How do you govern a country divided by war? South Sudan is now split into
three major zones. The people in the biggest area, made up of seven out of
the country's ten states, are currently spared the worst of the conflict,
but suffer from its economic and social impact, and live with the permanent
fear that the fighting could spread.
The next largest area is the part of Greater Upper Nile under government
control, but which is frequently threatened by the rebels. Here, the focus
is on the battles to come.
The final area is the nearby territory controlled by SPLM/A In Opposition
(IO), over which the rebels are starting to establish an ersatz
administration, as they too prepare for renewed conflict. In all three
zones, a war economy operates, and political choices often follow old, if
tarnished, models.
Juba: new fears, old methods
The less the government controls, the more authoritarian it becomes. In the
last year, Riek Machar's rebels have over-run swathes of Greater Upper Nile,
even if they have been unable to hold on to the region's two major towns,
Bentiu and Malakal. The armed opposition has halted oil production in Unity
state, and threatened the oilfields in Upper Nile. Once the rainy season
ends, sustained fighting seems very likely. This, then, is an existential
threat to President Salva Kiir and his government.
The response has been to squeeze the space available for dissent - or even
just for open debate - in the reduced territories the government controls.
The minister of information has told journalists several times that speaking
to the rebels amounts to 'agitating' against the state - a clear example of
the increasing restrictions in Juba. Journalists are now understandably
frightened to do their job. The threats to freedom of speech have been
backed up with action. Bakhita FM, the radio run by the Catholic church, was
off air for months, after security officers objected to the station speaking
to the rebels as well as carrying the government line.
Another example of intolerance for all but the government-approved position
was the refusal to allow public discussions of federalism, which is one of
Machar's key demands. This position proved untenable, because a federal
system also has wide support among Equatorians. The government, in its
weakened position, cannot afford to antagonise another large segment of the
population.
It has no qualms about clamping down on the opposition. Lam Akol, the major
opposition leader, was stopped from travelling to Addis Ababa to take part
in the peace talks. Lam, who got to the airport before he was turned back,
says he has written to the president asking for an explanation, but has yet
to receive one. 'Our programme is a reform programme, we are talking about
reforming the whole system, the governance, the institutions', he says.' But
I think what particularly incensed them is our suggestion of creating a new
position of prime minister, an executive prime minister. And of course they
wouldn't want to share power.'
It has been agreed for some time that a rebel should be prime minister in
the forthcoming transitional government, but who exactly could take the role
- and how much power that person should wield - have been major stumbling
blocks in the talks. When IGAD leaders came to Juba at the end of October,
they trumpeted a 'breakthrough'. President Kiir had agreed to allow Machar
to take up the post. However, this apparent step forward was not nearly as
significant as it first appeared.
Government officials, and then Salva himself, said they would not
countenance an executive prime minister. In short, they were offering Machar
a ceremonial role he would never accept. The rebels, for their part, would
like a replica of the Ethiopian system, in which the president carries
little weight, and the prime minister makes all the decisions. (This model
was most visible during Meles Zenawi's time in power). This is unacceptable
for Kiir's supporters, who do not intend to dilute the (elected) president's
role. Power, then, is at the heart of the problem.
The Juba rumour mill is particularly active about just who, other than the
president himself, is calling the shots right now. Telar Ring, often
presented as a sort of eminence grise while he was the president's legal
advisor, has been sent out into the cold as ambassador to Russia. There
seems little doubt that Paul Malong has directed much of the military
response to the rebels, since even before he was appointed chief of staff of
the SPLA.
Malong's growing influence highlights the increasing preponderance of Dinkas
from Kiir's Greater Bahr el Ghazal region among those close to the
president. Malong is a combative, controversial character, who when I
interviewed him in 2012 seemed happiest talking about his many military
triumphs. Reports of his recent collapse must have worried many in the
government; while the front of stage role played by such an unabashed
hardliner is a concern for Kiir's critics.
Perhaps the most dramatic example of the government's authoritarian approach
is the National Security Service bill, which was passed by parliamentarians
in October 2013, despite many Equatorian MPs walking out, and claims a
quorum wasn't reached. This bill, which is still sitting on the president's
desk, would give the already feared security forces 'sweeping powers',
according to South Sudanese and foreign campaign groups opposed to the
legislation.
The bill is, in a sense, merely codifying existing practice: security agents
already arrest perceived threats with little or no oversight from
politicians. But it is impossible to escape the thought that it is a very
close approximation of the December 2010 Sudanese security law the SPLM
complained about so strongly when they were in Khartoum.
This habit of clamping down when under fire, often by following the Sudanese
blueprint, is not new. Some antecedents may perhaps be found in the
personalised system John Garang established during the second north-south
civil war, in which challenges to his leadership were dealt with harshly.
However, the pattern was most evident in the period leading up to and just
after independence.
During the 2010 elections, the SPLA threatened and in some cases tortured
real or supposed supporters of the opposition. There were serious doubts
about the credibility of many of the election results, sparking a number of
rebellions across the country. The disaffected generals who took to the bush
were mainly SPLA veterans who had not been chosen as SPLM candidates in what
was a deeply flawed nomination process, stood as independents, and then felt
cheated out of an election win.
In the years since the CPA, the weak opposition has struggled to make its
voice heard. Opposition politicians find it difficult to get airtime on
state media - and sometimes face more drastic obstacles. Onyoti Adigo, the
minority leader in the national assembly, was assaulted, apparently by
security officers, two days before independence. One of his teeth was
broken.
In the period after independence, an entitled elite of rebel commanders
turned politicians rejected almost all public criticism. Journalists were
arrested for an (admittedly poorly-judged) article about the president's
family. Ministers and the army frequently dismissed condemnation from Human
Rights Watch and Amnesty International, rights groups that they had in the
past praised for revealing abuses committed by Khartoum. South Sudanese
human rights activists have been assaulted. The blogger Isaiah Abraham was
killed, shortly after writing an article criticising the president. His
killers have not been caught.
The constitution concentrated significant power in the hands of the Head of
State, including the ability to sack elected state governors. Despite
Garang's often-quoted mantra of 'taking the towns to the people', there has
been little or no rural development. The oil billions were spent on the
bloated military, stolen by the political/military elite, and any left-overs
went to develop Juba, rather than the peripheral regions. In all this, the
echoes of the old Sudanese system are impossible to escape.
As the economic impact of the 2012-13 oil shutdown swept through the
country, internal criticism of the political direction of the country grew.
In March 2013, Riek Machar, Pa'gan Amum and Rebecca Nyandeng all made it
clear they wanted to run against Salva Kiir for the post of chairman of the
SPLM. As prominent figures they all must take their share of responsibility
for the failures of the post-independence period. Furthermore, their
ambition and targeted criticism increased the pressure on the president.
With his back to the wall, Kiir's response was to shut down internal debate.
Meetings of party bodies were postponed or cancelled. The entire government,
including Machar, was sacked in July 2013, and Pa'gan suspended. The
National Liberation Council meeting in Juba, which immediately preceded the
first shots of the conflict, was an open confrontation between Kiir and his
growing band of detractors. The civil war - whether or not one believes
Kiir's claim that it began with an attempted coup - has simply increased the
threat against the president, and so deepened his government's authoritarian
tendencies.
Malakal: the state at war
There is not much of Malakal left to govern. Whole areas of the town have
been destroyed by successive waves of fighting. Roofless round brick huts
gape at the sky, metal shop doors have been hammered open by looters,
vegetation is over-running the remnants of homes. The hospital, once
well-equipped and with an impressive reputation, was ransacked. Some
civilians cluster in the market, though most return to their homes, or the
nearby UN camp, long before nightfall. Most of the people on the streets,
though, are soldiers. Malakal is a garrison town, just as it was for
Khartoum during the 1983-2005 civil war.
The governor, Simon Kun Pouch, is rarely around, leaving his deputy, Awer
Dau, in charge. The government makes little attempt to provide services to
the few remaining civilians. Instead, the war effort is the major concern
here: the SPLA has sent soldiers and equipment into the state throughout the
rainy season, in readiness for the battles to come.
A few miles out of town, past the airport, over 18,000 civilians shelter in
the UN base. Their quarters have been extended, and there are further
improvements planned, but it is still a miserable existence. The whole area
transforms into sludge during the rains, and people live in tents, with the
ever-present threat of an outbreak of disease. The government has no role
here. Instead, security is provided by the UN, and shelter, food and medical
attention by international aid groups.
The people living in the camp are a mix of Nuer (often accused of supporting
the rebels), Shilluk and Dinka (both perceived as being on the side of the
government). In such a claustrophobic atmosphere, it can be no surprise when
broader tensions are reflected inside the camp, with deadly consequences.
Further clashes are likely, and there seems little prospect of the displaced
leaving this camp, or similar ones in Bentiu or Juba, any time soon.
I met a Nuer civil servant at his new makeshift home in the UN camp in
Malakal. It was more luxurious than most. Overstuffed sofas and a pile of
suitcases hinted at a prosperous life before the conflict. The man was
scathing about Kun, the Upper Nile governor, a Nuer who stuck with Salva
Kiir: 'he's not a Nuer any more', he said.
The civil servant's sympathies were clearly with the rebels. Yet he was
still drawing his salary from the government, even though he no longer went
into town to work - and he is not alone. In his case and others like it, the
state has been stripped of any claim to be a tool for social progress. It
is, instead, an opportunity for personal enrichment. In this, the state at
war is much like it was in the days of relative peace.
Leer: the rebels settle in
In Leer, Riek Machar's home town, they are preparing for further conflict
too. Residents, aid workers and missionaries say that young men have been
conscripted, and sent off to join Peter Gatdet's forces. Gatdet, Machar's
'military governor' of Unity state, is under international sanctions, but
this hasn't tamed him. Gatdet was accused of launching the attacks on Bentiu
last week. Some of the young men Gatdet recruited in Leer may have
volunteered to protect their area, which was sacked by SPLA and JEM fighting
for Salva in the early days of the war. Most, though, were taken by force.
The local power dynamics are interesting. This part of Unity state is home
to the Dok Nuer, Riek's sub-group. When their area fell to the forces loyal
to the government, the Dok were criticised by other Nuer for not defending
Leer, and for not providing enough troops for the war effort. Much of the
forced recruitment here was apparently led by Bul Nuer officers, personally
connected and loyal to Gadet, a Bul Nuer himself. Some have made themselves
unpopular by whipping young Dok Nuer in Leer's market, and elsewhere in
town.
Yet the bulk of the Bul Nuer fighters are not with Machar's forces. Bapiny
Monytuil and Matthew Pul Jang's former SSLA rebels, who signed an amnesty in
2013, have stayed loyal to President Kiir, perhaps in part because Joseph
Monytuil, Bapiny's brother, was named governor of Unity state. Pul Jang has
fought for the government, alongside Sudanese JEM rebels, for control of
Bentiu and other key areas, most notably the Bul Nuer homeland around Mayom,
which blocks the rebels' path to Kiir's home state, Warrap. There are many
levels of conflict in South Sudan, and one is a fight for influence among
senior Bul Nuer, some allied with the rebels, others with the government.
A twenty minute walk from Leer's main market is a large compound that used
to serve as the offices of the South Sudan Relief and Rehabilitation
Commission (SSRRC), the state's humanitarian body. When I lasted visited
Leer, two years ago, the SSRRC served as a liason between international NGOs
and the local county administration. Now James Yoach and others run the
South Sudan Relief and Rehabilitation Agency (SSRRA), an almost identical
body, but one loyal to Machar.
Yoach says the SSRRA aims to 'alleviate the suffering of the people', but in
practice all aid work is done by international NGOs. Costly food drops have
helped tens of thousands of desperately hungry people in the area. 'That
Commission, we left it for the government, because it has no values', Yoach
says, explaining the creation of the rival SSRRA. But he admits that 'there
are no resources available'.
Back in town, the county commissioner's office is still standing. The
aquamarine paint on the walls could still do with a new coat, and there is
still no electricity. Some officials, loyal to the government, have left.
Others remained in post, though like the SSRRA members they say they have no
salaries now. But already rebel officials have started collecting taxes in
the market, which is being slowly rebuilt after most of it was burnt down at
the start of the year.
The authority of those collecting taxes comes solely from their weapons.
This, in fact, is not so very different from the state as a whole, before
the civil war began. Most of South Sudan's leaders are former rebel
fighters, who owe their position to their military prowess or regional
clout. The flawed 2010 polls provided only the thinest cover of democratic
legitimacy. The rebel tax collectors of Leer, and the civil servants drawing
a salary in Malakal although they are no longer working, merely represent an
exaggerated image of the South Sudanese state's own worst tendencies in the
post-independence period.
Yei: the war outside the killing fields
At the tail end of the rainy season, Yei is a five hour drive from Juba,
along roads that resemble corrugated iron sheets in places, and cattle ponds
in others. The balance depends on how recently the rains last fell. Yei
itself is a sizable town, near the borders with Uganda and the Democratic
Republic of Congo. Salva Kiir still has a large house here, a reminder of
Yei's importance to the SPLA in the war with Khartoum before independence.
Yei has its problems. One street in the main market is lined with black
market currency traders, shouting out the dollar rate from under parasols
with increasing desperation at each passer-by, a hint that South Sudan's
economic troubles are felt in the town. The tensions within the SPLA since
the civil war broke out have had their echo here: a local commander defected
with his troops in January. More recently, 6 people were killed in a
shootout after the leader of the SPLA veterans was replaced. The short-lived
fighting can be 'traced back to finance', according to the Yei River county
commissioner, Bidali Cosmas, as two factions fought over the salaries the
war veterans receive.
On the whole, though, Yei has been peaceful - along with most of South
Sudan, as the government rightly points out. As Cosmas puts it, 'even with
the current crisis in our country, the effect is not the same from one
location to the other. There are areas of crisis, and areas where there is
peace and security. These areas have good conditions for development.'
This plea for greater interest in Yei and other peaceful areas cannot hide a
more disturbing reality. First, the war is not necessarily destined to burn
only in Greater Upper Nile. Second, the impact of the conflict is being felt
even in places where no bullets are flying. Cosmas admits that his
administration no longer receives as much money from Juba, and it is hard to
pay salaries, let alone continue with vital road building projects and other
development schemes. Throughout South Sudan, real development will be put on
hold for as long as the war continues.
Before the fighting broke out in Juba in December 2013, South Sudan was
already facing huge challenges, including corruption, under-development and
inter-ethnic clashes. Millions struggled to get enough to eat. Those
problems have been magnified by the war, but even in relatively peaceful
areas the authorities are dealing with events that would be considered
catastrophes in other countries. Deadly floods have displaced thousands in
Warrap, Northern Bahr el Ghazal and Jonglei states. Cattle raiding in Lakes
state seems to be spiraling out of control. The war has amplified some
problems, and hidden others. The response of the governing class, wherever
they are in South Sudan, and whoever they support, has often not lived up to
the people's expectations.
James Copnall is a journalist and author of 'A Poisonous Thorn in Our
Hearts: Sudan and South Sudan's Bitter and Incomplete Divorce'. He is editor
of 'Making Sense of the Sudans'.