Sudan’s war victims are mostly civilians – 12 million displaced, more than 40,000 killed, and one million facing famine in Darfur.

For Sudanese journalists, telling that story is a trap. They walk a tightrope between survival and silence.

The lucky ones escape abroad. Many cannot, forced to dodge bullets, endure hunger, and still tell the story. They carry the weight of exhaustion, fear, and despair. They are not just covering a war—they are trapped in it.

In El-Fasher, North Darfur, one of the last strongholds in a shattered region, journalists are besieged. The Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ) has reported that media workers face hunger, sexual violence, and threats of execution under constant bombardment.

Friends describe rationing food while wondering if tomorrow brings an airstrike, an arrest, or worse. They speak of reporting from a city that has itself become a prison.

I think of a colleague in Zalingei, Central Darfur, seized by Rapid Support Forces (RSF) fighters even after he had stopped working after the local radio station was shut down when the war erupted. He was detained without charge, cut off from family and a lawyer. His only ‘crime’ was being a journalist in Sudan.

Amnesty International has documented arbitrary detentions, torture, and disappearances of journalists and activists. What Amnesty calls “violations of international law” are, for my colleagues, daily realities: vanishing without explanation, being dragged from checkpoints, or targeted simply for holding a press ID.

Danger beyond borders

The danger extends beyond Sudan’s borders. A Sudanese journalist in exile in Sorman, Libya, told me: “The first thing you must forget here is that you are a journalist. There are no jobs, no safety, no identity. You are just an outsider, vulnerable to hatred.”

He described locals storming his home with knives, forcing his sick wife and children into the street. Another time, he was robbed of a small sum of money — yet for him, the real theft was dignity, the feeling that his life was disposable.

For Sudanese journalists in Libya, exile strips away both homeland and professional identity. Systemic discrimination compounds this loss. Rights groups document abuses in detention centres—forced labour, extortion, overcrowding, denial of medical care. Sudanese journalists, once storytellers of others’ suffering, now endure it themselves, voiceless and powerless to publish or protest.

In late September, anti-migrant protests erupted across western Libya — Sabratha, Misrata, Zawiya, and Sorman — under banners of “Libya for Libyans” and “Migrants go home.” The violence that followed – raids on migrants’ homes and businesses – swept up Sudanese refugees.

For journalists who fled war in their homeland, the nightmare has followed them into exile, trapping them in a cycle of insecurity, discrimination, and silence.

Besieged at home

Inside Sudan, the picture is no less grim. In El-Fasher, journalists endure a siege that has cut off food, medicine, and humanitarian aid. CPJ has documented rape, hunger, and persecution of media workers trapped in the city, calling it one of the darkest chapters for press freedom in Sudan.

Since the war broke out in April 2023, dozens of journalists have been killed, detained, or forced into hiding — often for nothing more than reporting.

The plight of journalists mirrors the wider tragedy. UN figures cite tens of thousands killed and millions displaced since fighting broke out between the Sudanese Armed Forces and RSF. Agencies warn of catastrophic hunger, a near-collapse of the health service, and mounting civilian deaths.

Amnesty has repeatedly highlighted patterns of detention, disappearance, and torture. Its reports link arms flows and escalating military operations to worsening risks for civilians and journalists —abuses that may amount to war crimes under international law.

The Sudanese Journalists Syndicate has tried to document violations and advocate for its members, condemning kidnappings and detentions while appealing for international action. Limited by war, it remains a vital voice of resistance.

What stays with me most are not the reports but the voices of colleagues who still bear witness. One journalist in Khartoum told me: “Every time I pick up my phone to report, I ask myself—is this worth my life? And every time, I remind myself that silence is also a kind of death.”

Covering Sudan means confronting that question every day. It means recognising that as journalists we are not only reporting suffering – we are living it. And it means insisting, despite the fear, that our stories matter. Because without them, Sudan’s war is not just a humanitarian crisis. It is a silence that threatens to erase a nation.

The UN, CPJ, and Amnesty have sounded the alarm. Now the responsibility lies with the international community, media organisations and fellow journalists worldwide: to demand protection, provide safe passage and ensure Sudan’s journalists are not left alone. Until then, covering Sudan will remain not just a profession, but an act of survival.