Despite the signing of the Comprehensive Peace Agreement in January 2005, a separate conflict lingers in the Darfur region of southern Sudan where Arab militias, known as Janjaweed, casually attack civilians and refugee camps.

Imagine suffering all of that, and then imagine yourself actually lamenting, "Peace can also a problem."

In 1993, during Sudan's monstrous civil war, Allison College was founded in the southern town of Morsak. Less than a year after the seminary opened, the northern government forced the community from the country. It was apparently believed that forcing it from the country would put an end to the college.

When the seminary community began to rebuild in northern Uganda -- and began to rebuild stronger than before -- the Sudan National Islamic Front hired a band of northern Ugandan rebels to burn the college to the ground. The seminary was forced further into exile, where it finally found a semblance of peace in its present location of Arua, Uganda, some 11 years ago.

It is tempting to view the present situation in Sudan as a strictly north-versus-south, Arab-versus-black African, Muslim-versus-Christian conflict. Unfortunately, the truth is far more complicated. In many cases during the civil war -- sometimes due to the insidious machinations of the northern government and sometimes due to the sad reality that where there is a vacuum of power evil will often rush in -- violent conflict arose throughout the country, "tribe against tribe, clan against clan, family against family." This is why, according to Dr. Oliver Duku, dean of Bishop Allison Theological College, the implementation of a truth and reconciliation commission -- if not by the civil authorities (who already have rejected such an idea) then by the church -- is so critical to Sudan's future.

Source of help
During the civil war, the church was the one place citizens could reliably turn for help. The church was the one institution willing to take the risk to hold both the northern government and southern army (the SPLA) accountable for their respective abuses. It is this history of integrity, Duku says, that gives the church the authority to act today as a primarily means of reconstruction, development and sustainable peace for Sudan.

"We believe that theological education is a priority in the healing of the war-traumatized people of the Sudan, but not necessarily traditional [Western] theological education," he says. "Rather, it must be a holistic ministry, which can be readily shared with all the people of our country through seminars, workshops and capacity building exercises, and must include subsistence and environmentally sustainable agriculture, HIV/AIDS prevention and care, skill development such as carpentry and, of course, various forms of counseling. Facilitating reconciliation is the integral piece of the work we are called to do, both privately as priests and publicly as community leaders."

There is perhaps no one more qualified than Duku to lead such an effort: not only as he follows in the footsteps of his colleague and friend, Archbishop Emeritus Desmond Tutu of Southern Africa, but also because he knows personally just how costly discipleship can be. As a medical doctor, Duku once was the director of health planning, training and laboratory services for the region of South Sudan -- until the northern government took his job to favor one of its own.

Amidst fabricated accusations of mismanagement and threats of worse, Duku turned to the church for help. The church quickly recognized Duku's gifts for ministry -- indeed, knew of his gifts from lay leadership previously offered -- and sent him to the United States for formal training and then to be dean of the theological college in its present location in northern Uganda.

Even though almost all of his students are strategically placed back in Sudan, Duku says he believes, to be most effective, he and the current seminary community also must return -- to be an embodiment of the reconciliation they proclaim. When asked about the risks of returning to Sudan, and whether he was fearful of speaking so boldly about the history of their persecution, Duku says simply: "It is the truth. And the truth must be told. Come whence it will, cost what it may."

Running the risk of reprisal, however, is not the only trouble this community must face. As Duku wearily explains, "Peace can also be a problem."

After decades of civil war, even though land in Southern Sudan already has been donated and new buildings are under construction, funding for the relocation project has steadily declined -- ever since the ratification of the 2005 Comprehensive Peace Agreement. A recent study by Columbia University's School of Journalism found that humanitarian crises that demand the greatest response are those with high death rates, those that include suffering children and those with clear national-security implications. Unfortunately, the current situation beyond Darfur -- which also has suffered a decline in donations -- has none of those compelling features.
 
Elie Wiesel, the childhood survivor of the Holocaust who went on to win the Nobel Peace Prize and has taught for many years at Boston University, once said that the opposite of love is not hate. The opposite of love is indifference.

Peace may indeed be tedious. Peace may not offer any refugee-camp photo opportunities. But peace never should be a problem, especially, if genocide in Darfur is to be prevented from rekindling the flames of hatred for the rest of Sudan.

Macram Max Gassis, the Sudanese bishop who first won international respect when he testified before the U.S. Congress in 1988 concerning human rights abuses in his country, recently had this gracious response to the issue of compassion fatigue. "Love should never become tired. Love is a dynamic reality that grows. But if it fails to grow, it will die."

The survival of the Comprehensive Agreement depends on instruments of peace like Bishop Allison College.