Sudanese Psyches... When will the crisis of the oppressed human psychology end in favor of an un-oppressed Sudanese, free and enjoying citizenship?

Dr. Salah Ahmed Haboub on the occasion of World Mental Health Day — October 10, 2026. The situation speaks for itself; how can we ask the Sudanese about their mental state when the question itself has become a luxury in a country where tragedies multiply as rapidly as the conditions for life diminish? How do we inquire about tranquility when safety has become a deferred piece of news, home an uncertainty, and tomorrow an unknown region between the memory of loss and the obsession with survival? War is no longer an event occurring outside the human being; it has become a structure that infiltrates within, reshapes fears, disrupts relationships, and tests trust in oneself, others, and the future. On the tenth of October, the world reaffirms its commitment to mental health as a human right, not a social privilege or a deferred luxury. In Sudan, the occasion takes on a meaning that transcends the call for treatment; it places us before a fundamental question: How does a human regain balance in a reality that reproduces its own imbalance? How do we heal the psyche while conditions for tranquility remain threatened, and individuals are asked to adapt to a reality that drains them, rather than changing what diminishes their humanity? Since the outbreak of war in April 2023, Sudanese suffering has ceased to be merely the sum of fear, displacement, and loss; it has extended to the structure of social life, the meaning of belonging, and the individual's capacity to envision the future. War does not only destroy walls; it destroys the familiarity, memory, and security behind them. Its losses are not limited to lives and wealth; they touch trust, disrupt standards, and transform life from a plannable project into an open-ended state of emergency. The war has introduced us to a new kind of alienation—the alienation of a person who legally belongs to their homeland but finds nothing within it to soothe their soul, dispel their fears, or provide the certainty that their life, dignity, and rights are secure. It is a psychological alienation not imposed by geographical distance, but created by the distance between legal belonging and the feeling of safety, and between the homeland as land and identity, and the homeland as protection, justice, and sanctuary. A person may be within the borders of their country but feel outside its protection; they carry its identity but lack its guarantees; they belong to it emotionally while their trust in its ability to embrace them recedes. Alongside this alienation, a psychological drain accumulates that transcends individuals to the entire society; when fear turns from a fleeting response into a general climate, loss becomes a shared memory, waiting becomes a way of life, and anxiety becomes a daily companion. Traumas accumulate, the capacity for endurance erodes, and the horizon of the future narrows until dreams shrink to the limits of survival. When this state intertwines with a feeling of powerlessness to influence one's destiny, we face one facet of the 'oppressed human psychology'—not as an inherent trait of the Sudanese personality, but as a historical, social, and political situation that may reshape human behavior and expectations. One who is besieged by fear for a long time may learn silence to avoid harm, postpone demanding rights to avoid consequences, and reduce dreams to survival, until survival becomes an end that takes precedence over life itself. But silence is not always satisfaction, endurance is not necessarily recovery, and the ability to carry on does not mean the wound has healed. It is not fair to glorify the resilience of the Sudanese to the extent that we forget their right not to be driven to endure in the first place; adapting to tragedy should not become a substitute for ending it. Psychological suffering is not separate from its social, economic, and political conditions. The displaced person who loses their home, livelihood, and safety net does not need psychological support alone, but the foundations of life that give that support meaning. The child whose education is interrupted and who lives in fear needs to reclaim their childhood and their right to a future, and the young person whose opportunities are eroding is not facing only an emotional crisis, but a crisis of meaning, utility, and belonging. Therefore, reducing mental health to treatment, while ignoring security, food, housing, education, work, and justice, is like repairing the facade of a building while letting its foundations crack. Restoring psychological balance requires listening to those affected by the war and involving them in identifying their needs and creating solutions; the citizen is not just a subject for care, but a partner in recovery. It also requires accessible psychological services, social solidarity networks, and institutions that protect rights and provide the individual with a safe space to participate in changing their reality. Mental health is not just the ability to adapt to life, but the ability to live it with dignity and security. The Sudanese person who belongs to their homeland but does not feel secure in their life and rights within it does not need fleeting consolation alone; they need a state under which they feel the law protects them, their differences do not threaten them, and citizenship is not words spoken on platforms, but a right they experience in their daily life. Just citizenship restores a person's sense of belonging, justice reduces their sense of helplessness, and participation grants them the power to influence their destiny. Peace, in its deepest sense, is not just the stopping of bullets or an agreement between warring parties; it is for people to return to their homes safe, for children to resume their education, for youth to find opportunities for a decent life, and for the citizen to be able to express their opinion and demand their right without fear. What is the point of rebuilding cities if devastation remains resident in the souls? And what is the value of peace if people do not feel they have a place in their homeland, and that their future is not a hostage to the will of the strongest? When does the crisis of the oppressed human psychology end? It begins to recede when the production of oppression stops, safety becomes a right not a grant, citizenship becomes a reality not a slogan, and justice becomes a foundation for the relationship between the individual and the state. Then, the Sudanese will no longer be required to prove their capacity for patience every day, but to find the opportunity to live, work, dream, and participate in making their future. On Mental Health Day, we do not need to ask the Sudanese: 'What is wrong with you?' For the situation speaks for itself. The real question is: What is the action that allows a human to live in their homeland feeling secure, and not remain burdened by fear, loss, and displacement, even after the cannons fall silent? And how do we transition from a human whose only concern is to survive, to a human who has the right to choose, participate, disagree, and live with dignity? Sudan does not need a human who learns how to endure more oppression; it needs a homeland that does not oppress its human. A homeland where citizenship is security, justice is tranquility, freedom is a right, and peace is a beginning for recovery, not just an end to bullets. habobsalah@gmail.com The post Sudanese Psyches... When will the crisis of the oppressed human psychology end in favor of an un-oppressed Sudanese, free and enjoying citizenship? appeared first on Sudanaile.