“My scientific English is much better than my normal English,” laughs Idris Mohammed, lightheartedly referring to his days of studying Veterinary Science; a complete change of mood from our previous sombre conversation.

Comfortably filling the space of the single seat sofa, the wall behind him adorned with family photos, his English is near to perfect. Coloured only by his rich accent and the occasional verb confusion, what is most striking is how he unknowingly makes reference to past events in the present. And in the context of Sudan’s tumultuous conflict, in many ways, he’s right.

 

Idris’ clash with the Sudanese government began after he was elected Chairman of the Kabkabia City Council, North Darfur.

 

“Hostility of Arab tribes increased severely and I complained to the government that this was not acceptable. All the chairman of the city were removed from their jobs and after two weeks all of them were returned except me. It was from tonight that the government wanted to arrest me.”

 

Wanted by the government, Idris spent the following years secretly moving throughout Sudan and narrowly escaping arrest by fleeing to Egypt with his family before coming to Australia in 2004.

 

The situation in Sudan is complex and much of the conflict was born from decades of racial dispute and the constant struggle for self-determination in the country’s south. The most recent violence occurred in Darfur in 2003 with two Darfurian rebel groups, angered by tribal discrimination, rising against the alleged government supported Janjaweed militia and Sudanese army.

 

Director of the ‘Sudanese Lost Boys Association,’ Akoch Manheim, grew up in South Sudan. As the war intensified he was forced to leave his family and flee to a Kenyan refugee camp in order to escape abduction and conscription into the army.

 

“The war started a long time ago, when the colonials left the country,” reflects Akoch, “but they left in a harsh context. It was difficult for Southern Sudanese people who had never been given the power to rule themselves.”

 

Close to 5 million people, like Idris and Akoch, have been pushed out of their homes by a government that until recently had not been held accountable.

 

On 4^th March 2009, the International Criminal Court (ICC) issued the first arrest warrant against a head of state. The Sudanese president, Omar al-Bashir, who took power in 1989 after a military coup, was charged with five counts of crime against humanity and two counts of war crimes in the Darfur region.

 

But five months after the ICC’s decision the opinion of the Sudanese refugee community, and arguably those who have been most affected, is yet to be heard.

 

Softly spoken, Yahya Abdelkarim has been in Australia just a year and a half. After the government and Janjaweed attacked his home in Darfur, he escaped to neighboring Chad and then travelled 3,700 kilometres to a Ghanaian refugee camp. At first, Yahya seems hesitant to talk about the past, revealing that most of his last memories of home are marked by fighting and famine.

 

“Every single day that pass in Darfur, men are killed, women are raped, children die of malnutrition, the situation is so miserable,” he says solemnly, “the people have lost hope. But when I heard about the ICC’s decision, I’m so happy. I think it’s going to bring justice to the victims.”

 

While Akoch Manheim is not from Darfur, coming from Southern Sudan, his life has nevertheless been impacted by the conflict and now, by the ICC’s decision.

 

“I’m not happy with al-Bashir for what he did, I’m not happy with the past generation for what they have left, I’m not happy with the situation in general,” he says, disappointedly shaking his head, “we count these charges on al-Bashir because this time, we learn and we go against someone who is making destruction in society.”

 

 

The prosecution’s decision to out rule genocide charges on the basis of insufficient evidence has been controversial and while the crimes listed reflect al-Bashir’s neglect of his responsibility to protect, many questions remain unanswered.

 

Idris Mohammed is close to rising from his seat. With a look of disbelief that moments later becomes frustration, he tries to comprehend how anyone could question whether the Darfur crisis is genocide.

 

“What I want to know is what people mean by genocide,” his voice beginning to rise, “if the government has killed innocent people, and if there are hundreds of cases of rape, and if there are thousands of graves, and if the government is not securing the area for people to live and if there is total collapse of education, of health, of everything …if this situation is not genocide, what can you call it?”

 

Idris is not alone in his dissatisfaction at the genocide dismissal. For Yahya Abdelkarim referring to the Darfur conflict as genocide is almost second nature as he labels the atrocities without hesitation and perhaps, with a fitting name.

 

“There are war crimes, crimes against humanity and genocide as well. They’re definitely killing people. They have had massacres,” he pauses, asking how to correctly pronounce this morbid reality, “yes, massacres. There are horrible things, horrible things over there.”

 

But international law is complex and although the warrant has been issued, the ICC is relatively powerless to impose its terms as al-Bashir’s latest unchecked activities suggest. And perhaps it is action too late from the international community who, until recently, have played a minor role.

 

“Unfortunately, sometimes I ask myself the question; why doesn’t the international community do things for our people?” says Yahya, confused yet without accusation, “sometimes I feel disappointed but I think if the international community care for this issue, they can bring peace.”

 

For many in the Sudanese community, like Yahya, Idris and Akoch, the ICC’s decision is a welcomed intervention and despite its flaws, the first step towards a peaceful future.

 

“First, al-Bashir must face justice,” says Idris resolutely, “if he is still in power, there will not be peace.”

 

Akoch Manheim however, is all too aware that after years of bitter fighting and governance by leaders who have served themselves at the expense of others, the community cannot pine their hopes on the arrest warrant alone.

 

“In Sudan, the military are there to protect the leaders, and if there is that military to protect him [al-Bashir], how will anyone within the country go against him? It is more complicated and there is a need for education,” he pauses with a determined look in his eyes, “we need to use our intelligence to build our nation, rather than use it to kill our people.”