By Isaac Chol Aguer
In a country where some cross puddles without their shoes getting wet, while others stack errands like unpaid debts, came the unusual sight of Hon. Bataria Minror arriving at the gates of the Revitalized Transitional National Legislative Assembly in a modest Rickshaw, a black plastic bag shielding her from the relentless rain.
The moment wasn’t humiliating — it was revealing. Not of the MP’s hardship, but of a system where — as Bataria Minror herself claimed in her livestream — a vegetable-laden Rickshaw headed for the Speaker’s kitchen is waved through the gates, while one carrying an MP under heavy rain is turned away.
But the question wasn’t for the guards. It was for the MP herself:
What exactly were you protesting, Madam? Was it about being left out of the list of those driving V8s like your fellow MPs? Or was it a principled stand — that parliament should welcome Rickshaws, just as it should remain open to the real concerns of ordinary people walking in the same rain?
If it’s about personal perks, that’s one thing.
If it’s about principle, that’s another story.
History reminds us that when countries face hard times, it is parliaments that lead by example. In Argentina 2001, when the economy crumbled, MPs froze their own benefits, suspended raises, and passed emergency laws to stop financial collapse.
In Italy 2011, amid the Euro crisis, parliamentarians cut their own pay, halted new official V8 purchases, and passed a recovery package to stabilize the country.
And here, in South Sudan, citizens walk from Guri to Juba without salaries, without Rickshaws, without anyone to ask about them. Meanwhile, parliament is mentioned only when a black plastic bag appears on Facebook Live.
It would have meant so much if, stepping out of that Rickshaw, the Hon. Bataria Minror had announced:
“Next session, I’ll propose MPs contribute a share of our allowances to pay overdue salaries, equip hospitals, and postpone any new V8 purchases until people’s conditions improve.”
Then, that plastic bag would have been a national badge.
But reducing it to a personal livestream, forgetting those with neither Rickshaws nor live broadcasts… is a picture of a reality we must all quietly acknowledge.
The Revitalized Transitional National Legislative Assembly can be a shelter for its people or a marketplace for privileges.
And history only remembers those who stood for the people.