Margaret Namulyanga
Pwaangulongii Dauod writes, “The night was full of energy. The kind of energy that Africa needs to reinvent itself. Electrifying. Full” (Africa’s Future Has No Space for Stupid Black Men). In Shirley Jackson’s The Lottery, villagers assemble to select and stone one of their own to appease harvest gods. Apassage in God’s Bits of Wood describes how men in detention are conditioned to become savages.
Literature entertains and astonishes the curious mind in equal measure. Its ability to alter a reader’s perspective on both the tangible and imagined worlds is why oppressive governments and organised religions deride the arts—until they need them for propaganda.
Matiya Luyima’s Olugendo lw’e Masaka weaves glowing tales of how well-mannered NRA rebels were in Masaka. Yet for my grandmother, something would always trigger memories of the war. She had interacted with the rebels during their recruitment drives at her White Arrow establishment, a bar, restaurant, and motel, and made her observations.I was a toddler when the war intensified in our area, so I don’t remember much. By the time I was six, my grandmother’s stories would keep me awake at night. I was jumpy at the sight of soldiers, the sound of gunfire from Kasijjagirwa Barracks, and the sound of approaching motorcars made me run for cover.
She said when rebels advanced towards Kyabakuza, the family tried to escape. My mother tied me to her back, rolled up a mattress, and threw it on her head. “Netuduma,” she would emphasise. Before we or the chickens could cross the road, artillery fire flew overhead. We abandoned the mattress and personal belongings. Once again, “Netuduma”—we returned to White Arrow. In a mad dash, we all dived under a bed. With enough people under its frame, and me sticking out, the hideout seemed to float. Some people were crying and wetting themselves.But when Olugendo lw’eMasaka played on the wireless, I forgot everything. The narrative was captivating, until something provoked her war memories. From her talks about the 1960 crisis, I think she was a little mischievous. When she mentioned the Tanzanian invasion, I knew not to ask twice to finish my food—war might break out, and I’d have to run on an empty stomach. That war ended quickly, but was replaced by reminders and the constant threat of being put through the grinder again.In 2018, during the Arua by-election, unspeakable transgressions were inflicted on an activist and a musician. One shared her ordeal publicly, the other only in whispers. The assaults included the insertion of foreign objects. When victims recount these horrors, the question remains:
“How can anyone do that to another person?” The answer is simple—the dehumanisation of sentinels leads to the dehumanisation of the people. And this can lead to victims perpetuating further dehumanisation.When one’s physical attributes are used to diminish their humanity, concise discussions on dehumanisation and its roots in genocide should be part of a leadership school’s curriculum. This would help those whose political views oppose the ruling class. Too often, responses are drowned in hysteria and insults, missing the gravity of the issue.Scholars have rightly irritated The Principal. Knowing too much without applying it weakens political activism. But having too little knowledge is equally dangerous, especially after forty years of undermining education and cultivating contempt for intelligence. Look at the graveyard of professionals from the 80s to date to understand this better. When the generation that missed out on an adequate education emerges, illiteracy will run deep.
We’ve been socially conditioned to be a menace—to each other and occasionally to the ruling class. Aspiring for change within an asylum is fanciful.Six years ago, while campaigning in Bugiri for Asuman Basalirwa, Bobi Wine delivered a stirring speech about the class divide and engineered sociocultural differences. The crowd, mostly young men, absorbed the message. That evening was full of energy.Setbacks continue, including the abduction and imprisonment of Dr Kizza Besigye. Political life presses on, as it should. The good doctor would want this. It shows that our liberation is bigger than any individual sacrifice.Given how Dr Besigye was abducted and imprisoned, and the ruling regime’s promises of violence for 2026, those subscribing to the People Power movement must ask themselves: “Has the revolution run out of energy?”
Ms Namulyanga lives in Poughkeepsie,
NY. [email protected]
