He was no ordinary person. He had some means to life, but not too much. He had a second-hand Japanese-made automobile and rented in a fairly decent neighbourhood of Kampala.
But whenever a political discussion came up, he would leave the room, cautioning whoever was there, “politics is dangerous, my friends, they’ll kill you.”
Then one day, after being admitted in Mulago hospital with a critical condition, he went unattended to the entire night. Doctors were on industrial action, and his condition deteriorated really quickly. He passed on the next day.
When I learned about the conditions of his passing, I couldn’t help but cry at the irony of “keeping safe” from politics, but losing your life from the ills of politics that he feared to speak out against. What an irony!
Then, a series of ugly thoughts hit me: “now he regrets why he lived an apolitical life.” Then, I said to myself, “I am sure he wishes he had died fighting to make these conditions better.” “Politics actually found him and killed him,” I went on quietly.
WEAPONISING DEATH
The fear of death—or the scare of death—remains the biggest and perhaps most powerful tool in any tyrant’s arsenal. Opponents and critics are endlessly reminded “the man will kill you.” It is not really the deprivation of livelihood, torture or imprisonment, which are feared weapons.
But the thought that one will be exterminated and if you are the breadwinner, that your wives and children—if you have them—will be condemned to a life ofdestitution.
Especially in a context where the tyrant (or all those folks with power, both local and international) has mastered the art of killing their opponents quietly (say through poison, infection with slow-killing diseases, faked accidents), the scare of death is real.
I do not want to downplay the very sinister weapons—killing, starvation, imprisonment and torture—in the hands of men with power. Many young folks are in Luzira and Kitalya prisons for simply supporting Bobi Wine’s presidential bid. These threats are real and painful.
Neither do I want to repeat my favourite Eritrean proverb, “better to die like a lion than live like a dog.” Because clearly, under the conditions in Uganda, we all live like dogs—eating vomit and crumbs that fall off the tables of the masters. But how far can one keep safe?
When Dr Spire Ssentongo’s exhibitions—a different, actually mild mode of speaking up—picked steam, reminders such as “these men will kill you” or “think about your children” flooded him. These come from both friendly and hostile sources.
Especially that we live in a country where renowned critics of power have lost their lives under the suspicion that government stealthily took out their lives for their critical positions, many people have to contend with these scares of death and suffering before they speak out: “What are you dying for?” friends and foes ask.
I have never stopped wondering why we fear death this much when we know that death visits at its own accord and gives no warning? Why are we so afraid of death when we are constantly burying our friends and loved ones—young and old—and neither is ever ready for death?
It is my proposition that instead of fearing death—which will happen anyway—it would be better to think about how we died, and what is written on our tombstones.
SOME DEATHS MORE MEANINGFUL THAN OTHERS
Like my friend who passed away in 2017 in the story above, consider, for example, keeping safe from politics, and you are run over by a truck without brakes but whose driver was able to bribe traffic officers to keep on the road.
And because of the poor road conditions, as the driver tried negotiating a pothole, they lost their balance and ran over your Toyota Corona killing you in the process.
How many friends and loved ones died because a politician stole the GAVI funds meant for HIV/Aids patients. Consider that an average of 170 mothers die in labour in Kampala (not in the villages), and this is mostly because money is stolen by the greedy political elite, and simple medical supplies are lacking in major hospitals.
Consider the many lives lost to road accidents, boda- bodas. All these victims—who could include your loved ones or yourself—are all victims of a broken politics.
Even if it is not death of person, consider the painful, humiliating lives Ugandans endure because of a broken politics. The absolute zombie lives because of a painfully designed economy: over-taxed, crippling interest rates (because all local banks were closed for political reasons, and the foreigners do not care); expensive tariffs, and endless load shedding; thieves in so-called financial intelligence targeting thriving businesses.
Consider the shameless and violent land thieves throwing all of us off our small pieces of family land. Thus, what is safe if one cannot live a meaningful existence?
My proposition is this: it is more meaningful to live a life—and meet your death on the front foot—trying to fix the ills of our society for our collective benefit than live the deception of keeping safe. Because while you might run, there is nowhere to hide from politics, it will find you and hurt you.
It is even worse for a terribly broken politics. In all our small ways (even if means just sharing a picture), we could make a contribution.
yusufkajura@gmail.com
The author is a political theorist based at Makerere University.
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