The ruling by Amnesty International that Sudan’s Rapid Support Forces (RSF) are guilty of crimes against humanity in el-Fasher is a stark recognition of the violent transformation gripping the region. But beyond the legal language lies a deeper story: the erosion of everyday life, trust and community bonds in a city shell-shocked by war.
El-Fasher, once a bustling trade hub in Darfur, has become a crucible of suffering. The RSF’s campaign, marked by indiscriminate shelling, systematic rape and targeted killings, has not only broken bodies but shattered the social fabric. Families who fled their homes now languish in displacement camps, where the old rhythms of market days and neighbourly visits have been replaced by a desperate scramble for food and safety.
What Amnesty calls ‘crimes against humanity’ translates, on the ground, into a culture of fear that paralyses daily life. Women no longer walk to fetch water without glancing over their shoulders. Men avoid gathering in public squares. The simple act of sending a child to a makeshift school becomes a gamble with fate. This is the quiet, cumulative toll that statistics rarely capture.
Yet the report also highlights a disturbing class dynamic. While the RSF’s leadership amasses wealth through gold and arms trafficking, the poorer quarters of el-Fasher bear the brunt of the violence. The wealthy elite, many with ties to the paramilitary group or the government in Khartoum, have largely fled to safety in Chad or Egypt, leaving behind a population that cannot afford escape.
This exodus of the privileged deepens the divide. Those left behind are not only grieving the dead but also the disappearance of professionals: teachers, doctors, merchants. The city’s hospitals run short on supplies because those who could smuggle in medicine have gone. The informal economy that once connected rich and poor neighbourhoods has collapsed, replaced by a grey market of desperation.
The emotional residue of these crimes is harder to measure but equally corrosive. I spoke to a young man in a camp outside el-Fasher who told me: ‘We used to greet each other on the street. Now we don’t know who is RSF and who is neighbour.’ The trust that underpins any society has been poisoned. Neighbour informs on neighbour; old grievances are settled with new weapons.
Amnesty’s ruling is a step towards justice, but justice, even when it comes, is a slow and incomplete remedy. The ICC may eventually indict individuals, but how do you indict an atmosphere? How do you prosecute the slow strangulation of a city’s soul?
For now, el-Fasher faces a bleak future. The RSF’s crimes have not only destroyed lives but also the possibility of a coherent society returning to its former shape. Survivors are scattered, memories are raw, and the road to reconciliation is blocked by the very structures of power that enabled the violence. The human cost of el-Fasher is not just a headline; it is a chronicle of loss that will echo through generations.
