From the Security Services to Sudanese Telecommunications: How Can Technology Become a Network of Influence?
In Sudan, telecommunications have never been an ordinary economic sector. Since the widespread adoption of mobile phones and the internet, telecommunications companies have become part of the state’s strategic infrastructure, while digital information has acquired greater value than many traditional assets.
For this reason, the issue of individuals with backgrounds in the security services who later moved into telecommunications and technology deserves close scrutiny. This is not because working in technology constitutes an accusation in itself, but because the combination of technical expertise with security and political connections can create a broad network of influence in the absence of transparency and oversight.
The material before us presents one example of this issue through the figure of Kazem Zain Al-Abidine Al-Sarraj.
According to the circulating account, he began his academic career in the field of technology before moving into telecommunications. The article states that he worked for Zain Telecom and later contributed to the establishment of Marjan Telecom.
The most sensitive part of this account, however, concerns the company’s alleged links to the National Intelligence and Security Service under the former regime.
This point cannot be treated as an established fact without documentary evidence. It nevertheless raises an important question: how did the security state make use of the private sector?
In many authoritarian regimes, the private sector is not entirely independent of political power. Companies may be owned by businessmen while relying on government contracts, financing, privileges, or political connections for their expansion.
This does not automatically mean that every company working with the state is a security-linked company, nor that every businessman who has ties to an official becomes part of a security apparatus. However, when activities involve sectors such as telecommunications, cybersecurity, and digital systems, transparency becomes particularly important.
The article also claims that Al-Sarraj was involved in technological and security-related projects and participated in the development of systems connected to the state. His name was also reportedly associated with a project known as “Teleboard,” which was said to have operated from within the Signal Corps camp in Bahri.
If these claims are accurate, the natural question would be: why would a commercial or technological project operate from within a military facility? And what was the legal and financial relationship between the project and the military institution?
Modern states cannot manage sensitive sectors according to a logic of simply “knowing the right people.” They require clear rules separating the state, the military, security agencies, and the private sector.
The article also refers to activities involving telecommunications towers in border areas and at locations outside Sudan. If this information were substantiated, it would make the issue even more sensitive, because establishing telecommunications infrastructure in strategic areas may involve security and military considerations in addition to commercial ones.
Once again, however, it is necessary to distinguish between established facts and information that is merely circulating. The existence of a company operating in telecommunications does not mean that it works for a security agency. The fact that a technical expert works with a military institution does not mean that he is a security officer. And proximity to a military official does not, by itself, establish an organizational relationship. A professional investigation begins with documentary evidence.
In this context, a broader issue emerges, extending beyond any individual: the legacy of the security state in Sudan.
The former regime did not rely solely on the security services and the military. It also maintained an economic, media, and technological system, along with networks of businessmen, officials, and experts.
Following the fall of the regime, an attempt was made to dismantle this system through the Empowerment Removal and Anti-Corruption Committee.
But dismantling an economic or security network cannot be achieved simply by confiscating a company or dismissing an official.
Knowledge cannot be confiscated. Relationships cannot be confiscated. Technical expertise cannot be confiscated.
And human networks can reproduce themselves in new environments.
This is why one of the greatest dangers during a transitional period is that the debate could turn into a hunt for individuals while the underlying system remains intact.
If an influence network linked to telecommunications exists, the solution is not merely to remove one individual. It requires examining the contracts that passed through that person, the companies associated with them, their partners, sources of financing, assets, accounts, and the government bodies that dealt with them.
At the same time, an investigation must not turn into a campaign of defamation.
A person who has been accused remains an accused person until responsibility is established, and having worked under the former regime does not automatically make someone a criminal.
The standard should be: What did the person do?
What did they own? How did they obtain the privilege?
Did they abuse their position? Did they unlawfully obtain public funds? Did they use state institutions for personal benefit?
Did they commit crimes?
If these matters are not established, allegations must not be presented as facts. If they are established, however, the issue becomes much larger than a single individual.
The case of Al-Asjad reveals another dimension of the issue, involving the transition from telecommunications to financial technology. In July 2026, the company emerged publicly in connection with the banking transaction-switching system, and a ceremony marking the launch of the licence was held in Port Sudan in the presence of officials and representatives of the banking sector.
The company subsequently stated that it was the first private company to meet the requirements for obtaining the licence, while later reports discussed the cancellation of the licence and the controversy surrounding it.
This brings us to the central point.
Sudan needs technology.
But it needs transparent technology.
It needs a strong private sector, but it also needs a private sector subject to oversight.
It needs experts, but it needs expertise to be separated from illegitimate influence.
The problem is not that someone is an expert.
The problem arises when expertise becomes a gateway to influence.
Nor is the problem that companies cooperate with the state.
The problem arises when a government contract becomes a personal privilege that is not subject to competition and transparency.
For this reason, the real debate surrounding Kazem Al-Sarraj, or any other individual, should not turn into a trial conducted through social media.
Only then will it be possible to determine whether Sudan is dealing simply with a technology expert who expanded his business activities, or with an example of a deeper network involving the intersection of security, politics, economics, and technology.
