TEHRAN- In an exclusive conversation with the Tehran Times, Mukesh Kapila, the former UN Resident and Humanitarian Coordinator in Sudan and one of the earliest international officials to publicly expose the Darfur genocide, delivers a stark and urgent warning.

Two decades after he sounded the alarm, Kapila says the violence unfolding today is not only a tragic repetition, but a far more brutal and technologically advanced assault on civilians.

Speaking with the clarity of a longtime witness to mass atrocities, he reflects on the collapse of global mechanisms that once constrained such crimes, the deepening lawlessness shaping Sudan’s conflict, and the unbearable realities faced by besieged communities in El Fasher. His reflections reveal a world that has learned little, and a crisis that grows darker by the day.

The following is the text of the interview:

How do you assess the scale and methods of violence used in Darfur compared to earlier atrocities during your tenure as UN resident coordinator in Sudan?

The situation today is even worse than what I witnessed 20 years ago as the UN chief in Sudan. The primary reason is the significant advancement in the technology of war. Back then, the attackers came with AK-47s, horses, and camels.

Today, they operate drones, use advanced surveillance tools, carry more sophisticated machine guns, and move in well-equipped technical vehicles such as Toyotas.

They are also better trained. Many of these fighters previously took part in conflicts in Yemen, gaining experience over the past two decades. As a result, the atrocities have become more “efficient”—meaning the same crimes, including killings, massacres, and widespread sexual violence, are now carried out with modern weaponry that increases the scale and speed of death.

Another major difference is the pattern of displacement. During the first genocide, people who were attacked managed to flee—crossing borders or escaping into the desert.

Today, the RSF, who are essentially the sons of the Janjaweed fighters from 20 years ago, have imposed sieges on towns and erected barriers to prevent civilians from escaping. People are now trapped inside these towns and subjected to mass killings. In that sense, what is happening today is far worse.

The RSF is targeting everyone: doctors, nurses, patients in hospitals, women, children, the elderly. People are beaten, abused, raped—including men—and massacred with a level of cruelty that defies language. 

What underlying political, social, or military dynamics do you believe have allowed such violence to reemerge so dramatically today?

What happened 20 years ago unfolded in a very different international environment. At that time, when I spoke out from my UN position, the world was still paying attention.

The UN Security Council was functioning, resolutions were being implemented, and peacekeepers—both UN and African Union forces—were deployed on the ground.

It was one of the first joint hybrid peacekeeping operations, and it worked. Humanitarian assistance was also flowing, including support for refugees who fled to neighboring countries such as Chad.

In short, the international system—its legal mechanisms, political tools, and humanitarian frameworks—was operational.

None of that exists today. We now live in an environment where anyone can attack anyone, anywhere, at any time. It is a profoundly lawless moment in global affairs. The political and legal restraints that once acted as barriers to mass violence have largely disappeared. That is the key difference.

This resurgence of violence is happening at a time when the world is more lawless, fragmented, and indifferent than ever before. That is the most significant underlying dynamic enabling today’s atrocities.

As someone who has spoken directly with survivors and witnessed displacement firsthand, what are the principal challenges communities face today, especially amid the situation in El Fasher?

First, on the notion of a “mass exodus” from El Fasher—unfortunately, I wish that were the case. Only a few thousand people have managed to escape. Around 200,000 civilians remain trapped inside the city.

What we should be seeing is a real mass exodus—hundreds of thousands fleeing—because, in the absence of international assistance, escape is the only viable means of survival. Some have succeeded, many have died while trying, but the overwhelming majority remain besieged.

Survivors today are facing an entirely new level of brutality. In the past, we often did not know what was happening until we arrived on the ground. Journalists—people like you—were prevented from entering conflict zones, and even UN officials faced severe restrictions. That remains true today; international media still cannot access these areas.

However, the critical difference is that ordinary civilians now have mobile phones and social media. These extraordinarily brave individuals record what is happening and send it to the world in real time.

We hear their voices and see their footage in ways that were impossible 20 years ago. Satellite imagery also reveals the scale of violence—bloodstains on the ground, mass graves, even the outlines of individual bodies. In that sense, we are watching this catastrophe unfold minute by minute.

What witnesses describe is not just killing; it is the nature of the cruelty. Civilians are not only being shot—they are being systematically tortured and subjected to extreme forms of sexual violence.

For women in El Fasher, the likelihood of being raped may be as high as 50 to 75 percent, regardless of age—from children to grandmothers. These acts have nothing to do with sexual motives; they are expressions of deliberate, calculated brutality.

The RSF is targeting everyone: doctors, nurses, patients in hospitals, women, children, the elderly. People are beaten, abused, raped—including men—and massacred with a level of cruelty that defies language. I struggle to find words strong enough to capture the horror unfolding there. It is pure terror.

The Janjaweed—the fathers of today’s RSF fighters—had been created by President Omar al-Bashir and his government.

How do you assess the involvement of foreign powers in prolonging and intensifying Sudan’s civil conflict?

Sudan has long been a poor country with limited industrial capacity; it does not manufacture advanced weaponry such as drones or sophisticated targeting systems.

Those capabilities must therefore come from outside. Darfur, in particular, is rich in resources—most notably agricultural land and gold—and that wealth has been exploited to finance the purchase of arms from abroad.

Weapons and munitions of diverse origins have been documented in Sudan over the years. Once arms enter the market, they spread rapidly and widely; locally available weapons often include items produced in multiple countries.

This proliferation means that even if a government or supplier did not intend for weapons to end up in a particular conflict, exported arms can still find their way there through intermediaries and the global arms market.

There are persistent allegations about regional involvement: claims that the United Arab Emirates has supported the Rapid Support Forces (RSF), and that Egypt has provided backing to the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF).

I am not a security analyst and cannot independently verify every intelligence claim, but it is unmistakable that regional powers have had their fingers in the pie—whether through economic links, diplomatic encouragement, or more direct forms of support.

Meanwhile, control of Darfur’s gold and other resources has given certain armed groups the means to procure weapons on the international market. With access to revenues from mineral extraction, parties to the conflict can acquire armaments through a variety of channels, fueling and prolonging violence.

The direct consequence for civilians in Darfur is catastrophic. External support and weapons proliferation intensify fighting, increase the lethality and reach of attacks, and prolong sieges and displacements.

Resources extracted from the region help finance the very forces that pillage communities, deepen insecurity, and make any political or humanitarian solution far more difficult to achieve.

There are persistent allegations about regional involvement: claims that the UAE has supported RSF, and that Egypt has provided backing to the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF). 

What are your reflections on the adequacy and failures of the UN and international agencies, past and present, in responding to mass atrocities in Darfur?

The UN and the broader international system have largely stopped functioning over the past decade, primarily due to global geopolitics.

There is the Western bloc, then Russia and China. Regionally, the African Union, which should have intervened, and the League of Arab States, as a regional organization, should also have been involved. But both are equally paralyzed by their own regional considerations.

In practice, this means that everyone neutralizes everyone else. The UN and regional organizations are ultimately only the sum of their member states. The UN cannot act if member states disagree, and it has no independent military or police force.

Twenty years ago, the system worked to some extent. Using my UN position at the time, I was able to demand action, and we managed to interrupt the genocide. But we did not address the root causes, and those underlying issues have returned to haunt us. That is a major part of today’s problem.

We also cannot realistically expect multilateral organizations to act effectively if external countries continue to fuel the conflict and are unwilling to stop. The mechanisms exist, but the political will is absent.

Given your personal experiences, could you take us back to that time and describe what you witnessed on the ground—the scale of human suffering, the challenges in dealing with Sudanese authorities and the UN bureaucracy, and the moment you realized you needed to speak out?

It was an extremely difficult decision. When you work within an organization, your instinct is to remain loyal to it and try to use your position to resolve problems internally. At that time, I held the highest UN position in Sudan.

My first task was to understand what was happening—by traveling to Darfur, flying over affected areas, speaking with communities, and visiting towns such as El Fasher.  I went to every place that you now hear about in the media. My goal was to use the UN’s neutrality to push for solutions.

But the Sudanese government simply would not listen. The Janjaweed—the fathers of today’s RSF fighters—had been created by President Omar al-Bashir and his government. And today’s SAF fighters are essentially their sons.

RSF and SAF are, in a sense, cousins born from the same political lineage who have now turned against one another. When I engaged the authorities, they responded with polite assurances but consistently denied humanitarian access, denied information, and refused to restrain forces on the ground.

I also received harrowing testimonies from survivors. I remember one woman—whom I call Aisha in my book—who walked all the way from Tawila to my office in Khartoum.

She described how she had been raped and what had happened to her community. Listening to her story was the moment I realized that writing memos and speaking quietly to officials was no longer enough. I had to take a stand.

I reported everything to UN headquarters in New York. Kofi Annan was Secretary-General at the time. Yet even there, I encountered resistance.

The Iraq war was unfolding, consuming diplomatic attention, and senior officials were reluctant to intervene in another major crisis.

Meanwhile, Western intelligence satellites monitoring Iraq were also capturing images of Darfur. Coming from a government background, I eventually learned that Western powers had far more detailed knowledge of what was happening than I did.

The permanent members of the Security Council shared this intelligence among themselves, so the UN leadership was not unaware.

But despite this, no one acted. The Sudanese government became even more aggressive as I raised concerns, and my appeals were ignored both in Khartoum and at UN headquarters.

That is when I decided to speak publicly. If governments would not listen to me, then I would speak to the people of the world—and the way to do that was through the media.

I spoke to the BBC, CNN, Al Jazeera, and every outlet that requested an interview. I even remember giving interviews to Iranian media. My view was simple: when it comes to protecting civilians, it should not matter where you come from or what your politics are—we should stand on the same side.

Speaking out was an act of desperation, but it was necessary. As head of the UN, my words carried weight in a way that the voices of ordinary human rights activists—however committed—often do not. When the UN’s top official in the country declares that a government is committing atrocities, the world pays attention.

I paid a heavy personal price. I received death threats, was expelled from Sudan, and ultimately lost my job. But I would do it again. The story is detailed in my book, where I explain everything that happened: https://www.mukeshkapila.org/books/against-a-tide-of-evil/