National Security: A Shield or a Source of Fear in South Sudan?

By Ajak Deng Chiengkou
18 August 2025

National security is the backbone of every sovereign state. It is the shield that protects citizens, secures borders, and preserves the integrity of the nation. For South Sudan, still in the early decades of independence, the credibility of national security is vital. Citizens must see it as a service that protects them, not as an instrument of fear. Yet trust is easily shaken when the role of security is misunderstood or misused.

A recent example highlights this danger. Not long ago, a man (name withheld) went live on Facebook during an argument with a friend and declared: “I work for National Security. If you come to South Sudan, I will deal with you.” To him, it may have felt like a display of power. To the public, it sounded like a threat. With one careless statement, an institution of national protection was reduced to a personal weapon. Such behaviour blurs the line between protection and intimidation, damaging the reputation of the entire service.

But what does fear mean in this context? It is seen when vehicles belonging to security services, whether used by police, soldiers, or other officers, speed recklessly through traffic, ignoring the rules that ordinary citizens must obey. It is seen when officers shout at drivers and pedestrians, as if the uniform exempts them from courtesy. It is seen in the image of a man in uniform who feels entitled to slap a citizen without cause, or to demand money, favours, or obedience without fear of consequences. At such a point, the officer ceases to be a protector of the nation and instead becomes a danger to it.

Fear is also shaped by conduct away from the battlefield. If people fear you at a conversation table because they suspect you are secretly recording them or might fabricate evidence, you are no longer seen as a state officer but as a liability. If you swing your gun in a club or public space to assert your status, you endanger your own security rather than protect it.

In many Western countries, even hinting at a covert role may be treated as treason. Likewise, if police officers investigate cases and lose them all in court, costing the state money in damages, they stop being assets. If you are a military intelligence officer, do civilians need to know what you do? They do not. Your role is within the barracks. These reflections are meant to educate. If officers do not realise what they are doing wrong, they now have the opportunity to learn. If you are a superior officer, you carry the responsibility to enforce rules that restore professionalism and discipline.

National security is not one man, one uniform, or one department. It is a system built on clearly defined roles. Intelligence officers gather and analyse information quietly. Police enforce the law, make arrests, and present evidence in court. Soldiers defend the country’s borders from external aggression. Customs and immigration regulate movement of people and goods. Courts and oversight bodies hold all these agencies accountable. When these roles are respected, citizens feel safe. When they are blurred, fear takes root.

The misuse of security roles has grave consequences. An intelligence officer who boasts publicly about his position compromises his safety, endangers his family and undermines his mission. Information sources dry up, operations are exposed, and the country becomes vulnerable. When citizens are intimidated instead of protected, they remain silent. They withhold vital information about drug trafficking, weapons smuggling, or criminal activity. That silence weakens the state.

Excessive force by police officers has the same effect. Investigations collapse, cases fail in court, criminals walk free, and public confidence in the rule of law is lost. The uniform, which should symbolise justice, becomes a source of fear.

History gives a warning. South Sudanese remember the years under the Sudanese regime when prisons such as the notorious White House in Juba became symbols of abuse. Citizens feared their own protectors, and entire communities lost trust in the state’s institutions. Independence was not just a political victory but also a chance to do better. To repeat those mistakes would betray the sacrifices that won freedom.

No security service can succeed without trust. In countries where citizens believe security institutions exist to protect them, they actively cooperate, by reporting suspicious activity and offering early warnings. This cooperation is not automatic. It is earned through discipline, fairness and professionalism. For South Sudan, such trust is not optional. It is essential for survival. The nation faces threats from illicit drugs, unsafe medical practices, cybercrime and insecurity spilling over from regional conflicts. Officers cannot face these challenges alone. They require citizen partnership.

The path forward is clear. Intelligence officers must remain discreet, never advertising their identity or using it in personal disputes. Police must rely on evidence and uphold the law with restraint. Soldiers must focus on defending borders, not interfering in civilian matters. Leadership must ensure rigorous training, close supervision, and strong accountability.

Above all, the service must guard its reputation. A single misuse can undo years of effort. The careless boast of one officer online can damage an institution, while the quiet professionalism of another who prevents violence can strengthen the nation.

South Sudan is at a turning point. We can either repeat the old pattern where security was feared, or we can build a professional, trusted system that protects every citizen. The badge should stand for discipline, not intimidation. The uniform should represent protection, not provocation. The true measure of national security is not how feared it is, but how trusted it becomes. If citizens and officers walk side by side, the nation will be secure. If citizens retreat into fear, the nation will remain vulnerable.

National security must never be misunderstood as a threat. It must be recognised as a promise, the promise that South Sudan, its people, and its future will be protected.

Ajak Deng Chiengkou is a South Sudanese journalist and commentator on governance, security and civic issues. He contributes regularly to debates on state building and accountability in South Sudan.