South Sudan’s political elites have perfected the art of postponing the future. With straight faces and familiar speeches, they have announced that the writing of a permanent constitution, the national census, and other election prerequisites will be delayed yet again.
This time, they justify the delay with a phrase that should alarm any functioning democracy: “These issues can be prioritized after the elections.”
The claim is absurd. An election without a constitution is not an election. An election without a census is not an election. An election without credible boundaries, institutions, and legal frameworks is not an election. It is a hygiene gesture, a cleansing of accountability to ensure that the incumbents remain the only ones breathing inside the nation’s political oxygen tent.
In the most recent high-level meeting between President Salva Kiir, a small group of opposition leaders, and the SPLM Secretary-General, Dr Akol Paul Kordit, the message was clear: there will be no constitution, no census, and no real reforms—yet somehow, there will be elections.
The meeting, presented to the public as a sign of unity and compromise, was in reality a political theater production where every actor was reading from the same script. The Opposition leaders who once promised fire and resistance entered the room as critics but left as co-authors of the delay. Even the SPLM Secretariat, through Dr Akol, framed the postponements as “practical realities,” arguing that “stability comes first”.
But whose stability? Certainly not the people’s!.
The meeting’s outcome was not a consensus—it was a consensus trap. A coordination of self-preservation disguised as national leadership.
South Sudan’s democratic roadmap has been rewritten so many times that it now resembles a graveyard of promises. Each postponement is a political decision, not a logistical necessity.
They knew this was coming—years ago. The government has had more than eight years to complete the permanent constitution. It had more than enough time to prepare for a census. Billions were spent, committees were formed, and endless workshops were convened.
Yet, here we are. If the leaders knew they could not deliver the prerequisites, why pretend for years that they could?
Why keep the nation waiting in the fog of uncertainty only to declare “delays” as if they were an unfortunate accident?
You cannot hold an election in legal darkness. A constitution is the spine of a nation. A census is the heartbeat of representation. To postpone them and insist on an election is to stretch the law until it becomes a rope used to tie the hands of the citizens.
The people were not consulted—again. Every decision was made in rooms where the people are absent, their voices represented only by leaders who have long forgotten the communities they claim to serve. This delay is not neutral—it benefits the incumbents.
Political timelines in South Sudan are not by accident; they are delayed by design. A constitution written later is controlled by the same hands that fear accountability today.
I write as an SPLM member—one of the more than 100 senior figures who have parted ways with the party after decades of loyalty. I speak from an inside knowledge, not distant speculation.
What is happening now is not mere inefficiency. It is a strategy. A strategy that ensures elections become a coronation ceremony rather than a democratic test. A strategy that ensures no real political competition can emerge. A strategy built on the fear of losing power in a system that has never allowed true contestation.
The SPLM leadership, alongside its selectively domesticated opposition, is creating a political bridge that leads nowhere, a national bus that runs but never reaches a station.
The greatest irony is postponing the foundations while promising a house. Leaders now tell the public that the constitution, the census, boundary demarcation, and security transitions will all be handled after the elections.
Imagine a builder saying, “We will construct the foundation after we build the house?”
This is the political equivalent of that. A logic so broken it mocks the intelligence of the South Sudanese people. South Sudanese deserve more than calendar politics. Every delay is a year stolen from the youth who want jobs, from the disabled who want inclusion, from communities who want justice, from widows who want peace, from the entire nation that wants dignity.
The constitution could have been completed. The census could have been done. The institutions could have been strengthened. The leaders chose not to do so. Postponement is not a technical problem. It is a political choice. A betrayal dressed in explanations.
The path forward will not be built by those who benefit from the delay. It will be built by citizens who refuse to be spectators in their own democracy.
South Sudan is at a fork on the road: confront the delay culture or surrender to it permanently. Citizens must demand answers, accountability, transparent timelines, and a constitution that belongs to the people—not a political club.
Anything less is surrender.
The writer, Stephen Dhieu Kuach, is a governance expert, disability rights advocate, and senior SPLM Party member. He can be reached via wekatak1@gmail.com.
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.