Category: The Conversation – Africa

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Sharief Hendricks, Senior Lecturer Department of Human Biology, Faculty of Health Sciences , University of Cape Town

Children in South Africa are back at school after their summer holidays. My son, aged five, has just started school at Wynberg Boys Junior, a school based in Cape Town’s southern suburbs with a strong record of playing rugby.

Like most rugby-loving families in South Africa, we hope our child discovers the pleasures of the game. We would like him to enjoy the sport, but we want him to do it in the safest way possible.

As a contact sport, rugby has the potential to result in some serious injuries if players aren’t properly prepared and supervised. Full contact tackle rugby involves repeated dynamic physical-technical contests for the ball and territory, which expose players to injury.

In South Africa, the governing body, SA Rugby, has a new policy that children under the age of nine can only play non-contact rugby. Non-contact rugby incorporates all the core elements of rugby like running, catching, passing and decision-making, but it is done without the repeated physical-technical contests of the tackle. Age categories Under 8 and younger are not allowed to engage in the full contact tackle rugby and should play tag rugby and SA T1 Rugby, a version of World Rugby’s globally endorsed non-contact game.

The non-contact game is designed for all ages, sizes and abilities, including children and first-time players. The new standards apply to all schools, clubs and associated members working in youth rugby. Before playing full-contact tackle rugby though, players will have to build the necessary skills and confidence to contest the tackle.

I am an injury prevention and player welfare researcher at the Health through Physical Activity, Lifestyle and Sport Research Centre at the University of Cape Town and a visiting professor at Leeds Beckett University. I am also a research consultant for sport governing bodies, including SA Rugby and World Rugby. Recently, with my co-author Stephen West from the University of Calgary, I published a paper outlining the current policies in different countries for introducing contact in youth sports.

The article weighed up the potential risks and benefits of an earlier versus later introduction to contact and described what needs to be considered when designing policies for this. We concluded that the introduction to contact should be a gradual, clearly defined process. It should build physiological, psychological and technical competencies to perform contact safely and optimally.

We think the new SA Rugby policies are an evidence-based investment in our children’s long-term rugby participation. The rules are catching up with those of other rugby-playing nations. By giving young players the cognitive, physical and technical foundations they need, we are making the game more sustainable, more enjoyable and safer for the next generation.

What the research says

In the research, we highlight that exposure to a range of movement experiences early on may develop skill capacities that will facilitate the learning of more advanced skills. Research has shown that significant developmental improvements in cognitive processes, such as processing speed (reaction time) and executive function, occur between the ages of five and seven years, and children become more interested in structured, rule-bound play.

We argue that contact skills can be introduced between the ages of 7 and 11 years. We also highlight that before any sport-specific techniques are introduced, players need to condition themselves for contact through skills such as falling, grappling and wrestling. These fundamental movements serve to prepare players for contact, for example, how to break a fall or physically engage (push, pull, drive, let go of) another player.

Players also need to learn how to carry the ball into contact and tackle.

Training environments should be designed to provide adequate skill development which prepares players for the demands of tackle contact rugby sport.

Coaches should understand the game demands for their age group to manipulate training to achieve specific learning objectives. For instance, in junior rugby, children tend to cluster around the ball – what we call the “beehive effect”. Our research shows this creates tackle patterns that are different from those in the adult game, with junior rugby involving more jersey pulls and arm tackles than direct front tackles.

Coaches can use this insight to adjust field size to control contact speed, and introduce rules that encourage evasion over direct confrontation.

Guidance and preparation

With input from leading researchers, practitioners and coaches in rugby, our research group developed a tackle training framework to help coaches and trainers.

For example, it provides a guide for how coaches can progress players from environments that are low-speed, controlled and structured to environments that are more representative of the game situations.

Families can also help prepare children for the joys of tackle rugby:

• give them the opportunity to participate in a range of sports

• expose them to forms of physical contact such as wrestling and grappling in the form of play, and activities that develop their landing, falling and rolling skills

• encourage collision play with padded or cushioned equipment

• explore sports that specifically promote body control and awareness in controlled contact situations, such as karate.

Of course, children develop at different rates, and many factors influence when a child is ready for contact. This is why a standardised, progressive approach benefits everyone.

Sharief Hendricks consults for the South African Rugby Union and World Rugby. He is also a consultant for the South African Cricketers’ Association. He is currently a board member for the South African Institute for Drug-Free Sport and serves on the South African Sports Confederation and Olympic Committee’s (SASCOC) High Performance Commission.

– ref. New rugby rules for South African kids aim to keep them safe: what does the research say? – https://theconversation.com/new-rugby-rules-for-south-african-kids-aim-to-keep-them-safe-what-does-the-research-say-274458

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Keiichi Ohnaka, Associate professor, Universidad Andrés Bello (Chile)

For decades, astronomers have been watching WOH G64, an enormous heavyweight star in the Large Magellanic Cloud, a galaxy visible with the naked eye from the Southern Hemisphere. This star is more than 1,500 times larger than the Sun and emitting over 100,000 times more energy. For a long time, red supergiant WOH G64 looked like a star steadily reaching the end of its life, shedding material and swelling in size as it began to run out of fuel.

Astronomers didn’t think its final demise would happen anytime soon, because no-one has ever seen a known red supergiant die. But in recent years astronomers – including our team working with the Southern African Large Telescope (SALT) – discovered that this star has started to change, growing dimmer than before and seemingly warmer. This has surprised scientists and suggests the star’s final stages of life may be more complicated, and perhaps unfold faster, than once thought.

Massive stars, more than about eight times the mass of the Sun, produce so much energy, which we see as light, that they run out of fuel within millions of years, instead of the billions of years of the Sun’s lifespan.

Most massive stars become gigantic, cool stars in the final million years or so of their life – so-called red supergiants. All red supergiants blow gaseous winds, losing weight as they do so. Some do this so strongly that the star becomes enveloped in a shroud of the ejected material containing gas and solid particles like tiny sand grains – called dust in astronomy. This makes them look dim in visual light, but very bright in the infrared where the dust shines.

In the 1960s Swedish astronomers Westerlund, Olander and Hedin discovered number 64 in their catalogue of red stars. They thought nothing of it, as it looked like an unremarkable red giant star, something the Sun and most other stars will become later in life. But when in the 1980s Nasa, the UK and The Netherlands launched the InfraRed Astronomical Satellite into space, astronomers Elias, Frogel and Schwering discovered that WOH G64 is the most luminous, coolest and dustiest red supergiant in the entire Large Magellanic Cloud, which harbours over a thousand red supergiants. More observations over the following decades showed the strong, steady modulations of the brightness expected of a pulsating star of that kind.

Then, in 2024, our team (both authors of this article and our collaborators in Germany and the US) succeeded in taking a close-up image of WOH G64 using the European Southern Observatory’s telescopes and revealed a fresh cloud of dust close to the star. It was the sharpest picture of a star in another galaxy ever taken (comparable to being able to spot an astronaut walk on the Moon from Earth). We discovered that in the last decade, unexpectedly, the star had started to eject much more dust than before. At that time, we did not have an idea about why and how.

It turns out, WOH G64 had also become dimmer, possibly because of the dust cloud it had ejected, and started to pulsate less and a little more quickly, suggesting it had shrunk. At the same time, the star seemed to look a lot warmer, leading some to believe it might have entered a new stage of its life – a so-called yellow hypergiant on its final path to doom.

All these phenomena are happening on a human time scale, which is usually not the case when we observe stars. This makes WOH G64 even more special. Is this star offering us an opportunity not to be missed to witness the final death throes of massive stars?

Now, as we start 2026, we have announced that observations we have obtained using the Southern African Large Telescope give us some clues about what is going on with WOH G64. The SALT observations show the overwhelming presence of ions in the vicinity of the star, which means that the gas is heated up to high temperatures by what must be a much hotter star. This should not have surprised anyone as the hot gas had been spotted in the 1980s and ever since. But we also found the imprint of molecules, implying cool gas (because molecules break up at high temperatures) likely in the atmosphere of the red supergiant. It did not appear to have changed into a yellow hypergiant, at least not yet.

For a long time, astronomers have suspected that the red supergiant has a smaller, hotter twin living alongside it, but they have somehow been reluctant to claim this in publications. And now it looks to be the elephant in the room. One way of making sense of our observations is that this hotter star, looking blue in contrast to its bigger, cooler, red sibling, heats gas it might have captured from the red supergiant’s wind. Now that the red supergiant has faded, the presence of the heated gas has just become more conspicuous.

If the orbit of the blue star is not a circle but quite elongated (Earth’s orbit around the Sun only slightly deviates from a circle), the distance between the blue star and the red supergiant varies. It may have got closer in recent years, and its gravity might have caused the atmosphere of the red supergiant to stretch out. This would make it more transparent overall, allowing us to see the warmer interior, but with cool, dark molecular patches left in places. That would also have made it easier for dust to form further out in its wind.

If that is true, then once the blue star starts to recede again on its orbit, WOH G64 might regain its former red supergiant glory. On the other hand, if it did throw off its coat entirely, then the molecules would disappear, and with it, the dust, and we would gain a clean view of the star. Then again, WOH G64 might do something else unexpected. It certainly teaches astronomers to be humble.

Keiichi Ohnaka receives funding from Chile’s Agencia Nacional de Investigación y Desarrollo.

Jacco van Loon does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. A giant star is changing before our eyes and astronomers are watching in real time – https://theconversation.com/a-giant-star-is-changing-before-our-eyes-and-astronomers-are-watching-in-real-time-274562

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Katrina Kosec, Lecturer, Johns Hopkins University

When floodwaters washed away Woudou Oumar’s home in northern Cameroon, he and his family lost not only shelter but hope. Then a government-supported cash transfer arrived. “The money transfer was a real boost for me and my family,” he says, explaining how he rebuilt his house, bought seeds for farming, paid for his daughters’ schooling, covered his son’s medical care after the disaster, and became more hopeful.

Stories like Woudou’s highlight how social transfers can shape more than incomes: they anchor people in their communities and influence how they experience and judge governmental support.

Governments and development partners around the world are now pouring unprecedented resources into social protection. From rural Bangladesh to urban Brazil, more than 120 low- and middle-income countries now provide some form of cash transfer to their poorest citizens. These programmes have succeeded in reducing poverty in both the short term and long term, improving education outcomes and promoting better health.

But what else are they doing and at what cost, or benefit, to social and political life?

Our new study reveals that social transfers are systematically reshaping how citizens relate to their governments and to one another. We reviewed nearly 90 empirical studies across six continents in a bid to establish causal effects of social transfers on outcomes beyond welfare and livelihoods. We found that these programmes influenced how people voted, how much they trusted institutions, whether they participated in civic life, and even how they felt about their neighbours.

The studies spanned Africa, Asia, Australia, Europe, North America and South America. The review included studies in 11 African countries – some in fragile and conflict-affected settings. Our findings identified consistent patterns alongside important contextual variation.

The effects weren’t always what policymakers expected, and they depended heavily on programme design, recipient characteristics, and political context.

---

Read more:
Over 26 million South Africans get a social grant. Fear of losing the payment used to be a reason to vote for the ANC, but no longer – study

---

As governments and donors expand safety nets, one reality deserves more attention: social transfers don’t operate in a vacuum. They shape how citizens perceive authority, belonging, and the fairness of their political institutions. They can strengthen political and social trust or erode it, build cohesion or fuel resentment.

Our review shows that design, delivery, and local context shape whether transfers unify or divide societies. While many effects are positive, they are neither automatic nor uniform. Getting this right means seeing social protection not only as a tool to fight poverty, but as a force that can help – or hinder – the building of political trust and community life.

Across settings, three things stood out: how transfers reshape state legitimacy, how they affect trust and political behaviour, and how they alter relationships within communities.

Reshaping relationships with the state

Social transfer programmes, such as cash transfers or food aid, are designed to reduce poverty and cushion households against income shocks. But they also shape how people understand the social contract between citizens and the state.

In fragile settings especially, even small benefits can become symbols of state presence and capacity. Good delivery looks boring – but it is powerful. Programmes that pay on time and apply clear eligibility rules tend to build political trust. In these settings, recipients understand not only that help is coming, but why – and from whom.

Bad delivery, by contrast, often involves delays, opaque targeting, or inconsistent payments. When citizens cannot predict whether benefits will arrive, or suspect that selection is arbitrary or politicised, transfers lose their legitimising effect and may even undermine confidence in public institutions.

When citizens perceive these programmes as fairly targeted and effectively delivered, they often respond with higher satisfaction with public services and their political leaders, and increased political participation. Many begin to see their governments as more legitimate and responsive.

In fact, the most consistent empirical finding across nearly 90 studies was that social transfers boosted support for political incumbents, particularly when programmes were seen as credible, well targeted, and appropriately delivered.

Still, not all effects were positive.

We identified conditions under which social transfers had little effect – or even negative consequences – for state-citizen relations. In some cases, this reflected poor implementation capacity. In others, citizens credited NGOs or donors rather than their government for programme delivery. Where attribution was unclear, benefits didn’t necessarily translate into political support.

A mixed picture at community level

We also examined how transfers shaped relationships between citizens themselves. Here, the evidence was more mixed.

In some settings, transfers increased community engagement, strengthened informal support networks, and built trust between groups.

But in other cases, transfers fuelled jealousy or worsened inter-group tensions. The evidence suggests, for instance, that transfers can increase crime or conflict when benefits leak to better-off households or are perceived to help outsiders.

Equity and deservingness concerns emerged as especially important. When programmes excluded those who perceived themselves as equally needy, or when non-beneficiaries perceived recipients as undeserving, political resentment built. These dynamics were especially salient in contexts of high displacement, high inequality, or deep social cleavages.

Design details matter

One of the clearest takeaways from our review is that the design and delivery of anti-poverty programmes makes a real difference for political and social outcomes.

Inclusive programmes that reached broader populations were less likely to generate resentment than narrowly targeted ones. Programmes that come with conditions that promote the acquisition of civic skills (through job training, for example) and increase engagement with state and community organisations (through the receipt of a national identification card, for example) serve to more effectively boost political participation.

Attribution is also crucial. When citizens clearly associated benefits with their government, transfers were more likely to build trust in institutions. And having mechanisms for grievance redress, feedback and community dialogue amplified the positive effects.

We also found that trust and social cohesion impacts were greater among marginalised groups such as women, unskilled workers and the very poor. Citizens like these often have the most to gain from the material support and the recognition that programmes represent.

Policy lessons for expansion

As social protection becomes more central to development strategies, understanding these effects is critical. Cash transfers are not just economic tools. They shape political attitudes, community cohesion, and perceptions of fairness.

The core message is simple but consequential: social protection is never politically or socially neutral. Its effects depend not only on how much is transferred, but on who receives it, how programmes are explained, and whether citizens experience them as fair, corruption-free, and delivered by a state that is accountable to them.

To maximise the benefits of social transfer programmes and minimise unintended harms, governments and donors should consider five key principles:

Target transparently and fairly. Programmes should strive for clear eligibility rules that are well communicated. Programmes must also actually deliver what is promised in a timely way that is visibly free from graft.

Design for dignity and civic engagement. Programmes that provide opportunities for feedback, or positive interactions with those providing public services, can promote social inclusion.

Ensure state visibility and attribution. When recipients understand the government’s role in delivering benefits, they are more likely to see the state as responsive and capable, reinforcing positive relations and encouraging more political participation.

Promote social cohesion through complementary efforts. Transfers may strengthen community ties when paired with initiatives like local meetings or community-based trainings. These features can be just as important as the cash itself for ensuring broad programme acceptance.

Measure relational impacts, not just economic ones. Evaluation should go beyond income and consumption to assess how transfers affect trust, cohesion, political efficacy and perceptions of fairness – among both beneficiaries and non-beneficiaries.

As social protection scales globally, the question is no longer whether transfers reduce poverty – they do. The harder question is whether they help build the kinds of states and societies that can sustain development over time. Getting the design right is not just good policy. It can meaningfully strengthen bonds among citizens and between citizens and the state.

Katrina Kosec receives funding from the CGIAR Science Program on Food Frontiers and Security.

Cecilia Hyunjung Mo does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Anti-poverty programmes can change how people see the state and each other – https://theconversation.com/anti-poverty-programmes-can-change-how-people-see-the-state-and-each-other-274303

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Peet van Aardt, Coordinator: Initiative for Creative African Narratives (iCAN) & Lecturer: Academic Literacy, University of the Free State

Much is being said about the wonders of artificial intelligence (AI) and how it is the new frontier. And while it provides amazing possibilities in fields like medicine, academics are debating its advantages for university students. Peet van Aardt researches student writing and presents academic writing workshops at the University of the Free State Writing Centre, helping students to build clear arguments, summarise essay structure and express their opinions in their own voice. He also spearheads the Initiative for Creative African Narratives (iCAN), a project that assists students in getting their original stories published. Here he shares his experiences and thoughts on the use of generative AI at university.

What are your biggest concerns about the growth of AI-generated material from students?

The use of generative AI to compose assignments and write essays is widely reported, and its potentially detrimental effects on critical thinking and research are clear.

My biggest concern is that it takes away academic agency from students. By that I mean it takes the proverbial pen out of our students’ hands. If they over-rely on it (which we see they tend to do), they no longer think critically and no longer express their own voices.

This is particularly important in African universities, where student voice and the intellectual contribution of students to society are drivers of social change and decolonisation.

How can you tell if a text is written by a student or is AI generated?

Flawless grammar and clichés are the first two signs. Generic, shallow reasoning is another. Finally, the generative AI answer does not tend to relate well to topics set in a local context.

If I take student short stories that have been submitted to our iCAN project as an example, I see more and more tales set in some unnamed place (previously, students’ stories often took place in their own towns) or adventures experienced by characters named Stacey, Rick, Damian or other American-sounding people.

Another example: third year students studying Geography were asked to write a ten page essay on the history and future of sustainability and how it applied to Africa. To guide them, the students were referred to a report that addresses challenges in sustainability. What we saw during our consultations in the writing centre were texts that discussed this report, as well as relevant topics such as “global inequality and environmental justice” and “linking human rights, sustainability and peace” – but nowhere was South Africa even mentioned. The students clearly prompted their generative AI tool to produce an essay on the first part of the assignment instructions.

Also, it’s quite easy to determine whether somebody did their own research and created their own arguments when they have to reflect on it.

When students don’t understand the text of their essay, it’s a sign that they didn’t produce it. As academics and writing coaches we increasingly encounter students who, instead of requiring help with their own essay or assignment, need assistance with their AI-produced text. Students ask questions about the meaning and relevance of the text.

Writing centre consultations have always relied on asking the students questions about their writing in an attempt to guide them on their academic exploration. But recently more time needs to be spent on reading what the students present as their writing, and then asking them what it means. Therefore, instead of specifics, we now need to take a step back and look at the bigger picture.

Not all students use generative AI poorly. That is why I still believe in using AI detection tools as a first “flag” in the process: it provides a place to start.

What interventions do you propose?

Students should be asked questions about text, like:

• Does what it is saying make sense?

• Does this statement sound true?

• Does it answer the lecturer’s question?

In some instances teaching and learning is moving back to paper-based assignments, which I support. If possible, we should let students write with pens in controlled environments.

It’s also becoming more important to reignite the skill of academic reading so that students can understand what their AI assistant is producing. This points to the importance of reading for understanding, being able to question what was read, and being able to remember what one has read.

Generative AI is quite western and northern-centric. I believe we in academia have an opportunity to focus, where possible, on indigenous knowledge. Students should be encouraged to reflect on indigenous knowledge more often.

Lastly, academics should not over-rely on generative AI themselves if they don’t want their students to do so. As student enrolment numbers rise, time is becoming a rare luxury for academics, but we cannot expect students to take responsibility for their learning when we want to take shortcuts in our facilitation.

Have you changed your approach given these insights?

We have been revisiting our workshop materials to include more theory and practice on reading. Well-known strategies like the SQ3R method (to survey, question, read, recite and review a text) and the PIE approach (understanding that paragraphs Point to a main idea, support this by Illustration and Explain how and why the writer supports the main idea) are infused, along with various activities to ensure students apply some of these.

Our one-on-one consultations between students and trained, qualified academic writing experts continue to be integral.

If we as academics want to continue facilitating the learning process in students – and truly put them at the centre of education – we have to empower them to think critically and express themselves in their own voices.

Peet van Aardt does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. We run writing workshops at a South African university: what we’ve learnt about how students are using AI, and how to help them – https://theconversation.com/we-run-writing-workshops-at-a-south-african-university-what-weve-learnt-about-how-students-are-using-ai-and-how-to-help-them-273286

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Daniel Cash, Senior Fellow, United Nations University; Aston University

Africa’s development finance challenge has reached a critical point. Mounting debt pressure is squeezing fiscal space. And essential needs in infrastructure, health and education remain unmet. The continent’s governments urgently need affordable access to international capital markets. Yet many continue to face borrowing costs that make development finance unviable.

Sovereign credit ratings – the assessments that determine how financial markets price a country’s risk – play a central role in this dynamic. These judgements about a government’s ability and willingness to repay debt are made by just three main agencies – S&P Global, Moody’s and Fitch. The grades they assign, ranging from investment grade to speculative or default, directly influence the interest rates governments pay when they borrow.

Within this system, the stakes for African economies are extremely high. Borrowing costs rise sharply once countries fall below investment grade. And when debt service consumes large shares of budgets, less remains for schools, hospitals or climate adaptation. Many institutional investors also operate under mandates restricting them to investment-grade bonds.

---

Read more:
Africa’s development banks are being undermined: the continent will pay the price

---

Countries rated below this threshold are excluded from large pools of capital. In practice it means that credit ratings shape the cost of borrowing, as well as whether borrowing is possible at all.

I am a researcher who has examined how sovereign credit ratings operate within the international financial system. And I’ve followed debates about their role in development finance. Much of the criticism directed at the agencies has focused on: their distance from the countries they assess; the suitability of some analytical approaches; and the challenges of applying standardised models across different economic contexts.

Less attention has been paid to the position ratings now occupy within the global financial architecture. Credit rating agencies are private companies that assess the likelihood that governments and firms will repay their debts. They sell these assessments to investors, banks and financial institutions, rather than working for governments or international organisations. But their assessments have become embedded in regulation, investment mandates and policy processes in ways that shape public outcomes.

This has given ratings a governance-like influence over access to finance, borrowing costs and fiscal space. In practice, ratings help determine how expensive it is for governments to borrow. This determines how much room they have to spend on public priorities like health, education, and infrastructure. Yet, credit rating agencies were not created to play this role. They emerged as private firms in the early 1900s to provide information to investors. The frameworks for coordinating and overseeing their wider public impact – which grew long after they were established – developed gradually and unevenly over time.

The question isn’t whether ratings should be replaced. Rather, it’s how this influence is understood and managed.

Beyond the bias versus capacity debate

Discussions about Africa’s sovereign ratings often focus on two explanations. One is that African economies are systemically underrated, with critics pointing to rapid downgrades and assessments that appear harsher than those applied to comparable countries elsewhere.

Factors often cited include the location of analytical teams in advanced economies, limited exposure to domestic policy processes in the global south, and incentive structures shaped by closer engagement with regulators and market actors in major financial centres.

The other explanation emphasises macroeconomic fundamentals, the basic economic conditions that shape a government’s ability to service debt, such as growth prospects, export earnings, institutional strength and fiscal buffers. When these are weaker or more volatile, borrowing costs tend to be more sensitive to global shocks.

Both perspectives have merit. Yet neither fully explains a persistent pattern: governments often undertake significant reforms, sometimes at high political and social costs, but changes in ratings can lag well behind those efforts. During that period, borrowing costs remain high and market access constrained. It is this gap between reform and recognition that points to a deeper structural issue in how credit ratings operate within the global financial system.

Design by default

Credit ratings began as a commercial information service for investors. Over several decades, from the 1970s to the 2000s, they became embedded in financial regulation. United States regulators first incorporated ratings into capital rules in 1975 as benchmarks for determining risk charges. The European Union followed in the late 1980s and 1990s. Key international bodies followed.

This process was incremental, not the result of deliberate public design. Ratings were adopted because they were available, standardised and widely recognised. It’s argued that private sector reliance on ratings typically followed their incorporation into public regulation. But in fact markets relied informally on credit rating assessments long before regulators formalised their use.

By the late 1990s, ratings had become deeply woven into how financial markets function. The result was that formal regulatory reliance increased until ratings became essential for distinguishing creditworthiness. This, some have argued, may have encouraged reliance on ratings at the expense of independent risk assessment.

Today, sovereign credit ratings influence which countries can access development finance, at what cost, and on what terms. They shape the fiscal options available to governments, and therefore the policy space for pursuing development goals.

Yet ratings agencies remain private firms, operating under commercial incentives. They developed outside the multilateral system and were not originally designed for a governance role. The power they wield is real. But the mechanisms for coordinating that power over public development objectives emerged later and separately. This created a governance function without dedicated coordination or oversight structures.

Designing the missing layer

African countries have initiated reform efforts to address their development finance challenge. For instance, some work with credit rating agencies to improve data quality and strengthen institutions. But these efforts don’t always translate into timely changes in assessments.

Part of the difficulty lies in shared information constraints. The link between fiscal policy actions and market perception remains complex. Governments need ways to credibly signal reform. Agencies need reliable mechanisms to verify change. And investors need confidence that assessments reflect current conditions rather than outdated assumptions.

---

Read more:
Africa’s new credit rating agency could change the rules of the game. Here’s how

---

While greater transparency can help, public debt data remains fragmented across databases and institutions.

A critical missing element in past reform efforts has been coordination infrastructure: dialogue platforms and credibility mechanisms that allow complex information to flow reliably between governments, agencies, investors and multilateral institutions.

Evidence suggests that external validation can help reforms gain market recognition. In practice, this points to the need for more structured interaction between governments, rating agencies, development partners and regional credit rating agencies around data, policy commitments and reform trajectories.

One option is the Financing for Development process. This is a multistakeholder forum coordinated by the United Nations that negotiates how the global financial system should support sustainable development. Addressing how credit ratings function within the financial system is a natural extension of this process.

Building a coordination layer need not mean replacing ratings. Or shifting them into the public sector. It means creating the transparency, dialogue and accountability structures that help any system function more effectively.

Recognising this reality helps explain how development finance actually works. As debt pressures rise and climate adaptation costs grow, putting this governance layer in place is now critical to safeguarding development outcomes in Africa.

Daniel Cash is affiliated with UN University Centre for Policy Research.

– ref. Private credit rating agencies shape Africa’s access to debt. Better oversight is needed – https://theconversation.com/private-credit-rating-agencies-shape-africas-access-to-debt-better-oversight-is-needed-274858

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Daniel Tjarks, Resarch Associate in Human Geography, Saarland University

The Lobito Corridor is a massive infrastructure axis linking Angola’s shore on the west of Africa to the mineral-rich interior. Built in the first three decades of the 1900s to export cheap commodities to colonial Portugal, it later fell into disrepair. Its main railway was rebuilt during Angola’s post-war reconstruction. More recently it has attracted renewed and competing international interests.

Daniel Tjarks has researched Angola’s political and economic geography, the spatial development of colonial Angola and the current role of international actors in the country. Angola’s post-war spatial development and the government’s plans to promote more balanced and equitable growth also feature in his PhD dissertation. He questions some of the celebratory political claims made about efforts to revitalise the corridor. In particular, whether it will help Angola diversify its oil-dependent economy and benefit ordinary citizens.

---

What is the Lobito Corridor?

The Lobito Corridor is a logistics corridor. At its heart is a 1,300km rail line that connects the port of the Angolan city of Lobito to the mineral-rich parts of Zambia and Congo to the east.

Its most important component, the Benguela Railway, was constructed between 1903 and 1931 under Portuguese colonial rule by Scottish engineer Robert Williams.

At the time, it was one of three separate railways linking the colony’s ports to its hinterland. This way, colonial Angola could provide Portugal with cheap commodities.

During Angola’s post-independence civil war (1975-2002), the line was largely destroyed. As Angola entered the peace period, the country was able to rebuild its infrastructure thanks to its booming oil business.

Chinese capital and construction companies enabled the resurrection of the railway between 2006 and 2014.

In 2023, a western consortium outbid Chinese competitors for a 30-year concession for the line’s operation. The consortium consists of Swiss commodity trader Trafigura, Portuguese construction company Mota-Engil and Belgian rail operator Vecturis. It has committed to invest US$455 million in the corridor’s development in Angola alone. Trafigura CEO Jeremy Weir says it will not only “create a western route to market for goods and materials” but also “boost the development of sectors along the line”.

Why is the corridor attracting so much attention again?

A lot is at stake in the Lobito corridor. Much more than a regional infrastructure project, it has gained strategic importance in the global scramble for critical resources.

Cobalt and copper from Zambia and the Democratic Republic of Congo are key to the clean energy transition and modern communication technology. The DRC and Zambia together account for about 14% of the global mine production of copper and the DRC for 73% of cobalt.

Control of access to these minerals is at the heart of growing US-China competition, at times referred to as a “second cold war”.

The Lobito corridor has therefore become a project of global importance.

For this reason, the railway line has attracted high-ranking visits in recent years. In 2024, then US president Joe Biden inspected the rail line, marking the first visit of a US president to the continent since 2015 and the first of a sitting US president to Angola. In 2025, German president Frank-Walter Steinmeier also made the trip – again, the first of a German president to the country.

Even the Trump administration seems to have decided it will not break with commitments to support development of the corridor.

In 2024, the US, Europe, the African Development Bank and the three host countries signed a memorandum of understanding to extend the line to the east and mobilise investment alongside it.

At the seventh AU-EU summit in November 2025, European commission president Ursula von der Leyen described these commitments as evidence of the “European model” of investment and the two continents’ “unique and strategic partnership”. The commission promised to mobilise loans and private investments for the corridor worth no less than US$2 billion.

As the US and EU are trying to counter Chinese capital investment in Angola and in the wider region, the Lobito Corridor will continue to play a key role.

Who will benefit from the Lobito corridor?

There are good reasons to remain sceptical about the corridor’s promised benefits.

First, recent background reports point to major challenges facing the development of the soft infrastructure of customs and regulations. Others have pointed to the corridor’s unclear commercial viability. Ships having to call at the secondary port of Lobito will incur higher costs. There’s also competition from other routes – mostly, the Chinese-built Tazara railway, connecting Zambia to Dar-es-Salaam.

Second, the economic model at the heart of the Lobito corridor is anything but a break with exploitative extractivism. Throughout Angolan history, primary commodities have left the country, while hopes for broad-based growth have repeatedly been frustrated.

The consortium that now operates the railway grounds its investment primarily in expectations of future demand for critical minerals. And while the political emphasis on complementary investments is laudable, the corridor does not, as one background report puts it,

immediately lend itself to linking minerals and wider development.

Moreover, the country has already seen decades of large-scale oil exports that have delivered few tangible results for the wider population. Instead they have propelled blatant corruption and growing discontent with a ruling party that has been in power since independence.

Angolan economists Alves da Rocha and Wilson Chimoco have argued that “expectations on the impact on economic diversification are very low”.

Angolan government critic and journalist Rafael Marques de Morais has even called the corridor

a mirror of everything negative the continent endures: Chinese debt, Western opportunism, Congolese blood, Angolan misrule.

For him

if hypocrisy needed a railway, it would look exactly like the Lobito Corridor.

If the project really is to benefit all, the government will have to live up to promises that fewer and fewer Angolans seem to believe it capable of delivering.

Daniel Tjarks does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Angola’s Lobito Corridor is being revived – but who stands to gain? – https://theconversation.com/angolas-lobito-corridor-is-being-revived-but-who-stands-to-gain-274305

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By John Babalola, Associate lecturer, University of Lincoln

West Africa has pursued one of the world’s most ambitious border liberalisation schemes in the past four decades. The Ecowas Free Movement Protocol, signed in 1979, enables citizens of 16 member states to cross international borders with minimal documentation. The intention was to promote economic integration and prosperity across the region.

For instance, Nigeria’s open borders promise trade. Yet at Nigeria’s border posts, a troubling reality emerges. The open border system has become a vehicle for systematic exploitation of travellers.

My research towards my PhD at the University of Lincoln under the supervision of Dr Joshua Skoczylis focuses on west African migration and border governance. Together, we have examined how the region’s free movement protocol operates in practice at Nigeria’s frontiers.

Using the examples of two contrasting Nigerian border crossings – Idi-Iroko on the Benin border and Chikanda on the Niger border – I sought to understand the protocol’s impact on border security in Nigeria. Through qualitative interviews with policymakers, frontline security staff and community leaders, the research reveals how information gaps between officials and citizens transform an integration policy into an instrument of corruption.

While these sites cannot claim to represent all of Nigeria’s 84 manned official border posts, they illustrate the institutional dynamics reported across major crossing points in the region.

My findings show that the Ecowas Free Movement Protocol is an example of what policy scholars call an implementation gap: the chasm between what policies promise on paper and what happens on the ground. This protocol establishes free movement principles without prescribing mechanisms or standard practices. But Nigeria has failed to develop its own ways to manage its borders.

The current chaotic system is crying out for changes: these should include standardised operating procedures, proper remuneration for border personnel, accountability mechanisms and intelligence sharing.

When nobody knows the rules

The protocol’s basic requirement is straightforward: travellers need a valid travel document (a passport) and an international health certificate. Yet interviews with dozens of border community members revealed that most had never seen these requirements written down, let alone understood them.

“I think the protocol is good for trade between countries,” one Idi-Iroko resident told me, “but I don’t really know what it says.” Another community member was more direct: “International passports? Those are a waste of time and money. You don’t need them to cross the borders.”

When citizens remain uncertain about requirements, officials can demand payments for unknown violations, charge fees for services that should be free, and accept bribes to overlook supposed irregularities. What looks like bureaucratic failure becomes a feature of the system for those who benefit from it.

Multiple residents confirmed they crossed regularly without documents, recognised by officials who “know them” as locals.

Border residents understand that in practice, rules matter less than relationships with officials. Documentation requirements are negotiable, and informal payment often smooths passage more effectively than proper papers.

The strategic information gap

Security agencies claim they regularly conduct community information programmes. Immigration officials described visiting market squares and motor parks to distribute flyers about trafficking dangers and documentation requirements. “We do enlightenment campaigns constantly,” one senior officer insisted. Yet my requests for programme documentation, schedules, attendance records, or evaluation reports yielded nothing.

None of the community members interviewed across two border zones recalled such programmes. Most had gleaned their understanding of border operations from informal conversations and personal experience.

The real implementation gap

Free movement doesn’t mean unregulated movement. Even within a borderless zone, states retain legitimate security interests: preventing trafficking, controlling smuggled goods, monitoring public health threats, and maintaining basic records of cross-border flows. The protocol acknowledges this by allowing member states to refuse entry on grounds of security, public health, or public order. Rules are needed to distinguish between these legitimate security functions and arbitrary restrictions that undermine the integration agenda.

The protocol assumes member states will create necessary institutional capacity: motivated, well-resourced security forces working collaboratively. But in reality there are ten competing agencies at major Nigerian posts, earning vastly different salaries, following separate mandates, jealously guarding information. As one military officer explained: “One organisation tries to be smarter, working individualistically instead of in cooperation.”

Frontline officers exercise enormous discretion in this under-regulated environment. They become de facto policymakers. They don’t simply implement policy poorly, they effectively create policy through their daily choices about whom to stop, what to inspect, and which violations to overlook.

A customs official candidly admitted to me:

Many people don’t go there for patriotism or duty. They go for survival. Even if you have the numbers, they’ll always try to see where the honey tastes better.

In this context, systematic corruption isn’t aberrant behaviour – it’s a strategy within deficient systems that national governments have failed to develop.

Why technology won’t fix this

Security officials often cite lack of technology as their main challenge. They argue that scanners, biometric systems and digital monitoring could help verify travellers’ identities, flag security threats, and create audit trails of border transactions. In theory, that could reduce opportunities for officials to demand arbitrary payments or wave through prohibited goods.

But technology won’t solve the fundamental problem my research uncovered.

The issue isn’t capacity for enforcement. It’s the incentive for exploitation. Sophisticated surveillance equipment won’t prevent officials from accepting bribes if their salaries are inadequate and accountability mechanisms are absent.

Anyway, most border posts lack electricity infrastructure to power such technology. And equipment placed in remote areas becomes vulnerable to theft or vandalism. Investment in hardware simply creates more expensive ways to fail.

What needs to change

Forty-six years after the protocol’s enactment, Ecowas needs to confront uncomfortable realities. Real reform requires several interconnected changes:

• Genuine transparency about requirements: sustained, accessible public information about what documentation is legally required, what fees are legitimate, and how to report violations.

• Standardised operating procedures across member states.

• Adequate compensation for security personnel.

• Accountability mechanisms with genuine consequences for exploitative behaviour.

• Coordination frameworks that reduce inter-agency competition and enable intelligence sharing.

Until Ecowas confronts this reality, the free movement protocol will continue delivering the opposite of its promise: not integration and prosperity, but fragmentation and exploitation.

This article is based on doctoral fieldwork conducted in Nigeria between 5 June 2024 and 1 August 2024. Interview data and full findings will be available in the forthcoming PhD thesis at the University of Lincoln.

The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Nigeria’s open borders promised more trade and free movement: but crossings are chaotic and corrupt – https://theconversation.com/nigerias-open-borders-promised-more-trade-and-free-movement-but-crossings-are-chaotic-and-corrupt-273670

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Astrid R.N. Haas, Research associate at African Centre for Cities, University of Cape Town

Property taxes remain one of the most underperforming sources of revenue for urban development across Africa. One reason is that they are often opposed by the economic elites and large property owners. Freetown, the economic and administrative hub of Sierra Leone, has successfully implemented a property tax regime aimed at raising revenue the city needs for its development.

Freetown is where 15% of the country’s population lives, out of a total population of nearly 9 million. The city accounts for 30% of Sierra Leone’s economic output as measured by gross domestic product (GDP). GDP in 2024 was nearly US$7 billion.

Urban economist Astrid R.N. Haas asked Manja Kargbo, who leads the Mayor’s Delivery Unit in the Freetown City Council, how Freetown pulled it off.

---

Can you walk us through the process Freetown went through to design and implement its property tax reform, from the initial idea to where you are today, including why you decided to focus on property tax reform?

Freetown’s property tax reform began in September 2019 with a recognition that the city’s revenue base was severely underutilised, and property tax offered a sustainable, locally controlled source of funding. Freetown could not rely on central government transfers to finance core urban services. In recent years these grants to the city have continued to fall.

Therefore, the reform was designed to increase the city’s own source revenue by improving fairness, transparency and compliance while modernising outdated property identification, valuation, billing and enforcement systems.

The reform process included:

• Creation of a digital platform, (Moptax), to manage assessments, billing and payments.

• A comprehensive valuation cycle supported by satellite imagery, field discovery and digital mapping.

• Development of standard operating procedures for each stage of the tax cycle, from the identification of a new property within the city’s boundaries to enforcement.

• Strategic engagement with stakeholders, including councillors, community leaders and taxpayers, to build trust and understanding.

• A phased rollout of the new property tax system, starting with pilot testing, training of council staff and continuous feedback loops.

The reform has now reached a point where the city has institutionalised many of these processes, with the Freetown City Council administration taking the lead and the reform team providing technical support.

Property tax is often referred to as the “tax people love to hate”. How did you attain the necessary buy-in and a sense of fairness around Freetown’s new system?

Stakeholder engagement was central to the reform’s success.

Key strategies included:

• digital town hall meetings across 31 wards to explain the reform and gather feedback

• radio, posters, WhatsApp and community meetings to demystify the tax

• transparent communication about how revenues would be reinvested locally, including a commitment to allocate 20% of ward-level revenue to community projects

• engagement with councillors and the Communications Committee to ensure political buy-in and local ownership

• a help desk and appeals process to address taxpayer concerns and ensure fairness.

Digital tools have been central to your reform. How did you ensure that technology worked for the city rather than the other way around?

Technology was designed to serve the reform, not drive it, reflecting lessons drawn from earlier property tax reforms in Sierra Leone and comparable cities where technology-led approaches had underperformed in the absence of political buy-in, administrative capacity and public trust.

We ensured this by:

• building Moptax around the city’s operating cycles, so that digital processes aligned with operational needs

• training Freetown City Council staff through a “train the trainer” model, ensuring local capacity to manage and adapt the system

• using satellite imagery and GIS (Geographic Information System) mapping to improve accuracy, but validating data through fieldwork and appeals

• creating dashboards and audit trails that supported transparency and accountability

• ensuring that all digital tools were backed by policy decisions, council resolutions and community feedback.

What were some of the most unexpected challenges your team faced along the way, and how did you adapt?

Some of the key challenges included:

• resistance to change from internal departments. This was addressed through structured training and leadership engagement.

• bank reconciliation with property tax payments issues. This required deep dives with finance teams and meetings with bank representatives to resolve.

• data tampering by enumerators and audit capacity gaps. This led to the creation of an internal audit framework and training for the audit department.

• limited internet and technological infrastructure, such as sufficient data storgage capacity. This was mitigated by cloud hosting and procurement of equipment like MiFi devices and power banks.

• repeated outreach efforts began to lose their effectiveness and residents became disengaged. The city then shifted towards multimedia and community-led messaging.

What advice would you give to other African cities that want to embark on property tax reform but feel daunted by where to start?

Start with clarity of purpose and build from the ground up:

• Map your processes before digitising them. Technology should follow strategy.

• Engage stakeholders early and often – reform is as much about trust as it is about systems.

• Invest in training and documentation to build institutional memory.

• Pilot, learn and adapt – don’t wait for perfection before starting.

• Use data to drive decisions, but always validate it with field realities.

• Celebrate small wins to build momentum and confidence.

Astrid R.N. Haas does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Freetown’s property tax is designed to plug funding gap: how Sierra Leone’s capital went about it – https://theconversation.com/freetowns-property-tax-is-designed-to-plug-funding-gap-how-sierra-leones-capital-went-about-it-268781

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Ron Soonieus, Director in Residence, INSEAD

Serving on a non-profit board can be deeply fulfilling and beneficial to the cause – but only if you’re fully committed and prepared for the role.

It must be flattering to be offered a seat on the board of a non-profit organisation (NPO). After all, the non-profit sector has long valued for-profit executives for their business acumen, result-orientation and decision-making abilities.

Along with their expertise in areas such as finance, legal, human resources, marketing and management, the ability of for-profit executives to translate broad strategic goals into actionable decisions can help non-profit boards navigate complexity and ambiguity with greater confidence. They also often bring extensive networks that can open doors – be it for partnerships, fundraising or advocacy – which can significantly enhance an NPO’s ability to achieve its mission.

The appeal to serve on the board of an NPO may be an emotional one: service and meaning. As a bridge between the government, society and the business sector, NPOs play a vital role in addressing market and government failures. They advocate for accountability, counterbalance profit-driven motives, mediate between stakeholders, complement government services and even foster social innovation.

At the same time, non-profits have reached a transformation moment. As public donations shrink – a trend now accelerating with recent shifts in aid policies by the United States and Europe – non-profits must take a proactive approach by refining their priorities, strengthening operational resilience and preparing for future shocks.

But to achieve these, NPOs need strong leadership and effective governance. This is where the board comes in.

In an ideal world, the relationship can be mutually beneficial. But executives without prior board experience may struggle to transition from an “action-oriented” mindset to one of board oversight and, as a result, sometimes slip into micromanagement and undermine the delineation of roles between governance and management. Also, there is the question of fit.

Before embarking on the journey as a non-profit board member, it is critical for both the executive and NPO to assess their readiness and alignment. We’ve developed a set of questions to consider, drawing from our work in this field, as well as the insights gained from non-profit board members, executives, governance practitioners and academic experts whom we meet at Governance and Leadership Community of Practice meetings we’ve been organising regularly.

Assessing your motivation, capacity and commitment

Do I share a genuine passion for the non-profit’s mission and values? Would I feel fulfilled contributing to this cause, even if it didn’t yield professional benefits?

Do I have the time and energy to commit to this role? Am I truly prepared to attend meetings, participate in committees and provide support beyond the boardroom when required?

Can I balance this commitment with my professional and personal responsibilities? What impact might this role have on my other obligations? Can I really commit to the task, especially when it requires additional commitment in times of crisis?

Am I honest to myself and the organisation about my real motivation? Is it to give back, support a cause I’m passionate about, expand my network, for professional development, or a mix?

Evaluating your expertise

Can my skills and experience contribute to the non-profit’s success? Are there specific areas, such as strategy, fundraising or financial oversight, where I can add value?

Do I have a full appreciation of the specific complexities and challenges of non-profit governance? Am I prepared to navigate the differences between for-profit and non-profit operations, such as stakeholder dynamics, funding models and mission-driven objectives?

Understanding the role

Am I clear about the expectations and responsibilities of a board member in this organisation? Have I reviewed the organisation’s bylaws, financial status and strategic priorities to understand the role fully?

Do I understand (or am I willing to learn) the oversight role of a trustee or director? Can I maintain a strategic, supervisory perspective without micromanaging the management team?

Am I comfortable asking tough questions and holding the organisation accountable? Will I speak up when necessary to ensure transparency, ethical behaviour and good governance?

How can I align my expectations with the non-profit’s operating realities? Non-profits often lack the resources and support that for-profit organisations possess. Faced with a different operational reality, it can be challenging to understand whether what is being delivered is all that can be expected or if there is room to push for more.

Evaluating risks

Am I prepared to associate my personal reputation with this NPO? Have I researched the NPO’s reputation, leadership, financial health, bylaws and legal compliance, and am I willing to accept any potential risks that could impact my professional ambition?

Are there potential conflicts of interest? Could my professional role or personal interests lead to ethical challenges or perceived biases?

Am I prepared to use my network repeatedly? Engaging your network can be one of the most powerful ways to support a non-profit, whether for fundraising, partnerships or advocacy. However, you should consider whether you’re ready to tap your network repeatedly as the organisation’s needs arise.

Committing to learn and engage

Am I open to learning and adapting to the non-profit sector? Am I willing to invest time in understanding the mission, community and operational nuances of the non-profit world?

Can I work collaboratively with diverse stakeholders? Am I prepared to engage with and learn from individuals from varying professional, cultural and socioeconomic backgrounds?

Put mission at the core

Serving on a non-profit board can be rewarding, both personally and professionally. However, this role requires more than experience – it also demands knowledge of the NPO sector, self-awareness, intentionality and a genuine commitment to the organisation’s mission. A for-profit executive’s skills and experience can help shape the strategic direction and success, but only if approached with the focus, time and humility the role demands.

For non-profits, the inclusion of for-profit executives brings valuable expertise, networks and decision-making capabilities that can elevate their professionalism and impact. Yet, non-profits should not overestimate their added value and must ensure their boards are balanced, with diverse skills and perspectives that complement the organisation’s needs.

A final reflection for the passionate executive: If you truly care about the mission, periodically ask yourself (as well as your fellow board members and management): “Am I the best fit to help advance it?” Reflect on whether you are bringing your fullest value or if stepping aside might better serve the organisation and its purpose.

Ultimately, by prioritising the mission, both non-profits and for-profit executives can forge partnerships that build stronger, more effective organisations that drive meaningful and lasting change. Keeping the mission at the core ensures every decision contributes to lasting impact.

This article is published courtesy of INSEAD Knowledge, the portal to the latest business insights and views of INSEAD, The Business School for the World. Copyright 2025.

Caelesta Braun is affiliated with the Dutch Council for Public Administration

Agota Szabo and Ron Soonieus do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Should private sector executives sit on the boards of non-profits? There are risks and benefits – https://theconversation.com/should-private-sector-executives-sit-on-the-boards-of-non-profits-there-are-risks-and-benefits-261011

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Jan Pospisil, Researcher at the Austrian Institute for International Affairs

The UN issued warnings of potential mass violence between the South Sudanese government and the White Army in January 2026. A peace agreement ended a five-year civil war in the country in 2018. This was followed by a period of relative calm that ended in 2025 in the wake of clashes between the government and White Army. Attempts to bring peace since have faltered. The government has charged and suspended first vice-president Riek Machar over claims he commanded the White Army during the violence in Nasir, Upper Nile State. Jan Pospisil, who has studied South Sudan’s conflict dynamics, explains the origins of the White Army and its political impact.

What is the White Army?

The White Army is best understood as a set of temporary, community-mandated self-defence mobilisations, organised along sectional and clan lines.

The term “White Army” refers to the ash traditionally used in Nuer cattle camps to repel mosquitoes. The ash is smeared on the bodies and faces of young men and gives them a whitish appearance. The Nuer are one of South Sudan’s largest ethnic groups. They primarily keep cattle and inhabit the greater Upper Nile region.

Authority in the White Army flows upward from communities, not downward from political leaders.

The White Army’s orientation is primarily defensive: protecting cattle, land and local autonomy in an environment where the state is experienced less as a provider of security than as a source of threat.

But this defensive logic coexists with raiding and inter-communal violence.

Its history explains its ambivalent role.

The White Army grew out of Nuer youth self-defence formations that had existed since the 1960s.

In 1991, the White Army started to pro-actively use this name and was drawn into national conflict around the so-called Nasir split. This is when suspended vice-president Riek Machar and other predominantly Nuer commanders broke with John Garang’s Sudan People’s Liberation Movement. Garang, who died in 2005, was from another of South Sudan’s major ethnic groups, the Dinka.

White Army forces fought alongside the Nasir faction (led by, among others, Machar) and were central to a massive attack on Bor later in 1991. The Bor massacre led to the death of several thousand Bor Dinka, a sub-group of the Dinka people who primarily inhabit Jonglei State.

Attacks were carried out largely by White Army fighters pursuing revenge over cattle raids and local objectives that aligned only partially with Machar’s political aims. This is an episode Machar apologised for in 2011, saying he

was responsible for both the good things and the bad things that came as a result of the Nasir Declaration.

The apology was revealing. It acknowledged political responsibility without implying operational command.

The Bor massacre remains a dominant lens through which many Bor Dinka understand the White Army: as an organised anti-Dinka force opposing the ruling party. This is understandable, but is also a source of lasting misperception about how the group operates.

What’s the relationship between Riek Machar and the White Army?

Machar has benefited politically from White Army mobilisation. But he does not direct it.

His current prosecution is therefore deeply ironic. Machar is accused of commanding a force that has, time and again, demonstrated its structural resistance to sustained external control, including his own.

He is now being tried for exercising a form of command that he has long sought but never fully possessed.

From the 1991 Nasir split to the civil war between the government and the Machar-led opposition that erupted in December 2013 and the renewed violence of 2025, White Army forces have repeatedly fought alongside Machar’s forces.

However, the White Army exists as an amalgamation of community militias that are tied to particular areas rather than as one organised force. Their size depends on the capacity of regional leaders to mobilise the youth at a given time.

During the civil war, White Army mobilisations delivered some of the opposition’s most significant battlefield successes.

Yet these forces often withdraw once immediate objectives – such as the defeat of militias aligned with the government in a certain territory – are achieved. This leaves opposition units unable to hold territory.

The assumption that’s made is that these temporary alliances equate to control of the White Army. They don’t. Confusing the two has repeatedly distorted how South Sudan’s conflicts are understood – and mismanaged.

Conflating the White Army with the Sudan People’s Liberation Movement/Army-in-Opposition (SPLM/A-IO) serves a political purpose. It legitimises state counterinsurgency, including airstrikes over the course of 2025 that hit civilian areas. It recasts local resistance as elite manipulation.

But it also obscures deeper drivers of South Sudan’s violence: the collapse of civilian protection, the outsourcing of force to allied ethnic militias such as the Agwelek or the Abushok, and the ethnicisation of political belonging since 2013.

If the White Army continues to be misunderstood, the danger is further ethnicisation of South Sudan’s politics. This is where complex communal violence is reduced to criminal conspiracy and used to legitimise militarised state responses.

Treating political crises as matters for prosecution rather than compromise risks deepening the very dynamics that have fuelled South Sudan’s wars since 2013.

The state portrays the White Army as a terrorist group: why is this a problem?

In the case it has brought against Machar, the government is advancing a familiar claim: that the White Army is an armed wing of the SPLM/A-IO acting on Machar’s orders.

The charge matters. It underpins not only Machar’s prosecution, but also a wider narrative that treats community mobilisations as opposition conspiracy in South Sudan.

The claim rests on a fundamental misunderstanding of what the White Army is, and has been for more than three decades.

Firstly, the group draws on long-standing Nuer community self-defence traditions, even if it became politically visible in national conflict in the early 1990s. It is neither purely protective nor purely predatory. This makes the White Army difficult to incorporate into elite peace agreements, and easy to mischaracterise as irrational or terrorist.

Secondly, the White Army is not a standing militia, nor an insurgent organisation with a central command. Authority flows from the community.

To understand why the White Army mobilises as it does, it is important to consider December 2013. The mass killing of Nuer civilians in Juba at the outbreak of civil war marked a decisive rupture in South Sudan’s political order. Violence that had previously been mediated through elite rivalry and fragmented local conflicts became overtly tribalised.

For many Nuer communities, December 2013 was experienced not as a power struggle within the ruling party, but as an existential attack marked by mass killings, displacement and the collapse of civilian protection.

This interpretation – whether accepted or rejected by external observers – has shaped mobilisation ever since. White Army fighters interviewed by journalists and researchers over the past decade have been consistent: they did not fight because Machar was removed from office, but because Nuer civilians were killed.

And since 2013, Nuer diaspora networks across North America, Europe and east Africa have played a role in supporting White Army mobilisations. This support has taken multiple forms: fundraising, advocacy and social media campaigning, logistical assistance, and political pressure on opposition leaders.

Diaspora involvement reinforces White Army mobilisation by amplifying narratives of collective victimhood and unfinished justice, often from a distance that strips away the everyday constraints faced by communities on the ground.

As a result, South Sudan’s 2013 war did not merely fragment the state; it reshaped political identities far beyond its territory.

Jan Pospisil receives funding from the Peace and Conflict Resolution Evidence Platform (PeaceRep), funded by UK International Development from the UK government. However, the views expressed are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the UK government’s official policies. Any use of this work should acknowledge the authors and the Peace and Conflict Resolution Evidence Platform.

– ref. South Sudan’s White Army explained: what it is – and what it isn’t – https://theconversation.com/south-sudans-white-army-explained-what-it-is-and-what-it-isnt-274656