Writer: Godwin Toko. Photo/Courtesy
On September 21, 1972, a group of men in plain clothes walked into the office of Benedicto Kiwanuka at the High Court in Kampala, seized and drove away with him. The men, eyewitnesses would later recall, were driving a Peugeot 504, with the number plate UUU 171. More than five decades after his abduction, Kiwanuka, who was the Chief Justice at the time, has never been seen again.
Given the circumstances of his disappearance, to this day, the actual when, what, who, and where of the final moments remain a mystery: widely debated and speculated upon, but not definitely addressed.
However, going by circumstantial evidence, many believe Kiwanuka was just another victim of the regime that reigned supreme over this country in the 1970s. After all, Kiwanuka was not the only high-profile Ugandan abducted without a trace under circumstances pointing to State involvement then.
In fact, only the month after Kiwanuka’s abduction, Frank Kalimuzo, the vice chancellor of Makerere University, was also abducted and never seen again, the year after those two, Lt Col Serapio Kakuhikire, a decorated Ugandan army officer, was also disappeared.
Going back to Kiwanuka, there is a lot that points to State involvement, actually. In their book, Contesting Catholics: Benedicto Kiwanuka and the Birth of Postcolonial Uganda, researchers Jonathon Earle and JJ Carney write that by the time he was disappeared, the gulf between the Chief Justice and all-powerful President Idi Amin had widened exponentially.
Specifically, they write that Kiwanuka was opposed to some of the president’s actions, including the blame put on Catholics as “Asian sympathisers” following their expulsion, which he also opposed. As a result, the Chief Justice was not invited to some high-profile State functions in 1972, functions he had always been invited to before then.
In anticipation of the worst, records show that the Chief Justice expanded his life insurance policy and received the Catholic sacrament of anointing – a ritual normally preserved for cases of serious illness or anticipation of death. To put it another way, Kiwanuka chose to prepare for the worst instead of backing down.
Such courage as Kiwanuka exhibited is rare and worth celebrating. To this end, the Judiciary has immortalised him by dedicating September 21 to him. So, since 2018, the Benedicto Kiwanuka memorial has become one of the main events in the country's judicial calendar. In 2018, during the inaugural event, President Museveni unveiled a Kiwanuka bust at the High Court building as part of the activities and then went on to give a speech in praise of the man who stood up to Amin’s tyranny.
However, for all the flowery speeches our judicial officers make and listen to on September 21, most of them fall short of living by the Kiwanuka code. Whenever their duty call is one for standing up for the average Ugandan, most of them are a no-show.
This week, as has happened with several politically dissenting voices in the recent past, a judicial officer remanded Mr Edward Ssebuufu, a victim of torture who was detained in an ungazetted detention facility for more than a week.
Those who have seen Mr Ssebuufu describe his current state as “rotting away”, and videos from the court in Masaka show he couldn’t walk unsupported, even for a few metres.
The Human Rights Enforcement Act, 2019, one of the laws the Judiciary must uphold, uses the word “shall” in stating that victims of torture and abuse of the right to free and fair trial, as Mr Ssebuufu is, must be released and their cases discontinued. I have no doubt that Kiwanuka, in their shoes, would uphold the law – regardless of who, doing so would annoy.
Eddie Mutwe is supported as he walks into court cells before appearing before Masaka Magistrates' Court on charges of robbery and assault. Photo/Malik Fahad Jjingo
The 1970s, certainly had its cowardly judicial officers, those who kept biding for the State, but it was not long before some of them, or people close to them, needed a courageous judicial officer to stand for them – but there was none! Sadly, for them, whatever they tried to protect, they lost, and yet no one remembers or celebrates them.
The writer, Godwin Toko, is a lawyer with a keen interest in governance, politics and human rights.
