Message to Museveni and Besigye
Please pull back from the brink
Small world in which we live,
Every crisis in our homeland,
Instantly, felt abroad,
In our homes, around the globe.
Kizza Besigye is in prison,
With worrisome poor health,
Source of angst and worry,
As much in Toronto as Tororo.
Though we cannot imagine,
The prisoner’s pain and suffering,
The sleepless nights of family,
Our hearts are full of ache.
Our emotions boil with steam,
Our fears heightened with anger,
With every passing moment
Despair risks the land.
Some judge the rulers harsh,
Whose prisoner that he is,
Others judge the prisoner,
The challenger of the rulers.
The country torn apart,
Some declare him guilty,
Without any evidence tendered,
Others plead his innocence,
Without supportive facts.
Some baying for his blood,
Others demand his freedom,
Peacemakers needed now,
More than ever before.
First things first my friend,
Besigye is presumed to be innocent,
A right, that he enjoys,
Because, it is his right.
This cardinal rule of law,
Not a favour by the president,
But a right of jurisprudence,
In lands where justice rules.
Sick or not my friend,
He must be freed from jail,
And tried in civil court,
Upholding legal principle.
Trial in military court,
Where accusers are the judges,
‘Tis a mockery that dances,
On graves of those who died,
When accusers are the jailers,
The undertakers are the doctors,
The assailants are the guards,
The heart of darkness rules.
Besigye’s health demands,
The most urgent attention,
By professionals that he trusts,
To do him good not harm.
The right of every patient,
His station notwithstanding,
To know what care they get,
And eat without any fear.
The president is a Christian,
His wife is born again,
Their daughter pastor preacher,
Christ alive at Rwakitura.
National Prayer Breakfast meetings,
State House annual tradition,
The ruler presiding besides,
A sombre commitment to Christ.
Does Christ sanction the pain,
Of body and mind and soul
The suffering that we see,
The prisoner subjected to?
Christ who told his disciples,
While seated on the Mount,
That which He expects of us,
To do for those He made.
Those who labour with sickness,
The hungry and the naked,
The thirsty and the strangers,
And prisoners of the king.
Perfect challenge for those,
That proclaim the Lord their Saviour,
To live and act the Word,
Of Him who taught us well.
It’s a challenge for the ruler,
As it’s for the prisoner,
Supporters and their opponents,
Forgiveness the Lord expects.
The flesh resists the message,
Prefers revenge and pain,
On him who threatens us,
We prefer a fight instead.
Much easier than to let go,
Of grudges and our bitterness
Transient victory that sows,
A poisoned mustard seed.
It's a journey we have walked,
Experience at which we excel,
Destroy them who think different
The land is mine alone.
Obote and Muteesa and Ibingira,
Their story, that robbed the land,
Our peace and right to live,
United free for liberty.
Obote, Amin, and Adoko,
Their fight for power unchecked,
The nightmare triggered by them,
Engulfed many millions more.
The lessons escaped the land,
With chaos and death, the norm,
Amin no longer at home,
Revenge and hatred at hand.
They bled and died for what,
Those who liberated the land,
And paved the way for more,
The cycle of hatred unbroken.
The stolen election of eighty,
Another war to end enslavement,
In which current ruler and prisoner,
Were patient-doctor and comrades
The fight for peace and freedom,
They saw their comrades slain,
And witnessed slaughtered peasants,
Whose fight they thought they owned.
Obote, Muwanga, and Okello,
Oblivious, to history they made,
Their fight, defined by anthem,
Makerere’s great Hall of Northcote.
“Either, we win, or they lose,”
And lose. the adversaries did,
Pridefully, blind to their folly,
Their ears, deafer than stone.
Forty years along the journey,
Dialogue, is not their way,
Revenge, still reigns supreme,
Even when Christ proclaimed.
The one who has the guns,
Believes he has the land,
The one whose voice is silenced,
Believes he has no option.
The spring of patience is stretched,
The breaking point is reached,
The completed break ignites,
An eruption that shocks the land.
Museveni, Besigye in a dance,
At the crater of dormant Muhabura,
A volcano that may erupt,
Whose force exceeds its trigger.
Molten lava will then burn,
All that’s in its path,
The innocent and the guilty,
The dwellers and the visitors.
This fight is not about them,
The ruler, and his prisoner,
But engulfs Ugandans with whom,
They share the air they breathe.
The yellow colour that annoys,
And the red one that infuriates,
Emotions ruled by party,
Not worth the blood that flows.
Hear me you who have ears,
And memories of our past,
Great dreams of peaceful future,
For you and for your children.
Call upon the ruler and prisoner,
To sue for peace anew,
Through dialogue of the humble,
Avert disaster that waits.
Transparency and disclosure,
Besigye my brother and friend,
Hero with strength and courage
About whom my views are known.
He earned my respectful admiration,
Way long, before he gained,
His rightful claim to be,
Our leader, in the struggle.
Though different paths we took,
In the execution of our struggle,
The strategies may be different,
But hopes unshakable in concert.
Likewise, Museveni my leader,
In that old struggle whose story,
With tears and faith, we shared
That time can never erase.
Our paths long ago diverged,
Over principle and nothing personal
Best wishes for him and family,
Remain as sincere as my prayers.
My thoughts with you Mr. President,
You are my senior in age,
But hear my appeal to you,
To demonstrate greatness through humility.
Our country, needs protection,
From another cycle of violence,
Proverbs Sixteen advises
‘Gainst transgression in judgement.
It is, a great abomination,
For kings, to commit wickedness,
A throne is established by righteousness,
Thus says the Lord our God.
My thoughts, with you brother Besigye,
At this, your greatest test.
Hold on to dear life my friend,
Your country still needs you.
.
Please sing Florestan’s song,
In Beethoven’s Opera Fidelio,
He sang with voice sublime,
In his awful prison cell.
“In the springtime of my life,
All my happiness is flown,
I dared to speak the truth,
And these chains are my reward.
“But I can endure the torture,
I can bear to die an outcast,
One precious consolation in my heart,
The knowledge that I did my duty.”
© Muniini K. Mulera