The British-influenced tradition that once defined Sudan’s civil service is beyond full retrieval. In its heyday, it was characterised by punctuality, decorum, and reverence for time. Offices opened with precision, correspondence was handled with care, and even minor tardiness could threaten a career. Punctuality wasn’t just a habit — it was an honour, a signal that public duty mattered, and time, like the people it served, deserved respect.When I was a boy, I used to set my watch by the arrivals and departures of my cousin, who held a mid-ranking position at the Civil Service Bureau. Dressed in the Sudanese white tobe, she embodied the elegance and timeless beauty of her culture. The pristine, flowing fabric draped over her figure, symbolising dignity, tradition, and pride. The white tobe, deeply rooted in Sudanese identity, connected her to her heritage and the values that shaped her. As she moved, the fabric seemed to tell a story of Sudan’s rich history and the strength of its people, especially the women who proudly wear it.Among the female civil servants of Sudan, she stood as one of many who, with quiet dedication, worked to shape the country’s future — embodying the sense of responsibility that came with their roles in public service. Her adherence to strict punctuality was the hallmark of her professionalism. Always on time, she believed that every moment mattered in serving her country, demonstrating a commitment not only to her work but to the values of discipline and respect that defined the character of all Sudanese civil servants at that time — a dedication that, sadly, has since faded.Likewise, those near Khartoum’s railway station would set their clocks to the rhythm of the trains. “The Atbara train is arriving,” or “The Port Sudan train is leaving,” were common phrases, and the punctuality of the trains reflected the culture’s deep respect for time. People adjusted their watches to match the exact timing of arrivals and departures, making punctuality an essential part of daily life. That commitment, once shared by both the trains and the people, has since faded. Those days of unwavering punctuality may never return.Policy is often seen as the domain of politicians, but no strategy, however visionary, can take shape without the steady hand of the civil service. Far from being mere implementers of political decisions, civil servants play a critical role in shaping policy itself — providing analysis, continuity, and practical judgement that guide governments towards realistic and sustainable goals. In well-functioning states, they are the institutional memory and quiet architects behind the scenes, ensuring that national priorities survive the turbulence of political change.The strength of this role lies in the civil service’s neutrality. A professional bureaucracy does not concern itself with who occupies the presidential palace or the prime minister’s office, nor whether power shifts through elections or coups. Its allegiance is not to individuals or parties, but to the enduring interests of the state. This indifference to politics is not apathy — it is a fundamental safeguard of good governance. It allows the civil service to offer consistency where politics brings volatility, and stability where regimes come and go.But institutions are only as strong as the people within them. A resilient civil service depends on a cadre of well-trained, competent professionals — individuals who understand not only the machinery of government but also the broader public good. Training and capacity-building are not optional extras; they are essential to ensuring that civil servants can act with competence, integrity, and impartiality. When neglected, the consequences are predictable: sluggish bureaucracies, inconsistent policy, and eroded public trust.Such professionalism, however, does not happen by chance. It requires investment in meritocratic recruitment, continuous development, and legal protections that shield civil servants from political interference. Without these safeguards, the civil service may experience significant changes in personnel with each new administration.A strong civil service does not serve presidents or prime ministers; it serves the public. And in places where politics is unstable and power fleeting, the quiet, principled persistence of the bureaucracy may be the only thing that endures.Historically, the civil service is ancient, evolving from the need for administrative structures in early political systems. Its evolution is defined by the refinement of its concept and the codification of values and laws guiding its function.However, its journey has been marked by challenges, especially politicisation, which has sometimes turned it from a driver of progress into a barrier to development. The debate over whether the civil service remains professional or becomes politically compromised is central to contemporary administrative thought. A meritocratic civil service, built on competence and integrity, is far more effective than one tainted by cronyism and political allegiance.In my view, the cry of leader Ismail al-Azhari, calling for independence with the slogan ‘Liberation, not reconstruction’, marked the first moment that decisively extinguished the enthusiasm of our civil servants.For Sudan, rebuilding its civil service is more than just a policy choice — it is a crucial step towards reinventing our homeland, rebuilding trust in future governments, and ensuring that essential services reach those who need them most. Only through a professional, competent, and well-trained civil service can the political goals of any government or leader — regardless of the type of leadership — be effectively realised, benefiting all sectors of society.Not long ago, our civil service stood as a noble institution, carrying the flame of Sudanese brilliance and potential. Though initially designed to serve imperial interests, it became a remarkable achievement in the Middle East and Africa.The story of Sudan’s civil service is, to me, one of the most poignant reflections of our nation’s rise, fall, and persistent yearning for dignity. The Sudanese community watched it evolve — from a borrowed instrument of empire to a proud engine of national purpose, and then to its current broken state. Its journey mirrors our own: full of promise, battered by politics.In its prime, our civil service embodied a palpable sense of purpose. Civil servants — selected through rigorous exams, trained with care — were not mere functionaries; they were nation-builders, respected both at home and abroad. I grew up admiring these individuals, whose pressed shirts, trousers, tobes and measured words spoke of a deeper truth: that good governance begins not with grand speeches, but with punctuality, precision, and integrity. The “old boys” and the “matriarchs of government”, moulded in British-inspired institutions, shared a unique bond of camaraderie and discipline that profoundly shaped the nation’s governance, time and again to its benefit.However, that culture has eroded. Today, many offices open late, delays are routine, and indifference hangs in the air. Somewhere along the way, we lost our way. What followed was not a sudden collapse, but a slow corrosion. With each political shift came patronage, where loyalty was elevated over competence. Our civil service, once a sanctuary for the most capable among us, became a battleground of competing interests. I watched as merit was discarded, professionalism drained from institutions, and public trust withered. The machine that once ran with quiet efficiency began to falter, burdened by neglect, political meddling, and appointments of widely recognised unqualified individuals.It is a deeply sorrowful and shameful reality that we are destroying an invaluable legacy — one granted to us in a way others were not fortunate enough to experience — and doing so with reckless indifference and blind ignorance. Sudanese civil servants were not only tasked with managing our country’s affairs; they played a pivotal role in establishing municipal and service departments across several nations, particularly in Saudi Arabia and the Gulf region. Through their work and vision, they helped lay the foundation for modern infrastructure in these nations.Tragically, we have failed to recognise the immense potential within the Sudanese civil service. We squandered what could have been our greatest strength. Worse, we failed to understand its significance as the British did, with their keen foresight. Blinded by shortsightedness, we let this legacy slip away, never fully grasping its importance. Had we known how to manage and nurture what we had been entrusted with, our path could have been drastically different — we could have led with innovation and progress, rather than falling behind.The British administration in Sudan (1898–1955) recognised the untapped potential of Sudanese civil servants and worked to develop a professional and efficient administrative class. Moving beyond colonial hierarchies, they invested in training and mentorship to prepare Sudanese for leadership roles in governance. This initiative aimed not only to support colonial administration but also to cultivate future leaders capable of managing an independent Sudan.Through rigorous education, often in British institutions, Sudanese civil servants earned a reputation for competence and professionalism. As Sudan approached independence, the demand for local participation in governance increased, prompting the British to expand Sudanese representation in higher administrative roles. Though British dominance persisted for some time, efforts were made to replace expatriate officials with capable Sudanese counterparts.Unlike in many other colonies, where direct rule often came with harsh repression, Sudan’s governance by the British Foreign Office, combined with the leadership of graduates from prestigious institutions like Oxford and Cambridge, resulted in a comparatively more cordial form of colonial administration. This approach, led by a class of educated elites from Britain, was marked by a degree of co-operation with local elites and a focus on maintaining stability. It stood in stark contrast to the more aggressive and exploitative tactics employed in places like India. While not without its flaws, this system fostered a different dynamic between coloniser and colonised — one that was arguably less confrontational and more diplomatically inclined.Sir George Stewart Symes (1882–1962), a colonial administrator of rare foresight, proved instrumental in laying the bureaucratic groundwork for Sudanese self-rule. In 1943, in a move that raised more than a few eyebrows in Whitehall, he merged the seniority lists of British and Sudanese civil servants — an administrative sleight of hand that quietly placed Sudanese officials on equal footing with their imperial overseers. Four years later, a further reform barred non-Sudanese from entering the pensionable civil service, a policy shift that nudged the administration unmistakably towards national hands.The effects were swift. By 1955, Sudanese held 9,915 civil service positions. That number climbed to 11,521 the following year and to 15,868 in 1957. Within the span of a decade, the colonial bureaucracy had been, for all practical purposes, fully indigenised. From junior clerks to senior administrators, the Sudanese state had acquired a machinery staffed almost entirely by its own citizens.The handover was not left to chance. In 1946, the Sudanisation Committee was formed to guide the transition. Charged with scrutinising departmental plans and advising the Staff Committee, it ensured that the replacement of expatriates with Sudanese civil servants was neither haphazard nor merely symbolic. It was, rather, a strategic rebalancing — one that underscored a broader movement towards national sovereignty and institutional self-reliance.British colonial governors frequently praised the Sudanese civil service as “the best in Africa”, often describing it as “second to none”. Such accolades reflected the view that Sudanese administrators excelled in both skill and dedication, setting a benchmark across Africa and the Middle East.Under British rule, a well-structured civil service became the cornerstone of governance. Drawing on their experience in statecraft, the British implemented an administrative framework that brought order to a vast, diverse land, laying the foundation for Sudan’s development.When Sudan gained independence in 1956, we did not discard this colonial framework — we adopted it, infused it with our own vision, and sought to make it ours. It may have been foreign in origin, but we filled it with hopes of a nation united by shared service, built on discipline, merit, and the quiet heroism of daily work. Yet the winds do not always favour the ship. Those grand hopes were shattered.The coup of November 17, 1958, ended Sudan’s fledgling democracy when General Ibrahim Abboud seized power, dissolved parliament, and banned political parties. This marked the beginning of military dominance, ending a vital chapter in Sudan’s history. The coup was significant for Sudan and the continent — Sub-Saharan Africa’s first military coup and Africa’s second after Egypt’s in 1952. It ended the Westminster-style system, paving the way for cycles of coups, uprisings, and fleeting democracies. Although Abboud’s rule had limited effect on the civil service, it shook the nation’s political stability and prospects.After the irrational cry of leader Ismail al-Azhari, I would say that the first serious crack in the civil service’s façade of neutrality and professionalism came after the October 21, 1964, Revolution, though its impact was limited. A more decisive intervention occurred with Jaafar Nimeiri’s May 25, 1969, coup, which promised to purge reactionary forces — a goal initially fuelled by leftist zeal, later shifting to the right.The most devastating blow came with Omar al-Bashir’s military coup on June 30, 1989, orchestrated by Hassan al-Turabi of the Islamic Front. Where the left masked its encroachment on institutions as ideological purification, Turabi’s circle called their takeover “empowerment” — a euphemism for the complete restructuring of the civil service. By the 1990s, under Bashir’s regime, the civil service became increasingly politicised, with party loyalty determining appointments. This further eroded its effectiveness.The 2019 Revolution, driven by a desire for renewal, sought to dismantle this politicisation, intervening under the banner of “disempowerment” — a reclamation of merit and institutional integrity. But that fragile promise was again shattered by the military’s return on October 25, 2021, continuing the cycle of disruption. As of writing, the country faces ongoing civil war, political instability, and economic hardship. Today, there is no viable civil service. It is not merely an administrative apparatus; it is the conscience of the state, the invisible hand that gives form to governance. If Sudan is to rise from its ashes, it must do so not through slogans, but through the quiet, daily work of capable hands and principled minds. In this work — measured, disciplined, and purposeful — the true rebirth of a nation begins.Those early years remain etched in the national memory — a time when civil servants were esteemed not only for what they did, but for what they represented. Selected through rigorous exams, trained with care, and guided by duty, they carried themselves with distinction. In their dress and their offices, they embodied quiet excellence. Sudanese bureaucrats were counted among the finest in Africa and the Arab world, their counsel sought abroad, their discipline admired at home. They were not mere administrators — they were architects of a national vision rooted in justice, unity, and purpose.That golden image now lies in fragments. The collapse of education, erosion of institutional norms, and entrenchment of corruption have hollowed out the civil service. Where once young Sudanese were driven by purpose, many today are driven by necessity or wearied by disillusionment. Systems that once rewarded diligence and intellect now reward proximity to power. Training has dwindled, and with it, the culture of excellence has nearly vanished.This decline is not just bureaucratic — it is a national affliction. The civil service, once a vessel of hope, is now a shadow of its former self. Institutions meant to serve have lost their sense of service. Trust between citizens and the state has frayed. Teachers work without proper training, clerks labour without direction, nurses tend the ill with little support. Their perseverance is noble, but it cannot sustain a system that no longer sustains them.To rebuild the civil service is to reclaim Sudan’s soul. This requires more than technical fixes — it demands moral clarity and political will. Patronage and loyalty must be dismantled. Institutions must be depoliticised. Recruitment must be merit-based, performance fairly evaluated, and training restored as a cornerstone of reform. Ethics must be re-anchored, with civil servants held to standards worthy of their role as custodians of public trust.The task is formidable, but not impossible. With inclusive dialogue, strategic vision, and international partnership, Sudan can forge a civil service that is impartial, effective, and trusted. It will take time and perseverance, but the reward — a state that serves its people with dignity — is worth every effort.True reconstruction begins not with bricks, but with spirit. Sudan’s revival depends not only on rebuilding infrastructure but on restoring integrity, competence, and purpose within the civil service. Those who carry out the quiet work of governance must be equipped, protected, and held accountable. Their commitment must be matched by the state’s commitment to them.To close, it is important to emphasise that civil service reform in Sudan represents a crucial and necessary step toward the successful implementation of governmental policies. Without a well-functioning and efficient civil service, the plans and aspirations of politicians are bound to remain unfulfilled, ultimately amounting to little more than empty promises. The strength and effectiveness of the civil service form the foundation of any government’s ability to translate vision into reality. Our civil service strategies should prioritise rebuilding the state’s framework on robust, inclusive foundations, equipping it to meet the demands of its public responsibilities.([email protected])
