Niemat Ahmadi, survivor of the Darfur Genocide, Sudanese women’s rights defender, and founder and president of Darfur Women Action Group, addressed the 17th Annual Geneva Summit for Human Rights and Democracy on February 18th, 2025.
Full Remarks:
Good Afternoon, everyone,
I am standing before you today, feeling incredibly dismayed that, 20 years after I was forced to flee the genocide in Darfur, I am talking about another genocide that has never been resolved. The world has not only abandoned the people of Darfur, but it has normalized the genocide.
I’m from Darfur, Sudan, and I grew up in a large, loving extended family in a small town in North Darfur. The people in my hometown are very kind; they like to help one another, even if you are a passerby.
I was the first woman in my family to go to college, and when I graduated, I was excited to work for an international organization, traveling to remote areas, delivering emergency relief, and implementing development projects.
The locals welcomed us, fed us, and gave us the best of what they had. They firmly believed we were bringing change to their community. And we actually did! It was so rewarding. You could see the impact instantly. I knew I wanted to do this for the rest of my life.
Regrettably, that dream worked, and all the beautiful memories were killed in one night.
It was the day that we went to a neighboring village to deliver a training. On our way back to the village we had just left, everything has changed. People were frantic—many wounded, many more killed—and everyone was quiet except for the sound of the wind on tree leaves.
We were shocked and saddened, not knowing what to do. Villagers said they saw a uniformed army coming on camel and horseback. They welcomed them under the shade of trees and served them food and water. Then, one soldier started taking belongings from the villagers and one man asked, “Why are you doing this?” And the soldier shot him in the head! That was how the massacre began.
We tried to fit as many people in our small car as possible to bring them to the hospital. But security agents stopped us at the entrance of the town and aggressively questioned us about the wounded people in our car. One of the officers told us not to tell anyone about the incident, and we were only let go after we assured him that we wouldn’t.
We took them to the hospital for treatment. To our surprise, we learned the next day that the security apparatus forced the doctors to discharge the wounded people, denying them lifesaving treatment.
Our organization immediately ceased operation. We knew the situation was bad. But we didn’t know that there was a plan underway to kill us all.
One week later, early morning, my mom was banging on my door. “Why are you sleeping? Get up! Don’t you see?” I jumped out of bed, carried my shoes in one hand, and ran to the gate. It was unbelievable—I could see a smoke coming from all four directions and see people running into the town.
Soon after, a horse rider arrived, saying that 50 villages had been burned to the ground, many people had been killed, and there were children running around barefoot with no clothes. The government forces threatened to shoot anyone who tried to help the victims. It was the saddest day, and scariest day of my life.
In the following days, the government army and the Janjaweed militias started beating displaced people, forcing them to go back to where they came from—their burning villages. We all felt helpless.
Civilians began taking people home to shelter them. They collected money to aid those fleeing and prepared food for them.
But then the government arrested 50 of the most prominent men in the town—teachers, leaders, businessmen—my two brothers, uncles, and everyone I knew. They accused them of disturbing the peace, took them to an unknown place, and tortured them for two years.
I wanted to help, and I start organizing a group of women, but the government banned gatherings of more than two people to stop us from organizing. We had to do mobile meetings.
Then, one day in 2002, I barely escaped an attempt on my life. I was working by the market with two other women, coming back from assisting a pregnant mother in labor, when suddenly a masked man grabbed me from behind, and started choking me, and was pulling me closer to his direction. I saw the army truck nearby, I screamed for help. No one did anything but stare at me. The man pulled me closer, and when he reached to his knife, I reached to his mask. His face was about to expose. Then he pushed me so hard that I hit my head on the ground and black out for a second. Then he ran away.
Later, I realized he must have been a local Janjaweed that hired by the government to kill me to stop the work that I was doing. Otherwise, he would not have hid his face. I was shaking. I collected my shoes and I didn’t know what to do. Luckily, two brothers I knew approached me and took me home. When I tried to report the attack to the police, they refuse. They rather made fun of me.Â
My family and I were terrified. I stayed home for a week. But the violence got worse. I knew deep in my heart that we’re dying anyways. I eventually decided that I would rather die on the street helping others than die hiding underneath my bed.
In 2003, when the genocide got international attention, the targeting of activists have increased. We were harassed and threatened. Many went into hiding, and some advised me to leave the country. My mom said, “Niemat, you are outspoken; if you stay, we may all be killed and if you leave, you can be a voice to tell the world about what is going on in Darfur, and they may help to stop it.”
For so long, I would refuse to leave, but with that hope of being a voice, I left. Leaving my loved one behind, knowing that they would endure unimaginable suffering, made me feel so guilty. So I had to work hard. I never thought I would be alive to address you today.
In my first year in the United States, I traveled to over 23 states, speaking to universities, human right groups, and policymakers, sharing my story and the stories of the Darfur genocide victims. Telling my story is not about me anymore. It is about the men, women, and children who have survived in makeshift camps for two decade and are still being hunted. The women who have been repeatedly raped. Those abducted and still missing. The thousands who have died in Khartoum because simply they can’t make that call to seek help.
For the Masalit people who are slaughtered in Al Junaynah—because of who they are—entire families were wiped out, with no one left to tell their stories. For the women survivors, the women victims of a mass suicide in Al Jazirah, who felt the world had abandoned them. For all the children in the Darfur camps, where a child dies every two hours due to malnutrition.
Today, as I speak to you, the world has left millions of Sudanese to die in silence because of indifference. May you all speak your conscience to the world, to have a heart, and finally wake up and do something for Sudan.
I cannot conclude without recognizing the courage and the resilience of the Sudanese women. When the war started, and all internationals, including humanitarian agencies, left the Sudan, it felt like the end of the world. Soon, the women of Sudan—the youth—took up the challenge of being frontline humanitarian workers, helping their family and communities survive while keeping the international community informed.
I founded the Darfur Women Action Group to empower and amplify survivors and bring their voices to a global stage. Today, we are right on the ground in remote camps. Even though we are small organization providing lifesaving assistance and bringing the voices of survivors on a global stage, our organization has become a symbol of hope for millions in Sudan.
We are not helpless, but we cannot do it alone. Will you help? You must speak up and compel the international community to do something. Silence, it only aid the perpetrator. Silence kills more people.Â
Thank you.
17th Annual Geneva Summit for Human Rights and Democracy, U.N. Opening, Monday, February  17, 2025
Key Quotes:
“I am speaking before you today, feeling incredibly dismayed that after 20 years after I was forced to flee the genocide in Darfur, I am speaking about another genocide and that has yet to be resolved.”
“In 2002, I barely escaped an attempt on my life and was attacked in the center of the city in a market. A masked man grabbed me from behind and started choking me. I screamed for help. When he reached for his knife, I reached for his mask, when his face was about to be exposed, he pushed me so hard that I hit my head and blacked out for a second. He then ran away. Later I realized he must have been a local Janjaweed, hired by the government to kill me to stop the work that I was doing.”
“I refused to leave [Sudan], but my mom told me, “Niemat, you are outspoken; if you stay, we may all be killed, and if you leave, you can be a voice to tell the world about what is going on in Darfur, and they may help stop it.”
“The world has left millions of Sudanese to die in silence because of indifference. May you all speak your conscience to the world, to have a heart, to finally wake up and do something to help and do something for Sudan.”
