In 2011, South Sudan raised its flag for the first time, marking the birth of the world’s newest country. Streets in Juba and across the ten states erupted in celebration, with men, women, and children dancing to the drumbeat of liberation.
For Juan James, who was only 14 years old then, it was a moment that would define her youth not by joy alone, but by the quiet weight of a decision she never fully understood.
“I was still in Senior One,” recalls Juan, now 30 years old, “but our teacher came into the classroom and selected the tall students,” she reminisces. “She told us to register as 18-year-olds so we could vote. I did not even know what voting meant. I was green, but we were told to vote for separation.”
Juan’s memory of the 2011 referendum is bittersweet. As a minor, she was among many schoolchildren coerced into participating in a process that would redefine their national identity.
“We were excited to have our own country,” she says. “We were told that independence meant liberty, better schools, our own government, a future. But now, I look back, and I regret it.”
Youth stolen by a struggle for identity
Juan’s regret is the sense of betrayal. The promises of independence were never delivered. While a few paved roads and government buildings dot the capital, services that matter most, like education, healthcare, clean water, and security, remain inaccessible to many South Sudanese.
“My sister died from a respiratory illness,” Juan says quietly. “We took her to Juba Teaching Hospital, but there was no specialist. No medicine. She died.”
Such tragedies, she says, are all too common.
“It is meaningless to have a country without services. If I could go back to one Sudan, I would be the first to do it.”
Is this the country we voted for?
Juan’s story echoes the growing frustration among citizens like Augustin Unzu, who remembers casting his ballot with pride in 2011.
“I voted with a lot of happiness, thinking I would be a first-class citizen, free from Arab oppression, but now, even the services we inherited from Sudan have disappeared,” Unzu says. “People are starting to ask: ‘Is this really the country we voted for?’”
While he maintains that having a country of their own is still meaningful, he believes the leadership has failed to build the foundations of a functional state.
“We want the leadership to correct the situation before it’s too late,” he states firmly.
Independence without inclusion
Juan is not alone in her disappointment. Across the country, citizens express frustration over unfulfilled promises.
Nicknora Godo, who voted in the 2011 referendum at the age of 19, recalls the excitement and unity that defined the birth of Africa’s youngest nation.
“You could really feel it,” she said. “It was historical. Even at home, if you did not vote, your family would question you. We believed we would be first-class citizens in our own country.”
However, over a decade later, she says, that dream feels betrayed.
“The roads are not there. The hospitals are not there. Poor people like us can’t afford treatment abroad,” she lamented. “We were promised services brought to the people, but now we are the ones running to the towns looking for help.”
The frustration resonates deeply with the founding ideals laid out in 2011. In his maiden speech during South Sudan’s proclamation of independence on 9 July 2011, President Salva Kiir promised: “Let all the citizens of this new nation be equal before the law and have equal access to opportunities… This republic is at the tail end of economic development. From today on, we shall have no excuse or scapegoats to blame.”
Fourteen years on, many South Sudanese feel those words remain unfulfilled.
We must revisit the dream
Civil society activist Rajab Mohandis says it is time for national reflection and a return to the vision embedded in the country’s Declaration of Independence.
“We must revisit the Declaration of Independence, especially paragraph 7, which promised justice, democracy, and respect for diversity,” he said. “For 14 years, our leaders have practiced exclusion and political persecution. This has not helped our country prosper.”
Mohandis believes the responsibility to fix the country lies with everyone, not just politicians.
“The youth, women, religious leaders, liberation veterans, and diaspora must unite behind a common agenda,” he said. “Our dream of a just, free, and prosperous South Sudan is still possible, but only if we hold our leaders accountable and commit to peace.”
This echoes President Kiir’s 2011 pledge: “Critical to the future of our people is a government that is democratic, inclusive and accountable.”
A Nation where youth are silenced
For Juan, who represents a generation born into war and raised in struggle, the biggest failure has been the exclusion of young people from the country’s political and development processes.
“The leaders do not listen to us. They treat young people as enemies, not partners,” she says. “They want to die in power instead of preparing the next generation.”
When asked what kind of leadership South Sudan needs today, she is clear: “We need leaders who listen to the people, who serve everyone, not just their families. Let them advise, but let young people lead.”
Independence Day with no celebration
As the country prepares to mark its 14th Independence Day Anniversary, Juan says she feels no pride in the occasion.
“There is conflict in Upper Nile, Equatoria, all over. People are dying. Women are being raped in their own homes. What are we celebrating?” she asks.
Juan also speaks to the reality for women and girls, who continue to face cultural silence, early marriage, and insecurity.
“Even in politics, a woman has to ask her husband for permission to speak,” she argues. “That is not independence. That is oppression in another form.”
A call for change
Despite her disappointment, Juan still holds a fragile hope that change is possible, but only if power is handed to a new generation.
“Let the old generation advise from the side. It is time for the youth to lead this country forward. We cannot keep celebrating flags and anthems while our people die,” her message to South Sudan’s leaders ahead of the next elections is simple: “Let go. Give young people the space. We have the heart, the energy, and the love for this country, not just for our stomachs.”
In his 2011 speech, President Kiir warned that detractors believed South Sudan would quickly fall into civil war. He urged unity and resilience.
“It is incumbent upon us to prove them all wrong. The night may be too long, but the day will come for sure. And let me tell you, I see the light at the end of the tunnel,” he said at the time.
The cost of a vote
Juan James was forced to vote at 14. Fourteen years later, she is still waiting to see the country that the vote was supposed to build. In her story lies the pain, the promise, and the power of South Sudan’s youth, a generation raised on the dreams of freedom, now demanding the right to define its future.