With the presidential election campaign now off to an official start in Uganda, the gloves are coming off in this political arena that is not particularly well-known for gentlemanly circumspection.
I suppose credit should really go to the present incumbent, the ever-jovial Yoweri Kaguta Museveni, who, while introducing a sort of one-party system in all but name (preferring to call it a “no-party” system), has nevertheless ensured that freedom of speech should be of paramount importance in the country, especially after the lethal paranoia of the
Idi Amin years.
Museveni was a key military player in the war that was waged to overthrow Amin, and the main man in the subsequent war that brought an end to the corrupt and brutal Obote regime that followed it. He continues to demonstrate his military prowess in the steady gains he is making against insurgent rebel armies that have been bleeding the rural areas to the north and west – although his Congo campaign is less of a success and is regarded with increasing unpopularity at home.
But in his political persona Museveni’s easygoing charm, his down to earth, man-of-the-people delivery and his ability to please most of the people all of the time in this country of deep-seated ethnic and religious enmities puts him light years ahead of all other candidates in this quest for election to his third presidential term.
It is hard to imagine any other African president who can laugh off the most hysterical criticism the way Museveni does. Far from retreating into a sulky laager, as some of our leaders do, or reacting with lethal venom, as others might, his style is to challenge his critics to prove their allegations in open debate. And if the debate proves to be inconclusive, the president is likely to laugh and encourage his opponent to accept that there are times when it is just not possible to find agreement, and be the first to demonstrate that he harbours no hard feelings.
In their efforts to undermine him, Museveni’s opponents frequently tie themselves up in the most unlikely of knots. Paul Ssemogerere, veteran politician and leader of the Democratic Party, found himself locked up and interrogated by the police just before New Year’s eve when he was caught up in an apparent plot, along with his son and another relative, to try to forge the president’s signature on to documents purporting to show Museveni’s top-secret plans to destabilise neighbouring states, and secretly support rampant corruption at home.
Far from showing anger, Museveni jovially ordered his chief of police to release the trio and let them stew in their embarrassment until they were brought to trial.
Museveni tends to stand aside while his opponents’ embarrassing antics are widely reported in Uganda’s vigorous media. If he feels inclined to do so, he will sometimes personally enter the fray to give a carefully considered refutation of some of the accusations against him. But most of the time he just lets things be, leaving the people to make their own judgements.
The media attacks against him can sometimes sink quite low, but they also tend to be entertaining, in true Ugandan style. A commentator in the independent daily, The Monitor, recently published a scathing attack on Museveni’s National Resistance Movement, based on a comparison between the movement’s political style and the high-handed behaviour of the defunct Banyankole aristocracy. (Museveni, he did not need to point out, is himself a Munyankole.)
According to this commentator, Banyankole aristocrats used to surround themselves with sycophants, known as abanyampi (“those who fart”). When the aristocrats were paying official visits or attending important meetings, so the story goes, one or more of these abanyampi would always be in attendance, ready to take the rap if an aristocrat should happen to accidentally break wind in polite company. In return for this relatively painless service, the abanyampi could reasonably expect some personal advantage.
Museveni, the writer suggests, behaves no better than the average Munyankole aristocrat of yore, surrounding himself with toadies who bend over backwards not to be seen to be stepping out of line, and axing anyone who defies his edict. Unfortunately, the writer could find nothing more than broad generalisations and rehashed rumours to support his allegations. And for the average citizen the president’s record of openness to this kind of criticism, aired in the basest of language at times, speaks for itself.
It is hard to believe, of course, that there is such a thing as a politician who does not have a few hundred hidden agendas and is not possessed of an insatiable lust for power and personal aggrandisement. And yet however hard they wrack their brains and hatch complex plots to which they clumsily try to append his signature, Museveni’s opponents have not yet come up with convincing evidence of these traits in the wily old lion.
This week in Kampala the race to unseat Museveni began in earnest, with a rush of candidates seeking to secure their nominations for the presidential election. Most of them appeared in stiff three-piece suits, riding into the arena like conquering Caesars, surrounded by bands of desperate-looking supporters.
The man himself, meanwhile, casually sauntered in at the tail of the pack, wearing his trademark, broad-brimmed farmer’s hat as he bounced towards Kololo stadium on the back of a boda-boda motorcycle taxi. The ecstatic crowds he drew outnumbered the offerings of the opposition by a factor of several thousand to one it would seem.
For all the dust that has been raised on the track, it’s a one-horse race yet again. And Museveni, you can be pretty sure, is the name of that horse – a phenomenon all of his own making, simultaneously showman, shaman and sheik.
Archive: Previous columns by John Matshikiza