I still remember the moment I realized that silence is a choice and that resistance, even in its smallest form, is power. Growing up in Sudan, conflict wasn’t something we learned about in textbooks; it was woven into our daily lives. Yet, amid the crackling of gunfire, internet blackouts, and the heavy scent of tear gas, I saw something that history books often forget to mention: youth refusing to be erased.
Sudanese youth have been the backbone of resistance, not only during the 2018–2019 revolution but every single day since. We are not waiting to be saved ,we are saving ourselves. And we are doing it with art, with protest, with makeshift community schools in displaced camps, and with phones raised high to livestream truth to the world when the regime tries to silence it.
I remember one night in particular, during a power outage in Khartoum. The streets were quiet, but the air was charged. I sat in the dark with a group of friends, our phones lighting our faces, each of us refreshing Twitter or WhatsApp for updates. A friend whispered, “We can’t let this be normal.” That sentence still echoes in me. We were tired, but we weren’t giving in. We didn’t act loudly that night, but we acted wisely. We chose a quieter resistance , spreading truth, listening, and holding space for each other when the world felt too loud.
As a young Sudanese woman, the intersection of gender and conflict shaped my experience deeply. Conflict hits differently when you’re a girl when you have to navigate not only military checkpoints, but also social expectations that want you to stay small and quiet. But Sudanese girls are anything but quiet. We’re leading chants, running underground relief efforts, documenting violations, and healing our communities from within. We carry backpacks and protest signs. We are students and revolutionaries. We cry, but we continue.
What’s most heartbreaking is how the world often fails to see this power. When youth from the Global South speak, we are filtered through pity. But pity has no place in justice. Sudanese youth don’t need saving but we need space, access, and solidarity. We are already doing the work.
Conflict has taken so much from me: loved ones, stability, the simple privilege of growing up without fear. But it has also shaped a fire in me that can’t be put out. It made me a listener, a speaker, a questioner. I’ve learned to carry grief and action side by side. Even when the world goes quiet, even when it’s just me journaling by candlelight, I know the fight continues.
My story isn’t unique and that’s the point. Across Sudan, and across other regions steeped in conflict, millions of young people are writing their own stories of survival, strength, and change. They are showing up, speaking out, and imagining futures that current systems refuse to build for them.
So what do I want you to take from this? Don’t just see youth, especially youth from conflict zones as symbols of tragedy. See us as leaders. Support youth-led initiatives. Amplify our voices without reshaping our words. Donate to grassroots movements. Demand international media coverage that centers our narratives, not just our wounds.
We are not waiting for peace to find us, we are building it, one act of courage at a time.
