For a couple of days and sleepless nights, I have struggled to write about Uganda's political future in tandem with the current political environment, as the East African country marks 64 years of independence. At least St Paul had a clear starting point when writing his letters to the Ephesians and Galatians.
Since gaining independence from the British on 9 October 1962, Uganda, best known as "the Pearl of Africa", has journeyed through the hills and valleys of political turmoil, civil war, economic growth, setbacks, constitutional renewal and democratic backsliding.
However, as the nation marks 64 years of independence, we cannot ignore a sensitive story dominating the airwaves, billboards, national papers and social media timelines: the "presidential endorsement" of Muhoozi Kainerugaba (MK), the first son of Uganda's longest-serving president, Yoweri Museveni, and the four-star General who commands the Uganda People's Defence Forces, for the 2031 presidential race, even before the dust of the January 2026 elections has fully settled.
The military chief has set up a political vehicle, totalitarian in nature, code-named the "Patriotic League of Uganda" (PLU) and disguised as a civic movement under the National Resistance Movement (NRM) organisation. Acting as a special purpose vehicle for the NRM and the original bush-war National Resistance Army, the PLU is coercing legislators, ministers, public servants, gullible businessmen and impoverished peasants to endorse a serving military officer for the presidency in 2031 and beyond.
The PLU is running a full-scale partisan mobilisation and recruitment exercise across the country for the four-star general's candidature, even as his father, the sitting head of state, Gen. Yoweri Kaguta Museveni, has recently reaffirmed his own desire to keep ruling until he achieves his East African integration and Pan-African vision.
Endorsing a successor so early in another five-year Museveni term is stirring quiet dissent and despair on the streets, excitement among kleptomaniacs, whispers in newsrooms and tension across the political divide. In a polarised country where elections have become auctions and democratic guardrails are gone, it is delusional not to fear the confusion between Muhoozi's endorsement and Museveni's "Donec mors nos separavit" life presidency.
Borrowing St Paul's courage, I must state openly that endorsing a serving, untamed military officer plunges Uganda into a state of confusion, fear, hope and back again.
One may ask: what is wrong with his presidential endorsement? Is he not Ugandan? Is he not eligible to contest? He is Ugandan, and he is eligible, provided he abides by the constitutional clauses that bar serving military officers from engaging directly in partisan politics, in an already fragile and polarised country with multiple political outfits, 65 tribes, and many religions and ideologies.
But we must also point out that the first son's style of leadership so far has been marked by political intolerance, the public display of abducted torture victims, unsolicited posts on social media, open threats and intimidation, and a disproportionate military response to criticism and political opponents. This has produced acute anxiety in the country.
To be fair to Muhoozi's ambitions and strategic plans, every parent and politically conscious person living in Uganda and in the diaspora is silently guessing, scared and anticipating the day Museveni ends his rule. The late New Vision journalist Joe Nam wrote about that day in his book The Day Museveni Goes: Reflections, Questions, Fears, Hope.
Members of the NRM, Westerners, public and civil servants, diplomats, musicians, journalists and peasants who have long enjoyed Museveni government programmes, contracts, jobs and privileges are organising and planning ahead of that day, the day Nam wrote about, who was tragically shot dead by unknown assailants.
Because of the volatility and unpredictability of the post-Museveni era, every politically conscious citizen is openly or secretly panicking, regrouping and joining a political formation for fear of the unknown.
Do we ask ourselves how Uganda, a country of approximately 50 million people, gifted by nature, with enormous talent and academic brains, has come back to this state of volatility, uncertainty and unpredictability about its future?
Lest we forget, there was great hope on the African continent when President Yoweri Museveni first came to power in January 1986. Four decades later, and still counting, the Pearl of Africa is still dreaming of a peaceful transfer of power from one president to another.
Lest we forget, too, the last time power changed hands was after Idi Amin's military coup against Milton Obote in 1971. Then came civil unrest from Yusuf Lule to Godfrey Binaisa in 1979 and Paulo Muwanga in 1980, the disputed elections that returned Obote in 1980, the bloodshed of Tito Okello Lutwa in 1985, and the National Resistance Army bush war, which cost over 500,000 lives between 1981 and 1986.
At first, it appeared that Uganda and the African continent had received a new breed of leaders who would bring fundamental change and give peaceful transitions of power a chance, contrary to past post-independence leaders.
Hope for meaningful democracy grew further after the young, charismatic Pan-African leader guided Uganda in drafting and passing the 1995 Constitution. It enshrined Article 105 (presidential term limits) and Article 102(b) (presidential age limits) as vital guardrails against executive overreach.
Further hope blossomed when the country opened up to affirmative action under Articles 32 and 33 of the Constitution, closing gender gaps and guaranteeing women's participation at all levels as a pillar of inclusive democracy.
There was also a glimmer of hope in 2005, when the nation held a historic referendum and passed constitutional amendments to move from the one-party "Movement system" to multiparty democracy.
Sadly, the highly anticipated hope of a peaceful transfer of power vanished dramatically when these two guardrails, Articles 105 and 102(b), were removed in 2007 and 2018 respectively.
The hope of a flourishing multiparty democracy diminished too after the January 2026 elections, in which opposition polling agents and supporters were abducted and arbitrarily arrested, many opposition candidates were robbed of victory in broad daylight, and most followers of the courageous opposition figures Robert Kyagulanyi (Bobi Wine) and Ibrahim Ssemujju Nganda fled the country.
Behind this diminishing hope lies 40 years of iron-fist rule seasoned with constitutional erosion, human rights violations, chronic poverty, political corruption and ethnic extremism, and now the prolonged incarceration of Dr Kizza Besigye and the forced exile of Robert Kyagulanyi, the other contenders for power.
The decline of multiparty democracy means the nation has slipped back into an era reminiscent of Idi Amin and Milton Obote, when military officers and regime loyalists would summon cabinet ministers and the business community. We are now plugged into the confusion of wondering who exactly wields executive power, the son or the father. Under this confusion, one cannot tell whether the country is under military rule or a democracy, whether it operates under the rule of law or rule by law, or whether elections are still relevant.
These irregularities in governance spark a cycle of fear about where the country is heading. Amid this well-sponsored confusion, human rights standards are sinking. We are witnessing, time and again, state-sponsored abductions, torture in basements, arbitrary arrests of dissenting voices, repression of political opponents, transnational repression of exiles, "ghetto" gangs terrorising communities, press censorship and a shrinking civic space.
As the country remains stuck at the crossroads between confusion, fear, hope and back again, it is disingenuous to believe that the PLU will bring change. It is the same clique of corrupt individuals, vigilantes, abductors, charlatans, fortune hunters and kleptomaniacs merely shedding their skin. It is old wine in a new bottle, using the same gimmicks as the existing system.
On a lighter note, while the country has attained relative peace and security, global recognition, Gross Domestic Product (GDP) growth, oil production, population growth, infrastructure development and a rising human capital index, its political stability remains trapped between a ticking time bomb and explosive ordnance disposal specialists.
No country breathes well under fear, political confusion, structural governance hurdles and uncertainty about the transfer of power. We must therefore come to terms with the reality that the inevitable transfer of power is bleeding fear, confusion, hope and despair among Ugandans and friends of Uganda across the globe.
As Uganda celebrates its 64th independence anniversary, stuck between confusion, fear, hope and back again, I call upon courageous, peace-loving, caring and level-headed Ugandans of sound mind, the African Union, the Commonwealth Secretariat and the United Nations Security Council to find ways to intervene and resolve the political confusion, and the calamities ahead, before the East African nation finds itself in the state of Sudan, Myanmar, Libya, North Korea, Syria or Cameroon.
Happy Independence, Uganda, the cradle of the Great Lakes region and the Pearl of Africa.
Robert Kigongo is a sustainable development analyst.
The views expressed do not necessarily represent those of IOL