Travelling on Lorries and the Painful Train Ride: The Roots of Hate Speech
Mansour Al-Suwaim
First Story
I recall, many years ago during our early childhood, we used to go out in the afternoons and head towards the dirt road near our home in the Shams Al-Naseem neighborhood of Nyala city in South Darfur.
We would meet a large group of children, some coming from the nearby Al-Sadd Al-Aali neighborhood. At the appointed time, we would line up along the travel road, and within minutes, large lorries would arrive from the far west—Zalingei and Al Geneina—loaded with goods and passengers perched atop sacks of crops, heading towards the major agricultural projects in central and eastern Sudan for work. These passengers were our childish target. As the lorries passed by, we would shout loudly, "Janjawid, Janjawid, bread with water," mocking them with our little fingers pointed in derision, unaware of the origins of our scorn. The lorry passengers, the "Janjawid," paid us no heed, looking visibly tense as if embarking on a journey into the unknown, something I understood only later.
The Origins of Hate Speech
The previous story might seem like a harmless childhood prank, often directed at specific community groups or individuals for fun and adventure. However, on a deeper level, it can be seen as an initial indicator of how "hate speech" can grow unchecked, without societal awareness to curb its spread. Our lack of social awareness perpetuated this degrading practice, passing it down to subsequent generations without anyone in our "broad travel street" correcting us with enlightening guidance. This awareness only dawned on me years later when, confronted with similar mocking chants from more conscious people, I became the victim.
Second Story
In the late 1990s, I was traveling from Nyala to Khartoum, where the president resided, on the famed "Nyala train." Embracing the rebellious youth spirit, a group of friends and I decided to ride on top of the train cars—some to evade ticket fares and others for the thrill. As we approached Wad Medani in central Sudan, we lay on the train roof, watching the citys landmarks, when a group of men began shouting at us, "Hey Westerners, the Westerners have arrived," laughing scornfully. The derogatory tone of their chants took me back to the childhood taunts of "Janjawid" and opened a "window of light," giving me a glimpse into what I later understood as the "Sudanese societal crisis" or the latent hatred among communities. Instinctively and carelessly, I retorted, "Go away, you clueless Arabs," which amused my friends and made them repeat it loudly as the train sped away. This response also allowed me to introspect and understand my own "speech."
The Failing State
Sudan is a diverse country with a variety of cultures, climates, and languages. A quick look at the 600 tribes living in these lands reveals the complex social fabric of Sudanese life. This diversity should have ideally fostered inclusive mechanisms and approaches post-independence to integrate this multifaceted mosaic into a fair entity that acknowledges everyone without diminishing any culture or elevating one tribe over another. However, the reality has been the opposite, leading to the current crumbling state of Sudan.
Hymn of Pain
This third and final story harks back to my childhood during primary school in Nyala. In the fourth grade, a student from the mountainous regions of West Darfur joined us. He was stout, intelligent, and reserved. Coming from a rural community, he struggled with certain Arabic letters, like "Ain." Despite his intelligence and noticeable excellence, our Arabic teacher relentlessly humiliated him for his "distorted" pronunciation. One day, while correcting my workbook, I saw this student surrounded by teachers, lying on the ground as our Arabic teacher wielded a whip, forcing him to repeat the phrase "Hymn of Knowledge," which he pronounced as "Hymn of Pain." The teacher whipped him each time, making him "suffer" more, while the other teachers laughed. That day, I felt a sense of diminishment and "hatred," wanting to leave the school, which the mountain boy actually did, as it was his last day.
War of Hatred
When the war broke out on April 15 last year, everyone warned of its potential to turn into a full-scale civil war. Why fear such a transformation of a "generals war" into a total civil war? Because everyone who issued such warnings understands the fragility of the relationships binding Sudanese communities. The Sudanese state, since its formation, has done nothing but exploit these contradictions, as evidenced by numerous wars waged by the state against its people in the south, west, Nuba Mountains, and other parts of Sudan. Grievances are a primary cause of hate speech, but the important question we must confront is how these grievances formed and who contributed to their growth to the extent we now witness, manifesting in "beheadings," threats of invading specific cities, incitement to secession, and identity-based arrests fueled by hatred.
Seed of Awareness
In the first story, I mentioned that a "window of awareness" opened when I was confronted with the same racist childhood tactics, realizing that others also viewed me with contempt. The first lesson was to understand and know the other, dispelling any misconceptions in both "myself" and others. This effort may seem daunting in a country like Sudan, still dominated by the colonial states divisive tools. However, awareness, as a slow-growing revolution, can be nurtured from any individuals position. In the first story, I gained insight into myself and the "Janjawid" through a train incident. Still, others might only come to understand and respect the "Janjawid" or any marginalized group after reading Abdul Aziz Baraka Sakins novel "The Janjaweed: Nails of the Earth." Such literary works significantly contribute to understanding and respecting neglected Sudanese communities. This kind of awareness is essential to uproot hate speech, requiring us to advance our revolution against the "old state" and end its most heinous manifestation—the war between the army and the Rapid Support Forces. Only then can we pave the way towards a state of equal citizenship and rights.
