There’s a video I can’t get out of my head.
Armed men walking through a hospital. Stepping over bodies.
They filmed it themselves.
Doctors, nurses, patients. All lying motionless on the floor they once worked to save lives on.
The beds still made.
The monitors still blinking.
The laughter of the killers echoing louder than the machines.
The floors ran red that day.
And they laughed.
This wasn’t a battle.
It was a massacre. Filmed, documented, and shared like a trophy.
In El-Fasher, the blood has soaked so deep into the ground that you can see it from space.
Yale researchers studying satellite images said they can see the bodies.
Thousands of them.
Lying side by side, 5 to 6 feet long. The size of a human being.
They weren’t there 48 hours ago. Now they are.
And they’re being buried in haste.
Mass graves carved into the earth to hide the evidence.
To make it look like nothing happened.
But something did. Something is still happening.
More than 2,000 people killed in days.
Women and children kidnapped, tortured, used as props in videos of cruelty.
A woman who watched them murder her husband and knew she’d be next
then threatened with her three children if she screamed.
They are killing people on camera and laughing about it.
They want the world to see and still do nothing.
Our silence is their power.
But we’ve seen this before, haven’t we?
We saw Gaza under siege, and we refused to look away.
We showed up. We spoke. We acted.
And now, we must do it again.
Because Sudan is bleeding and the world is pretending not to see.
But we see it.
We see the hospitals turned into graveyards.
We see the mothers searching for their children among the dead.
We see the sky reflecting red.
And we will not let Sudan die in silence.
Not while we have breath.
Not while we can still speak.
We showed up for Gaza.
Now we show up for Sudan.
Because humanity doesn’t get to choose which suffering is seen.
And compassion doesn’t stop at borders.
Until Sudan breathes again,
Hafsa