I personally fail to understand the euphoria and exhilaration generated by the appointment of the First Daughter, Adut Kiir Mayardit, as Presidential Envoy by H.E. President Salva Kiir. Her appointment sparked an outpouring of congratulations—from the villages of Warrap to the streets of Juba and across the diaspora. Many congratulators used eye-catching language, offering heartfelt praise and declaring that “the owner of the government” had been appointed at the right time and in the right place to help her father rule the republic with strength and protection.
Her appointment drew dignitaries from all over the country, who came to her home to say congratulations, while her father, Benydit, watched with pride. But I fail to see the magic in this moment.
Instead, I see a troubling celebration—one that encourages corruption, normalizes nepotism, and undermines the principles of merit-based governance. The appointment of a family member to such a high-level role, followed by widespread public praise, sends a dangerous message: that power is inherited, not earned.
To digress, I see her appointment as an expansion of big government—an unnecessary enlargement of bureaucracy in a country where the army, police, and civil servants often go for a year, not just months, without receiving their salaries. Those who cheer her appointment are not celebrating national progress; they are positioning themselves for employment in her oversized office and the soft money that inevitably flows from her role as Special Envoy to her father. She becomes an easy and sympathetic target for sweet-talkers—those who know how to flatter their way into influence and extract favours under the guise of loyalty.
Her appointment will now join the already bloated structure of the presidency—adding yet another layer to a government that already includes six expanded presidential offices and five Vice Presidents, each with their own staff and operational budgets. With Adut Kiir Mayardit’s new role comes the establishment of her own large office, further inflating the presidency’s expenses. In a country where basic public servants go unpaid for months, this expansion is not just tone-deaf; it’s a slap in the face to struggling citizens.
This kind of glorification not only distorts the meaning of public service, but it also sends a chilling message to the youth of South Sudan: that loyalty to family trumps loyalty to country. That no matter how educated, qualified, or visionary you may be, your chances of serving your nation depend not on merit but on lineage.
We must ask ourselves: Is this the kind of republic we fought for? One where leadership is inherited like property, and where the corridors of power are reserved for a select few?
The appointment of Adut Kiir Mayardit, and the celebration that followed, is not just a political gesture—it is a reflection of a system that rewards proximity over performance. And when such appointments are met with euphoric praise rather than critical scrutiny, we risk normalizing corruption as a cultural virtue.
A country that refuses to engage in political national dialogue for reform, yet celebrates the appointment of family members to government as a hopeful change from the hardship the government and the country are experiencing, is a nation—and a people—doomed to failure.
The writer, Morris Kuol Yoll, is a South Sudanese Canadian. He lives in Calgary, Alberta, Canada, and can be reached at myoll2002@yahoo.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.