. They had won a landslide victory in the 1988 elections, gaining a supermajority in Iran’s parliament. The left’s young leader, Mir Hossein Mousavi, remained prime minister, and leftists dominated his cabinet. High-ranking judiciary positions, including the country’s chief justice and prosecutor general, were also in the left’s hands.

The left’s power extended beyond civilian institutions. A year earlier, in 1987, Khomeini surprisingly handed management of the Revolutionary Committees, then the country’s most terrifying domestic security force, to leftist operatives. The majority of the Iran Revolutionary Guards Corps’s rank and file either supported the left or Ayatollah Hossein Ali Montazeri, who was then officially designated Khomeini’s successor. The IRGC's leadership itself was split between the right and the left, and Khomeini had recently asked two of its right-wing generals to be court martialed. Khomeini's own inner circle, including his son, had a cozier relationship with the left.

In just a few years, Khamenei went from being a marginal actor to Iran’s unequivocal boss.

How Khamenei then managed to come out on top is one of the greatest mysteries of the Islamic Republic, in part because records of the subsequent Assembly of Experts proceedings remain a secret. But only two months before Khomeini’s death, the left successfully campaigned to remove Montazeri as Khomeini’s officially designated successor, creating a constitutional vacuum. The Assembly of Experts convened an emergency closed-door session. In the conclave, the members initially discussed having multiple top leaders instead of one but eventually rejected any power-sharing agreements. They then voted down the most prominent high-ranking clerics, including Ali Meshkini, the assembly’s chairman (whose powerful son-in-law then headed Iran’s intelligence service).

Eventually, according to historical accounts, members started suggesting random names, among them Ali Khamenei. Akbar Hashemi Rafsanjani, the speaker of parliament, threw his support behind Iran’s president. The right was still fragile, and some of its members voted against Khamenei. But the right managed to pick up some support from members on the left in order to elect him. How the right managed this task is still impossible to say. But Meshkini later described this “unexpected” outcome as “spontaneous divine intervention.”

After Khamenei was selected, a special council immediately revised Iran's constitution to give the supreme leader an unprecedented absolute mandate to govern, which was then ratified in a controversial referendum. And once in power, Iran’s new supreme leader quickly purged his enemies. In his first three years of leadership, Khamenei expunged leftist officials from almost all key positions. He quickly appointed a new chief justice. He decommissioned and even imprisoned the IRGC's nonconformist commanders. He succeeded in excluding the left from parliamentary elections. In fact, by the end of his second year, Khamenei had established a constricted vetting process that all national candidates had to pass through before they could run for office. In the span of just a few years, Khamenei went from being a marginal actor to Iran’s unequivocal boss.

Unlike other revolutionary regimes, such as those in China, the erstwhile Soviet Union, or Vietnam, the Islamic Republic never succeeded in establishing a party or other organization that could manage elite relationships. The two most important postrevolutionary political parties, the Islamic Republic Party and the Mujahideen Organization of the Islamic Revolution, dissolved in the 1980s because of internal disputes. The most prominent clerical organization, the Militant Clergy Association, was split in two by its right and left factions. Today, on paper, the elite has nearly 120 registered parties that claim to represent their interests, but none can count most of the elite as members.

The Islamic Republic, of course, has various state entities that in theory represent the entire country. But in practice, these bodies are in almost constant conflict. For the past two decades, for example, the Foreign Ministry and the IRGC’s Quds Force have fought over who would handle the country’s Afghanistan, Pakistan, and the Middle East foreign affairs portfolio. The battle goes on, even though both the ministry and the Quds Force are run by hard-line figures. In August 2022, the commander of the Quds Force even excluded the Foreign Ministry from organizing a meeting with the influential Iraqi Shiite cleric Muqtada al-Sadr. In April, the deputy chief of Iran’s insurance regulatory agency publicly encouraged the parliament to impeach the country’s industries minister. And Iran’s Ministry of Culture is at loggerheads with Iran’s national broadcasting service over who has the authority to censor the content of subscription streaming services.

Iranian elites will fight with one another even if it costs their factions opportunities.

Other conflicts rage within Iran’s institutions. In early 2021, for example, infighting within the IRGC's political bureau prompted the dismissal of the head of the IRGC’s business conglomerate. (The ousted executive was then disqualified from running in presidential elections.) In February 2022, a leaked audio recording showed the IRGC’s commanders, including the powerful general Qasem Soleimani, killed in a U.S. air strike in 2020, brawling over their involvement in a massive case of financial corruption. Infighting within the Islamic Republic of Iran Broadcasting company has led to several changes in its senior leadership. Similar internal feuds have emerged among the hard-liners in charge of nuclear issues. The country’s chief nuclear negotiator, Ali Bagheri Kani, recently fell out with Saeed Jalili, his former boss, over a draft of the agreement that Kani supported. In response, Bagheri removed a Jalili supporter from the negotiation team.

In Iran, the informal power of elites has always been greater than that of formal bureaucratic organizations, which tends to make such interpersonal disputes more important than institutional conflicts. But these personal fights are rarely about policy divisions or ideological causes. Instead, private ambitions to gain power and control over public resources and economic rents drive conflicts among the elite. The selfish nature of these feuds means that elites will fight with one another even if it costs their factions opportunities. They will fight even if it undermines their ability to govern.

This was particularly evident during the June 2021 presidential elections. Some reformist leaders boycotted the election. Multiple conservative candidates spread rumors that the hard-line front-runner Ebrahim Raisi had been disqualified from the contest. They claimed, for example, that Khamenei had forbidden him to be a candidate.

Raisi eventually won. But disputes within the conservative elite were so intense that the president was not able to announce his choice of vice president until two months after his victory. It took him several more months to name a governor of the central bank as different interest groups within his camp competed for the seat. As Iran’s currency crashed, Raisi had to replace the bank governor in December 2022 with an individual affiliated with a different group.

Chaos in Iranian politics predates Khamenei. But the current supreme leader has done little to help instill order in the system. On the contrary, Khamenei has created a personalist type of rule under which the elite has never had a chance to develop entities and procedures that are capable of mediating their conflicts or aggregating their diverse interests. This in turn has made power precarious and led to constant churn. The elite thinks of state institutions not as venues for realizing organized political visions but as temporary fiefdoms in which they can exploit public resources and fulfill their individual objectives. Ironically, this also makes their institutional base of little use for their power-maximizing agendas.

Perhaps the best and the most recent example is Sadeq Amoli Larijani, Iran’s former chief justice, a former member of the Guardian Council (which can veto or amend legislation), and the current chairman of the Expediency Council (which resolves disputes between the parliament and Guardian Council). Despite all of his institutional positions, which many analysts assumed indicated that he was Khamenei's successor, Larijani no longer has meaningful power. One of his confidents was sentenced to 31 years in prison for corruption. One of his main former appointees, the notorious public and revolutionary prosecutor Abbas Jafari, is now driving a cab in the streets of Tehran.

This volatility is likely to characterize the process by which Khamenei’s successor is chosen. It will be rather chaotic, with many spoilers and few sincere brokers. The candidates who seem to be favorites now, including Raisi and the supreme leader’s son, Mojtaba Khamenei, could quickly fall out of favor. Elites who have been spurned by the current political order will move to capitalize on Iran’s greatest power vacuum since 1989. That Iran is fertile ground for popular unrest only adds to the uncertainty.

Indeed, the only thing that is clear is that Iran’s contemporary elite is not prepared for this moment. It is rarely prepared for any turmoil—as the slow, halting, and then very violent response to the protests made readily apparent. Instead, when faced with crisis, the Iranian elite simply improvises and muddles along. Its struggles will not end when the succession process is over: the next leader of Iran is likely to be just as mercurial as the last.

The race to be the next supreme leader will be chaotic and perilous.

For the past year, much of the world’s attention has been focused on Russia’s invasion of Ukraine and rising tensions be...
27/05/2023

For the past year, much of the world’s attention has been focused on Russia’s invasion of Ukraine and rising tensions between the United States and China over Taiwan—flashpoints that could trigger direct or even nuclear confrontation between the major powers. But the outbreak of fighting in Sudan should also give world leaders pause: it threatens to be the latest in a wave of devastating wars in Africa, the Middle East, and South Asia that over the past decade have ushered in a new era of instability and strife. Mostly because of those conflicts, more people are displaced (100 million) or in need of humanitarian aid (339 million) than at any point since World War II.

Since fighting erupted in April between Sudan’s armed forces and a paramilitary group notorious for atrocities committed two decades ago in Darfur, at least 700,000 people have been forced to flee their homes, hundreds have been killed, and thousands more injured. Street battles, explosions, and aerial bombardments are devastating the capital, Khartoum, as the two factions vie for control over this northeastern African country of 45 million. In Darfur, tribal militias have entered the fray, raising fears of a wider conflagration. Cease-fires have repeatedly broken down.

The dynamics at play in Sudan’s crisis mirror those of many wars in this recent wave. The roots of these conflicts lie in struggles to shake off decades of dictatorial rule, they disproportionately affect civilians, and they are prone to foreign meddling. The involvement of an ever-larger cast of outside actors—not only major powers but also so-called middle powers such as Iran, Turkey, and the Gulf monarchies—has fueled and prolonged this latest spate of wars, as regional powers compete for influence amid uncertainty about the future of the global order.

In Sudan, a diverse crowd of foreign actors had a hand in the country’s derailed transition to democracy following longtime dictator Omar al-Bashir’s ouster in 2019. Several could now get sucked into the fighting. At a time when most recent wars have dragged on for years without resolution, both the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF), led by General Abdel Fattah al-Burhan, and the paramilitary Rapid Support Forces (RSF), helmed by Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo, known as Hemedti, seem to be settling in for a long and bloody slog—one that could reverberate far beyond the country’s borders.

In the years following the end of the Cold War, the global outlook seemed less gloomy. According to the Uppsala Conflict Data Program, the number of active wars declined throughout the 1990s. So, too, did the number of people killed in conflicts each year (with the notable exception of 1994, when the Rwandan genocide occurred). Although battle deaths don’t tell the whole story—conflicts often kill more people indirectly, through starvation or preventable disease—overall, a more peaceful future beckoned, buoyed in part by favorable geopolitics. Major powers at the United Nations mostly agreed on sending peacekeepers and envoys to help settle wars in the Balkans, West Africa, and elsewhere. The decade of optimism about liberal democracy and capitalism that followed the collapse of the Soviet Union was also one of UN activism and a burgeoning peacemaking industry, which likely contributed to the global decline in conflicts.

Then came the 9/11 terrorist attacks and the United States’ invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq. These wars did not, according to Uppsala’s data, reverse the global dip in armed conflicts. But they did set the stage for what was to come by eroding Washington’s international credibility and fueling instability in the Middle East and South Asia. The war in Iraq, moreover, upset the regional balance of power between Iran and the Gulf monarchies and paved the way for a resurgent Islamist militancy and, ultimately, the rise of the Islamic State, also known as ISIS.

Since about 2010, the number of conflicts and battle deaths has crept back up. Wars triggered by the 2010–11 Arab uprisings in Libya, Syria, and Yemen and new conflicts in Africa, some shaped by spillover from the Arab conflicts, initially fueled the uptick. These new wars were not originally part of the United States’ post-9/11 struggle against al Qaeda, but as Islamist militants including ISIS profited from the chaos, Western counterterrorism operations exacerbated other feuds. More recently, fresh bouts of fighting have broken out between Armenia and Azerbaijan over the territory of Nagorno-Karabakh, in Ethiopia’s northern Tigray region, and in Myanmar. According to the Uppsala Program’s latest data, contemporary conflicts are now killing more than three times as many people per year around the world as wars did only two decades ago.

These new conflicts have several things in common. The first is that several stem from thwarted efforts to escape authoritarian rule. In Libya, Myanmar, Syria, Yemen, and to some degree Ethiopia, movements began with social unrest and rousing street protests—often triggered by economic hardship or fury at autocratic and inept rule—but ended in chaos. In some cases, regimes fought back; in Syria, for instance, President Bashar al-Assad has clung to power. In others, dictators fell, but institutions they had hollowed out and societies they had divided couldn’t withstand the ensuing contests for power. These struggles follow a recurring pattern: people expect change; the old guard seeks to preserve its privilege; new armed factions want a share. Uncorked ethnic, religious, or racial tensions fuel division. Settlements that divvy up power and resources in an equitable or satisfactory way prove elusive.

Seen in this light, Sudan’s story is all too familiar. After an inspiring countrywide protest movement overthrew Bashir, Sudan has fallen victim to the autocrat’s own legacy. Hemedti is a warlord from Darfur who aided Bashir’s genocidal war against rebels in the region starting in 2003. In 2013, Bashir banded various Janjaweed militias together under Hemedti and renamed them the Rapid Support Forces, empowering the paramilitary’s units as a hedge against an army takeover and using them repeatedly to suppress uprisings in western Sudan. The other belligerent in the country’s conflict, Burhan, is a career military officer who participated with Hemedti in the Darfur campaigns and whose aversion to civilian rule has obstructed Sudan’s democratic transition. The RSF and the SAF united briefly to overthrow Bashir and then kicked out the civilian leaders with whom they had pledged to share power. Eventually, Hemedti and Burhan turned on each other.

Although the violence was ostensibly triggered by Hemedti’s refusal to put his paramilitaries under SAF command, the power struggle runs deeper than that. Ultimately, Sudan’s transition ran aground because neither Burhan and his fellow generals nor Hemedti and his allies would relinquish power and risk losing their grip on the country’s resources or facing justice for earlier atrocities.

Today, more midsize foreign powers are jockeying for influence in unstable political arenas.

A second hallmark of recent conflicts present in Sudan is the disproportionate suffering of civilians. Belligerents of the past decade have shown scant regard for international law. Although the 1990s and early 2000s also saw their share of horror—indeed, the United States’ conduct in its own wars in Iraq and elsewhere likely contributed to the sense of lawlessness that currently reigns on many battlefields—today’s conflicts display a striking degree of impunity. Warring parties of all stripes appear to have thrown the rule book out the window.

Deliberate assaults on civilians—including the aerial destruction of cities; attacks on hospitals, clinics, and schools; the obstruction of aid; and the weaponization of hunger and famine—have become commonplace. In Syria, the Assad regime’s routine use of barrel bombs and chemical weapons was exceptionally barbaric. But in Afghanistan, Ethiopia, Yemen, and elsewhere, governments and rebels alike have purposefully or recklessly targeted civilians or denied them the medical care, food, water, and shelter they need to survive.

The signs in Sudan are already troubling. The country has suffered atrocities against civilians in the past, but the sustained urban warfare this time around is unprecedented. The sudden escalation of street fighting in Khartoum left residents unprepared. Millions have been caught in the crossfire, trapped in their homes and struggling to get food, water, and other essentials. Hemedti has sent tens of thousands of fighters from the hinterlands into the capital, where they shelter among civilians, commandeer houses, and loot to survive as supply lines break down. As for the army, its shelling in densely populated parts of Khartoum appears indiscriminate. Its refusal to stop fighting shows it cares more for safeguarding its power and privilege than for the war’s human toll.

The third and perhaps biggest shift in crises over the past decade has been intensified foreign involvement. Outside meddling in wars is nothing new. But today, more foreign powers, particularly non-Western midsize powers, are jockeying for influence in unstable political arenas. This dynamic has helped fuel the deadliest wars of the past decade.

These entanglements are symptomatic of larger shifts in global power. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, the United States was left with unmatched power in what is known as the unipolar moment. Too much nostalgia for Western hegemony would be misplaced; the bloody wars in Somalia and the former Yugoslavia, the Rwandan genocide, the brutal conflict in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, the Afghan and Iraq wars, and even previous wars in Sudan all happened at a time of American predominance (and, in some cases, because of it). Nonetheless, the emergence of a strong and confident West, along with the United States’ growing network of alliances and security guarantees, played an outsize role in structuring global affairs. Now, the unipolar moment is over—but it is unclear what will follow.

Governments around the world no longer see the United States as a lone hegemon and are recalibrating accordingly. The uncertainty they sense about what comes next is destabilizing. Regional powers are jostling and probing to see how far they can go. Many sense a vacuum of influence and see a need to cultivate proxies in weaker states to protect their interests or stop rivals from advancing their own (as, they would argue, big powers have long done). Their forays into power projection have often been as counterproductive and disruptive as the U.S.-led efforts that preceded them.

If one outside party makes a move in Sudan, others will follow.

The Middle East’s major fault lines—notably, a bitter contest for regional influence between Iran and Saudi Arabia and its allies and a competition pitting Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates, and Egypt against Qatar and Turkey—have proved especially destructive. For years, these rivalries have upended democratic transitions and prolonged conflicts, mostly in the Arab world but also in the Horn of Africa, as competing powers pitched in behind local allies. Some geopolitical struggles have been less zero-sum: Russia and Turkey, for instance, back opposing sides in Libya, Syria, and, to some degree, the South Caucasus but maintain reasonably cordial bilateral ties and have even cooperated to broker cease-fires in Syria. Overall, though, increased outside involvement has complicated efforts to end wars.

In Sudan, as well, a wider array of foreign powers is enmeshed than might have been the case some decades ago. Both Hemedti and Burhan have ties to the Gulf, with Saudi Arabia and the UAE shoring up Sudan’s security forces after Bashir’s fall. Hemedti’s paramilitary units have fought for Gulf powers in Yemen, an arrangement that has earned Hemedti wealth and power, and he has ties to powerful actors in Chad, the Central African Republic, and across the Sahel. He has also been linked to the Wagner paramilitary group and the Libyan commander Khalifa Haftar, who may have funneled weapons his way in the early days of the fighting in Khartoum. Burhan and the SAF, on the other hand, are backed by neighboring Egypt.

Western powers have also played a role in the unfolding Sudanese tragedy. Sudanese activists accuse Washington of picking favorites among civilian leaders and leaving others, notably the resistance committees that championed the revolution, out of the negotiations during the transition. Western powers clearly missed opportunities to support civilian authority and waited too long to unlock aid in the wake of the 2019 revolution. The United States was also too slow to lift its anachronistic designation of Sudan as a state sponsor of terrorism—a step that might have empowered civilian leaders when they ostensibly held power with the security forces. But whether Western governments could actually have nudged Hemedti and Burhan aside, as some analysts argue, is unclear, given their powerful militaries and the support they enjoyed from outside.

Sudan’s transition to democracy would have always faced an uphill battle given its troubled domestic politics—namely, Bashir’s autocratic legacy and the difficulty of finding a modus vivendi among the remaining political actors. But foreign involvement and the external support granted to both the SAF and the RSF made it harder still.

The Sudan crisis, like other recent ones, has many of the ingredients of a protracted war. According to the International Rescue Committee, wars now last on average about twice as long as they did 20 years ago and four times longer than they did during the Cold War. No end is in sight for conflicts in the Sahel, for example, where fighting between Islamists, rival militias, and security forces engulfs ever-larger tracts of the countryside, or in Myanmar, which is still in the throes of a calamity triggered by the 2021 coup. Even in places where bloodshed has declined recently—such as Afghanistan, Libya, Syria, and Yemen—the lull has not produced any real settlements or ended long-standing humanitarian disasters. The question is whether Sudan will now join this list.

Today’s conflicts often persist in part because they tend to be more complex than in the past, often involving not only more foreign powers but multiple battling parties. Warlords can now more easily tap global criminal networks and markets to sustain their campaigns. In many war zones, jihadis are among the main protagonists, which complicates peacemaking: militants’ demands are hard to accommodate, many leaders refuse to engage in talks with them, and counterterrorism operations hinder diplomacy.

Moving away from military rule in Sudan is essential.

Alarmingly, these dynamics are nearly all potentially at play in Sudan. For now, the struggle is a two-sided confrontation between the SAF and the RSF—but other parties may well get dragged in. Former rebels and other militias, which thus far have mostly sat out the conflict and refused to pick sides, could mobilize to defend themselves. The longer the crisis lasts, the graver the danger that militants with links to al Qaeda or ISIS—which hold sway on several other African battlefields—move in.

The SAF and the RSF seem determined to fight on until one side gains a decisive upper hand, paving the way for talks in which the victor dictates the terms. In neighboring Ethiopia, the war in Tigray ended largely because Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed’s federal forces prevailed on the battlefield, and the outgunned Tigrayans were forced to accept a settlement largely on Abiy’s terms. But Sudan is not Ethiopia. After decades of Bashir’s misrule, Burhan’s army is weak and divided. It will struggle to root out the tens of thousands of RSF fighters entrenched in parts of Khartoum, including in the presidential palace, in government buildings, and elsewhere. A decisive triumph for either side seems unlikely—and would certainly come at an enormous civilian cost.

A protracted war in Sudan would be devastating. Even before today’s conflict, about a third of Sudanese—more than 15 million people—relied on emergency aid. Should the humanitarian crisis devolve into a full-blown catastrophe, the instability could well spill over into neighboring countries, which are themselves ill equipped to manage an accelerated exodus of Sudanese fleeing violence or fighters flowing across borders. Moreover, given the strategic location of Sudan’s coastline along one of the world’s most vital waterways, with an estimated 10 percent of global trade passing through the Red Sea each year, means the country’s collapse would reverberate even further afield.

There is, perhaps, a sliver of hope in the geopolitics of Sudan’s crisis. The mood in Arab capitals is more measured than it was a few years ago. Riyadh, in particular, has recalibrated, turning the page on its 2017 spat with Qatar and even seeking to reestablish diplomatic relations with Iran, including through a deal brokered by China in March. Moreover, the regional powers most involved in Sudan—Saudi Arabia, the UAE, and Egypt—belong to what has traditionally been the same bloc. The Saudis, whose development plans hinge on stability around the Red Sea, have especially strong motives to halt the fighting. Riyadh’s influence with both Burhan and Hemedti and its close ties to the UAE and Egypt probably give it the best shot of reining in the warring parties, particularly with U.S. support.

Whether Saudi leaders can restrain Egypt and the UAE from providing support to Burhan and Hemedti, respectively, is not clear. There are signs of strain in the usually friendly relations between Riyadh, Cairo, and Abu Dhabi. Nor are Arab capitals the only ones that could weigh in; neighboring Ethiopia and Eritrea fret about instability along their borders and may intervene more directly if Egypt does so. So far, all outside powers, seemingly fearful of an all-out war, appear to be acting with some restraint—but if one outside party makes a move, others will follow.

For now, continued fighting seems the likeliest scenario. Both Burhan and Hemedti see the conflict as existential—and SAF officers as a group are bent on wiping out the RSF. Even if the two parties were to pause hostilities, the dispute over control of the RSF’s future that sparked the fighting in the first place would remain. Although today’s crisis makes the prospect of the two generals stepping aside seemingly unlikely, moving away from military rule is essential, all the more so given the public revulsion at the battling forces in the Sudanese capital. Talks convened by the United States and Saudi Arabia in Jeddah in May involve only representatives from the two warring factions; wider dialogue that includes civilians, perhaps led by the African Union, is urgently needed to forge common ground even as cease-fires break down. The array of actors with influence and competing interests makes coordination among Arab, African, and Western actors crucial. Critically, as efforts to stop the fighting continue, more concerted diplomacy, including from the United States, is necessary to avert a proxy free-for-all among outside powers that would stifle all hope of a settlement anytime soon.

No one should underestimate how disastrous a slide toward a protracted, all-out conflict in Sudan would be—primarily for the Sudanese but also more broadly. At a time when other crises are stretching the world’s humanitarian system to the breaking point and many capitals are consumed by the conflict in Ukraine or its knock-on effects, the world can ill afford another catastrophic war.

the outbreak of fighting in Sudan should also give world leaders pause: it threatens to be the latest in a wave of devastating wars in Africa, the Middle East, and South Asia

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