Dispatch

More Sudans, More Problems?

If and when Southern Sudan becomes independent, it may mean two troubled Sudans instead of just one.

JUBA, Sudan—The polls are closed and the ballots have been cast. By mid-February, the world will learn whether Southern Sudanese voters voted to create a new, independent state -- as initial results suggest that they overwhelmingly did. But as rapturous as independence will be for the south, there's good reason to fear that secession will leave the governments of both Sudans reeling. In Khartoum, President Omar al Bashir faces mounting political opposition -- and for the first time in years, he looks weak, as he braces for the imminent loss of the most oil-rich region of his state. In Juba, a new country must be built from the ground up. And the risk that the new Southern Sudanese state could follow the examples of its regional peers -- from Ethiopia to Uganda -- and disown democracy somewhere down the road is very real. What is today one troubled Sudan may soon become two fragile states struggling to stay intact, with leaders struggling to stay in control.

The south's weeklong independence referendum, which ended on Jan. 15, was completed without violence or other any significant disruptions. A few days into the counting process, most of the international observer missions watching the vote had already issued statements  declaring it to have been credible and up to international standards. The referendum commission's preliminary results, posted online, show most areas of the south at more than 99 percent in favor of secession.

Since 2005, when a peace agreement was signed to end decades of civil war with the north, Juba has operated autonomously -- and gotten off to a surprisingly promising start. But after independence, Juba will have to start building its own institutions and delivering visible results to an eager population that has been waiting decades to be free. Expectations are high, even as the challenges remain dire. The new country will boast a youthful and unemployed population, an utter lack of development, and a bloated and internally divided army. Infrastructure will have to be built from scratch, extending into the far reaches of the territory where "remote" takes on a new meaning: Vast swathes of the southern territory are accessible only on foot or in a U.N. helicopter.

The elected officials who must tackle these challenges have little experience in government. Many of the ministers currently serving in Juba were instrumental in the south's struggle for independence, having been commanders in the rebel army or leaders of the political wing of the movement. Few have ever worked in civilian jobs. Nor can they count on a wealth of talent below them; in the ministries of finance, agriculture, and education, there are only a handful of trained and literate civil servants. Government payrolls are clogged with ghost workers -- supposed employees who continue to receive salaries but who no longer work there or are dead. As ministries sort out the fake names from the actual employees, real teachers are going unpaid and clinics are without the usual government-donated medicine. Then there is the perennial issue of patronage. Many ministerial offices in Juba now prominently display signs designating certain times as "personal" visiting hours, in an attempt to keep people from lounging in offices all day as they wait to submit their request for personal funds to their-uncle-the-minister.

But perhaps the greatest challenge for an independent southern government will be to overcome the growing internal threats to its authority without resorting to repression. Inter-communal conflict in the region is common -- and seemed to be escalating in 2010 as competition for scarce resources grew. Rival ethnic groups will likely be watching how their interests are represented in a new government. In managing those potential conflicts, Juba will need to avoid the lessons of its northern neighbor. Through his two decades of rule, Bashir has used the state's military apparatus to suppress insurgencies, often enlisting local proxy militias and external arms suppliers to help. Southern Sudan's people and its leaders have lived in such a state for much of their lives.

Southern President Salva Kiir deserves praise so far for his efforts to avoid that fate, bringing dissident and potentially dangerous political and military rivals into his administration, for example, and proclaiming a "forgive and forget" spirit across the south. A 60-year old veteran of Sudan's two north-south wars, Kiir has an understated and underestimated political savvy. Kiir was propelled into the southern presidency when the more charismatic and much-beloved southern war hero John Garang died in a helicopter crash in 2006. Over the past five years, the president has found his stride partly by reminding his longtime friends and past foes -- both made during bitter internecine southern infighting during the war -- that nothing matters more than internal southern unity against Khartoum.

But now that the south is looking ahead to its new status, there are reasons to be concerned. Lacking a common goal (the referendum) and enemy (Khartoum), potential spoilers may emerge within the southern military if people's demands and expectations for the new government are not met -- and fast.

Unfortunately, at the very moment that Kiir should be thinking most about building a new state in the south, his energy will be instead devoted to a series of negotiations with Khartoum's ruling National Congress Party. North and south Sudan need to resolve how they will divvy up the country's $38 billion debt -- much of it incurred by Khartoum's war-related spending for its fights in the south and in Darfur -- and its oil wealth, the majority of which lies in the south. Since neither side is keen to offer concessions to the other, the negotiations are apt to drag for months. And Kiir's key southern negotiators also happen to be the very same politicians and ministers who are needed to drive the post-independence planning agenda. Crucial progress on development, investment, and governance could be indefinitely delayed.

It is expected that a new state in the south will face a host of challenges. But the north, too, may be in for a shock after Southern Sudan secedes. Bashir will have to work to stay in control of his soon-to-be truncated territory, where a long-discontented population sees multiplying reasons for his ouster. Protests broke out after the government reduced its food price subsidies and the cost of staples rose. On Jan. 18, the highest profile northern opposition figure, Hassan al-Turabi, was arrested for calling for "Tunisia-style" protests over the new policies. Cutting subsidies and imposing import restrictions may get the ministry of finance out of hot water in the short term -- it faces a fiscal deficit and can't afford to keep subsidizing basic goods -- but it risks angering a population who may soon have had enough of more than two decades of often violent and repressive rule.

Bashir has been promised some "carrots" by various governments if he accepts the results of the referendum -- things like the removal of U.S. sanctions and a welcome back into the international community. Yet those rewards won't help solve his immediate problems locally. The Darfuri rebels and discontented masses in the country's often-forgotten east are not likely to storm Khartoum tomorrow. But the combination of rioting agricultural workers, protesting students, and an Internet-savvy youth activist movement in the capital can certainly turn up the heat on Bashir. The Sudanese president also faces divisions within his own party; some members would like to see him adopt a more extremist Islamist agenda, which would hamper Bashir's efforts to shake Sudan's status as a pariah state.

If the tried-and-true Sudanese tradition of brinkmanship prevails in the coming months, negotiations to see the secession of Southern Sudan will conclude in the summer, close to the July 9 deadline set by the 2005 peace agreement. In the meantime, Khartoum and Juba must be vigilant in order to keep the plans for "divorce" on track. Longterm stability in either Sudan is not the key issue at the moment, but it will be sooner than anyone thinks.

Spencer Platt/Getty Images

Dispatch

Tear Gas on the Streets of Cairo

Egypt's largest demonstrations in decades have rocked Hosni Mubarak's regime to the core. But can the protesters keep it going?

CAIRO, Egypt — Only time will tell if Tuesday's "Day of Rage" protests in Egypt produce the sort of long-lasting social upheaval that would threaten President Hosni Mubarak's 30-year reign.

But whatever the long-term outcome, the protests have already moved the Arab world's most populous nation into uncharted waters, proving that nothing in the Middle East may be the same again after the waves of civil unrest that drove Tunisian dictator Zine al-Abidine Ben Ali from power in one breathtaking month.

For starters, there was the sheer size of the turnout, which was larger than anything I've seen in 13 years of covering Egyptian protests. Tuesday was the first time I've ever been in a situation where the protesters potentially outnumbered riot police on the ground.

The Egyptian government's standard operating procedure is to overwhelm any public protest with a massively disproportionate wave of black-clad police. As a result, most protests tend to boil down to the same 500 noisy hard-core activists hopelessly penned in by thousands of riot cops.

But today those numbers were reversed, and the police, at times, seemed completely confused and struggling to keep up. In one confrontation outside the Supreme Court building in downtown Cairo, the riot police attempted to lock arms in a human chain to block the protesters' path. Their effort, however, proved hopelessly ineffective -- waves of marchers simply overwhelmed them and continued on their path.

When all else failed, the police turned to tear gas in an attempt to control the swelling crowds. At one point, I was caught up in an acrid cloud of gas as protesters fled, doused their heads with water, and tended to those who had collapsed. In a surreal moment, I found myself on a sidewalk surrounded by both protesters and riot police -- all of them gagging from the gas.

The makeup of the crowd -- a true mishmash of young and old, male and female, Christian and Muslim -- was also different from protests past. One woman in her mid-50s, who declined to give her name, said she had never before gotten involved in politics. But today she came out with her two teenage sons "to show them that it's possible to demonstrate peacefully for change."

I spent the day moving throughout downtown Cairo trying to keep track of a dizzying series of fast-moving events. It started with a lesson on how a new generation of activists -- dismissed ahead of time by Interior Minister Habib al-Adly as "a bunch of incognizant, ineffective young people" -- is using electronic means to stay one step ahead of the authorities.

Organizers announced long ago that the protesters would gather outside the Interior Ministry downtown, prompting police to lock down that area. But shortly after noon, it became clear that was a clever bit of misdirection, as a whole new set of gathering points was distributed via Facebook and Twitter.

Egyptians used the #jan25 Twitter hashtag to spread news and encouragement about the course of the protests. "If Mubarak goes down, there are going to be enough presidents in Saudi to make a soccer team!" read one representative tweet by @MinaAFahmy. Other tweets linked to Facebook groups that listed a series of new meeting spots and contact numbers.

As the day progressed, the series of scattered protests moved through different parts of the city, growing in strength as they joined up with other groups and induced onlookers and residents to join in.

In a memorable moment, the 150-person-strong protest I was following met up with a much larger protest coming the opposite direction. The two sides embraced in the street amid raucous cheering and began marching together.

At one point, more than a thousand people stood outside a building on along the Nile belonging to Mubarak's ruling National Democratic Party, chanting "illegitimate" and "Oh Mubarak, your plane is waiting for you" -- a reference to Ben Ali's abrupt flight into exile less than two weeks ago.

Similar protests were reported in Alexandria and in the rural Nile Delta village of Mahalla -- a hotbed of political and labor activism. Among the protesters' demands are that Mubarak step down, presidential term limits be implemented, and the country's notorious "emergency laws" -- in place for Mubarak's entire three decades in power -- be repealed.

By late afternoon, many of the protesters had converged on Tahrir Square, the traditional heart of the city. A massive deployment of black-clad riot police used water cannons, tear gas, and batons to repel the protesters, who pushed through police cordons and established dominance over the entire square, just one block away from the Egyptian Parliament.

As of early evening, the situation downtown was tense and uncertain. The police alternately advanced behind a hail of tear gas canisters, then gave ground once the crowd regrouped. protesters were planning to sit in overnight, and were appealing to supporters to bring food, water, blankets and cigarettes. The crowd still numbered several thousand, spread out across the massive public square that houses the Egyptian museum.

One of the most impressive aspects of Tuesday's protest is its success at producing massive numbers without the direct organizational assistance of the Muslim Brotherhood. The venerable Islamist group is normally the only opposition force that can bring thousands into the streets. But the Brotherhood announced earlier this week that it would not directly participate as an organization, though it did allow individual members to take part.

"The people have to come out and take control of their own destiny," said Ahmed Eid, who has been unemployed since graduating from law school three years ago. "If we continue like this, we will change things, we just have to commit."

That level of commitment will be sorely tested in the coming days. Today's events mark a genuine watershed in Egypt's political history. However, there have been similar, albeit smaller, spikes of public frustration over the years. They were typically followed by a retrenching of the regime, a crackdown, and a return to the status quo.

What brought Ben Ali down wasn't a one-day mass protest, but a solid month of uncontrollable political activity throughout the country. It remains to be seen whether Egypt's Day of Rage will produce enough sustained pressure to produce the same result.

MOHAMMED ABED/AFP/Getty Images