Let us hope the people of Kasese find it in themselves to forgive us 

There is a famous quote attributed to Kwame Nkurumah, that, “I am not African because I was born in Africa but because Africa was born in me.” It sounds profound but I am not sure I know what it means in real terms.

It isn’t so far removed from the question about being Ugandan. If you are reading this and identify as Ugandan, take a moment and think about what actually makes you Ugandan – outside of what the law says. The only times when we come close to answering the question of our identity as citizens of this polity is when our sports personalities step into whatever arena to compete.

Yet it is easy to look around and see the things that are typically African. The things that define us as a people. Large and extravagant marriage ceremonies. Equally large burial events. People contributing and travelling across whatever borders to be present. Enmities and tiffs temporarily shelved. Hope renewed. Connections strengthened.

Which is why our reaction to the gruesome terror attack on the students of Lhubiriha Secondary School, in Kasese District, does not make sense. 43 young souls were hacked or burnt to death, and others abducted. Sadly, if you followed public discourse, you wouldn’t tell that we are supposed to be experiencing one of our lowest moments in modern history.

There’s no telling what is supposed to happen in times like this or how the country is supposed to react but it is also clear that how we have responded – if at all – is just the wrong way. A handful of private citizens – on Twitter – have come together to run a fundraiser and come to the aid of the grieving families. You should contribute if you haven’t already. Government will probably come through as well, at some point. It is the least that they can do, considering the evident drop-of-guard in intelligence-gathering that precipitated this tragedy.

So, how would you define what it means to be Ugandan if it didn’t involve living out our oneness? Or reaching out and touching each other’s pain? And letting the grieving people of Kasese know that we understand how they are feeling and that they aren’t alone. That we shall all get through it together. What does it say about us if are letting them carry this unbearable weight on their souls?

It is just not clear whose role it is to take lead on this. I would drop it at the doorsteps of religious leaders if they weren’t preoccupied with overnights and prayer breakfasts to increase their bank balances. Or maybe the cultural leaders if they weren’t too busy schmoozing with government for cars and stipends. Parliament maybe? But those have been distracted with going after homosexuals, ahead of everything else that ails Ugandans.

If you look around, you realise that nearly everyone has gone through their own version of this. Which is why it is disheartening that instead of making us a lot more cognizant of each other’s pain, all of it seems to have desensitised us. Admittedly, one or two of the tragedies were and will likely be occasioned by the politics of the day – which makes commemoration events all the more untenable.

Predictably, this is a subject about which we have written before, drawing from the anniversary of the July 2010 Kampala bombings, the 2015 raid on the Omusinga’s place in Kasese, and the 2020 November riots. You can also go back to 2008 Buddo Junior fire, the landslides in Buduuda, Joseph Kony’s terror, or the 1998 Kichwamba massacre.

All those times – and everything between and before then – our collective grief did not manifest. It was left to those who were pained to deal with it however they could. Everyone fights their own battle and lives through their physical and emotional scars. And because you never really heal from these sorts of things, the scars always show when another round of tragedy hits. It shouldn’t have to be that way. Perhaps, we might not have a clear definition of what it means to be Ugandan; but because situations in which we need to feel and heal each other’s pain are commonplace, they provide a starting point. A starting point to the realisation that we are already here and that individually or as communities, our aspirations and destines are interwoven and there is no way to win if we aren’t rising together.

Mr Rukwengye is the founder, Boundless Minds. @Rukwengye