Rarely in the annals of United Nations peacekeeping has so much been spent, with such high expectations, for so little result. When the Darfur rebels of the Justice and Equality Movement (JEM) recently attacked Omdurman, advancing within less than 3 kilometers of the presidential palace in Khartoum, not one but two vast UN peacekeeping operations were irrelevant bystanders.

Sudanese President Omar Hassan al-Bashir knew JEM was coming. JEM's leader, Khalil Ibrahim, had been threatening regime change ever since he rejected the Darfur Peace Agreement in May 2006 and, supported by Chad, was building a military force to be reckoned with. On May 9, the Sudanese Ministry of Foreign Affairs called an extraordinary meeting with UN and embassy representatives in Khartoum and told them a large rebel force was on its way. Despite being detected the force reached Omdurman the following day, and attacked it from two sides.

JEM failed in its stated aim of capturing Khartoum, across the Nile from Omdurman, but before being forced to retreat brought under fire a number of military and security installations, including the Wadi Saydna Air Force Base north of Omdurman, the Central Reserve Police northwest of Omdurman, and the Engineer Corps in the Omdurman Military Area.

The attack on the nation's capital, hundreds of kilometers away from Darfur, was not just a humiliation for Bashir. It was a humiliation for the Darfur peacekeeping force, UNAMID. Military professionals will not be surprised. Late last year, I was invited to address a group of policymakers in Washington, and argued that UNAMID was an announced disaster. To my astonishment there was not a single dissenting voice. The most we could hope for, we agreed, was that 26,000 troops would act as a platform for a few hundred political officers who would focus on local reconciliation and inter-community dialogue. The absurdity of UNAMID is that those who pushed the force through, in the UN and in Western chancelleries, knew it was ill-conceived. It was too big, too top-heavy and too inflexible - and, critically, it had no peace to keep.

After Omdurman, the powerful activist lobbies which demanded troops - first from NATO; then, when NATO refused, from the UN - should be asking themselves whether their energies were well-spent. The real action to "save Darfur" today is not coming from the $2 billion-a-year UNAMID force. It is on the diplomatic front, where Western governments are trying to keep alive the Comprehensive Peace Agreement between North and South Sudan - an agreement overseen by the second UN force in Sudan, UNMIS - and to stave off war between Sudan and Chad, which are supporting each other's rebel movements.

President Idriss Deby of Chad must bear some responsibility for the deaths caused by JEM's attack - which has temporarily rallied many North Sudanese behind the regime - and Khartoum's subsequent crackdown. For approximately two years, as his own regime tottered, Deby's fellow Zaghawa in JEM became his front line of defense and were well-rewarded for their support, including with the artillery covering fire that reached Omdurman. The relationship between the two cooled after February, when Khartoum-backed, Darfur-based Chadian rebels attacked Ndjamena (and were repulsed by JEM, which appropriated many of their weapons). Deby decided that the Darfur conflict weakened his chances of holding on to power and distanced himself from JEM. Since then, he has been trying to bring Darfur's fractious rebel groups together to facilitate new peace talks that would stabilize Darfur and remove one threat to his own political survival.

Let's be clear: JEM has a cause. Its determination is fueled by the atrocities Darfurians suffered in the war of 2003-2004 and the despair of those who have been confined ever since in desolate, dehumanizing camps. But JEM is also a proxy of Chad - sometimes more so, sometimes less - and the difference between the Chadian and Sudanese regimes is one of degree.

Imagine that a dictator fixes three elections in a row, imprisons the civilian opposition, plunges his country almost to the bottom of the Transparency International's corruption rankings, and spends its revenue on guns to attack his neighbor while teachers and nurses go unpaid and development projects stagnate. Imagine that he is kept in power by special forces from his former colonial master (France) and that his cash comes from a foreign oil company (ExxonMobil). Shouldn't activists be up in arms? Shouldn't they be exposing his crimes, calling for an end to impunity, boycotting the oil company? Shouldn't they be condemning his proxy?

They should, but they are not. The target, come what may, is the Sudanese government. Chad and JEM, which has repeatedly put civilians in harm's way by provoking the government, almost always escape censure.

With Bashir and Khalil Ibrahim both promising new offensives, the chances of reviving Darfur peace talks are slim today. But there is a chance to move on the regional front, in the interests of the people of Darfur and of Chad. Three months ago, Khartoum-supported Chadian rebels reached the steps of the presidential palace in Ndjamena; three weeks ago, Chadian-supported Darfurian rebels stormed the bridges of Khartoum. Bashir believes JEM also benefited from some support from Libya. The Darfur war is a civil war and a regional war. This is the moment for more attention to the latter, from governments and activists alike.

Julie Flint is co-author, with Alex de Waal, of "Darfur: A New History of a Long War," published this month by Zed Books. She wrote this commentary for THE DAILY STAR.