Photo: A Ugandan child. What country are we creating for her?
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The spectacle of Ugandans engaging in physical altercations and exchanging torrents of insults on behalf of political candidates should embarrass all of us. Sixty-fours years since the election that gave us our first national leader, we are driving faster in reverse. Unless we engage emergency brakes, I see us driving over the cliff into a dark hole full of fury and strife, with an outcome I rather not contemplate before going to bed.
I have never voted in a Ugandan general election. I was a little boy when Uganda went to the polls in 1961 and 1962. However, my interest in these things was already bubbling within, thanks to my father who invited me to attend political party leaders’ campaigns. We attended rallies by Benedicto Mugumba Kiwanuka, the leader of the Democratic Party (DP), and Apolo Milton Obote, the leader of the Uganda People’s Congress (UPC.)
The rallies, held in our local marketplace, were simple affairs, presenting humble men who spoke with smiles, and made their promises before working the crowds. Money, food or drinks did not change hands. I did not hear reports of policemen beating up citizens for sport. There were no soldiers, of course, for the King’s African Rifles was a professional Army, with a brief that did not include propping up the political ruler’s throne.
That election was shocking, even to a little boy whose mother was a Roman Catholic and the father a Native Anglican. The ecumenical life to which we had been accustomed was overthrown by a frightening level of conflict. Friends and neighbours became enemies. We were urged to avoid consuming food and drinks in homes that had, hitherto, been very hospitable and loving. My brother and I happily ignored the edict and continued to indulge our tastebuds in sanctioned homes.
I saw a Roman Catholic man who had been injured in an unspeakable part of his body, the wound allegedly inflicted on him by an Anglican Church leader. My father treated the patient with a professionalism that, years later, impressed me and explained why he was so loved by his patients. Mind you, the Catholic man’s survival was a helpful outcome. Had he died of excessive bleeding or infection, the obvious verdict would have been that my father, a UPC activist, had conspired with the churchman to snuff life out of a DP supporter.
In the event, the DP won the election on March 23, 1961. Drums sounded at Roman Catholic parishes, accompanied by ululation and joyful singing and dancing. Mass depression descended upon Anglican Christians and their leaders who, one suspects, may have laboured under very sinful thoughts. However, the colonial rulers, the excitement of the pre-independence Constitution Conference in London, and the impending transition to political independence may have checked people’s raw emotions.
The next election, held on April 25, 1962, was marred by worse conflict, election rigging, complete with underage “voters,” and results that ended Kiwanuka’s leadership. He had served our country as chief minister for one year, and as our first prime mister for just under one month.
There is a marvellous photograph, taken in May 1962, that shows a smiling Apolo Milton Obote hoisted by several jubilant men celebrating the recent electoral victory of the UPC/Kabaka Yekka (KY) alliance. I have written about that photo in the past, but it is worth repeating. The men in the photograph are cabinet ministers in the new government, only two of them older than 50, probably certain of many happy years ahead, free men in the finest country on the continent.
Alex A. Ojera from Acholi bears most of the prime minister’s weight. Felix Kenyi Onama from West Nile/Madi looks into the camera, his arms steadying the victorious prime minister. Ali Akbar Adoko Nekyon from Lango, the prime minister’s first cousin, lends a brotherly hand. Behind him is Grace Stuart Katebariirwe Ibingira from Ankole, not yet 30, waving in triumph. James Joseph Trevor Simpson from Buganda, the only European in the cabinet, grins with satisfaction. He is the Kabaka Yekka member of parliament for Kyaggwe Northeast.
Dr. Joshua Ssejjengo Luyimbazi Zake from Buganda, perhaps the most academically accomplished member of the first cabinet, suppresses a smile. Matthias Mbalule Ngobi Ikoona from Busoga, arms thrust forward, appears to be dancing with joy. The Isebantu Sir William Wilberforce Bwamiki Kadhumbula Nadiope, the Kyabazinga of Busoga, beams as he offers a triumphant royal wave.
The only man in the photograph whose facial expression hints at ambivalence, if not outright displeasure, is Dr. Emmanuel Bijjugo Sajjalyabene Lumu from Buganda. A medical doctor, who was newly appointed as minister of health, Lumu’s thoughts at that moment may well have been about his personal life. However, with the advantage of hindsight, one imagines that he was acutely aware of the marriage of convenience that had brought the group to power. Did he have misgivings about the prognosis that awaited the delicate arrangement that had placed their fate in the hands of Obote, a man who had not had any leadership or other executive experience?
The photograph of a triumphant Obote hoisted high by his comrades is particularly humbling because it illustrates the fickle nature of political relationships. It reminds “the people” to think twice before investing their emotions in the ambitions of men and women who do not treasure friendship or blind loyalty.
Things fell apart rather quickly. When Parliament sat to elect our first state president on October 4, 1963, two men expected to win. Sir Edward Frederick William David Walugembe Mutebi Luwangula Mutesa II, the Kabaka of Buganda, had been assured by Prime Minister Obote that he had his full support. Kabaka Mutesa wrote a most delicious account of the events that led to his election as our first president. He reported in his book, The Desecration of My Kingdom (Constable, 1967), that when the speaker of parliament announced the election result, Sir William Wilberforce Nadiope, who was the other major candidate, was obviously displeased. It appeared that “someone” had promised to support Nadiope’s candidacy for state president. Mutesa reported second-hand information about what followed, a detail that I will encourage you to read for yourself. Mutesa’s book is essential reading.
In the event, Obote ensured that Nadiope became vice president of Uganda. However, the relationship between the prime minister and the vice-president soured. Nadiope was among the men who were allegedly plotting to remove Obote from power. He fled to Kenya within hours of the arrest of five cabinet ministers on February 22, 1966. Though he voluntarily returned from his brief exile, Nadiope’s star dimmed. He lost his throne after Uganda became a Republic under President Obote on September 8, 1967, and was imprisoned on charges of fraud in 1970. Released from prison by President Idi Amin in 1971, Nadiope retreated from public life until his death on November 13, 1976. He was only 65.
J. T. Simpson, who was both Chairman of the Uganda Development Corporation, and Minister of Economic Planning, resigned his seat in 1964, left the government, and repaired to Nairobi, Kenya. He was knighted with The Most Excellent Order of the British Empire (KBE) on January 1, 1965. He enjoyed a successful business career as Chairman of Simpson and Company in Kenya and died in Nairobi at the age of 86 on April 10, 1994. In addition to his vast wealth in Kenya, Sir James’ estate in England and Wales alone was valued at £302,858 (equivalent to £769,259 today.)
Meanwhile, Obote imprisoned Ibingira, Ngobi and Lumu, together with Ministers Atenyi George Bikanculika Kyamanywa Magezi and Balaki Kebba Kirya, on February 22, 1966. They had been allegedly plotting to overthrow him from the prime minister’s office. Nekyon resigned from the Obote cabinet in April 1967.
Onama had an uneasy relationship with Obote, even when the latter made him one of the most powerful men in the country. According to the late Cuthbert Obwangor, Onama (and Basil Bataringaya) were behind the assassination attempt on Obote on December 19, 1969. Onama was believed to have been involved in the successful coup d’état that ended Milton Obote’s first presidency on January 25, 1971. However, Amin kept him at a distance and Onama’s brief act on the national stage faded to dark.
Alex Ojera, the only one in that photo who appeared to have remained loyal to Obote, joined the ill-fated armed force that invaded Uganda from Tanzania on September 17, 1972, with the goal of regaining power. Ojera surrendered to the Uganda Army, was arrested and executed sometime in October 1972.
After enjoying a short honeymoon following his release from jail by President Amin, including serving briefly as Permanent Representative to the United Nations, the Hon. Ibingira resumed his political activities mostly in exile, but remained at the periphery of Uganda’s power structure. He never rose to the role that his brief shining moment in our history had promised. He was in exile during most of Amin’s and Obote’s second regimes. He died of natural causes in Bujumbura, Burundi on an uncertain date in December 1995.
After his release from political prison in February 1971, Dr. Lumu returned to his professional career, and shunned active politics for the rest of his life. He practiced medicine in Kisenyi in central Kampala, avoided the limelight, and retired from his job at 80 years of age. He died of natural causes at his home in Kampala on December 11, 2019. He was 103 years old.
Besides J. T. Simpson, Dr. Luyimbazi-Zake was the only other person in that photograph that avoided the dark political tunnels into which very many Ugandan patriots have been sucked. Zake enjoyed a steady and successful tenure as the MP for Masaka Central, and minister of education in the first Obote government. With the advantage of an earned PhD from America’s famous Northwestern University in 1962, Dr. Zake relocated to America until Amin had been removed from power in 1979. He was appointed Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary of Uganda in the United States of America, a role he performed until he was recalled by Obote on April 2, 1981.
Milton Obote, overthrown twice by his soldiers, died of a natural cause in a South African hospital on October 10, 2005, ending 20-years of a second exile that he had spent in Lusaka, Zambia.
Many in my generation remember the early 1960s with tender nostalgia. We rightly consider the first parliament and executive branch to have been populated with gentlemen that were genuine patriots. Yet they engaged in political battles that kept the country on the edge of our seats. The most consequential fight, of course, was that headed by Muteesa and Obote. Then there was the tension, and even physical fights, between Catholics (DP) and Anglicans (UPC).
The Muteesa-Obote conflicts had supporting acts at district levels. Intra-UPC factions hobbled political life in different districts. In Kigyezi we had the Banyama-Baboga wars that left deep and lasting wounds in their wake. The Catholic-Anglican tensions hibernated a little when the UPC people were engaged in their suicidal factional fights. However, that religious volcano occupied subterranean territory, with episodic eruptions, usually triggered by political campaigns and so-called elections.
Just like the chief protagonists in the early post-independence battles are all dead and largely forgotten, their cheerleaders and foot soldiers are long forgotten. Even more important is that they gained nothing from those fights, except the damaged relations and wasted opportunities. Many believed the lies of opportunistic politicians without stopping to ask themselves what the fight was about.
Watching the recent battles within the NRM, with religious identity politics gripping the Kigyezi population like a hungry crocodile, I felt ashamed that my generation had failed to reverse the regrettable story that was written by my parents’ generation.
Whereas I understand the complexities of politics and the struggles for control that trigger epic battles between comrades and fellow kinspeople, I wish I could persuade all Ugandans that these fights are just not worth it. That is as true for the under-employed youth in Mparo and Bukedea, as it is for those battling for control of State House or the Parliamentary speaker’s chair. It is not worth it.
We are all transients on Earth, unimportant besides our presence as children of God. Most of us, including the rulers of the land, will be forgotten by posterity. The work and long speeches of the most powerful men and women will be relegated to history.
The Prophet sums it up for us in Isaiah 26: 13-14: “Lord our God, other lords besides you have ruled over us, but your name alone do we honor. They are now dead; they live no more; their spirits do not rise. You punished them and brought them to ruin; you wiped out all memory of them.”
I do not discourage active political participation in the governance of our country. I am a firm supporter and believer in the struggle for human rights for all, freedom for all, genuine democracy for all, justice for all, and economic and social prosperity for all. However, today’s rulers, their political opponents, and the rest of us, should take heed. In the words of James, the brother of Jesus Christ, we are just a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. The men in that famous photograph exemplify this.
Uganda will be here long after the next elections, and long after we are gone. Ours is to call upon our president, his party members, and their opponents to do good and take our leave.
© Muniini K. Mulera