The Making of Nile Valley Unity

From the late 19th century onward, Sudan held a central place in the Egyptian national imagination as an inseparable part of the unity of the Nile Valley. Rooted in earlier imperial ambitions, this vision was nurtured under the monarchy through schools, press, and nationalist rhetoric that portrayed Sudan as a natural extension of Egypt’s territorial and cultural domain. Its origins lay in Muhammad Ali Pasha’s 1820–21 conquest of Sudan, a campaign launched to secure Egypt’s southern frontier, access resources, and control key trade and agricultural zones.Footnote ⁶ Although Egyptian rule was disrupted by the Mahdist Revolt (1881–99), territorial claims to Sudan endured.Footnote ⁷ The 1899 defeat of the Mahdists by Anglo–Egyptian forces resulted in the establishment of the Anglo–Egyptian Condominium (1899–1956), a nominal partnership that in practice left Britain in control of both Sudan and Egypt. Yet Egypt’s loss of direct authority over Sudan did not diminish its sense of entitlement. Successive governments continued to regard Sudan as vital to Egypt’s national identity and control of the Nile. As nationalism intensified in the early 20th century, the idea of Nile Valley unity became a cornerstone of Egypt’s visions of postcolonial sovereignty and territorial integrity. This conviction endured until 1956, when the Free Officers formally recognized Sudan’s independence, ending Egypt’s territorial claims and inaugurating a new phase in Egyptian–Sudanese relations.

This historical trajectory has inspired a wide body of scholarship centered on Anglo–Egyptian relations during their joint administration of Sudan (1899–1956), Egypt’s pursuit of Nile Valley unity, and Sudan’s path to independence. Historians have explored the political, social, and cultural dimensions of the “Sudan question,” emphasizing its entanglement with competing Egyptian and British imperial projects.Footnote ⁸ As many studies show, after World War II successive Egyptian governments sought to reassert control over Sudan, and Britain—motivated by imperial pride, Cold War strategy, and its growing attachment to the region—resisted.Footnote ⁹ This rivalry defined the late colonial moment.

Although this scholarship has richly mapped the political and imperial rivalries surrounding the Sudan question, it has largely overlooked the religious mechanisms through which Egypt sought to sustain its influence, especially under the Free Officers. In this article, I explore this dimension by examining the role of Islamic institutions and functionaries in Egypt’s postrevolutionary project of Nile Valley unity. I argue that Islam was central to how the Free Officers sought to preserve influence in Sudan, with al-Azhar and its networks serving as key tools for reconfiguring Egypt’s vision of Nile Valley unity.

I make two main contributions. First, I revise how we understand the role Islam played in the Free Officers’ early political agenda, especially in Sudan. Existing scholarship has explored the ideological, political, and social foundations of Egyptian nationalism as they relate to the Sudan question, from Anglo–Egyptian relations during the condominium to postwar debates over Nile Valley unity and Sudanese independence. Scholars have shown how Egyptian nationalists viewed Sudan as integral to Egypt’s territorial identity and regional ambitions, and others have expanded this view beyond elite politics, highlighting how popular and social actors shaped and contested ideas of identity and unity with Sudan.Footnote ¹⁰ Yet, despite this rich body of work, religion and its institutions remain largely absent from the discussion. The only focused study of Egypt’s religious activity in Sudan offers a descriptive account of Cairo’s promotion of Islamic education and Arabic instruction without situating these efforts within the Free Officers’ broader political agenda.Footnote ¹¹ By contrast, in this article, I show how the military rulers systematically mobilized al-Azhar and Sufi networks as instruments of statecraft to redefine and sustain Egypt’s authority in Sudan.

Second, I reinterpret Egyptian–Sudanese relations after 1952, challenging popular perceptions that Nasser and the Free Officers abandoned Sudan. Rami Ginat portrays the Free Officers’ policies as a rupture with the nationalist consensus on Nile Valley unity and a betrayal of Egypt’s historical claims—a view that echoes earlier critics such as Muhammad Jalal Kishk, who accused them of “abandoning Sudan.”Footnote ¹² Hanan Mahmud ʿAzzuz, however, presents the Free Officers’ stance as strategic adaptation rather than retreat, emphasizing their continued pursuit of unity through diplomacy.Footnote ¹³ Yet both perspectives overlook a crucial dimension of Egypt’s Sudan policy: the role of religion. By tracing the networks, missions, and forms of religious diplomacy that linked Cairo and Khartoum, I argue that the Free Officers did not abandon the ideal of Nile Valley unity but reimagined it. Religion became a central language of politics through which Egypt sought to sustain its influence in Sudan and navigate the shifting landscape of postcolonial Africa.

To develop this argument, I draw on previously unexamined archival material that challenges the prevailing view of post-1952 Egypt as a “history without documents.”Footnote ¹⁴ Using untapped collections from the Egyptian National Archives, particularly files from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Military Intelligence, I trace the central role Islamic institutions played in the Free Officers’ political strategy. I complement this with British Colonial and Foreign Office records from the British National Archives, offering a new perspective on the Free Officers’ Sudan policy, one that highlights the political utility of religious networks and the strategic use of pan-Islamic discourse in reshaping Nile Valley geopolitics. In doing so, I complicate popular perceptions of Nasser’s regime as avowedly secular, showing instead that Islam and its institutions were integral to the political project of post-1952 Egypt.

The Free Officers and the Sudan Question

Before 1952, successive Egyptian governments engaged in protracted negotiations with Britain to revise the 1936 Anglo–Egyptian Treaty and secure full sovereignty. One of the central sticking points that thwarted any settlement was Sudan.Footnote ¹⁵ Egyptian leaders insisted on the indivisibility of the Nile Valley, whereas Britain invoked Sudanese self-determination to preserve its own dominance. For Egyptian nationalists, Sudan was both an inseparable part of the nation and a symbol of resistance to imperial partition. Yet this irredentist vision increasingly collided with emerging political realities as a distinct Sudanese nationalism took shape. Rooted in the legacy of the Mahdist revolt, Sudanese anticolonial sentiment evolved into organized political movements during the interwar and postwar decades. The 1936 treaty, which reaffirmed Anglo–Egyptian control while excluding Sudanese participation, intensified calls for self-determination.Footnote ¹⁶ Egyptian policies deepened this mistrust: for instance, King Faruq’s 1950 proclamation as “King of Egypt and Sudan,” intended as a gesture of sovereignty and defiance toward Britain, was seen by many Sudanese as a veiled annexation that exposed the imperial undertones embedded in Egyptian nationalism.Footnote ¹⁷

These developments reshaped politics across the Nile Valley. In Sudan, politicians were divided between unionists favoring association with Egypt and separatists demanding independence. Confronted with this reality, Egypt’s monarchy began easing its resistance to Sudanese self-determination. In mid-1952, Prime Minister Ahmad Najib al-Hilali invited Sudanese leaders to Cairo to discuss the future of Egyptian–Sudanese relations and the prospect of Sudan’s self-determination.Footnote ¹⁸ Although al-Hilali still sought to frame Sudanese self-determination within the bounds of Egyptian oversight, the initiative nonetheless signaled Cairo’s growing recognition that Sudan’s political aspirations could no longer be dismissed or dictated unilaterally.Footnote ¹⁹ This diplomatic opening, tentative yet significant, would shape the approach of the Free Officers who soon overthrew the monarchy.

When the Free Officers seized power in July 1952, they inherited the Sudan question in all its complexity. Rather than sweeping away its contradictions, they managed it with strategic pragmatism. The Free Officers understood that clinging to Egypt’s traditional claims to Sudan risked derailing their larger goal of ending British occupation of the Suez Canal Zone and restoring full sovereignty. Accordingly, they reframed the Sudan question as a diplomatic lever rather than a test of nationalist orthodoxy, willing to accept Sudanese self-determination if it advanced British withdrawal.Footnote ²⁰ Figures such as Muhammad Naguib had personal ties to Sudan, and others, including Gamal Abdel Nasser and Hussain Sabry, had served there and witnessed the depth of Sudanese nationalism firsthand.Footnote ²¹ For them, the issue was not whether self-determination would occur, but how Egypt might shape its outcome. The Free Officers, therefore, redefined Egypt’s ambitions in anticolonial terms, adapting their Sudan policy to the new realities of decolonization and emerging Sudanese nationalism rather than breaking with the past.

This recalibrated strategy took shape almost immediately. In the weeks after the revolution, the Free Officers invited Sudanese politicians to Cairo, signaling a new openness to dialogue. By August 1952, the talks resulted in what al-Ahram characterized as a transitional blueprint: an interim administration, national elections, and ultimately a parliamentary decision on whether to pursue independence or union with Egypt.Footnote ²² These talks culminated in the Anglo–Egyptian Agreement of 12 February 1953, which affirmed Sudan’s right to self-determination and established a three-year transitional period.Footnote ²³ For the Free Officers, however, the agreement was not an endpoint but the start of a new phase in Egypt’s struggle over Sudan, which they continued to regard as central to their anticolonial mission and regional leadership.

Determined to shape the outcome, the Free Officers sought to use the transitional period to sway Sudanese public opinion regarding their future with Egypt and to revive the ideal of Nile Valley unity. Major Salah Salim led a wide-ranging campaign of political and cultural outreach that cast Egypt as Sudan’s partner in liberation rather than a hegemonic power. Through the press, radio, and sustained engagement on the ground, he promoted a vision of shared development in agriculture, education, and infrastructure. His personal diplomacy often took theatrical forms—donning local dress, attending weddings, and participating in local festivals—efforts that earned him both admiration and mockery, ultimately inspiring the nickname “the dancing Major.”Footnote ²⁴ Yet behind these theatrics lay a calculated strategy: to redefine Egypt’s relationship with Sudan as one of fraternity and partnership, not domination.

Religion was central to this rebranding effort. Recognizing Islam’s power to confer moral legitimacy and emotional appeal, the Free Officers made Islamic diplomacy a cornerstone of their campaign to rally Sudanese support for Nile Valley unity. In doing so, they drew on long-standing precedents of deploying religious authority as a tool of Egyptian influence, revealing a deeper continuity between the monarchy and the revolutionary regime.

Putting Azharis to Work

Long before the 1952 revolution, Islam had been deeply embedded in Egyptian politics, serving as both a tool of governance and a source of state legitimacy. Scholarship on al-Azhar and Sufi orders reveals how these institutions evolved from relatively autonomous religious bodies into instruments of state influence. Under the monarchy, rulers regularly mobilized al-Azhar’s authority and Sufi networks for political ends.Footnote ²⁵ Earlier Egyptian governments had already recognized the strategic value of religious networks in projecting influence across the Nile Valley. In 1950, for example, General Muhammad Salih Harb, a former minister of defense, called for establishing Islamic institutions in Sudan to deepen religious education and fortify bonds of faith and culture between the two peoples.Footnote ²⁶ His proposal captured the essence of Egypt’s evolving strategy: to wield Islam as a subtle instrument of soft power and regional ascendancy.

Building on this prerevolutionary foundation, the Free Officers inherited and transformed these modes of religious statecraft. Their use of Islam did not emerge in isolation but extended earlier patterns of instrumentalization, adapted to the needs of a postcolonial order. The Free Officers’ religious policy therefore represented not a rupture but an intensification of long-standing statecraft policies. After 1952, the instrumentalization of Islam deepened, especially under Nasser, as al-Azhar became fully integrated into the structures of the modern state, increasingly centralized, politicized, and mobilized to serve regime objectives.Footnote ²⁷ Although scholarship has largely emphasized al-Azhar’s domestic role, growing attention now highlights its transnational reach through educational missions and global networks.Footnote ²⁸ Its involvement in the Free Officers’ struggle for power in Sudan adds an important dimension to this history, showing how Islam was mobilized not only for internal legitimacy but also as an instrument of regional diplomacy, advancing Egypt’s vision of Nile Valley unity amid British rivalry and rising Sudanese nationalism.

In tandem with Major Salim’s diplomatic efforts, the Free Officers launched a coordinated program of religious outreach to foster Islamic solidarity and cultural alignment between Egypt and Sudan. Central to this project were Azhari shaykhs, state-employed clerics affiliated with al-Azhar and the Ministry of Religious Endowments, who operated less as independent scholars than as bureaucrats within an expanding state apparatus. This process of bureaucratization, which began under the monarchy and accelerated under Nasser, enabled the regime to harness religious authority for political legitimacy and to advance its agenda across the Nile Valley.Footnote ²⁹ At the same time, it granted Azhari shaykhs new institutional power and public prominence.

Among this emerging bureaucratic religious elite, Shaykh Ahmad Hasan al-Baquri stood out as the central architect of the Free Officers’ Islamic diplomacy. A former de facto leader of the Muslim Brotherhood, an eminent Azhari scholar, and a close confidant of Nasser, al-Baquri became Egypt’s first minister of religious endowments after the 1952 revolution.Footnote ³⁰ Combining scholarly prestige with political office, he embodied a new model of state-aligned religious leadership that fused legitimacy with governance. He quickly became the revolution’s leading religious voice, promoting its ideals of Islamic reform, national renewal, and postcolonial sovereignty, while also advancing Egypt’s religious diplomacy regionally.Footnote ³¹ This was most evident in Sudan, where he gave the campaign for Nile Valley unity a distinctly religious cast.

Four months after the revolution, al-Baquri led a high-profile state-sponsored religious delegation to Sudan that included Major Salim and prominent Azhari scholars like Shaykh Surur al-Dinkawi and Shaykh Jamal al-Din al-Sanhuri, both of whom had long-standing ties to Sudanese communities.Footnote ³² Although most scholarship had credited Salim as the chief architect of Egypt’s early outreach to Sudan, contemporary media offered a different narrative, presenting al-Baquri as the delegation’s official head and public face. This portrayal intentionally recast the visit as a religious rather than political endeavor. By placing a senior Azhari scholar and cabinet minister at the forefront, the media foregrounded the delegation’s spiritual and cultural dimensions while downplaying its political intent. In doing so, it helped construct a narrative of Islamic solidarity and civilizational continuity that reimagined Egypt’s role in Sudan as an expression of fraternal religious solidarity rather than colonial legacy.

The delegation’s importance was underscored by its formal send-off in Cairo, attended by military officials, state dignitaries, and the deputy of the Grand Shaykh of al-Azhar, an event that elevated it beyond routine diplomacy. In his farewell remarks, al-Baquri framed his visit to Sudan within a discourse of Islamic fraternity and shared civilization, declaring that Sudanese “self-determination” must rest on “the mutual desires of brothers bound by religion, language, customs, and traditions.”Footnote ³³ Through this rhetoric, he redefined Egypt’s relationship with Sudan not as political domination but as spiritual kinship, blurring the line between solidarity and influence and cloaking Egypt’s regional ambitions in the moral language of faith and shared heritage.

The delegation’s composition embodied this vision. Led by al-Baquri—whose Azhari pedigree, Brotherhood ties, and cabinet position made him an ideal conduit for Egypt’s soft-power campaign—it fused religious authority with political power, enabling the Free Officers to pursue their geopolitical aims under the banner of Islamic fraternity. Supporting al-Baquri were Shaykh Jamal al-Din al-Sanhuri and Shaykh Surur al-Dinkawi, whose religious stature and social networks lent the mission credibility and local reach. Al-Sanhuri, a prominent Sudanese cleric and founding member of the Muslim Brotherhood’s Sudanese branch, had studied in Cairo, where he forged close ties with Egyptian Islamists and Azhari scholars and later founded the National Front of Nile Valley Students to advance the cause of Egyptian–Sudanese unity.Footnote ³⁴ Complementing him was al-Dinkawi, an Azhari scholar from southern Sudan and founder of the Southern Sudanese Students’ Lodge ( Riwāq al-Janūb) at al-Azhar, who bolstered the delegation’s influence through his strong ties across the south. Together, they endowed the delegation with religious legitimacy and local reach, connecting it to Muslim Brotherhood circles, Sufi orders, and tribal leaders, and embedding Egypt’s message of unity within Sudan’s religious and social fabric.

Al-Baquri’s visit to Sudan set these networks into motion. In Khartoum, he met with leading Sufi shaykhs and the Grand Qadi of Sudan, toured Egyptian-sponsored schools such as al-Khartoum High School, and dined with students. He also visited the Coptic College and Coptic Girls’ High School in Omdurman, signaling a message of national unity and interreligious harmony. The visit to Khartoum culminated in a major public address at Dār al-Thaqāfa (House of Culture) on “religion and society,” attended by nearly 4,000 people. In his speeches, al-Baquri framed the Egypt–Sudan relationship as “a religious and historical partnership anchored in Islam and united in resistance against Western imperialism.”Footnote ³⁵ He framed Nile Valley unity as a civilizational project grounded in cultural revival, spiritual leadership, and a shared postcolonial destiny—positioning Egypt not as a hegemon but as a political partner in shaping Sudan’s future. This vision became central to Cairo’s strategy for securing Sudanese support ahead of the 1953 elections.

Building on this momentum, al-Baquri’s delegation extended its mission into southern Sudan, a move of both strategic and symbolic significance. After a week in the North, the Azharis embarked on a high-profile tour of the South, directly challenging the British-imposed “Southern policy,” which sought to isolate the region by emphasizing its non-Muslim character and maintaining separate administration.Footnote ³⁶ Although British officials expressed willingness to negotiate Sudan’s future, they insisted on retaining control over the South, warning that northern Muslim influence threatened its distinct culture. The Free Officers rejected this partitionist vision, insisting on Sudan’s political and territorial unity. Against this backdrop, the Azharis set out to counter British narratives and reaffirm the South’s place within a unified Nile Valley. Central to this effort was Shaykh al-Dinkawi, whose dual identity as a southern Dinka and an Azhari scholar positioned him as a crucial intermediary between Cairo and the South.

Based in Cairo yet deeply connected to his home region, al-Dinkawi served as a key conduit between southern Sudanese communities and Egypt’s religious institutions. He facilitated the conversion of many southern students to Islam, arranged their study at al-Azhar, and housed them in a lodge he founded under its patronage.Footnote ³⁷ His inclusion in the delegation lent the mission local credibility, undermining British claims that Egypt’s interest in the South was superficial. In Khartoum, he met with southern leaders, denouncing the Southern policy as a colonial ploy to divide Sudanese. He attributed Egypt’s limited presence in the South to British obstruction rather than neglect and emphasized shared religious and political aspirations as the foundation for Nile Valley unity.Footnote ³⁸

With this groundwork laid, the delegation embarked on its most ambitious undertaking, a ten-day tour of southern Sudan. Arriving in Juba on 29 December 1952, al-Baquri and his team were received by officials, merchants, and local residents before touring Juba, Jambu, Madi, and Rumbek. Throughout the tour, they met with tribal chiefs, Sufi leaders, and local dignitaries, visiting mosques and schools and presenting Egypt as a partner in southern development rather than a northern hegemon.Footnote ³⁹ Beneath this conciliatory outreach, however, lay a sharp anticolonial message. At every stop, the Azharis condemned British missionaries for weaponizing Christianity, and al-Baquri accused them of “making capital out of Christianity just as they are making capital out of imperialism.”Footnote ⁴⁰

This confrontation was more than rhetorical; it was central to Egypt’s bid to redefine its role in the South. Building on al-Baquri’s message, al-Dinkawi cast the Azharis as liberators sent to free the region from “the clutches of colonialism.” He blamed the British for Sudan’s “primitive” conditions, “nudity and paganism,” and offered Islam as the path to both moral and material renewal.Footnote ⁴¹ For both al-Baquri and al-Dinkawi, Islam and civilizational uplift were inseparable: they presented themselves as spiritual redeemers leading the South’s moral and social regeneration. Al-Baquri proposed a plan for this regeneration, led by Azhari-trained Sudanese who would establish religious centers as “radiating hubs of enlightenment” to guide southern communities and “restore their humanity” after decades of colonial neglect.Footnote ⁴² In reframing their mission this way, the Azharis reimagined Egypt not as an imperial power but as a civilizing force rooted in Islam and Nile Valley heritage, while depicting British colonialism as the source of division and decay.

Yet this emancipatory rhetoric carried its own contradictions. Beneath its language of uplift and civilizational rescue lay tropes that reproduced the very hierarchies the Azharis sought to dismantle. As Eve Troutt Powell observes, Egypt’s dual role as both a former colonial subject and an aspiring hegemon produced the paradox of the “colonized colonizer,” repurposing the discourse of empire to justify new forms of dominance.Footnote ⁴³ In appealing to southern Sudanese, the Egyptian shaykhs invoked tropes of backwardness, emancipation, and reform that echoed European imperial narratives, merely replacing Christian evangelism and Western civilization with Islamic enlightenment and Nile Valley unity. Rather than dismantling imperial hierarchies, Egypt reconfigured them, cloaking its ambitions in Sudan in the language of anticolonial solidarity. While promoting unity and challenging British rule, the Azharis at the same time reinforced North–South hierarchies and projected a civilizational superiority recast in Islamic terms. Through this dual discourse of resistance and paternalism, they advanced a distinctly Egyptian vision of postcolonial order still entangled in the structures of empire it claimed to resist.

This tension was not lost on contemporaries. British officials, increasingly apprehensive about Egypt’s expanding presence in Sudan, viewed al-Baquri’s tour as a direct threat to their authority. After completing their ten-day southern itinerary, the Azhari delegation spent another week in Khartoum before embarking on a fifteen-day tour of the eastern and western regions, an unmistakable sign of the Free Officers’ intent to extend their reach across Sudan.Footnote ⁴⁴ These activities deepened British fears that Egypt was using religion as a tool of anticolonial mobilization.

Concern soon gave way to action. On 10 January 1953, the British civil secretary in Sudan wrote to the chief staff officer of the Egyptian troops condemning al-Baquri’s “inflammatory” speeches in the South and his planned tour of the western regions. The letter warned that al-Baquri, despite his diplomatic standing, remained “subject to Sudanese law,” reflecting Britain’s growing unease over Egypt’s expanding religious outreach and its challenge to colonial authority.Footnote ⁴⁵ Within days, British anxiety deepened. On 21 January, Governor-General Sir Robert George Howe sent a confidential telegram to the Foreign Office, describing al-Baquri as a political agent of the Free Officers and the Azhari mission as a “decisive countermeasure against the church missionary activities in the south”—a campaign he deemed simultaneously anti-Christian and politically subversive.Footnote ⁴⁶ Howe warned that al-Baquri’s campaign risked inciting unrest and “stirring up religious opposition to the present regime.”Footnote ⁴⁷ Citing recent anti-Christian riots in el-Fasher, allegedly provoked by Azhari students, he urged London to pressure Cairo to cancel al-Baquri’s tour and ban his return to the South. His appeals reflected mounting British fears that Egypt’s religious diplomacy had evolved into a destabilizing instrument in the wider struggle for political influence in Sudan.Footnote ⁴⁸

These reports alarmed officials in London. Sir Reginald J. Bowker, assistant undersecretary of state, instructed the British ambassador in Cairo to issue a formal protest, warning that it would be “intolerable if Egyptian officials are henceforth to have a free hand in the Sudan to the extent of stumping the country making inflammatory notes.”Footnote ⁴⁹ For British policymakers, Egypt’s religious diplomacy was not benign outreach but part of a coordinated effort to expand Cairo’s influence through religion and replace British authority with an alternative order grounded in Islam and anticolonial solidarity.

Unity through the Umma

British anxiety over Egypt’s religious diplomacy did little to deter Cairo; rather, it deepened the Free Officers’ conviction that religious influence could serve as a powerful instrument of soft power and postcolonial legitimacy. Determined to institutionalize this approach, they moved to expand Cairo’s cultural presence among Sudanese communities in Egypt. In February 1953, they established the Bureau of Cultural and Social Affairs to oversee Sudanese residents in Egypt, especially university students, whose growing numbers and activism made them ideal intermediaries.Footnote ⁵⁰ Sudanese student enrollment rose from 764 before 1953 to 2,000 by 1954, with sixty percent studying at al-Azhar.Footnote ⁵¹ Recognizing their potential, Cairo offered scholarships, stipends, and cultural programs to draw these students into its ideological orbit.Footnote ⁵² On 22 February 1953, for example, President Naguib met southern Sudanese students at al-Azhar, hailing them as “my dear sons, students from the Upper Nile,” and urging them to return home as messengers of Egypt’s unity and liberation. His appeal embodied Egypt’s bid to cultivate Sudan’s emerging elites, a policy Britain denounced as fomenting anti-imperial sentiment and expanding Cairo’s influence in Sudan.Footnote ⁵³

Building on these student initiatives, Egypt broadened its campaign in Sudan through a network of Azhari-run schools, clinics, and cultural centers that addressed local needs while promoting pro-unity ideals. As Sudan prepared for its November 1953 elections, Cairo intensified its outreach, sending out educators and preachers to organize lectures and charity drives that wove messages of Islamic fraternity and Nile Valley unity into the fabric of daily life.Footnote ⁵⁴ Egypt’s strategy appeared to bear fruit: the pro-Egyptian National Unionist Party won a decisive majority in the elections, forming Sudan’s transitional government and leading negotiations over its future. Egyptians hailed the outcome as a diplomatic triumph and a step toward union, whereas critics accused Cairo of manipulating the process through propaganda and bribery.Footnote ⁵⁵ Undeterred, the Free Officers expanded their religious diplomacy to secure loyalty among the Sudanese public.

This momentum carried into early 1954 when the Free Officers sent another round of high-level religious envoys to Sudan. Working with Salim, al-Azhar dispatched prominent Azhari shaykhs such as Shaykh Muhammad Nur al-Hasan to consolidate its influence on the ground.Footnote ⁵⁶ A native of northern Sudan, al-Hasan had moved to Cairo in 1910 to study at al-Azhar, where he rose to become a teacher, scholar, and member of the High Council of ʿUlamaʾ. By 1949, he chaired the Inspection Committee for Religious Curriculum at al-Azhar and, after the 1952 Egyptian revolution, became deputy to the Grand Shaykh—the first and only Sudanese to hold that post. For the Free Officers, al-Hasan, like al-Dinkawi, embodied both local credibility and institutional authority, making him an invaluable bridge between Egyptian and Sudanese religious circles in advancing Nile Valley unity.

Drawing on this standing, al-Hasan articulated Egyptian–Sudanese unity through the lens of the umma, framing it as a sacred bond rooted in shared Islamic faith. In his reports to al-Azhar and Salim, he condemned British efforts to divide the Nile Valley umma through missionary activities, educational restrictions, and limiting Sudanese access to al-Azhar. Echoing al-Baquri and al-Dinkawi, he presented Arabic and Islam as the core forces capable of binding Egypt and Sudan into a single spiritual community. To realize this vision, he called for expanding support to Sudanese schools, sending additional Azhari teachers, and cultivating an Islamic political consciousness among Sudanese youth. For al-Hasan, unity with Egypt was not merely a political aspiration but a sacred obligation embedded within a broader civilizational mission. The umma became a potent rhetorical tool, merging nationalist ambition with religious solidarity and casting Egypt as “the spiritual and cultural epicenter of the umma to which Sudan naturally belonged.”Footnote ⁵⁷

Al-Hasan’s invocation of the umma, however, was not a nostalgic return to classical Islamic universalism. Instead, it was a modern, politically adaptive rearticulation tailored to the needs of a postcolonial state navigating the pressures of decolonization and regional competition. His vision reflected a broader mid-20th-century trend in which newly independent Muslim-majority states reimagined the umma as a flexible ideological construct—one that could evoke Islamic solidarity while simultaneously serving the strategic imperatives of the nation–state.Footnote ⁵⁸ This reconfiguration was clearly pronounced in Egypt, especially as Nasser consolidated his power. In his Philosophy of the Revolution, Nasser emphasized the political utility of Islam, envisioning an “Islamic circle” that, together with the Arab and African circles, positioned Egypt as the natural leader of a vast Muslim community.Footnote ⁵⁹ Al-Azhar served as the institutional engine for this vision. Yet this ambitious project soon ran aground. Egypt’s discourse of Islamic unity with Sudan collided with the unfolding realities of decolonization and the rise of Sudanese nationalism, exposing the limits of Cairo’s religious diplomacy.

The Collapse of the Unity Project

Egypt’s campaign to promote Nile Valley unity through Islam ultimately unraveled amid Sudan’s growing political fragmentation and Egypt’s own internal unrest. Early prospects for union had appeared promising under Sudanese Prime Minister Ismaʿil al-Azhari, a staunch advocate of unity with Egypt. By the June 1955 elections, however, the tide had shifted.Footnote ⁶⁰ Support for union collapsed amid mounting opposition from anti-unionist parties, rising Sudanese suspicion of Egyptian intentions, and two destabilizing crises within Egypt itself: the Naguib–Nasser power struggle and Nasser’s confrontation with the Muslim Brotherhood.

A decisive blow to the unity project came with President Naguib’s forced resignation in November 1954, an event that reverberated deeply in Sudan. As the figurehead of the 1952 revolution and Egypt’s first president, Naguib embodied a unique personal and historical connection to Sudan. His grandfather died defending Khartoum during the Mahdist revolt of 1885, his father served in its administration, and Naguib himself was born, educated, and started his military career there.Footnote ⁶¹ Egyptian propaganda capitalized on these ties, portraying him as the living embodiment of Nile Valley unity, a symbol of kinship rather than imperial ambition.

Naguib’s removal from office, however, shattered this image. Following a brief but decisive struggle with Nasser over control of the army and the state, Nasser emerged victorious, forcing Naguib to step down in November 1954 and placing him under house arrest.Footnote ⁶² For many Sudanese, Naguib’s downfall was not merely a domestic Egyptian affair but a symbolic betrayal of the unity project itself.Footnote ⁶³ Demonstrations erupted in Khartoum, where crowds chanted, “lā qiyāda bilā Najīb” (no leadership without Naguib) and “lā wiḥda bidūn Najīb” (no unity without Naguib), mourning the loss of a leader who personified the unity ideal.Footnote ⁶⁴ The fall of a figure so closely tied to Sudanese identity transformed Egypt’s image from a fraternal ally to a neoimperial power. As Sudan prepared for its 1955 elections that would determine its relationship with Egypt, Nasser’s consolidation of authoritarian power rendered Egypt less a model of liberation than of control, further weakening its moral and political influence across the Nile Valley.Footnote ⁶⁵

This disillusionment deepened in the months that followed. Nasser’s crackdown on the Muslim Brotherhood later that year confirmed Sudanese fears that Egypt’s revolution had betrayed its ideals. In Sudan, where the Muslim Brotherhood maintained more than twenty-five branches closely aligned with pro-unionist circles, the crackdown on its parent organization in Egypt reverberated sharply.Footnote ⁶⁶ During the Naguib–Nasser power struggle, the Brotherhood had backed Naguib as a check on Nasser’s authoritarianism, but after an alleged assassination attempt on Nasser the regime arrested over four thousand members and executed six.Footnote ⁶⁷ This crackdown sparked protests in Khartoum, where Brotherhood members denounced Nasser as an enemy of Islam, chanting “lā ittiḥād bilā Islām” (no union without Islam) and “aʿdāʾ al-Ikhwan aʿdāʾ Allah” (enemies of the Brotherhood are enemies of God).Footnote ⁶⁸ Political dissent took on an explicitly theological dimension, recasting Cairo’s unity campaign as a secular and authoritarian project at odds with the Islamic values it once invoked.

The backlash soon spread beyond Islamist circles as secular and nationalist voices joined in, portraying Egypt as a new hegemon. Southern Sudanese students, for instance, denounced Nasser’s regime as a “government of slaughter” ruling “with iron and fire.”Footnote ⁶⁹ Even Ismaʿil al-Azhari, once the most ardent advocate of union, began to withdraw his support. In a conversation with British officials, he admitted that Sudan’s alignment with Egypt had been purely tactical: “No one in his senses, having thrown off one master, would put himself under a new one.”Footnote ⁷⁰ His remark crystallized a broader shift in sentiment, as many Sudanese increasingly viewed Egypt less as a liberating ally and more as an aspiring overlord.

Sensing the shift, British officials quickly sought to exploit the changing mood. Recasting themselves as champions of Sudanese independence, they focused on winning over Ismaʿil al-Azhari. Within six months, their strategy succeeded: al-Azhari accepted an invitation to London, signaling a dramatic political realignment. Once Cairo’s staunchest ally, he now called for full Sudanese independence, rejecting both British tutelage and Egyptian dominance.Footnote ⁷¹ To reinforce his new position, al-Azhari launched an anti-Egyptian campaign through state media, especially Omdurman radio, portraying Egypt’s actions as a violation of Sudan’s sovereignty. He also moved to limit Egyptian influence by revoking press permits for pro-Egyptian outlets and restricting the movement of Egyptian officials in Sudan.Footnote ⁷² Alarmed by this reversal, Cairo scrambled to regain its footing in Sudan.

Instrumentalizing Sufi Networks

As Sudan drifted further from Egypt’s orbit, Cairo responded with a sweeping campaign to reclaim its influence. Egyptian newspapers branded al-Azhari and his allies as British agents, and Salim accused him of “working more vigorously against Egypt’s interests than the British.”Footnote ⁷³ Most significantly, the regime intensified its use of religious diplomacy, turning to Sudan’s influential Sufi orders to counter rising anti-unionist sentiment. By courting Sufi leaders and invoking centuries-old bonds of faith and kinship, Cairo sought to harness their spiritual authority to revive the waning ideal of Nile Valley unity. Azhari shaykhs once again served as the regime’s preferred intermediaries.Footnote ⁷⁴ Through a coordinated effort involving the Ministry of Religious Endowments, general intelligence, military intelligence, and al-Azhar, Egypt systematically identified, funded, and cultivated ties with key Sufi leaders in Sudan. The goal was twofold: to channel Sufi networks’ popular legitimacy toward Egypt’s geopolitical agenda and to establish a centralized religious authority, directed from Cairo, that bound Egyptian and Sudanese Sufi orders into a shared spiritual and political project.

This coordination peaked in 1955, when Salim dispatched Shaykh Mustafa al-Tayyib, a senior inspector from the Ministry of Religious Endowments, on a covert mission to Sudan. Operating as both preacher and intelligence operative, al-Tayyib was tasked with assessing anti-unionist sentiment in Sudan and recruiting sympathetic Sufi leaders. After touring villages in Sinnar, Rasris, and Qadarif, he reported to Muhammad Abu Nar, deputy director of the Ministry of Sudanese Affairs, that grassroots support for unity remained strong and that Sufi orders were key to shaping local opinion on the issue. Encouraging Cairo to capitalize on this influence, he recommended enlisting prominent Egyptian Sufis, particularly Shaykh Hafiz al-Tijani, to strengthen ties with Sudanese counterparts. He also proposed creating a joint Sufi council under al-Azhar’s patronage to institutionalize Egypt’s religious diplomacy and consolidate its transnational influence.

Nasser’s government swiftly translated al-Tayyib’s recommendations into policy. The Egyptian Military Intelligence office (EMI) assumed operational control, issuing a directive to the communication office in Khartoum, titled “Religious Affairs in Sudan and How to Utilize Them to Promote the Unionist Idea.”Footnote ⁷⁵ The document outlined plans to cultivate relations with Sudan’s major Sufi orders, including al-Ansar, al-Mirghaniyya, al-Sammaniyya, al-Shadhiliyya, and al-ʿAzmiyya, and to mobilize their influence in service of Egypt’s unity agenda. At its core was an effort to merge Azhari and Sufi networks into instruments of Egyptian power. To that end, Sudanese Sufi leaders were invited to Cairo, where they were hosted by the Grand Shaykh of al-Azhar and senior scholars who framed union with Egypt as “the nucleus of a united Islamic umma.” To reinforce these ties, EMI allocated funds for mosque renovations, Sufi festivals, and pro-unity publications, material incentives designed to bind Sudanese Sufi leaders to Cairo and channel their authority toward Egypt’s political agenda.Footnote ⁷⁶

Building on these measures, EMI acted on Shaykh al-Tayyib’s advice and recruited Shaykh Hafiz al-Tijani, head of Egypt’s Tijaniyya Sufi order.Footnote ⁷⁷ In May 1955, EMI reported that Shaykh al-Tijani had pledged to act “as an intermediary for the unity agenda,” to “take all his orders from Egypt,” and to “submit to whatever we ask.” With influence stretching across Sudan and West Africa, al-Tijani became a powerful conduit for Cairo’s message, enabling Nasser’s regime to portray political union as a sacred duty endorsed by a respected Sufi authority. This alliance soon yielded results. EMI reported to Salim that al-Tijani had rallied leading Sudanese Sufis and urged the prime minister to reconsider his anti-union stance. The report emphasized the Sufi community’s receptivity to unity and encouraged Cairo to “move swiftly in cultivating that sentiment.”Footnote ⁷⁸

Al-Tijani’s recruitment formed part of a broader state strategy to harness the spiritual capital of Sudan’s Sufi orders in support of Egypt’s Nile Valley unity project. Among the most active collaborators was the Egyptian Sufi order al-Ahmadiyya al-Maraziqa. In meetings with the deputy director of the Ministry of Sudanese Affairs, its shaykh criticized previous Egyptian governments for neglecting Sudanese Sufi networks and urged Nasser’s regime to rebuild these ties. He proposed inviting Sudanese Sufi leaders to Egypt’s national celebrations to cultivate a shared sense of identity and “belonging to Egypt.” These gestures were reinforced by tangible incentives, including funding for Qurʾanic school renovations, granting honorary Azhar degrees, and expanding scholarships for Sudanese students.Footnote ⁷⁹ Through this blend of recognition and patronage, Cairo sought to draw Sudanese Sufis into its nationalist orbit and channel their religious authority toward advancing Egypt’s regional ambitions.

Cairo’s collaboration with al-Ahmadiyya order deepened in August 1955 with the planned visit of its general secretary, Ahmad Shams al-Din, to Sudan. Working in coordination with the order’s Sudanese branch, Azhari emissaries in Omdurman, and EMI operatives, Shams al-Din’s mission sought to mobilize leading Sufi shaykhs in Sudan and stage public religious events in support of unity. He proposed joint appearances between Azhari shaykhs and al-Ahmadiyya leaders in key Sudanese cities, where coordinated sermons would highlight the Sufi pedigrees of senior Egyptian Azharis—including the Grand Shaykh of al-Azhar—as evidence of a shared spiritual heritage. To reinforce these appeals, he requested funds to distribute ornate copies of the Qurʾan and finely crafted prayer beads on behalf of the Grand Shaykh and President Nasser, gifts meant to convey esteem and symbolize Islamic solidarity and national unity.Footnote ⁸⁰

Yet these gestures concealed a broader political agenda. In his correspondence with EMI, Shams al-Din identified two key objectives: to secure Sudanese Sufi support for Nile Valley unity and to establish a Sufi council in Khartoum modeled on its Egyptian counterpart.Footnote ⁸¹ The proposal envisioned a higher council of Sufi orders that would integrate Egyptian and Sudanese Sufis under Cairo’s leadership. Funded and administered by the Egyptians, the council was intended to unify Sufi networks across the Nile Valley and extend Egypt’s spiritual authority into Sudan. Although the plan was never realized, it exposed the core of Egypt’s religious diplomacy: the calculated use of faith-based institutions and devotional ties as instruments of political power and regional dominance.

This attempt to formalize Sufi coordination encapsulated Cairo’s strategy of cloaking regional aspirations in the language of Islamic solidarity. Through Azhari envoys, EMI operatives, and Sufi orders, the regime fused religious and intelligence networks into a single apparatus that projected Egyptian authority as spiritual fraternity. Yet as Sudanese nationalism intensified, the gap between Egypt’s postcolonial rhetoric and its hegemonic practices became increasingly difficult to obscure. The very institutions Cairo sought to co-opt instead evolved into sites of resistance, hastening the collapse of the unity project and paving the way for Sudanese independence.