TL;DR:
Investigative storytelling turns facts into feeling. It’s journalism with a heartbeat—where truth meets craft. This guide explores how great reporters become great storytellers by digging deep, writing honestly, and revealing humanity behind headlines. Real stories don’t just inform; they transform.
When South Sudan celebrated the creation of 28 states on October 2, 2015, and later 32 states plus the Abyei Administrative Area in January 2017, the move was hailed as a breakthrough for peace, inclusion, and service delivery. But ten years later, it’s clear that this promise of unity through division has failed us.
To understand why, we must revisit the history that shaped our political identity—and how the seeds of division were planted decades before independence.
FAQs: Investigative Storytelling Guide
1. What is investigative storytelling?
It’s a form of journalism that combines investigative rigor with creative narrative techniques to uncover truth compellingly.
2. How does literary journalism differ from standard reporting?
It focuses on storytelling—using vivid scenes, characters, and emotions while maintaining factual accuracy.
3. What skills are essential for investigative storytellers?
Curiosity, persistence, empathy, strong ethics, and the ability to craft complex truths into engaging narratives.
4. Why is investigative storytelling important today?
Because in an age of misinformation, well-told truths help people understand issues deeply and think critically.
5. How can writers develop this craft?
Study classic works, practice immersive observation, verify facts relentlessly, and always prioritize human perspective.
The Violation That Divided the South
The story begins not in 2015, but in 1972, when the Addis Ababa Peace Agreement ended the First Sudanese Civil War. That historic deal, signed between the Government of Sudan and the Southern Sudan Liberation Movement, granted autonomy to the entire Southern Region of Sudan. The South was to operate as one united region, not three, for a 10-year interim period—after which a referendum would determine its future relationship with the North.
For ten years, Southern Sudan governed itself as one region under the leadership of Abel Alier, followed later by Joseph James Tombura. There was one assembly, one executive, and one identity: Southern Sudanese.
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But in 1983, at the end of that interim period, Sudanese President Jaafar Mohamed Nimeiry broke the peace. Declaring that the Addis Ababa Agreement was “not the Bible or the Qur’an,” he abolished the Southern Region, nullified the planned referendum, and divided the South into three regions: Equatoria, Bahr el Ghazal, and Upper Nile.
This decision was not administrative—it was strategic. It was designed to dismantle southern unity and weaken the push for self-determination. That move violated the 1972 peace deal and ignited the Second Sudanese Civil War.
Adding fuel to the fire was a divisive policy known as “Kokora”, a term meaning “let everyone go back to his or her home.” It emerged from political tensions within Equatoria, where some leaders—frustrated by the dominance of others—sided with Khartoum’s plan to fragment the South. “Kokora” was not merely a slogan; it became the social engine behind the three-region policy, forcing southerners to separate along tribal and regional lines.
Thus, what should have been a referendum for unity and self-determination became a crisis of identity and suspicion. The South was no longer one; it was split into three—by design, not destiny.
From Three Regions to Thirty-Two States
Fast-forward to independence. After decades of war and the Comprehensive Peace Agreement of 2005, South Sudan finally became a sovereign nation on July 9, 2011. The new republic began with 10 states, loosely reflecting the old provincial boundaries, and hoped to move beyond the divisions of the past.
However, in October 2015, President Salva Kiir Mayardit issued a decree creating 28 states, arguing that smaller units would improve inclusion and service delivery. In January 2017, the number rose again—to 32 states.
The intention might have been noble, but the outcome repeated history: fragmentation, not federation. The old ghosts of “Kokora” returned, this time dressed in constitutional language. Instead of tribes moving home, we created ethnic states—each with its own borders, flags, and fears.
The United Nations, the African Union, and South Sudanese civil society warned that the move violated the peace agreement and deepened ethnic divides. Eventually, as part of the Revitalized Peace Agreement (R-ARCSS), the government reversed course in February 2020, returning to 10 states, plus two administrative areas (Ruweng and Pibor) and the Abyei Special Administrative Area.
The Poison That Still Lingers
This endless redrawing of maps reveals a deeper disease—identity politics. We inherited it, we fed it, and now we live by it.
Identity politics is Africa’s imported poison. It came through colonial borders, missionary education, and northern manipulation. It thrives by convincing us that we are many before we are one. It makes tribes fight for flags instead of futures.
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Our ancestors knew identity as culture, not competition. The Dinka, Nuer, Bari, Zande, and Shilluk had their lands, languages, and customs, yet coexisted without demanding to rule one another. Tribalism became toxic only when politics entered the equation—when external systems weaponized who we are against what we could become.
The three regions of 1983 and the thirty-two states of 2017 are two chapters of the same story: division masquerading as development.
Beyond Borders: A Call for National Identity
South Sudan’s true peace will not come from numbers or boundaries, but from a shared identity that transcends them. The Addis Ababa Agreement of 1972 envisioned one Southern Sudanese region, not three competing fiefdoms. That vision remains relevant today: one people, one purpose, one destiny.
We must learn from the past. “Kokora” pushed people apart. “Federalism” later disguised the same impulse. Both failed because they focused on where people belong, not how people live together.
Peace will come when every South Sudanese can say, “I am home”—whether in Juba, Malakal, Yambio, or Torit. Our tribes should enrich the nation, not replace it.
The time has come to move from tribal citizenship to national consciousness—from being many fragments to being one South Sudan.
This article gave me a lot to think about. I never realized how much identity politics has been brought in from outside Africa. It doesn’t always match the way people live or think in many African communities.
I agree that it can sometimes cause more problems than it solves. I wonder what it would look like if African countries used more local ideas to guide politics. Could traditions or community values help bring more unity?
That’s such an insightful point, Marlinda. I’ve often thought the same; most of Africa’s political struggles began when imported systems replaced indigenous wisdom. Before parties, our elders governed through dialogue and shared responsibility. If we could weave those values such as respect, consensus, and kinship into modern governance, politics would feel more like service than survival. Unity begins when leadership speaks the language of the people’s soul, not just their ballots.
John