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JONGLEI: THE UN – BETWEEN A ROCK AND A HARD PLACE

At the inaugural meeting of the South Sudanese National Legislative Assembly on 8 August 2011, the Speaker, James Wani Igga, noted:

Without the full commitment of the two UN Secretary Generals […] Independence of South Sudan would not have seen the light of day […] I think we are duty bound to give the esteemed UN and its Secretary General a standing ovation in this noble hall.1

Members rose to their feet, in a round of applause that could have lifted the roof.2 Indeed, without the support of the UN the exercise of self-determination would never have happened in accordance with the Comprehensive Peace Agreement of 2005. After independence the UN was given the arguably more difficult job of helping its 193rd member state stand on its own feet. As we shall see, relations with the UN would soon become vexed.

The UN Mission in South Sudan faced an almost unprecedented state-building and peace-building challenge. In recent cases, newly independent countries such as of Kosovo and Timor Leste were much smaller, and more ‘manageable’ from the demographic, ethnic and geographic perspectives and had benefited from a transitional UN administration. In the case of South Sudan, however, the interim period was seen as preparatory, and although supported by the UN, the CPA did not provide for additional transitional administrative arrangements. Even as UN missions in the Democratic Republic of Congo, Ivory Coast, Liberia and Sierra Leone had faced very difficult circumstances, they were not tasked with literally building a country, almost from scratch, in the same way. Beyond the scale of the task, the UN’s relations with the liberators and the Government of South Sudan would soon prove to be equally difficult.

Resource constraints and the scale of protection required, particularly in the largest state, Jonglei, soon beset the Mission. Mobility problems meant that the Mission could do little to protect civilians under imminent threat in difficult, swampy terrain, particularly during the rainy season. Criticism came from observers and local communities alike. The Mission also came under fire over human rights: while NGOs and others blamed the Mission for not holding the government accountable for abuses, South Sudanese from all segments of society repeatedly accused the UN, and me personally, of being too hard on the SPLA. Some human-rights staff were expelled from the country. UNMISS was squeezed between a rock and a hard place.

When the crisis broke out in December 2013, confidence had thus already been eroded. The UN became a handy punching bag, not least for government hardliners.

With independence, South Sudanese leaders expected the UN to deploy peacekeepers primarily on the border with Sudan, to protect the new country’s sovereignty and territorial integrity. A secondary task was to help build capacity and state institutions. When the Security Council gave UNMISS a different mandate – to protect civilians within the country, and not explicitly to protect South Sudan from external aggression – the new Government immediately took umbrage. They interpreted the so-called Chapter VII mandate, authorizing the UN to intervene with force if the government failed to protect civilians under imminent threat, as an insulting infringement of sovereignty. In their view, such a mandate had been needed before independence, when Southern Sudan was part of Sudan and violent incidents, perpetrated by Khartoum, were frequent, not now, when their own security forces were sufficient.

The UNMISS mandate also encompassed peace-building and state-building, including supporting core functions of the state such as the rule of law, police, the justice sector, conflict mitigation and resolution, strategic support to reforms in the security sector, military justice and special protection of women and children.3 The number of troops at our disposal was limited, however, and with regard to infantry very small compared to missions of a similar nature.4 Given the thorough planning process that preceded establishment of the mission, this surprised me. No one could explain how the force level had been calculated.

While some SPLM-leaders fully understood the comprehensive role of the UN and the rationale for its mandate, many others felt that they had got rid of one ‘colonial’ power, after decades of struggle, only to face another. They did not like the idea of foreign babysitters.

The rather poor reputation of the former Mission in Sudan, UNMIS, particularly among Southerners, did not improve matters. That Khartoum-based mission had been perceived as leaning towards Northern Sudanese positions on most issues. Its emphasis on unity, and the slogan of ‘making unity attractive’, did not go down well, although this was indeed its mandate after the CPA. The former mission was also perceived as having stood idly by when Khartoum’s forces killed civilians, and, for that matter, when civilians were under threat from inter-communal violence.

When the vast majority of the population was not literate, and one Mission’s name sounded the same as another’s, the communications challenge for UNMISS was even greater. Even well-informed people thought the two Missions were the same, and that our headquarters were in Khartoum. Many complaints we faced at the outset were found upon examination to be linked to the former mission. As with most peacekeeping missions, ordinary people also questioned the impact of our investment, the number of white Land Cruisers roaming about, the helicopters, all the staff, and so forth. The perception of being ‘invaded’ prevailed in Juba, despite the UN’s efforts to leave a lighter footprint and improve its image.

It might have been a consolation that I, as Head of Mission, was no stranger to South Sudan, but was familiar with the struggle, the CPA negotiations and many of the personalities involved. But there would soon be a list of complaints specifically related to UNMISS, as well.

Although I briefed many leaders early on, we did not meet the full cabinet until September, when we gave a comprehensive briefing that included our proposed plan of implementation. Some ministers were familiar with the mandate and the UN’s modus operandi; others were open and positive despite their earlier misgivings; several ministers complained about not having been consulted about the mandate, including its Chapter VII. A handful were negative and complained that the sovereignty of their newly independent country was threatened. One highly educated minister asked whether I would be co-president of the Republic, or even governor general of South Sudan.5 He was not joking. This was my first encounter with government hardliners who would later make ample use of such terminology in their campaigns against the UN.

South Sudan had in fact been consulted informally about the establishment of UNMISS at an early stage in the process, when the assessment team was preparing the mission, and subsequently by the country in charge of drafting the resolution in the Security Council, the United States. A Working group of ministers had studied the draft mandate and commented. Riek Machar, the vice president, had seen at least two drafts of the resolution, including the final one, and given the green light on behalf of his government. Clearly more consultations could have taken place, and with more ministers, but the mandate had hardly come out of the blue. In the cabinet discussion with the Mission, however, those who had been involved remained silent.

While some politicians were sceptical, I frequently heard from South Sudanese citizens, church leaders and community leaders that they felt reassured by our presence. Indeed, many had unrealistically high expectations of what UNMISS could do. They seemed to think that UN peacekeepers were so many and had such powerful assets that we could protect not only their new country, but also their communities and individual families – whatever the threat was – anywhere. Although campaigns were launched to explain the mandate and its implications, managing expectations was a consistent challenge.

An early test in this regard was the build-up of tensions with Sudan. As we have seen in Chapter 3, the first bombs fell on the Yida refugee camp already in November 2011, followed by other incursions across the border. People wondered why the UN did not prevent the raids or stop them once they began. But the Mission had neither a mandate to protect the borders nor ability to do so. Both would warrant discussion in the Security Council, but the greater the tensions, and the more incidents in which civilians were killed, the heavier the criticism; the more silence the South Sudanese detected internationally, the louder were their own complaints. To the people, the UN and the international community were one and the same.

Constant communication with South Sudanese through radio and directly was one of the Mission’s, and my, main roles. Our teams met leaders all over the country. Bishops and other clergy were important opinion leaders; they could help explain things to congregations in their own languages. I launched a consultative forum of elders, representatives of civil society, religious leaders from Muslim and Christian denominations, and of women’s and youth organizations.

This outreach would be needed especially in relation to the perpetual Jonglei crisis. It was here that the UN would face its greatest challenge in protecting civilians, at least before the events of December 2013. Throughout 2011–13, UNMISS would be severely tested in this largest and most volatile state of South Sudan. As one observer has put it, ‘Jonglei is a place where wars are more likely to start than to finish.’6

Jonglei: Mission impossible?

The first attacks against civilians after UNMISS’s establishment happened only five weeks into our deployment, on 18 August. Several hundred were killed or wounded in Pieri in Jonglei State in a vicious revenge attack.7 This was only the latest spike in a cycle of large-scale communal violence that had tormented the state for a long time.

Jonglei is the largest of South Sudan’s ten states. With approximately 1.3 million inhabitants, it was also the most populous, but the least developed in terms of infrastructure, virtually without functional roads, and none of them tarmac. During the rainy season the plains turned into wetlands and flood zones. While more than 60 per cent of South Sudan was very difficult to access during the lengthy rainy season, Jonglei was the site of the famous Sudd, the world’s biggest swamp, when flooded, the size of England. For almost eight months of the year some places were hardly reachable except by air or boat. And parts of the state’s vast hinterland, where it meets Ethiopia and Kenya, had barely been touched by the outside world. Decades of marginalization by central authorities and civil war had also left Jonglei State the most underdeveloped in South Sudan, with its remotest periphery areas suffering some of the worst development indicators in the world.

Most of the population of Jonglei were young and unemployed, and without access to the dividends of peace and oil revenue. The lives of the state’s proud, fiercely independent and primarily pastoral communities revolved around cattle. Cattle-raiding linked to competition for scarce resources had been a main trigger of conflict between ethnic groups. The cycle of violence had continued throughout the CPA period, complicated by (at times violent) disarmament campaigns. Tit-for-tat attacks escalated in 2009 when several conflicts erupted at once, eventually turning into sustained confrontation between the Lou Nuer and Murle.

Such attacks had a long history, motivated partly by ethnic tension and partly by traditional competition over cattle and grazing areas. This latest violence, however, at times involving also the Bor or Twic Dinka, showed an increase in scale and gravity. There were three conflict zones, Greater Akobo, Greater Pibor, and Greater Bor. A cycle of retaliatory attacks in 2009 seemed to mark a change in strategy, whereby cattle rustling was accompanied by direct attacks on civilians, communities as a whole, and state institutions. Devastating attacks on Lou Nuer communities early in the year, and subsequent attacks and counter-attacks in Akobo and Pibor constituted a major escalation. These resulted, according to unconfirmed reports, in more than 1,000 casualties – with more than 700 killed in one week-long attack on Pibor. Violent conflict killed or displaced twice as many people in South Sudan that year as in the year before.8

Like much of South Sudan, Jonglei was awash with weapons, and civilian disarmament became a priority during the interim period.9 Among the Lou Nuer and Murle in 2009/10 disarmament failed: both communities managed to hide weapons, and the voluntary aspect of the process was short-lived. The proliferation of weapons thereafter fuelled civilian violence, with a series of smaller raids, particularly in the absence of an adequate state security apparatus.10 And the nomination processes for the 2010 elections – and elections themselves – led to new violence.

The killing of three Lou Nuer chiefs by Murle assailants in Thiam Payam in February 2011 provoked one of the largest armed mobilizations in South Sudan since the CPA. Revenge came two months later, when the Lou Nuer launched a coordinated attack on Murle cattle camps in the eastern part of Pibor County. Smaller attacks by both communities ensued, before a major Lou Nuer attack was launched against the Murle in June, lasting almost ten days, reportedly killing hundreds, and with many women and children abducted.11

There were two main modes of violence, the opportunistic raid and the massive attack, primarily along two front lines; opportunist raids predominantly against the Dinka of Greater Bor, and reciprocal massive attacks between the Murle and Lou Nuer.12 In both Murle and Nuer society, there had been a militarization of the youth, and the generational balance of power appears to have shifted youthwards.13 This development would have serious implications for any peace process. As Edward Thomas puts it:

The White Army [Nuer Youth] and armed youth groups are not traditional structures – they are examples of how traditional structures are transformed by violent experiences of modernity […] [T]hese groups operate within a semi-autonomous youth sphere, not entirely under the control of, or accountable to, traditional leaders.14

What happened in Pieri soon after independence was thus only the most recent manifestation of conflict between the Lou and Murle. We had an inkling that something could happen. Our aircraft had been overflying the Pibor and Akobo areas for deterrence and monitoring, and we had deployed personnel on overnight patrols into the two most critical locations. But in August 2011 UNMISS was still in start-up mode on all fronts, which limited our capacity, the territory involved was vast, and it was the middle of the rainy season, which made things worse. While attacks were more usual during the dry season, armed youths could march long distances even during the rains. The Murle were particularly hard to track and could move at night, often in small units, at times very well coordinated, and then attack.15 The assault on Pieri came without warning and with lightning speed in a remote location. Preventing inter-communal violence, deterring it, and protecting civilians from it was at the heart of our mandate. But I soon discovered that our military capabilities were wholly inadequate.

In late July I went to Pibor town, site of the April attack, taking place before UNMISS had been formally established in July. The wife and children of the local SPLA commander, a Murle, had been abducted during the attack. Local leaders told me they felt both victimized and ignored by central and state authorities, and accused all of us of siding with the Lou Nuer. (There was not a word about the Murle’s own previous assaults.) I was not afraid of anger and emotional outbursts, but this was my first confrontation with such despair. I urged them not to avenge the attack, and to give us a chance to work on a peace process that could yield positive results.

But only a month later came the attack on Pieri in the Lou Nuer area, presumably perpetrated by the Murle. We did not get information early enough to prevent the attack, and we would anyway have had major problems deploying into such a remote area on time. After some humanitarian assistance had been provided, I went to Pieri to meet the community. We sat under a tree, with all the chiefs and youths and women in large numbers. I expressed my deepest regrets and apologized that we had not been in a position to prevent the attacks or deploy forces to protect them.

Their story was the mirror image of the one in Pibor, and just as emotional. And there were no references to their own assaults on the Murle. They were clear that this attack would be avenged unless the government proved it could provide protection. I told them I would see the Murle in Pibor and would convey their outrage, but I also emphasized that this cycle of violence and revenge had to stop. In the end they would all be losers. This was my message to the Murle too, in Pibor immediately afterwards.

At this time, neither the two communities nor their local authorities were in contact. When I told each community that the other felt just as angry, abandoned and betrayed they were surprised. They saw themselves as victims and the other side as aggressors. By definition, the aggressor was the stronger, had the full support of powerful allies (the government, the UN), and was able to kill more people and steal more cattle. As far as each side was concerned, they had not done anything but respond to the terrible attacks of the other.

These assumptions were based on entrenched perceptions. Reconciling the communities was going to take a long time, maybe a decade or more. We had to try to take the first steps, contain the violence and halt the major attacks. But this was made even more difficult by politicians stoking the fires and the government’s failure to provide security. The communities had to rely on themselves. Armed youths appeared to be their protection.

Protect yourselves

Security is the most basic need for everyone, often underestimated as the prime driver of the actions individuals and communities take to protect themselves. If government does not provide protection, and the risk of attacks that can kill one’s family and destroy one’s livelihood escalates, measures must be taken. Communities then bind together to do what they can.

When the government itself is the main perpetrator of violence, danger reaches an entirely different order of magnitude. The record of the civil war is replete with examples of Sudanese forces, and at times also SPLA, attacking civilians. Militia were predators rather than protectors of civilians. The problem did not end with independence. The SPLA never warmed to the idea that protection of civilians was central to its role: this was a job for police. Besides, protecting civilians could be seen as the favouring of one community against another; they preferred to stay away. But the police had not yet been developed as an institution, and where they had been deployed, unarmed, they had no chance of handling ferocious inter-communal violence.

Hence, the government’s tacit message was: protect yourselves. While people hoped that inter-communal violence would decline after independence, it only increased. Communities had little choice but to organize their own youths. In some cases they formed police, in other cases groups of armed youths were tasked with protection. One example was the ‘Arrow Boys’ which was a local armed group formed to protect the community along the south-western border against the attacks of the Lord’s Resistance Army. Several state governors even backed local initiatives during 2012 and 2013, in the absence of protection from government security forces. However, as recruitment tended to be based on ethnic or clan identity, there was a risk that the raising of local forces could exacerbate, rather than reduce, ethnic violence. This appeared to have happened in Jonglei.

The majority of the population of Jonglei were so-called Nilotes, predominantly cattle herders, with strong traditions of cattle rustling against neighbouring communities. Among these ethnic groups the traditional age-class systems implied that warriors were expected to provide protection for their community, whether Nuer or Dinka. The Murle, although not seen as Nilotic, still regarded themselves as cattle-people and had similar age-set systems.16 In all three communities, young warriors are supposed to engage both in traditional cattle raiding, as well as in protecting their own people.17 The definition of ‘youth’ varies widely, and has in many cases lately expanded to include most able-bodied men with weapons.18

These traditions had taken on several other new dimensions. Many elders and chiefs told me that abhorrent acts of violence had not been seen in the old days, or not so widely. While rustling in the past was conducted with simple and less lethal weapons, we were now seeing civilians targeted in vicious and large-scale inter-communal attacks conducted with modern weapons. While raiding in the old days had strong principles and norms of protection of women and children, where warriors took pains not to harm them, now women, children and vulnerable people were targets. The anthropologist Jonathan E. Arensen has observed this development among the Murle, whose ethics of war have changed; many women, children and old men are now being killed in the attacks, and houses and crops burned.19

Sharon Hutchinson, an anthropologist and expert on the Nuer has observed the same changes among them and the Dinka. Until 1991, she says, the norms against slaying a child, woman or elderly person were very strong, such actions being seen as a reprehensible affront against God.20 Following decades of civil war, the availability of modern weapons and the fragmentation of traditional practices, this has changed. The killing of unarmed women and children has become standard practice.21 Combined with the mobilization of many thousand armed youths, often in uniform, and the use of RPGs, attacking neighbouring communities, we were no longer talking about ‘cattle raids’ in the traditional sense. Now the aim appeared not only to steal cattle, but also to kill civilians, to hurt the other community in a way that would make a decisive impact.

The Lou Nuer had, for example, organized large-scale, military structures with a clear chain of command. Traditional structures had been transformed by violent experiences of modernity.22 An additional layer of complexity was related to the supply of arms. During 2011–12 there were strong suspicions that the conflict was fuelled by arms supplied by George Athor, an ex-SPLA commander turned militia leader in Jonglei, allegedly supported by Khartoum. He was later killed in suspicious circumstances, and rumours of external involvement in the state subsided.

Widespread stereotyping, creation and use of ‘enemy’ images, and hate speech amounting to incitement to violence exacerbated conflicts. This included messaging about wiping out entire communities or forced removal from their lands. After the Pieri attack, the diaspora in Canada issued several press releases with this type of content. On 25 December 2011 another press release, originating in Nebraska, stated that the Nuer youth army had decided to ‘wipe out the entire Murle tribe on [sic] the face of the earth’.23 Not surprisingly, my public statements against hate speech a few weeks earlier had not had any impact. We could not ascertain, however, whether the fundraising of the radicalized diaspora and their messages of incitement had a direct influence on Lou Nuer youths and their operations.

Nowhere was the cycle of violence greater and more entrenched than in Jonglei. One minister had reminded me early on: ‘If Jonglei succeeds, South Sudan is more likely to succeed. If Jonglei fails, South Sudan is likely to fail.’ We later learned that other factors were to become even more decisive for peace in South Sudan, but Jonglei and the whole Upper Nile region were a constant, volatile reminder of the fragility of the new, independent country. Virtually all components of UNMISS were mobilized to try to prevent and deter attacks. The violence in Jonglei would continue to torment the government and UNMISS throughout the first three years of independence.

Immediately following the Pieri attacks we consulted widely, and a multi-pronged strategy was adopted in order to advance a reconciliation process and deter further attacks. The Anglican Archbishop Daniel Bul Deng was asked by the government to lead the process. A four-step approach involved delegations from both communities going to their respective communities and discussing how to address their grievances and prevent new attacks. Then joint delegations of both communities would go together, involving chiefs, women and youths, to show that this was a collective responsibility. They would also consult on how a negotiation process could be taken forward, which would be the third step. Finally, the plan was to organize a peace conference that would include agreement on return of abducted children and women just before the dry season commenced in mid December 2011.

UNMISS assisted the reconciliation process through logistical support and advice, calling for restraint through advocacy by key leaders with authority in the communities, and through sending integrated mission teams to the field to meet the communities. From 21 August, the Mission made significant efforts to prevent a major counter-attack, deterring violence through the effective use of our forces and air reconnaissance. Teams with civilian and military components and patrols were deployed to vulnerable communities for deterrence, early warning and heightened situational awareness. They ranged far and wide over the affected areas. During this period UNMISS conducted 600 ground patrols or air sorties24 and maintained a permanent presence in the four locations of highest risk.25

When threats of new counter-attacks were picked up in October 2011, we sent more delegations into the field to try to dissuade the armed youths. Throughout the next three months there was intense activity, with daily overflights of the most high-risk areas, and engagement with the communities. Revenge attacks by the Lou Nuer were stalled, at least for a while. The Nuer prophet, Dak Kueth Deng, was a prime mobilizer of the Lou (and at times of the so-called White Army), and would play a key role in determining when and how they attacked. Government officials, politicians and church leaders later made several attempts to reach out to him.26 At this juncture, he seemed to be holding back. Stories were even told that the prophet was afraid of the UN helicopters, believing they were evil forces that could attack him: this itself might have deterred revenge. Leaders of the armed youths said that they would give the peace process until mid December (2011). If no agreement had been reached by then they would go on the attack.

Up to December we had used our aviation assets massively to deter attacks, for information gathering, and facilitating the peace process through transporting leaders to remote locations to meet with the communities. On several occasions our helicopters were held by security forces or even shot at with small arms. Suddenly we got word that the military aviation unit from Russia was withdrawing from the Mission; their four helicopters left UNMISS in early November. Their unit was a ‘carry-over’ from former UNMIS, and although they had hinted that they might not stay in the new mission, we had hoped they would. It might also be that the many security incidents contributed. It was a great loss. This slowed down our operations and affected the peace process. Fourteen months would pass before we would again have military helicopters at our disposal.

By the end of November, the peace process had completed three of the four steps, but now our efforts were delayed. I had urged Vice President Riek Machar, a Nuer, to get involved, and in mid November he started calling youth leaders on their satellite phones. They did not pick up. The date for the peace conference was repeatedly pushed back, and the two sides’ commitment appeared to be faltering. We called on the government to fulfil its responsibility to protect civilians by deploying its own forces.

The SPLA dragged its feet. Senior officers said that the cycle of violence was part of life in South Sudan, and it would be impossible to stop it. Such responses frustrated me, and I continued to push, including at the highest levels, for the military to deploy. The President promised to send in forces, but there were no visible signs of SPLA deployments.

At the end of the rainy season, with roads still impassable in Jonglei, the Mission was entirely dependent on aircraft. Helicopters were the only realistic means of transport for most of our operations, but even they had trouble landing, since according to UN rules every landing site had to be tested regularly. And our helicopters could usually carry only 20 soldiers at a time.

Baptism by fire27

On 5 December 2011 we got bad news. Another attack had taken place, now at Jalle, in the area of the Bor Dinka. Forty-one people had been killed, many wounded, and more than 1,000 cattle reported stolen.28 Murle youths were allegedly behind the attack.

This seemed to be the last straw for the peace process. It was the trigger for the Lou Nuer (and Dinka) to take revenge, both for this last attack and the one in August.29 We alerted the government that we needed to prepare for a major conflict and deploy larger forces to protect the population. We continued our daily flights to deter attacks, despite the loss of the Russian military helicopters. The Prophet Dak Kueth called for a full mobilization of the Lou Nuer, and they started moving in huge numbers from three different places. It would take time before they had all gathered, but it was now very urgent to try to stop the movement towards Murle territory.

At the highest levels and through public statements I urged the SPLA to deploy additional forces to Pibor and surrounding areas.30 On our side, we strengthened our military presence in the area to almost one battalion31 within a short time. Through air reconnaissance we monitored the movement of the Lou youths, who were making steady progress towards the Murle area; in mid December an estimated 6,000–8,000 were observed marching towards Pibor. I called on the President, the Vice President, and SPLA Chief of the General Staff to speed up deployment to protect civilians. I also gave orders to increase the deployment of UNMISS forces, although the numbers we had at our disposal were very small.

UNMISS deployed to the main population centres. As of 25 December, more than 50 per cent of our infantry, amounting to eight of 15 companies, were committed or had been mobilized to protect civilians in Jonglei. I had given specific instructions to the Force Commander to protect civilians, and he conveyed these in writing to field commanders. These instructions included the use of lethal force.

Despite his unsuccessful effort to reach White Army leaders, I now urged the Vice President to try again. Riek Machar cancelled a visit to Dubai and returned from Nairobi to handle the situation, held long meetings with leaders of the Lou Nuer in Juba, and tried to contact the White Army leaders. UNMISS facilitated his travel to Likuongole, deep in Murle territory, which the White Army leadership was approaching, on 28 December.

But Riek was unable to convince the thousands of youths to go home. They ignored his pleas, and proceeded with the attack. Local authorities had already advised civilians to leave Likuongole for surrounding areas where they would be safer. We helped evacuate quite a number by helicopter; only about 100 were left. Now I instructed our forces not to leave a single vulnerable civilian behind.32 After confirming that they had searched the town and completed the mission, they pulled out to reinforce Pibor. It was here that most civilians would be at risk and where we now expected the biggest attack. After a second unsuccessful attempt to dissuade the armed youths, the Vice President was flown back to Juba.

The White Army then burnt down Likuongole. Among the messages daubed in the ruins were: ‘We come to kill all of the Murle’ and ‘We [will] come again [so] don’t [come] sit [here] again.’33 The number of killed in town was considered low, given the early warning and the evacuation efforts; 100 civilians had taken shelter in the SPLA barracks outside the town, while human-rights investigators found 8 people dead in town.34

By this time the SPLA had finally managed to get reinforcements to Pibor, and we had moved all our nearby forces there. This was necessary, as none of the forces alone was adequate to face an attack of the expected size. At the same time, our armoured personnel carriers had finally reached Pibor, late in the evening on 31 December. As heavy-lift aircraft could not land at Pibor’s airstrip, the trip from Juba had taken days owing to nearly impassable roads. All forces were now positioned.

The White Army, in massive numbers, camped across the river and on 2 January marched on the town. When some 150–200 of them tried to cross the river to attack, the SPLA opened fire. Simultaneously UNMISS forces had moved two armoured personnel carriers to the eastern side of town and deterred the Lou Nuer youths from advancing there. After seeing several killed, the Lou pulled back. And on 3–4 January the attackers were observed retreating northwards to their home areas. This marked the first time in history that the SPLA had opened fire to stop inter-communal violence. Thousands of civilian lives had been saved by these defensive actions.

But our sigh of relief was premature. Two groups had broken away from the main Lau column and unexpectedly circled around Pibor and headed south into regions, I was told, where they had never before ventured. They were heading deep into Murle land, where there were no roads, very few helicopter landing sites, and thus no way our forces could pursue them through the bush.

Our later investigations indicated that the Lou Nuer attacks had begun as early as 23 December. When the White Army passed along the Nanaam river; many civilians were killed and cattle taken. There were similar attacks on settlements while advancing on Likuongole and in villages south of Pibor.

We learned that the objective of the attacks appeared to go beyond retaliatory reprisals, to destroy the livelihood of the Murle, depopulate and displace, and to undermine the credibility of the state. The scale of the three Lou Nuer raids within a nine-month period in 2011 indeed suggested these were part of a wider strategy; by targeting not only vulnerable civilians but also social and economic infrastructure, this was designed to neutralize the Murle capacity to retaliate. If our conclusion was correct, the strategy failed: the Murle would later retaliate in kind.

This was my first encounter with all the difficulties a mission like ours, in vast and extremely difficult and hostile terrain, was facing. In many ways, it was baptism by fire. And it showed with stark clarity that the Mission lacked the resources needed to implement its mandate to protect civilians. To defend territory against an attack, the normal military calculation is a requirement of two to three times as many troops as the enemy. Protecting civilians is different. Still, being outnumbered in the way UNMISS was, made it close to impossible to succeed.

The Lou Nuer were no motley crew of rampaging teenagers. They were as many as 8,000 young men, most of them in uniform, well organized and in formations, under a unified command, with small arms and RPGs. The total number of UNMISS infantry in the whole of South Sudan was no more than 3,500, deployed all over the country. During this crisis, more than half of our infantry were in the Pibor area, far too few in relation to a much larger threat.35 We seemed to be set up for failure. And I knew that I would be the one accused before the Security Council if we failed.

A few days after the Lou Nuer attack in the Pibor area, a frustrated county commissioner of Pibor stated publicly that more than 3,000 people had been killed. This set off a firestorm in the media.36 UNMISS was accused of not protecting civilians. We knew that consolidated figures of casualties could not have been gathered by this time, and we were pretty sure the commissioner’s figure was highly inflated. When our own investigations were completed, the number of killed was estimated at 612.37 Most civilians killed had been in the settlements and villages along the Nanaam, when the Lou were advancing between Likuongole and Pibor, and by the break-out flanks venturing farther into the bush south of Pibor. Few were killed during the attack on the town. Some 90,000 people had fled into the bush, and it was impossible to protect them all in such remote areas and difficult terrain. In the aftermath, they were now dependent on humanitarian aid, and we had to launch a massive operation to avoid severe and acute malnutrition.

A few days later, the media frenzy resumed. We had become front-page news globally. The UN was accused of standing idly by as Pibor was attacked. There was no mention that the attackers had been repulsed.38 A reporter had joined a visit organized for the Juba ambassadors of Security Council members to Pibor.39 Extensive patrols by UNMISS over the following three weeks did not find the ‘trail of corpses’ stretching ‘miles into the bush’ that had been alleged.40 I knew that it was almost impossible to refute this account without appearing defensive; an impression of a failing Mission festered. I had learnt another lesson.

But the picture was even more complex. On 27 December, four days after the first Lou Nuer groups started attacking Murle communities, UNMISS had begun receiving reports of attacks the other way, by Murle on Lou Nuer and Dinka communities. There were credible accounts that many were killed. At the same time, I realized that communities were playing politics with the numbers. Thorough investigations were needed to prevent such hype from taking hold and making reconciliation even more difficult. Numbers of killed and cattle taken could in themselves be mobilization tools, not least in the hands of politicians regarded as community leaders.

A small victory turns sour

The scale of the Pibor incident sent shock waves through the government. They had rarely seen such a large inter-communal attack, and regarded it as an affront to the state. The President and security ministers were all clear: the armed youths had to be disarmed, if need be by force, all over Jonglei, whether Lou Nuer, Murle or Dinka. The President conveyed this commitment to the UN and counterparts at the AU summit in Addis Ababa at the end of January. Even if people were killed in the process of forceful disarmament, that would be better than allowing these attacks, risking the lives of thousands, to continue.

I worked hard through numerous informal meetings to convince the ministers and President that this was not the way to go. As long as the government was not providing security, people would arm themselves and would not willingly hand over their weapons. It was critical to avoid violent confrontations. I reminded them that such disarmament campaigns had had devastating effects in the past, with hundreds of people killed. Initially, hardly anyone agreed. By the end of February, however, following intense engagement, we had managed to make progress.

The Government decided instead to conduct the campaign in two phases. First there would be a voluntary disarmament led by community leaders and local authorities. Security forces would stand by in case of trouble. The process would be simultaneous in all three communities to avoid concern about vulnerability to attack if one disarmed before the other. The second phase would then involve the police, and as necessary the SPLA, and be conducted in areas of resistance. Only as a last resort would the government permit the use of force by the SPLA.

The change of approach was positive. Before the disarmament campaign started, a high-level sensitization campaign in the whole of Jonglei State, among all affected communities, was conducted to prepare them and engage their leaders. Before the process started, I urged respect for international humanitarian law and the Geneva Conventions on human rights in the disarmament process, and that instructions to this effect be sent to all security forces. I was reassured by the President that such instructions had been given.41

UNMISS also tried to prevent further revenge attacks, this time by the Murle. There were many rumours; concern focused on the Lou Nuer area of Akobo. We sent additional forces there, but logistical constraints prevented any sizable deployment. Integrated teams moved in to talk to the communities. Up to 4 February, a total of 44 incidents took place, involving killings and other casualties, abductions and looting or destruction of private property and public facilities in Lou Nuer and Dinka settlements. All were attributed to Murle groups. In these attacks some 276 people were killed.

Without reconciliation, the cycle of violence would be perpetual. Our main focus was therefore the peace process. It was re-launched by Archbishop Daniel Deng Bul, who in February was appointed by the President to chair the Committee for Community Peace, Reconciliation and Tolerance. This, a second try at a peace process, included all the ethnic groups of Jonglei. Through visits to all communities and every county in the state, through meetings with youths, women, chiefs and other leaders, the process culminated in early May in an All-Jonglei Peace Conference. UNMISS facilitated the whole process, through transport and logistical support, and with our Civil Affairs officers. At the same time, we engaged actively with political leaders of the different communities, both in Juba and in Jonglei.42

On 5 May the Paramount Chiefs of all three communities signed a detailed Framework Agreement for peace, in the presence of the President, a number of ministers, and the UNMISS leadership. Everyone praised this, not least owing to the commitment to return abducted women and children, and to the detailed implementation plan.43 Some politicians from the Jonglei communities had misgivings, however,44 and another warning signal came from some of the young people: ‘This is a peace conference for people in towns,’ said Gok Nahek Kok, a youth leader representing the Lou Nuer.45

After the signing in Bor, the paramount chiefs were flown together to various parts of Jonglei to sensitize the people. Some of them had never been outside their own areas. For pastoralist communities, grazing land is all-important. If other communities are seen to be encroaching on their land, their livelihood is threatened, and they feel obliged to defend themselves, their cattle and their territory. It was therefore important for us to give the chiefs a ‘bird’s-eye view’, literally – of their land in relation to the territory of others. When the Murle Paramount Chief flew over Lou Nuer land in the helicopter, for the first time in his life, and came to their ‘capital’, Akobo, he exclaimed: ‘I never knew that the Nuer-land was so big. Now I understand that we have nothing to fear. The Nuer will not try to take over the Murle land.’ Similar realizations dawned on the other chiefs and were important for any reconciliation process to have a chance of succeeding. By this time UNMISS had assisted with a total of almost 1,000 flights to support peace efforts in Jonglei. It was a massive investment.

The disarmament process had started at this time.46 All three communities had recommended this at the peace conference, as long as the process was conducted peacefully and simultaneously. UNMISS had supported the sensitization campaign to make sure local chiefs and communities were informed. On the day the President had launched the campaign, 12 March,47 UNMISS issued a statement of clear expectations of a peaceful and voluntary disarmament campaign. The Mission established a monitoring process with an extensive field presence, deterring abuse. This would also enable the SPLA to take action if human-rights violations were reported. We had decided to share all the reports from our monitoring missions to make it possible for the SPLA to deal with any commanders mismanaging the process. More than 110 Integrated Monitoring Teams and Integrated Protection Teams were deployed to various locations in Jonglei State. All of them included human-rights officers.

Initially, they found that the process was conducted in a largely voluntary and peaceful manner, with few human-rights violations in Lou Nuer and Dinka areas. Community leaders appeared to have convinced the youths to cooperate, and to hand over at least some of their weapons. The process brought at least a lull in inter-communal attacks. Human-rights violations, registered and verified, were raised with the SPLA directly. Some incidents happened; in another press statement we urged restraint and respect for human rights.48 Disarmament was not implemented in a simultaneous manner as planned, however. There were capacity problems, leading to a sequential approach by default. Those disarmed early feared attacks from the others, which also complicated implementation.49

When the campaign moved to Pibor County, the Murle area, serious concerns arose.50 From late May onwards a number of human-rights violations were reported there, perpetrated by the SPLA. There was limited cooperation with community leaders, and a voluntary approach seemed to have given way to force. The SPLA was in the forefront of the process, and its contingents were Nuers. This raised concern that ethnicity was a motivating factor behind their rougher and at times violent behaviour.

We reported our findings of verified human-rights violations to the SPLA, urging them to change strategy and deal with perpetrators. From June onwards we shared the reports on a weekly basis, showing increasing numbers of violations. We requested the government to take urgent action, and to hold commanders to account. On several occasions, the SPLA acknowledged abuse, and this led to some arrests and courts martial.51 The Government also decided to establish a joint investigation committee including state and central authorities. While this was a positive step, the negative trend continued. Rapes, abductions and other abuses were reported, as well as six killings.52 In late June we issued a critical press statement and reported the incidents to the Security Council.53 Nevertheless, from mid July there was a sharp increase in violations.

A number of rapes were reported to us from Pibor on 23 July, and in early August several cases of abduction, rape and abuse were also registered elsewhere. Our human-rights teams were sent to verify the incidents. Simulated drowning had reportedly been used to make people cooperate.54 On 6 August, the Pibor County commissioner asked for civilian disarmament to be temporarily suspended, as he feared that the abuses would lead Murle youths to join a burgeoning rebellion. His call went unheeded.55

We had raised our concerns many times, seemingly to no avail. We now had to go public. On 24 August, following additional verification, we issued a statement criticizing the SPLA for the most recent spike in serious violations, and called for immediate action to halt abuse and bring perpetrators to account.56 Before issuing the statement I called the relevant security ministers, the Minister of Information, SPLA Chief of General Staff and local division commander, informing them about the contents and asking them to inform the President.

At the same time it was reported to us that on the 23rd the SPLA had lost 24 soldiers killed and 14 wounded in clashes with the Murle-dominated militia of David Yau Yau close to Likuongole.57 We later learned that there had been three separate battles, and that the SPLA had been ambushed and suffered losses on the 22nd also. Including soldiers missing, the total number of casualties could rise to around a hundred; the number was never confirmed to us. The timing of UNMISS’s statement was clearly very unfortunate.

Worse, and typical in an environment where people hardly ever check facts, our statement became confused with an open letter to President Kiir from Human Rights Watch made public on 23 August,58 and indeed with our own human-rights report on Jonglei that had been released some two months earlier but gone unnoticed by people who should have read it.

Under fire

The whole SPLA, security apparatus and government, even at the highest levels, seemed to think we had issued a report without advance warning. Even church leaders averred that I had been too tough on the human-rights issue, and that we would have to tone down the public criticism in order to make progress in the Jonglei peace process. The President accused the UN, in a speech that was widely broadcast, of spreading false information; Human Rights Watch and the UN had ‘a hidden agenda against us’, he said, ‘but one day, we will deal with these individuals that are trying to confuse the whole world.’59 Little did I know that this was a warning of what was to come. I had earlier requested a meeting with the President, and now I insisted. It was delayed. At a presentation I gave at the SPLA commanders meeting,60 criticism was severe.

I had already been under fire from some NGOs in Juba for not taking the Mission’s human-rights mandate seriously. They accused us of avoiding public reporting on violations and even of being in the ‘pocket’ of the government. They criticized the Mission for supporting the SPLA’s disarmament campaign with logistical support, which was not true. In fact, UNMISS had followed exactly the same procedures as the former Mission. We did not support the SPLA in any way, except by providing fuel on a cost-recovery basis when they were running out. And we screened any activity against human rights provisions.61

The President’s public criticism was obviously a message to me and the Mission. And while his staff were friendly, for two months I had not been able to secure a meeting with him. On 22 October I was called to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs for what I thought might be a formal complaint or protest about our human-rights reporting. But I was not prepared for this: our Director of Human Rights, Richard Bennett, and Senior Advisor in the Human Rights Division, Sandra Beidas, were required to leave the country within 48 hours. As the formal statement was read to me I was reminded of Khartoum, where the government had made a habit of declaring UN officials personae non gratae; it seemed that independent South Sudan was following suit. The order had come from the President’s Office. I was informed that my two officers had been:

engaging in clandestine misinformation to the international community about events in South Sudan by producing false information on issues of human rights and other reports from non-existing crimes or victimization. Their activities construed a national security threat to the Country, as well as being incompatible with the impartial nature of their duties under Article (VI) Section (5) of the SOFA-agreement […] Due to the above, the two officials have been ordered to leave the Country within 48 hrs upon receipt of this letter.62

I knew that the President must have approved this. I went straight back to the office and called the Vice President, the relevant ministers, and the President’s closest advisers, asking for a reversal of the decision, of which, I found, none of them had been aware. I worked the phones until 11.00 p.m., and continued the next morning. Oyay Deng Ajak, the minister of national security, went to the President and appealed that Richard Bennett at least should to stay.63 But the minister of presidential affairs, Emmanuel Lowilla, advised Kiir to stick to his decision and expel both officials. In the end, the President let Bennett stay,64 but unfortunately, we did not succeed with Sandra Beidas, who had to leave the country.

I had still not seen President Kiir. Within the diplomatic community, and among NGOs and my own staff there was understandable impatience that we had not issued a statement condemning the action against the two staff members. But with tensions that had been building between the UN and the government, I had to see the President before going public. Finally, another week later, I managed to meet him at his house. It was made clear that a reversal about Beidas was out of the question; I conveyed that a statement protesting against this decision would now be issued. I also used the opportunity to go over the Jonglei issues in detail, and the reasons for my earlier statement. Kiir had obviously not been properly briefed about how the human-rights monitoring was conducted, the regular sharing of information with all relevant SPLA commanders, and the thrust of the findings. We cleared the air. UNMISS’s statement was immediately released.65 Subsequent condemnation by the international community – including some of South Sudan’s closest supporters – was, as expected, very strong.

The clash with the militia leader David Yau Yau (DYY), who was allegedly Khartoum-sponsored, sent shockwaves through the SPLA. While his was originally a small armed group, not taken seriously, fears were growing that he could mobilize armed Murle youths against the government. Most towns in the Pibor area had by this time been emptied of men, and not least youths, who it seemed had all ventured into the bush to avoid disarmament, as had happened during previous campaigns, where a common strategy was to evade the state altogether. The Murle youths were never among the ‘lost boys’; rather than fleeing the country they simply went into hiding in remote parts of their own territory.66

The disarmament process had in fact been put on hold, although not publicly, in the hope that an understanding might be reached with David Yau Yau. A number of youths now appeared to have joined his group, beyond the large number of child soldiers already recruited.67 Abuse and harassment against civilians were reported, as well as abductions of women and children. These allegations could not be verified, however, owing to lack of access. UNMISS contingents deployed to protect civilians were threatened by DYY several times, including the unit in Likuongole.68 Murle leaders wanted to avoid a convergence between their armed youths and the militia leader that would lead to a confrontation with the state. As early as in late September 2012 a meeting of all Murle chiefs was convened.

I travelled to Pibor and listened carefully. The most prominent Paramount Chief, a so-called ‘Red Chief’, spoke last as custom dictated. Usually, as I knew from having heard him previously, he conveyed his thoughts through analogies and stories from Murle tradition. This time, the message was clear:

For so many years we have been ‘urinated upon by dogs’ [he said, alluding to the treatment they had been given by Khartoum]. Independence helped us be separated from these people. But we are now in a situation where differences between us are being exploited. People have become tribalists. Now that we have got our independence, we are turning against each other. This has to stop.69

The chiefs had already sent people to talk to David Yau Yau several times, and now agreed to send a letter, carried by more prominent chiefs, in an attempt to persuade him to negotiate. The militia leader rebuffed them.

More and more armed Murle youths joined David Yau Yau, angered by the atrocities against their people and in protest against the disarmament campaign. Skirmishes with the SPLA took place in Pibor County in November and December, as did incidents involving SPLA human-rights abuses of civilians, including killings, although disarmament had stopped.70 By that time thousands of armed youths had joined, including the two most important age sets among the Murle, the Botonya and the Lango.71 Airdrops of boxes had also been observed by UNMISS in the vicinity of David Yau Yau’s base, and although we could not confirm their contents, it was thought that they held weapons and ammunition from Sudan. Several of his lieutenants were still in Khartoum, and presumably in regular contact with Sudan military intelligence.

The situation in Pibor town was deteriorating. In late December SPLA soldiers went on a rampage, burnt houses and caused many civilians to flee to the bush. Some 1,100 civilians came to our base for protection. A government investigating committee condemned the military’s behaviour.72 But similar incidents took place on 27 January, when parts of the town were burnt and infighting between SPLA elements led to the killing also of innocent civilians. By then most of the population had left, with only the old, sick, and pregnant or nursing women and children remaining. They sought refuge in our base when things got rough – from fighting in the vicinity, SPLA abuse, looting or vandalism. In Pibor such rampages happened at least ten times. In Boma there was a similar episode in late December, with reports of dead or wounded civilians. If these bad practices were allowed to continue, many civilians would be caught in the middle between misbehaving SPLA forces and militia attacking SPLA positions.

The first time we had opened our gates to fleeing civilians was during the crisis in Wau on 19 December 2012, after nine civilians had been killed by security forces, and many wounded in ensuing ethnic violence.73 That episode too had involved smaller ethnic groups such as the Fertit and the Balanda, who had been at odds with the SPLA establishment.74 We protested the incident, as we received more than 5,000 civilians in our base within a few hours. The Mission developed a Standard Operating Procedure for such incidents, negotiated and agreed within the whole UN family, including humanitarian partners. Civilians would later be protected a number of times, including in Pibor and Gumuruk.

Peacekeeping illusions

UNMISS’s mandate to protect civilians was strong and wide-ranging. But we faced major difficulties in Pibor. We needed early warning, the ability to deploy quickly, adequate numbers of troops, and the ability to deter attacks or protect against them. UNMISS had deficits in all these areas. Without river transport or all-terrain vehicles we were entirely dependent on our helicopters. In Jonglei there had been a mission for six years prior to UNMISS’s establishment, but few lessons appeared to have been learnt.

Our troop strength was much lower than that of similar missions – one soldier per 100 km, about a third fewer than the least-manned comparable UN Mission.75 Since, admittedly, no amount of troops realistically available would be enough for a country like South Sudan, force multipliers were needed, and particularly a much more diverse set of mobility assets. But we had none, and we appeared to be talking to deaf ears. As late as April 2013, during a review of UNMISS, we had trouble convincing visiting colleagues of the urgent need for strengthening the capabilities of the Mission.

When the Mission lost its military helicopters, the situation became worse. Civilian aviation companies volunteered to compensate for the loss.76 On 21 December 2012, however, the SPLA shot down one of the civilian-contracted Russian helicopters of the NVA company, killing the four personnel aboard.77 They had been testing helicopter landing sites in the vicinity of our base in Likuongole. This was regarded as a priority in the event of an evacuation of our troops or the need to deploy additional forces to protect civilians.78 This was also close to an area where David Yau Yau’s militia was active. White helicopters were allegedly used by Khartoum to supply him,79 and the SPLA claimed to have mistaken the UN craft for one of those. But the UN markings on the helicopter could not have been mistaken, and were visible from all angles. A high-level Board of Inquiry convened by UN headquarters completed a thorough investigation into the downing; it verified that UNMISS had communicated the flight plan to the SPLA, whose officer confirmed receipt. The shoot-down was the responsibility of the SPLA. It was a war crime, and condemnation came from all over world, including the Security Council.

From both the personal and professional perspectives, the loss of personnel in service is one of the toughest things one can go through. The way the incident was managed by the South Sudanese made things worse. Unwillingness to take responsibility, carry out credible investigations, and hold commanders to account was embarrassing and had repercussions for relations with the Russian Federation and the UN. It took a lot of effort from me and from key staff to get a minimum of cooperation and transparency in the process. To date, however, no one has been held criminally responsible.

The shooting down of the helicopter had an enormous impact on the Mission and its operations. A number of security incidents had occurred earlier, including helicopters shot at by small arms, and these had led to additional safety measures. But now procedures were taken to a whole new level. As an immediate reaction, we put all reconnaissance flights on hold. Pilots would not fly unless there were new procedures in place to strengthen aviation safety and security. They included written safety guarantees from three levels of the SPLA, the local commander, the sector command and general headquarters, prior to departure to high-risk areas. This could take days, of course, and paperwork was often stuck somewhere, stalling the whole operation. The best we could hope for was two days between request and flight assurance, but usually it took three or four or even longer.

The Mission had been without military helicopters for a total of 14 months when finally a unit of six military helicopters from Rwanda arrived in January 2013. The new safety procedures were made applicable both to civilian and military helicopters. Insecurity in Jonglei meant that most of the state was categorized as high risk. For such areas, additional safety procedures applied, and had to be verified before take-off. For example, helicopters had to follow certain routes that were regarded as safe, and were not permitted to fly below 5,000 feet, which was the expected range of anti-aircraft missiles. The days when we could fly low to deter and monitor columns of armed youths were over. The prospects for air reconnaissance, both as early warning and as a safety measure, were much reduced.

The UN’s aviation safety procedures80 were a particular challenge. First, helicopters could not land except at a site that had been recognized and tested every third month, usually with two flights each time. In a country as vast as South Sudan, it was almost impossible that there would be a recently tested landing site exactly where civilians were under threat.81 Secondly, before UN helicopters could test new landing sites, these needed to be secured by UNMISS troops or other friendly forces. But when the reason for reconnoitring was that helicopters were unable to land, how could friendly forces or peacekeepers on location secure the site? There were no other means of transport. Thirdly, if a landing site was, against all odds, near civilians under threat, helicopters were still not allowed to land if there was fighting, or an immediate risk of fire. ‘Nearby’ in this context meant within about 5 kms or 3.1 miles, both for testing flights and normal ones. And it was this rule that had determined the flight plan for the fatal flight that was shot down in December. Protecting civilians or evacuating soldiers was a problem if one was not permitted to land anywhere near them. Another was that this could actually increase the risk that something could happen, rather than reducing it. But this, I was told, was a non-negotiable rule. And the same rules applied to military aircraft, an issue a UN High Level Panel on Peace operations recently addressed.82

In UNMISS, additional, elaborate safety procedures now applied. In my position I had no choice but to follow them, especially after a helicopter was shot down and numerous other safety and security incidents against our helicopters had been traced to the government’s security forces. It was UN headquarters, however, that had decided that military helicopters should be subject to the same safety rules as civilian choppers.83 On the other hand, the Rwandans had infrared cameras on one of their military aircraft, which permitted effective reconnaissance from higher altitudes. Even then, however, we soon discovered that the cameras had been placed on the aircraft with the smallest fuel tanks, and it could not get to the most important monitoring areas at this time, such as large parts of Pibor County. It did not help much.

The beginning of the dry season made mobility by land easier, however. We decided to reinforce our presence across Jonglei with the use of the best vehicles we had. With these we could prepare for a worst-case scenario. But there were no roads, and the vehicles were not all-terrain. This limited our reach. The Mission was in a perpetual mobility crisis.

Keeping large forces in remote locations for a long time is a huge logistical challenge. While trucks had some reach in the dry season, a lot of our bulk supplies had to be flown in, several times a week. Unless an established base had a recognized airstrip for fixed wing aircraft, we were usually limited to between 150 and 300 troops at a time at any remote location. This meant that in the event of a surprise attack on civilians, without prior warning, our forces would be few, in the wrong place or easily circumvented. It felt as if we were searching for a needle in a haystack.

Mobility crisis becomes credibility crisis

In our regular meetings with the government and SPLA leaders, we encouraged stronger action to protect civilians. This was, after all, first and foremost the obligation of the state. We mapped hotspots where major efforts were needed to prevent communal violence, and not only in Jonglei. The other main trouble areas were Lakes State, where inter-clan fighting regularly took place, as well as communal violence across the boundaries in the Tri-State area, the triangle in the vast border zone of Lakes, Unity and Warrap. The numbers at risk did not reach those usually affected in the Jonglei violence, however.

We advocated early engagement by the government in cooperation with communities at all levels. In some cases we succeeded in getting processes under way to prevent the worst outcomes. The Tri-State area was particularly volatile, with cattle raiding and fighting regularly taking place between armed youths of the Dinka and the Nuer across state borders. As this was also an area of less risk to our aviation assets, we could deploy more rapidly and flexibly. The Mission engaged actively in prevention efforts, as well as deterrence through flights and military presence, in some cases successfully even against columns of thousands.84 Successful UN actions often went unnoticed.

But the situation in Jonglei continued to be our greatest headache. On 8 February 2013 there was another incident, this time at Walgak in north-west Jonglei. This appeared to be a revenge attack by the Murle. The county commissioner of Akobo, Goi Yol, had heard rumours of an impending attack, and warned people a few days in advance not to use the normal migration route.85 He guessed that civilians taking their cattle for grazing would be targeted. But where the attack would come was impossible to know. One of our patrols went to Walgak but could not get more information from the local people. We could not deploy without knowing more. Then suddenly, a couple of days later, we learned that an attack had indeed taken place.

Two groups had already successfully migrated to the Sobat river, and now a population of about 1,000, mainly of women and children, were reportedly on their way with their cattle, some 6,000 or 7,000 in number. Despite warnings, they were taking the normal route, escorted by 40 SPLA soldiers. This was the first time I had heard of such an escort. They were proceeding through the Mantor area towards the river when they were attacked. The SPLA engaged the attackers in fighting that lasted several hours. UNMISS later counted 85 bodies at that site alone; the total figure of 118 mentioned by local authorities might have been correct. The operation appeared to have been very well planned. The majority of those killed were women and children. Surviving witnesses wept while telling how the attackers had danced triumphantly afterwards, and had celebrated their revenge as they made off with the cattle.86

The Walgak attack took place during the dry season. But the area was very remote, and had no helicopter landing site. Even investigating this terrible incident proved farcical. There were no roads. Our brave and dedicated human-rights team walked 55 kms in 48 hours through the bush from the sub-county centre to the location of the attack, with UN military and local scouts leading the way. They were able to secure a landing site, which later enabled reinforcements and supplies to arrive by helicopter.

In all of this, one thing bothered me most of all: UN procedures for medical evacuations differed from other operations.87 It was a paradox for me that flying in to save one or two UN staff could be done without further ado, while lifesaving missions to protect civilians at risk of being killed were subject to the same aviation rules as those transporting water and fuel to our bases. I felt that lifesaving missions should be subject to the same rules, whoever was at risk.

I flew up to Walgak and met the community. Visiting the hospital set up by Doctors Without Borders to treat the wounded, I heard the horror stories of survivors. Under a tree outside the hospital, community leaders, women and youths were gathered. I braced myself for another tough encounter with people who had lost so many. The message from all of them was clear: ‘The UN is protecting the Murle, not us.’

While international NGOs, and at times also diplomats, blamed us for not protecting the Murle, or not being concerned about their fate, the situation was the exact opposite among South Sudanese in general. We were accused by all the other communities in Jonglei, and by the government, of favouring the Murle. This was becoming a credibility problem for the Mission, which could endanger our ability to contribute to and support a peace process.

Upon returning to Juba I met even sharper attacks from leaders of the Lou Nuer. They had lost faith in the Misson; they had had enough. I should just leave the country and go home. Of course the Murle had used the same sort of language on several similar occasions.

These were very difficult and painful conversations. If I referred to the government’s primary responsibility for the protection of civilians on its own territory, with security forces almost 20 times the number of our peacekeepers, this was seen as scapegoating. After hours of conversation, these community meetings, often including legislators and ministers from the relevant communities at the state and national levels, usually ended on a different note, as the leaders understood better the constraints on the Mission and were able to continue working with us.

I held a press conference on 15 February in order to convey a strong but balanced message on the protection of civilians, whatever their ethnic background, to express concern about human rights violations generally and in Jonglei, and to reiterate again the urgent need for accountability there and in Wau. We were worried that there might be another big retaliatory attack by the Lou Nuer, and in late March we saw the first signs of mobilization. The clock was ticking for the government in Jonglei. Unless an understanding was reached with David Yau Yau and his forces, the SPLA would resume operations in the state. Knowing the likely impact on civilians, I hoped that such a counter-insurgency campaign could be forestalled.

Protection in peril

The Government had made an effort to reach out to David Yau Yau and to avoid a military campaign. At its request, UNMISS had facilitated delegations of community leaders to meet the Murle traditional leaders and agree on a strategy; Murle chiefs would go to Yau Yau in January with the President’s offer of an amnesty. But he remained evasive. The Government held off a full-scale military operation to curb this new and growing militia.

The Government’s security team asked discreetly whether the UN would be willing to engage as a third-party mediator. It was assumed that DYY needed to feel secure before he would come forward, and that the UN would be best placed to provide such guarantees. We preferred to facilitate the efforts of another third-party mediator, but the UN was willing to guarantee DYY’s security. James Ellery, a retired British colonel with experience in South Sudan, both as a UN official and in other capacities, went to meet him in mid February 2013.

Ellery found that the militia leader had a lot of respect for President Kiir, but was much more critical of the SPLA and other members of the government. Having once integrated into the SPLA, but later defected because of the way the Army had treated him, Yau Yau was very sceptical. Ellery estimated that some 30–40 per cent of the 500 militia were children as young as 12. But he was unable to get a firm response from the commander himself, perhaps because hardliners among his people, some with close contacts in Khartoum, held him back. Ellery went to see the ‘rebel’ leader five or six times in various places in Pibor County, but the militia’s leadership group would not agree.

The SPLA launched its military operation on 5 March 2013. I made the difficult assessment that the SPLA, after these efforts, could not have been persuaded otherwise. I had thus engaged at the highest level, providing the government and SPLA with a position paper on the need to respect the Geneva Conventions and human rights. The Defence Minister and SPLA leadership made it clear both would be followed. I saw the order to the relevant commanders; suitable instructions had been given. In a separate press statement, I urged the government to make sure that this commitment was honoured on the ground.88 Of course I was criticized by some foreign observers for not publicly opposing the military operation itself, but I felt that this would have been counter-productive.

At the same time, a last-ditch effort was now made to get agreement with David Yau Yau. On 13 March James Ellery flew to Pibor County and tried to get his consent to a 48-hour ceasefire. The UNMISS team handling this flew into unknown territory, often to untested landing sites and at great risk in light of the lack of credible communication channels within the militia. All this was not in accordance with our aviation procedures, but we had the green light from Kigali for the Rwandan helicopters to undertake such an operation. Despite these efforts, Ellery did not succeed. The answer was non-committal. There would be more fighting in Jonglei.

Counter-insurgency on the loose

The SPLA’s counter-insurgency efforts would take place in the most challenging terrain, and against a force that was part militia and part armed youths. Civilians had already fled the towns for the bush. Some vulnerable ones remained but, as so often, it was very difficult to distinguish combatants from civilians, making the counter-insurgency operation fraught with high risk.

UNMISS had small contingents at Pibor and Gumuruk. These forces patrolled the towns and surrounding areas, but did not seem to have established deterrence. They found it difficult to stop SPLA abuse of civilians. I ordered a more robust posture, and much more frequent patrols, including at night, but this did not seem to help much. At times, civilians were also caught in the middle of skirmishes, unrest and abuse in the vicinity of the towns, and they fled to the small UN bases for protection, whether Pibor or Gumuruk. At first there were 250 or 300, often for just a few days. Later the numbers increased to over 1,000.

The SPLA’s operation against David Yau Yau’s forces soon raised serious concerns. Although my attempt to ensure compliance with international humanitarian law and human-rights obligations had initially worked, at least on paper, and the President had publicly emphasized the importance of these commitments, the SPLA engaged in looting, abuse and harassment, and failed adequately to distinguish between combatants and civilians. Five civilians were killed and ten wounded at Pibor and Gumuruk on 1 April; four civilians were killed a week later at Manyabol; a woman and her two children were killed in the vicinity of Pibor; and several more civilians in Budi County in Eastern Equatoria. On 8 April I held a press conference in Juba to express concern over these developments and urged the government to abide by its legal obligations.

This, too, seemed not to have much impact. Soon new violations took place in south-eastern Jonglei. In Boma, an incident of extrajudicial killing was perpetrated in mid May. Among those killed were one of the President’s confidents from years back.89 These incidents prompted President Kiir to issue a press statement on the 17th expressing concern over violence against civilians.90 But just a week later we were informed of another episode in which 14 civilians were killed and 100 women beaten in the SPLA barracks at Manyabol. Human rights investigation teams were deployed, and we reported the abuse to the Security Council. Within a few weeks in May and June a number of incidents of looting and destruction of civilian property took place in Pibor town. I issued another statement, expressing concern about human rights violations in the context of military operations.91

In public speeches on 29 June and Independence Day, 9 July, as well as in his speech to the forces at the General Parade a bit later, the President repeated his criticism of the SPLA. He also ordered action against perpetrators, leading to courts martial and the punishment of a number of soldiers and officers. UNMISS’s advisers on military justice and the rule of law, working with the Judge Advocate General of the SPLA, registered a significant increase in the number of officers apprehended for abuses during the military campaign in Pibor.92 The follow-through on the cases was slow, however, which led to questions about the real level of commitment to accountability.

Small towns in Pibor County were assumed to accommodate some 40,000 people; these civilians were now on the move into safer places in the bush, or suffering as IDPs in hostile environments. Others had gone to Juba or across the borders to Kenya, Ethiopia and Uganda. At about this time tens of thousands of Murle were registered in these three countries combined. A major operation was launched to assist the displaced. Distribution points were organized in government-controlled areas, but access to areas where David Yau Yau’s forces were operating was restricted. This did not go down well with the humanitarian community, the UN or international donors. We intervened at the highest levels to bring about a change in policy.

Even from a military perspective the SPLA’s operations went badly. They had lost the symbolically important town of Boma to David Yau Yau’s forces in early May, an embarrassing defeat, and suffered reverses elsewhere. While the number of SPLA killed is unknown, there were clearly serious problems both with the command and the conduct of the campaign. Soon the government’s forces would be confined to bases in the urban centres during the rainy season, while the militia controlled major parts of rural Pibor County, their home territory. For the SPLA, this was a mirror image of the civil war, when the SPLA was the mobile force that moved over vast territory and held rural areas, while the Sudanese Army was confined to garrison towns.

Counter-insurgency operations seldom offer opportunities for military victory. In this case, efforts to reach out to David Yau Yau resumed, and we were asked to help. Consultations started with the government and Murle community as to who would be best positioned to mediate, and consensus formed around the clergy. Meanwhile, concern mounted over the fate of the Murle civilian population.

In South Sudan ethnic slurs were part of the everyday parlance even of high officials and religious leaders, albeit in informal settings. But a common denominator among almost all other ethnic groups in South Sudan was negative rhetoric about this small semi-pastoralist group, the Murle.93 The case against them often included their tradition of child abductions, allegedly related to infertility – a slander scientifically refuted years ago94 – and various cultural characteristics.

Anti-Murle bias had been deepened by that people’s position during the civil war. Pibor County had been under Khartoum’s control for a very long time, and the Murle were seen as collaborators;95 a Murle militia had indeed fought against the SPLA. Even now community leaders were split between those who had held positions on Khartoum’s side and those who had supported the SPLM/A. That David Yau Yau likely received support from Khartoum – and there were multiple reports to this effect – only confirmed anti-Murle prejudices. The possibility that this bias contributed to abuse and harassment during the disarmament campaign and military operations of the SPLA could not be ruled out.

Murle leaders, however, simply did not believe that any other communities had been disarmed. When the SPLA operation got under way, they talked of genocide. Although there was no doubt that the SPLA committed atrocities, there was no evidence of the intent and systematic methods that would justify such a term. But definitions were small comfort, and tales of the ‘disappeared Murle’ persisted.

The obvious biases of government officials and army officers led many foreign observers to speculate whether, indeed, ethnic cleansing was taking place. No public charge was ever made, but this was the talk of the town among NGOs and some ambassadors. Fingers started pointing at UNMISS, which seemed to some too timid in our approach and too acquiescent in the government’s restriction of access. Allegedly, the SPLA would want no witnesses to atrocities, so denial of access became the focus of observers’ suspicion; that the leadership of UNMISS might be ‘in the pocket’ of the government only made matters worse.

There were major flaws in this line of reasoning. The vast area of swamps, rivers and muddy terrain during the rainy season was a problem for the SPLA. It also exacerbated our chronic mobility problems, but my attempts to explain this met with only limited success. The humanitarians’ aircraft did not have the same safety constraints as we did. This was related to security incidents, and the strict rules applied after the shoot-down of the helicopter in December 2012. That they could take more risk, unfortunately reinforced the case against us.

We were fully aware that government delays in flight assurances could be used to keep the UN out of areas where counter-insurgency operations were taking place. The SPLA often claimed that locations were insecure and that our safety could not be assured. In some cases it was likely true, but the risk we said was ours to take, not the responsibility of the government.96 Outright denial of access seldom happened.

At the same time, I had an obligation to avoid unnecessary casualties among our peacekeepers. Not only had a helicopter been shot down, and several shot at, but the ambush of a Mission convoy in Pibor had left five of our peacekeepers and a number of civilian contractors dead. This incident had a major impact on the Indian contingent and necessarily affected the way the Mission conducted its operations. We had to establish channels with both sides to make sure that advance notice was provided of our movements. We eventually came to an arrangement with the government whereby we would assess risk ourselves, and not blame the government if something happened to missions or patrols in ‘insecure’ areas. This facilitated movement of our patrols and humanitarian operations, particularly in militia-controlled areas.

The ‘disappeared’ Murle

On 14 June 2013 Doctors Without Borders (usually abbreviated as MSF, from its French name) issued a press statement97 about a humanitarian crisis affecting 120,000 desperate people. We were soon in the midst of a media frenzy. When I arrived in New York to brief the Security Council at the end of the month, I was told that MSF representatives had been making the rounds saying that more than 100,000 Murle had ‘disappeared’. The story had currency in Juba, too, among diplomats and NGOs. Members of the Security Council were told that the UNMISS leadership could not be trusted – we were ‘too close’ to the government. This was ironic at a time when my deputy, Toby Lanzer, had been subjected to repeated bashing from government officials for his insistence on humanitarian access; I had certainly had my share of run-ins. Few of these episodes reached the media or, if they did, made headlines.

UNMISS had taken the fate of the Murle very seriously, and had continued careful monitoring, making use of all available satellite photography and working with community leaders to get more information. We had tried to access all relevant areas of Pibor County, despite our mobility constraints and the rains. As an anthropologist by profession, I had read the Murle literature, and had commissioned further research into each of the three communities in Jonglei State.98 Our Civil Affairs team also did a lot of valuable analysis. However, Murle leaders declined to tell us where people might have fled for safety. I consulted others quietly about traditional survival mechanisms and migration routes. Where could they have gone during the rainy season? What did the Murle normally do when under threat? Could the SPLA pursue them into the bush?

The answers I got were clear. Although the Murle were usually in cattle camps during the dry season and returned to semi-permanent homesteads during the rains, when there was trouble they left the towns and avoided population centres, trekking farther into the bush. Potential areas were identified on the map. They would at such times use hideouts across the rivers and in the swamps that only they knew about, usually close to the Ethiopian border. This pattern had been followed during the civil war whenever the Murle felt threatened. My interlocutors assumed that these were where a major part of the population was now hiding. The SPLA had never been able to get there, they said, and never would.

The MSF press release had surprised me too by expressing concern about how the rainy season could adversely affect the Murle’s health. For all communities in the region, and particularly pastoralists, most of the rainy season provides much better living conditions than the dry season. With adequate grazing opportunities and an abundance of water, they were better off, not worse. From July to November there would be good pasture for cattle and an abundance of milk.99 Murle pastoralists supplemented their diet by fishing, and by hunting and gathering.100 If they had fled without their cattle, the story would be different. This, however, was unlikely, since it appeared that they had not returned from the cattle camps once the military operation was under way. They were most likely in the hinterland, far away from soldiers, and from aid workers.

I was worried, however, about the townspeople, recent returnees from Sudan, and other more vulnerable, less mobile civilians.101 They might have lost the planting season owing to insecurity, and might have less capacity to survive in the bush. This was why we pressed for humanitarian access to locations where people were likely to be able to come forward and pick up food assistance, then leave again.

While we hoped that our limited presence could deter some attacks or the worst violations, we had no capacity to engage militarily to protect civilians in the bush. We therefore had no choice but to provide physical protection by opening our bases, patrolling the vicinity, and providing protection for humanitarian operations. Civilians fled for their lives many times during the operations in the Pibor area, and women, children and vulnerable people often (at least 11 times) sought refuge in our bases.

The less numerous Murle on the Boma plateau were probably also vulnerable. They were subsistence farmers. Having fled Boma town, they were in the bush relying on traditional coping mechanisms for survival. The fighting had come close to them when the SPLA tried to re-take the town. UNMISS made a number of attempts to get to Boma, where we planned to establish a base. The rains made access almost impossible, however, as trucks broke down on the road, and helicopters could not provide sufficient supplies to sustain our presence: take-off and landing were too challenging. Only a few patrols and integrated assessment missions managed to get to the town to see what could be done to assist civilians. The humanitarians managed to fly in supplies after some time, but they also faced logistical difficulties.

We knew, in any case, that although the rainy season prevented us from moving, it likewise held back the SPLA from any operations that might deliberately target civilians. This was hostile and difficult terrain for any army, and the ill-equipped government, with no air force and no vehicles that could move in swamps and mud, did not stand a chance. As the rainy season wore on, the SPLA was confined to bases. Whatever the government’s intentions, the Murle and David Yau Yau’s forces, with their local knowledge and experience, were likely to outsmart the SPLA.

At a breakfast meeting organized by Norway in New York for the ‘Friends of South Sudan’ on 28 June, the situation in Jonglei was high on the agenda. A number of ambassadors and deputies had inquired about the humanitarian crisis in Pibor. I explained our effort to access remote areas and people in need, including through the use of satellite photography. Then I added a few points about the rainy season and the Murle’s coping mechanisms, from a more anthropological perspective. This proved to be a mistake. Although this was a private event, an EU note-taker reported to Brussels a version that was misconstrued as insouciant, and this in turn was shared with the 26 member states, where the MSF allegations about UNMISS’s lack of seriousness about the humanitarian situation in Jonglei had already been circulating. Naresh Perinpanayagam, who had lived in Jonglei as a UN field officer, remarked diplomatically afterwards that the level of understanding appeared very mixed.

Stuck in the mud

When I returned to South Sudan in early July another crisis was brewing. The Lou Nuer were on their way to Murle territory again. Two enormous columns, each with as many as 8,000 armed youths, had been observed moving towards the Pibor area. The military operations against David Yau Yau had been at their most intense, and the rainy season had just started. Would we now see cooperation between the White Army and the SPLA? The attack on Walgak in February had not yet been avenged. But where were the Nuer heading?

I was briefing the Council by video link when we first learned the size of the Nuer columns and the likelihood of a large-scale attack. Again I explained our mobility crisis; we were almost stuck in the mud. As the counter-insurgency operations in Pibor were under way, UNMISS had developed worst-case scenarios (as we had done in 2012). In one of these, for the rainy season, even by maximizing the use of our air assets we could bring no more than 700 troops to one location in a high-risk area such as Pibor, in addition to the 150 already deployed. The greater problem, however, was that the deployment would take nine days and could be sustained for only a day or two. This made such a deployment a merely theoretical proposition. As a practical matter we could keep about 300 troops in Pibor for about two weeks.102 During the dry season we could deploy as many as 900 peacekeepers, but in seven days. The possibility for a peacekeeping mission to protect civilians in urgent situations of rapid escalation was therefore limited, to put it mildly.

In the closed session I told the Security Council that UNMISS was in no position to protect civilians if 6,000–8,000 armed youths attacked. Even if we had been able to deploy our worst-case maximum of 700 peacekeepers at this time to a given place, we would be vastly outnumbered. Despite our requests, we had not been provided with other assets, such as riverine units and all-terrain vehicles – not to mention force multipliers – to compensate for our low troop strength. I told the Security Council point blank: UNMISS could not implement its mandate to protect civilians under these circumstances.

While there was genuine fear that the Lou Nuer columns would pursue the Murle far into the bush, they let it be known that their objective now was David Yau Yau’s militia. There was much speculation that they might have been prompted to venture south – and been armed – by SPLA commanders.103

With our mobility restrictions and aviation safety regulations, we had no access to the area along the Nanaam River where reports indicated that fighting was going on. Although not verified, one of the columns of armed Nuer youth reportedly fought with the SPLA against David Yau Yau’s forces. The column did not advance further. The other column appeared to be primarily pursuing cattle and did not attack the main Murle towns before turning homewards. Although people most likely had left the area, it is likely that vulnerable civilians were affected by the advancing columns in settlements on the way and in the Nanaam area. We could not get credible and corroborated information about this, however.

A returning column came to Manyabol on 18 July, and we were requested to help evacuate their wounded. With a few peacekeepers and a registered landing strip, this was possible. Our humanitarian colleagues hesitated, claiming that they were not in a position to fly in. UNMISS decided to help, but immediately reached out to David Yau Yau through other channels to offer the same assistance. We did not want to be seen as taking sides on a humanitarian issue. Rumours were that the forces on both sides, including the SPLA, had suffered a large number of casualties, but we could not get credible information.

On 19 July, after persuasion by community leaders, the entire column passed Manyabol on their way home. A video made by a young Indian UN soldier was later uploaded on YouTube, purportedly showing our 20 peacekeepers ‘standing idly by.’ Some people tried to use this to illustrate the Mission’s apparent lack of response. But the UN’s mandate was to protect civilians under threat, not to shoot attackers after the fact, nor to apprehend perpetrators. We had no mandate to take on police functions. And if we had been given such a mandate, a platoon of 20 peacekeepers could do nothing against a column of thousands armed to the teeth.

Concern about the lack of access for humanitarian operations and the crisis facing the Murle population continued. My friend Kristilina Georgieva, the EU Commissioner for Humanitarian Affairs was soon on the phone. She had received reports from New York and from the field, and wanted my assessment. We had worked together during my time as a minister, and when I was in charge of humanitarian operations for UNICEF. Kristilina’s statement of confidence was gratifying. She knew me well and referred to my strong humanitarian background, saying she trusted my judgement and the way I handled the crisis. Both of us noted the positive meetings my deputy SRSG and the Humanitarian Coordinator, Toby Lanzer, had had with the SPLA’s Chief of General Staff, James Hoth Mai, which had resulted in a letter providing humanitarian access to the whole territory, but at our own risk. This approval was now fully used to access the most remote areas of Pibor County.

NGOs and members of the diplomatic community remained concerned, however. The speculation about ethnic cleansing did not subside. Diplomats in Juba had monitored developments in Jonglei for months, and conveyed their concerns to South Sudanese authorities, the SPLA and UNMISS. The US had been particularly worried about grave human-rights violations by SPLA officers. This was reflected both in visiting delegations to South Sudan, the latest in June 2013, and statements at the Security Council. The US was also monitoring developments very closely through various sources. The alleged supply of arms to Nuer armed youths was a topic of serious concern. On 8 August the US Government informed President Kiir that punitive measures would be taken against a few individual SPLA officers on the basis of their conduct in Jonglei.104 These included travel restrictions, and convening of the ‘Atrocities Board’, a new entity championed by Ambassador Samantha Power (when in the National Security Council). A Human Rights Watch report, ‘They Are Killing Us: Abuses against Civilians in Pibor County’,105 also got the administration’s attention.106

By this time, in August–September 2013, the first humanitarian missions had reached the areas of Pibor where David Yau Yau was operating and were providing assistance. When at the end of July they got to the remote locations of Labrab and Dorain, they found 25,000 people needing assistance. As they measured levels of malnutrition, the humanitarian workers were surprised to find the civilians in pretty good shape. They did need food, though, and distribution started. When other areas of Pibor County were accessed, tens of thousands of people turned up at distribution points. All were registered by name and location, according to procedures of the World Food Programme. We started doing the numbers. In a matter of two-to-three months, the number of civilians reached in this way was significant. When we added the Murle who had registered as refugees in neighbouring countries, and the likelihood that several thousand had fled to Juba and other areas in Eastern Equatoria, we reached a total not far from the 100,000 that allegedly had ‘disappeared’.107 The Murle appeared to have been true to tradition. As the anthropologist Jonathan E. Arensen found years back:

The Murle people have an in-depth understanding of their territory. They know when and where to move at the appropriate time of the year. During the SPLA takeover of the Murle towns, most of the Murle simply vanished into the bush, away from the sources of conflict. After several years some NGO workers went out into the remote regions to evaluate food security. They expected to find people starving and in need of food aid. Instead they were surprised to find that nobody was starving, but that they were in good health. It was obvious that the Murle knew how to live off the land.108

Despite the good news, I remained concerned about our limitations. We had a strong mandate to protect civilians. We had to be able to do more, despite the rainy season. I had repeatedly instructed our troops to patrol daily, including at night, and had requested weekly reports from the Force Commander that this was indeed happening. With the rains, our troops could not go far, but they could venture farther than they had been going. But I continued to get negative feedback that the patrols of our contingents were limited in reach, not frequent enough, and did not happen during the night in Pibor town. This had been a regular complaint, and I had raised it many times internally.

The units were clearly cautious in their approach, especially after the terrible ambush in April. While investigations had not been conclusive, it was clear that that had been well organized and likely carried out by an armed group of more than 200. The incident prompted delivery of new and better equipment to the contingent, which was long overdue. But I insisted that we take a much more active and robust approach. Despite the mobility crisis, in August we launched a foot patrol campaign in Pibor County to build confidence. From mid August onwards, therefore, contingents deployed to Pibor, Likuongole, and Manyabol went on foot patrols in the surrounding areas.109

From satellite imagery, which we obtained through other sources, we were able to comb virtually the whole Pibor area. It was not possible to see signs of villages, huts or settlements systematically burnt down or other indications of deliberate targeting of civilians in a way that showed a pattern of attacks. On the basis of this satellite photography we selected areas of particular interest and sent peacekeepers on foot patrols to follow up. At this point we were still trying to locate Murle civilians, and to establish what had unfolded during the SPLA’s operations. In the course of four weeks our patrols covered areas of some 10,000 people and engaged with more than 2,000 civilians. We included human-rights monitors and civil-affairs staff on many of the patrols to make sure we gathered as much information as possible.

The ‘patrol campaign’ continued for several months, systematically working to build confidence among the local population. By mid October nearly 100 patrols had gone out. People started to return from the bush to the towns, helped also by humanitarian assistance provided in the vicinity of Pibor town and Gumuruk. UNMISS got positive feedback that people felt safer. We had been hoping to take the campaign far into the remote areas of the county, where more people were likely to be found, but logistical challenges related to aviation safety and the absence of credible landing sites made this difficult.

Making peace

I wanted to get to the bottom of what had happened in Pibor during the military operations. We therefore requested that our human-rights officers accompany humanitarian flights to get information. The humanitarian agencies denied such cooperation, lest the government stop their operations altogether. Our investigations on human rights violations in Jonglei would have benefited from this information. A year had passed since the famous Jonglei human-rights press release and the consequent fall-out. It was time to release a new Jonglei report.

Since the incidents in July, there had been no serious fighting between the SPLA and David Yau Yau. This seemed to indicate that both sides had become more interested in finding a political solution. Feedback indicated that he wanted a change of mediators, and this time Murle leaders approached three bishops, Paride Taban, Paul Yugusuf and Arkangelo Wani Lemi. Bishop Paride was senior, had a strong position among the Murle, and therefore had a decent chance of achieving results. The SPLA too respected him from the days of the civil war, as did President Kiir, who had sought his advice from time to time. The President gave their efforts his blessing, and UNMISS was requested to lend support. I had known Bishop Paride for almost two decades, from the time I was a member of the Board of Norwegian Church Aid, had met him regularly throughout the years, and as minister had supported his peace initiatives. I was pleased that he was now given this important task.

The first meetings took place in late August, in the bush, where David Yau Yau received the bishops with a rally of almost 1,000 people. The bishops had met his associates in Addis Ababa, who outlined their main demands. At the same time, others now seemed eager to assume a mediating role or at least gain profile out of supporting one, including international NGOs. The Governor of Central Equatoria, Clement Wani was particularly zealous. David Yau Yau and the bishops fielded telephone calls even from foreign capitals, offering sites for talks and support. UNMISS was under pressure to transport delegations to meet the rebel leader; we said no to all, unless advised otherwise by Bishop Paride and the parties.

I was concerned about all this activity. ‘Forum shopping’ was problematic. From experience, I knew that too much attention given to militia leaders and warlords could lead to inflating the price for peace and make it more difficult to reach agreement, particularly if foreign engagement was at high levels. Negotiations in world capitals could incentivize ‘per diem’ talks, with endless negotiations for merely personal financial benefit. In this environment it would be difficult for the bishops to stay united in their resolve to keep everything confidential. In one of his more frustrated moments Bishop Paride sighed, shook his head, and with an ironic smile said: ‘It is tempting to call these people the vultures of peace.’

By this time the Murle population had started to return to the towns. Whether as a result of our repeated advocacy at the highest levels, the behaviour of commanders in the area was also beginning to change. Some had been replaced, some reprimanded, and others court martialled, apprehended or facing charges for misconduct.

On 4 October, after a month of relative calm, President Kiir gave orders to the SPLA to cease pursuit of David Yau Yau’s group. The negotiation process would go on for a long time, and would require many more visits to Pibor County to meet the leader before talks eventually started in Addis Ababa. These concluded in an agreement only in May 2014,110 long after the civil war had broken out in South Sudan, and provided for creation of a self-governing, semi-autonomous Murle administration.

You don’t care about our human rights

Meanwhile the cycle of violence continued, unabated. The Lou Nuer attacks on the Murle in July had not yet been avenged. But three months later, it was a different community’s turn, the Dinka. On 20 October 2013, still during the rainy season, several hundred Murle attacked two places in Twic East, in western Jonglei State – the home area of John Garang. Again the Murle had moved stealthily, by night, and very few signs of trouble had been picked up. It was a brutal attack. The Murle killed some 80 civilians and wounded another 88. Women and children were abducted, houses burnt down, schools and the only operational clinic destroyed. The community fled. UNMISS urgently assisted with medical evacuation and I immediately deployed a fact-finding mission that included human-rights investigators.

We were faced with another situation in which the Mission was perceived to have failed. Now it was the Twic East Dinka’s turn to confront the UN. A community meeting of Greater Bor, which was attended mainly by elected leaders from Juba, was tough. This was not the first time I had been told to pack my bags and leave the country: it had happened in such community meetings before. But this meeting did not end in a common understanding. The message was that UNMISS cared only about violations perpetrated against the Murle.

A draft human-rights report on Jonglei covering key incidents during disarmament and the military operations of the SPLA was almost ready for first review when the attack in Twic East happened. We had promised the Security Council that the report would be issued on 1 December. By then, UNMISS had issued more than 50 press statements on human rights issues in South Sudan, including on violations by the government and its security forces. Still, the line pursued by some NGOs and diplomats was that we were unwilling to criticize the government publicly. As a member of Amnesty International since I was 16 and as the first human rights minister in the world (1997–2000), it was astonishing to be under continuous onslaught by allies. The full backing of the High Commissioner for Human Rights, Navi Pillay, during this period was all the more important. I was keen to see the Jonglei report finished and published.

I knew that if the report came out without covering the Twic East attack, however, the Mission would lose credibility, and not only in the Dinka community of Greater Bor. Human-rights obligations include the duty of the state to protect its citizens against any violations of their rights, whether by its own security forces or from the violations by others. The latter included non-state actors, such as armed groups of citizens. We had issued public reports about the gravest of the attacks against the Lou Nuer and the Murle, and the lack of protection of these communities. We had to cover Twic East. Before we managed to complete the Jonglei report, the crisis of December 2013 had broken out, and we were overtaken by a much larger human-rights crisis. As expected, for this we were criticized by NGOs, including in the subsequent report of Human Rights Watch.111

Many South Sudanese however, held that UNMISS was far too negative. Ordinary citizens, women’s groups and elders, church leaders, student leaders and civil society representatives, as well as party cadres asked me why I criticized the government and the SPLA so much on human rights. They seemed insulted. On a few occasions, civil society activists thanked me for the Mission’s diligence on human rights, but the norm was criticism. I worried that South Sudanese ownership of the whole human-rights agenda could be lost; the surest way to dismiss human rights was to call it a Western invention, forced upon the people by former colonial powers. And government hardliners were getting close to succeeding in creating such a perception. After all, many citizens had spent years in Khartoum or elsewhere in the North, where such propaganda was fed to people every day. It was difficult for the Mission to meet the expectations of human-rights activists internationally without losing the South Sudanese along the way.

At the heart of the freedom fight of the South Sudanese for the last 50 years was the right not to be treated as second-class citizens; it was fundamentally about their rights. Whenever I highlighted this, people started nodding, and seemed to come around. Human rights was not a Western conspiracy against them after all. But this was a fragile understanding, one that needed to be nurtured and strengthened.

From July onwards, the political crisis in the country worsened. This affected UNMISS. Throughout the life of the Mission, we had experienced many security incidents and constraints on our freedom of movement. The Status of Forces Agreement was violated frequently, at all levels. The breakdown in command and control within the SPLA and the police service made our situation even more difficult. This was not only a matter of patrols stopped, flight assurances delayed, or staff denied access to detention centres. It also included harassment in customs and taxation, and mistreatment of staff; there were problems on all fronts.

Tension peaked when our Indian contingents were getting new equipment in mid November. We had for a long time struggled to get old and dysfunctional APCs and military equipment replaced, not least for our operations in Jonglei. When the contractor responsible for the transport managed to move a large number of APCs into Juba one night, without prior notification of the timing, people thought tanks were being brought in. There was panic in an already volatile situation.

And it would soon get much worse.