Kenya is the talk of the East African neighborhood because a cross-section of its citizenry continues to demand accountability and speak up against vile egocentric economic policies. Kenya is a prime example of a people who have rejected spectator citizenship. 

In contrast, Uganda, Kenya’s counterpart to the west, which shares similar struggles, has enjoyed relative peace (and quiet strategic state plunder) since 1986, ushered in by the self-proclaimed revolutionary Yoweri Kaguta Museveni. He was as fiery as they come, enameled with the doctrine of fundamental change enshrined in the 10-point program. In Uganda’s case, there is a critical thread in the country’s collective memory—a pre-1986 memory and a post-1986 memory. Admittedly, though, in some parts of the country, this collective memory is blurred; Northern Uganda and Luweero, among others, bear the marks of a complex story and a reflection of undone transitional justice work.

On the heels of the 2021 presidential elections, I had a conversation with an elder regarding the state of politics in our country and sought their advice on how to vote, as this was my first election voting experience. They laughed and shared with me that what we are seeing today—the corruption, arrests, kidnappings, and assassinations—are the very things that pushed a disgruntled Museveni to the bush. I was taken aback and realized we had come full circle. I voted and hastily returned to my residence in the capital, Kampala, to an internet shutdown and the sight of snipers on the rooftops in Old Kampala, ready to gun down any protestors. 

These experiences have remained with me, and I continue to wonder what engaged citizenship in Uganda looks like. Nicholas Opiyo, a human rights advocate, has offered an analysis of what it doesn’t look like. He rejects the disarming and patronizing language used to refer to young Ugandans born after 1986, who are called bazukulu, meaning “grandchildren.” I agree with Nicholas Opiyo. We are certainly beyond the days of being an infantilized citizenry. Most Ugandans like myself are trying to escape living in the luxurious discomfort of spectator citizenship. How did we get here?

Our elected and appointed officials have shown us corruption scandal after corruption scandal—from the junk helicopters to GAVI funds to the recent iron sheet saga. This is no coincidence but rather a systemic undoing of what could be a better Uganda. We hoped for better but have continued to get worse. We have a cartel of leaders ransacking our country and those aspiring to do the same if given the mandate by the citizens. It is, therefore, not surprising that any requests for accountability are met with inaction and drowned in a deceptive illusion of statistics comparing pre-1986 Uganda to the current Uganda. Of course, for most Ugandans, this comparison does not bode well and is akin to comparing guavas and mangoes. I suspect most Ugandans find it insulting. Where do we go from here?

One thing is certain: our collective silence, as Audre Lorde urges, will not protect us. Silence is not an option. First, we have to show up in the public square and have uncomfortable conversations, be it in the kafunda or at places of worship. Our collective reflection will generate a critical mass to catalyze engaged citizenship that feels the inadequacies subjected to us by some of our thieving political class. These efforts ought to be documented for posterity. The exhibition hashtags on X initiated by Prof. Jimmy Spire Ssentongo—#UgandaHealthExhibition, #UgandaParliamentExhibition, and #KampalaPotholeExhibition—do a commendable job of this. Generating a collective memory is critical in creating a framework for accountability and countering state-sponsored disinformation campaigns.

Secondly, we should ask for systems that actually work for us, the citizens. Mothers should not die of preventive deaths during childbirth. We should not resign ourselves to floods every time it rains in Kampala. We should not accept the absence of teachers, doctors, and civil servants from their duty stations. We demand a public service that works—actually works for the everyday Ugandan. In demanding a functioning public service, it is also fair to demand that unnecessary public expenditure be checked—annual purchases of the latest Toyota Land Cruisers should not be normalized. A public service with a service orientation is urgently needed, and there is evidence that this is achievable; anyone familiar with the Uganda Driving Licensing System (UDLS) knows that we should demand and expect more from government institutions.

Finally, we need to count the cost from the onset. Individual spectator citizenship costs more, but our collective losses from disengaged citizenship are greater and continue to compound. We are enduring broad-daylight robbery massaged with tokenist progress presented as a gift to Ugandans. Our future is ours to shape, and we should not allow the inadequacies of a politicized public service machinery to take our country, Uganda, from us. Every Ugandan should be discontent enough to become an engaged citizen—to participate in the work of showing up intentionally and imagining a better Uganda.