The world has been fooled by a hat and a whisper. For nearly two decades, South Sudanese politics has survived on confusion, exhaustion, and curated chaos — and at the center of that slow national collapse stands one figure: President Salva Kiir Mayardit.
For those who have truly watched his political evolution since the 2005 Comprehensive Peace Agreement (CPA), one truth becomes undeniable: Nothing in this country happens by accident. Chaos is not a by-product; it is a state policy.
Every crisis — from the 2013 civil war that killed an estimated 400,000 people, to the December 2022 starvation-driven displacement of 2.3 million citizens, to the unending cycles of tribal violence in Jonglei, Warrap, Unity, and Upper Nile — all trace back to a single political philosophy: Destabilize to rule. Divide to survive.
In Dinka, we say, Maar pieth ke looi, ku maar waar ke looi — the cow is milked by the one holding the rope, even if he is not the owner. South Sudan is being milked dry by those who never built it.
Many foreign diplomats imagine Kiir as a passive, overwhelmed leader — a quiet shepherd unable to control the wolves. That view is naive. His silence is not helplessness — it is a strategy. For 20 years, he has mastered what scholars call negative governance: ruling through fragmentation, mistrust, fear, and selective loyalty.
His palace is not a place of leadership — it is a chessboard.
* Rotate allies before they become powerful
* Create enemies for your supporters so they can never leave
* Reward today, destroy tomorrow
* Replace each fallen ally with his fiercest rival
This is the operating manual.
I speak from experience — not rumor. I once stood within proximity to the system. I have seen files, decisions, instructions issued in shadows while public speeches promised unity, prayers, and nation-building. I resigned from his camp, his government, and all political structures tied to him because I refuse to be used like a disposable political tool. Before supporting him, I had peace; I had no enemies.
Under Kiir’s orbit, I inherited enemies I never made, battles I never chose, and scars I never deserved. This is Kiirism: a political virus that infects everyone who enters — you leave sick, weakened, stained, and replaced.
If you map the crises of South Sudan chronologically, you will see a rhythm:
• 2005–2011: Internal SPLM splits, mysterious assassinations, economic sabotage.
• 2013: Civil war triggered by a manufactured “coup” narrative.
• 2016: J1 fighting timed precisely before transitional reforms.
• 2018–present: Peace agreements signed but never implemented.
• 2021–2024: Governors appointed only to be undermined by parallel power structures.
Political science teaches that authoritarian rulers cling to power by preventing strong institutions. South Sudan today is a textbook example: parliament is ceremonial, ministries are shells, and the constitution is a poem without law. The only functioning institution is the President’s pen — and even that does not move without Moscow or Kampala whispering first.
Meanwhile, the nation bleeds: 75% of citizens live in extreme poverty. Three out of every 10 children are malnourished. Inflation devours salaries before ink dries on pay slips. And the youth — 77% of the population — have no jobs, no future, and no country to dream about.
Kiir creates enemies for you — then throws you away. In South Sudan, political loyalty is more dangerous than political opposition. The President’s camp uses a psychological weapon: attach you to him, give you enemies, then discards you while you remain stuck with the consequences.
I have watched ministers turn into refugees overnight. Generals who once controlled barracks now beg boda-boda riders for transport. Men who spent years defending the President are replaced by those they once fought.
In Dinka we say, Pan arou ke tic, raan ke coang (the home is built by effort, but a man is destroyed by words).
Kiir uses words to destroy reputations, and silence to bury the truth.
His public ritual is always the same: prayer breakfast at the palace, peace speech at the podium, a Bible in his hand. But behind the curtain — security forces shoot civilians, chiefs are silenced, journalists disappear, youth activists are jailed for social media posts, and communities are armed then abandoned.
Religion has become his smokescreen. Peace has become his currency. And fear is his ruling tool. Foreign diplomats clap at conferences while women in Bentiu give birth in water.
The diplomats praise his “stability” while children in Aweil walk 30km for food. They applaud his role as “regional peace mediator” while his own country is held hostage by ghost salaries, tribal militias, and political mercenaries.
A nation cannot grow under a leader who fears growth
Why sabotage agriculture when South Sudan has 30 million arable hectares?
Why block federalism when decentralization is the only path to stability?
Why delay elections when legitimacy is cheaper than bullets?
The answer is simple — real reform produces independent citizens. And independent citizens do not need a savior-king.
Kiir does not fear chaos — he fears order. Order exposes those who steal. Order empowers citizens. Order demands accountability.
South Sudan is like a house where every room is intentionally left unfurnished so that no one settles enough to claim ownership.
The personal toll — and why I left. Many ask me: Why did you resign? Why did you abandon support?
Because dignity is not negotiable. Because silence, in the face of injustice, becomes participation. Because no man, no matter the office he holds, is worth trading your future and your soul. I left because I refuse to be another statistic — another brilliant young South Sudanese used, drained, then discarded into political oblivion.
I left because I would rather walk alone with truth than sit among many with lies.
South Sudan must wake up from the national coma.
The greatest tragedy of our time is not that Kiir is powerful. It is that citizens have been made powerless.
But no regime — no matter how quiet, no matter how calculated — is permanent.
Dinka proverb:
Cïth ke cam, ke pan yïn ci baai, (the wound heals, but the scar will testify).
South Sudan will one day testify.
What must be done
If the world wants to help South Sudan, stop sending workshops. Stop sending peace logos. Stop sending statements. Send one thing: pressure.
Pressure to implement the peace agreement.
Pressure to reform the army.
Pressure to hold elections, not in theory, but in calendar.
Pressure to investigate state violence.
Pressure to free civil space.
Pressure to limit one-man rule.
Pressure to sanction companies tied to the regime and its enablers.
South Sudanese must reclaim their future — not through rebellion, not through hate, but through awakening.
Because no country rises until its people stop kneeling.
Final warning to politicians:
Every politician who still believes aligning with Kiir is a strategy must read this slowly:
It is not strategy. It is suicide.
He does not build successors — he eliminates possibilities.
History is a graveyard of those who believed the lion will one day become vegetarian.
The writer, Dr. Stephen Dhieu Kuach, is a South Sudanese governance expert, disability rights advocate, and senior SPLM member. He served as Director of Disability Affairs in the Ministry of Presidential Affairs and coordinated national programs in the Office of the Vice President.
The views expressed in ‘opinion’ articles published by Radio Tamazuj are solely those of the writer. The veracity of any claims made is the responsibility of the author, not Radio Tamazuj.