Why South Sudan’s report is so difficult – Crucial

In August, journalist Jason Patinkin and I walked from northern Uganda into South Sudan held by rebels. Over four days, we walked over 40 miles under the escort of rebel soldiers, revealing one of the least reported conflicts in the world.

Reporting of the South Sudan war, which began in 2013, has been a challenge because of the risks and logistical obstacles associated with entering the remote areas where the battle took place. But over the past year, it has become particularly difficult to cover war and its humanitarian impact. Since the beginning of the year, South Sudan’s government has banned at least 20 foreign journalists, which has clearly silenced journalists who have conducted strict reporting records of the government.

This systematic repression of foreign media (the South Sudanese journalists have long been at risk of life and death) coincides with two important developments. In November 2016, the United Nations warned that the risk of violence against civilians in the southern equator risked spiral genocide. Then, in February, the United Nations declared a man-made famine, warning that 100,000 people were in danger of civil war.

Journalists trying to cover up these incidents have two equally unpleasant choices: self-censorship or a dangerous journey of rebels controlling the country. Since the battle last July, only a few journalists have tried the latter. For us, this is our second embedding with the Rebels this year.

We set out from a small town in northern Uganda at five in the morning and bounced along the bumpy dirt road towards the South Sudan border. Rebel Commander Martin Abucha stuffed into our four-wheel drive, we planned to make our PBS Newshour weekend segment, several guides and several stuffed tents, sleeping bags, emergency medical kits, emergency medical kits and supplies for four days, and for our PBS Newshour weekend segment, several guides and several stuffed Duffle bags.

Just as the sun began to rise on the distant hills, our goal was to cross later that day, our cars stopped in front of the stream. Due to rainy reasons, it is more than usual. It’s time to get off the boat and start walking or “being a foothold” because South Sudan tends to call it.

We took off our shoes and walked through the cold waters of the stream. This is the first of many rivers we have to dig out of the trunks along a walk or small fragile canoe. Every time, we are afraid of the idea of ​​falling in with our camera gear.

The first part of our trip to northern Uganda felt very much like a hiking trip in a national park. After the beautiful landscape and idyllic agricultural villages, we can almost forget that we entered the war zone, but we are about to have a reality check.

When we were everywhere, we had just entered Sudan, twenty armed men popped out of the tall grass and surrounded us in the muzzle.

“Stop! Who are you and where are you going,” a soldier shouted out from his hiding place in Juba Arabic, and his AK47 pointed at us in less than 20 yards. The other man next to him had a rocket grenade on his shoulder, which also clearly turned it in our direction.

Instinctively, we reached into the air and exchanged a confusing glance. Did we accidentally bump into government soldiers? Or maybe we’re having the “wrong” rebels? Abucha’s group, known as the SLA, is the opposition SLA, but not the only armed group in the equator, a region with rival militias and bandits who take advantage of the security vacuum left by the war.

To our relief, this routine security check soon gave way to a warm welcome only after Abucha answered a series of questions. As we hike to their base and Abucha’s hometown of Loa, the platoon will be our accompanying for the next four days.

Keeping up with the rebels is not easy. Given the country’s ubiquitous infrastructure, South Sudan has grown up dozens of miles just to spend its daily life. For sedentary Westerners, at 90 degrees, the target speed is “two meters per second” (about five miles per hour) while shooting and ploughing thick, itchy elephant grass.

The rise of bulky terrain is that it ensures our safety. On our four-day trip, we did not cross a road, but walked along a dazzling network of narrow bushes, and the rebels seemed to know as much as their hands were. It is extremely unlikely that an unnecessary encounter with government forces, they tend to stick to the road and walk on vehicles rather than walking.

The closest we reached a government-controlled area was the visit to the LOA, just two kilometers from the main roads that government soldiers often patrol. We can’t stay for a long time, but the time we spent on the ground gave us a glimpse of what many areas of the equator had to look like: burnt mud huts, plundered schools and clinics, fallow fields and most notably – no civilians.

The war has had a devastating impact on South Sudanese communities like LOA, but most of it remains numerous in the international media. Our four-day rebel enterprise has provided us with a rare opportunity to report the truth on the ground, and we are grateful for it.