South Sudan: resuming oil exports, resuming hope?

Juba–On 7 January 2025, South Sudan’s oil production resumed after months of paralysis, caused by both external disruptions and internal mismanagement. This development follows the Sudanese government’s decision to lift the force majeure on the critical pipeline, which had been crippled by RSF interference and logistical failures. While the resumption is hailed as an economic lifeline, deeper structural issues remain.

In early 2024, South Sudan's oil pipeline was shut down after Sudan’s Rapid Support Forces (RSF) hijacked support trucks carrying essential chemicals needed to treat the oil. Without this treatment, the oil thickened and eventually froze inside the pipeline. Repairs were necessary, including replacing damaged sections. During the shutdown, only a small portion of oil – around 35,000 barrels per day – continued to flow, a fraction of the already low production rate of 135,000 barrels per day. According to South Sudan’s petroleum ministry, production in the two major oil blocks in Unity State is now expected to reach 90,000 barrels per day once again.

With the resumption of oil production, South Sudan could finally start paying its public servants again after a staggering 14-month hiatus. This period has been a remarkable – perhaps even unprecedented – experiment in state governance, testing just how long a country can function without paying its employees. The longest US government shutdown for example lasted 34 days during Trump’s first term. The outcome so far has shown that states, despite immense challenges, die slowly.  

For some, particularly those in uniform, public office became a license to extort money from the population. Corruption and bribery filled the gap left by unpaid salaries, as officials used their positions for personal gain. In other government agencies, the work simply faded away. Employees didn’t officially quit, always holding onto the hope that salaries might eventually resume. Instead, the daily operations dwindled. Staff members would show up two or three times a week, staying for just a few hours to check if anything was happening, before leaving to pursue other ventures – desperate for any opportunity to earn an income.  

Yet, amid this bleak reality, a third group of public servants emerged. These were the dedicated individuals who kept public hospitals running, ensured schools remained open, and continued teaching at universities. Their commitment was driven by a sense of duty and idealism that defied the harsh circumstances – an unwavering dedication that is hard to fathom and even harder to explain. In this unusual landscape, South Sudan’s public sector has survived – not through financial stability or effective governance, but through a patchwork of opportunism, quiet resignation, and inspiring resilience.  

Yet, amid this bleak reality, a third group of public servants emerged. These were the dedicated individuals who kept public hospitals running, ensured schools remained open, and continued teaching at universities.

Yet, there are several reasons to remain skeptical about whether this revival is truly working. First, most of South Sudan’s oil has already been sold in advance: the regular production until 2027 has been pledged as collateral for past loans. This means that rather than generating new revenue for the government, current oil production is primarily being used to repay debts that have long since been spent.  

Despite this, there is still hope that maintaining these repayments could unlock new loans, particularly from Gulf countries, which the government desperately needs to restart salary payments and keep the economy afloat. Additionally, the resumption of production also reinstates security payments to the military and other security forces tasked with protecting the oil fields – vast, remote areas in the north of the country that remain off-limits to the public. In essence, the oil is flowing again, but whether it translates into tangible economic relief remains highly uncertain.  

Secondly, the pressure to steal has only increased among South Sudan’s corrupt elites. “There is no money in the market”, an entrepreneur with close ties to government funds recently complained. The impact is visible across Juba, where luxury hotels and other high-end businesses – many of which exist primarily as conduits for laundering stolen public money – are struggling. If the political elite is feeling the squeeze, it’s even less likely that funds will trickle down to ordinary citizens.  

The impact is visible across Juba, where luxury hotels and other high-end businesses – many of which exist primarily as conduits for laundering stolen public money – are struggling. If the political elite is feeling the squeeze, it’s even less likely that funds will trickle down to ordinary citizens.

One clear sign of this financial desperation is the sharp rise in fees for passports, public documents, and customs charges. Several investigative reports suggest that much of this revenue flows directly to the presidential family, which then informally redistributes it among loyalists and community networks to maintain political control.  

Finally, serious doubts remain as to whether oil production has even truly restarted. Industry insiders report that salaries haven’t been paid for months, even in the oil sector – historically considered a protected area where wages were relatively secure, no matter how dire the country’s economic situation. Even after the government’s 7 January announcement, there was no concrete evidence that oil was actually flowing again.  

Another major obstacle to oil production was not just the damaged pipeline but also the withdrawal of Petronas, once one of the key players in South Sudan’s oil industry. When Petronas pulled out, it took with it vital manpower, logistical expertise, and operational capacity, leaving a gap that proved difficult to fill. The government attempted, rather unwillingly, to sell its shares to other international oil companies capable of taking over production, but these efforts failed. In the end, South Sudan opted to nationalise the shares, transferring them to the state-owned Nile Petroleum Corporation (NilePet). However, NilePet lacked the technical expertise and resources to replace Petronas effectively, further stalling production.  

This aligns with claims from sources close to Sudan, who suggest that the pipeline had actually been repaired as early as June of the previous year. According to these sources, Sudanese authorities deliberately withheld this information to allow South Sudan to save face but were growing impatient for oil exports to resume. Additionally, reports and a leaked treaty indicate that South Sudan had already struck a deal with the RSF months earlier, ensuring that oil transport through Sudanese territory would not be obstructed. If true, this raises questions about why oil production remained stalled despite these agreements.

Either way, money remains in short supply. While South Sudan has endured decades of civil war and intercommunal violence, it has not historically been a country prone to large-scale political unrest. This sense of stability has allowed the ruling elite to feel relatively secure – until now. There are growing warning signs: rents in high- and mid-level housing sectors are slowly declining, and while Juba is still filled with an excessive number of luxury cars, traffic has noticeably thinned as more people struggle to afford fuel. The economy is becoming increasingly fragile, though it has not yet fully collapsed.  

There are growing warning signs: rents in high- and mid-level housing sectors are slowly declining, and while Juba is still filled with an excessive number of luxury cars, traffic has noticeably thinned as more people struggle to afford fuel. The economy is becoming increasingly fragile, though it has not yet fully collapsed.  

A major red flag emerged in mid-January. After images surfaced on social media showing a massacre committed by the Sudanese army against South Sudanese civilians in the ongoing Sudan war, violent protests erupted. Looting and anti-Sudanese riots broke out in Juba, followed a day later by similar unrest in Bor, Aweil, and other cities. While there was an element of ethnic hostility in these attacks, the deeper significance was that this marked the first instance of such widespread turmoil since South Sudan’s independence. In response, the government imposed a dusk-to-dawn curfew and blocked access to Facebook and TikTok. Despite these measures, the unrest led to hundreds of arrests, signaling a growing volatility that the authorities may struggle to contain.  

Order was restored relatively quickly. The curfew, initially imposed to contain the unrest, was largely ignored after just one or two days, highlighting the government’s limited ability to enforce strict measures on a population unaccustomed to authoritarian rule. Within a week, the curfew was formally lifted.  

Meanwhile, the social media ban triggered widespread outrage – ironically, much of it expressed online via VPNs. Public backlash forced the head of the National Communication Authority to scale back the ban from an initial 30 days to just 72 hours. In an attempt to appear in control, the SPLM general secretary, Peter Lam Both, boasted that the party could shut down social media at will; an assertion that was not only legally dubious but also outside the constitutional mandate of any political party. In reality, the episode underscored a government that appeared weak and shaken, struggling to assert control while facing mounting public discontent.  

South Sudanese president Salva Kiir was once a master at managing political tensions. He skillfully used oil revenues to maintain a “big tent” approach, co-opting political adversaries with patronage while swiftly eliminating those who grew too powerful and posed a potential threat to his rule.  

Traces of this talented political maneuvering still remain. His recent dismissals of two key figures – the allegedly powerful head of the Internal Security Bureau of National Security, Akol Koor Kuc, and the army chief, Santino Deng Wol – without decisive resistance demonstrated that he still wields the ability to consolidate power when necessary. However, the transition was not entirely smooth. A brief shootout erupted in Juba during the attempt to place Akol Koor Kuc under house arrest, underscoring the increasingly fragile state of Kiir’s control and the growing volatility within his inner circle.  

There is a growing sense of panic within the government. In a series of reactive moves, President Kiir has scrambled to address mounting public frustration. He hastily ordered the long-overdue payment of public servants, reversed the controversial social media ban within days, and even dismissed the head of the traffic police after an ill-fated decision to shorten the validity of driving licenses sparked public outrage. Meanwhile, a flurry of diplomatic efforts to secure new loans suggests increasing financial desperation at the highest levels.  

Tensions within the ruling party are also becoming more visible. SPLM general secretary Peter Lam Both recently issued an unusually candid statement condemning corruption and the embezzlement of public funds. His remarks are widely believed to be a veiled attack on Benjamin Bol Mel, the President’s Special Advisor on Special Projects, who was sanctioned by the US in December 2017 under the Global Magnitsky Human Rights Accountability Act for his involvement in significant corruption. Bol Mel amassed his wealth through government contracts, particularly road construction under his company ARC, which reportedly received staggering sums – much of which, according to popular belief, ended up in private pockets rather than in actual infrastructure development.

Where does this leave South Sudan? Observers paint a grim picture, with the economic crisis expected to deepen further. The recent halt in USAID funding and the likely strategic reduction of US development aid will not only strain the government but also deal a significant blow to the private sector, which relies heavily on international assistance to function.  

Despite these mounting challenges, a return to full-scale civil war appears unlikely, at least for now. For a new conflict to erupt, there would need to be strong challengers capable of commanding significant military forces across multiple regions. At present, such contenders are absent. The most prominent opposition figure from the 2013–2018 civil war, Riek Machar, has been significantly weakened. His two most powerful field generals, Simon Gatwich and Johnson Olonyi, have broken away, with Olonyi even aligning himself with the government. With no clear military rival to Kiir and a fractured opposition, large-scale armed conflict remains improbable. However, this does not rule out continued localised violence, political instability, and a slow erosion of state authority.

Despite these mounting challenges, a return to full-scale civil war appears unlikely, at least for now.  

Conflicts continue across South Sudan, characterised by severe violence and a high death toll. However, these clashes remain localised and do not pose a direct threat to President Kiir’s rule. The real uncertainty lies in the question of succession.

Officially, elections have been postponed once again, this time until December 2026. However, this extension presents significant challenges for Kiir, whose health is increasingly becoming a concern. Will he still be the ruling party’s candidate in two years? And if not, who would take his place? More urgently, if his condition deteriorates before then, who would step in to lead the country – regardless of whether elections actually take place? These unanswered questions create a looming political vacuum, one that could destabilise the ruling elite and further weaken an already fragile system.

Rumours suggest that President Kiir is under significant pressure to stay in power, largely from those who profit from his presidency. But the system is slowly unraveling. It has entered its autumn, marked by frantic hiring and firing at the top, erratic policy decisions, and a government that projects strength yet repeatedly exposes its own weaknesses. This is not the prelude to another civil war, but the risk of total institutional collapse is just as dire.

Whether South Sudan’s leadership can reform itself in time remains the country’s most pressing question. The answer may determine whether it holds together – or unravels into something far worse.