EJIKU Justine
Tanzania’s recent election riots have reignited an old Ugandan fantasy, the belief that what happens in Dar, Nairobi, or Harare will soon happen in Kampala. Ugandans thought the Gen Z revolt in Kenya would spill over, that Mugabe’s fall, Bashir’s ouster, or Gaddafi’s death foretold Museveni’s end. Yet, each time, Uganda remained still, its rebellion strangled before it could breathe. The reason is simple but profound: Museveni is no ordinary politician. He is not necessarily the brightest mind in Uganda’s politics, but he is one of the most calculating. Long before ascending to power, he mastered the anatomy of politics; infiltration, manipulation, coercion, and electioneering, turning them into instruments of permanence.
Many things in the late 1960s and 70s must have crafted the person of Yoweri Museveni, but nothing must have built him more than the mistakes of Idi Amini. He witnessed Idi Amin’s capture of power in January 1971, in which Amin was welcomed with jubilation across Uganda, a sigh of relief from a nation exhausted by Milton Obote’s political miscalculations. As historian A.B.K. Kasozi later observed, “Amini was warmly and widely welcomed,” yet, by the time of his downfall in April 1979, “the jubilation and relief which followed were much more pronounced and louder than those which had welcomed him to power.”
Museveni show during this time that violence without ideology breeds rebellion, and that fear without structure collapses upon itself. As the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Rt. Hon. Robert Runcie, led a solemn national memorial service for Janani Luwum in the United Kingdom, he prayed openly that “God, in His infinite wisdom, may change the heart of Idi Amin, and if that were not possible, to let Amin go.” In a twist of providence that history could not ignore, events soon followed that seemed to affirm that the heavens had indeed acted upon those prayers.
Behind that spiritual spectacle lay a profound political lesson, one that Museveni must have absorbed with the precision of a strategist. He understood, more than any of his predecessors, that religion in Uganda is not merely faith; it is a parallel structure of influence. Under his watch, the state has embraced clergy across denominations, fund their conventions, attend their jubilees, and echo their language of peace and unity. By doing so, he dissolved their capacity for unified dissent. Pastors have become development partners; bishops, moral allies. Many of them except a few in the catholic church preach as though God has no business to do with governance of a country.
After the fall of Amini, the UNLF under Lule which resulted from the 1979 Moshi Unity Conference, took over the leadership of the Country. Museveni was part of this government and watched first hand when Lule fell out with Nyerere over power. He realized that alliances were useful tools, but the real power lay in discipline, preparation, and strategy. If ever there was a moment that taught Museveni how power is played, it must have been the June 1979 Mwanza meeting. That night, under the calm Tanzanian skies, politics was stripped naked before his eyes.
At exactly 8:00 PM, the Ugandan delegation led by President Yusuf Lule sat waiting in the State Lodge lounge. Then entered Mwalimu Julius Nyerere; measured, serene, and calculating, flanked by none other than Milton Obote. Greetings were exchanged like polite daggers; even Grace Ibingira, Obote’s old rival, shook hands with him as if no history existed. A similar script unfolded when Pope Francis visited Uganda and Museveni shook hands with Besigye as if all was well between them. Indeed, over the years he has in the same spirit welcomed back his friends with whom they previously disagreed.
Nyerere, with his signature composure, reached for a radio cassette, pressed play, and let the BBC speak the truth with British clarity: “In Uganda, there is a political crisis…” When the broadcast ended, Mwalimu switched it off, turned to the delegation, and delivered his verdict: “There you have it gentlemen. We have a serious crisis in Uganda. The whole world knows now.” None of the Ugandan delegation was privy to the alleged crisis in their own Country. Behind the smiles and handshakes, a quiet coup unfolded. After the return from Mwanza, a new name was circulating in whispers, Godfrey Binaisa, a compromise was poised to succeed Lule. Nyerere’s Tanzania promptly recognized Binaisa as the legitimate head of state, citing “democratic removal by the NCC.” It was diplomatic theatre at its finest, scripted and staged in Dar es Salaam.
For Museveni, the lesson was indelible: never allow another man to script your destiny, which might as well mean never allow anyone to organise elections for you. He watched as men with credentials, education, and popularity were moved like chess pieces by a foreign hand. He learnt that politics was not a sermon of ideals, but a science of timing and control. He later became Minister of Defense, a position that should have placed him at the heart of Uganda’s rebirth. For a moment, it seemed Museveni would stand as the bridge between the chaos of the past and the promise of the future. But politics, once again, conspired to crush that possibility.
The UPC operatives seasoned in intrigue and deception whispered poison into the ears of President Binaisa, convincing him that Museveni was plotting to unseat him. The result was predictable: suspicion, isolation, and betrayal. This was followed by insurbination by senior army officers like Oyite Ojok who did not respect Binaisa as the president. From the sidelines, Museveni learnt that in Uganda, the man with the gun often dictated the course of politics, but he had also learnt that not every man with a gun had the discipline to use it for liberation. It was in that crucible of treachery and lawlessness that Museveni began crafting a different vision of power one where control, not chaos, would define his rule.
During the 1980 elections, he entered the contest with revolutionary optimism, believing that the liberation of Uganda could also be achieved through the ballot. But what he witnessed instead was the anatomy of controlled democracy, a tightly choreographed charade where results were predetermined long before a single vote was cast. A lesson Besigye would later painfully learn. The entire electoral process was weaponized: returning officers were handpicked for loyalty, opposition candidates disqualified on trivialities, and state media converted into an extension of the ruling party’s propaganda machine. To Museveni, it became clear that in African politics, power is not lost at the ballot box; it is lost in the architecture that surrounds it. He seemingly internalized every detail from how returning officers were selected to how information was managed, how enthusiasm was contained, and how legitimacy could be constructed long before votes were cast.
At precisely 8:30 a.m. on 6 February 1981, having terribly lost the 1980 election, the myth of Museveni the guerrilla was forged. In the words of A.B.K. Kasozi, “the nucleus of what would become the National Resistance Movement was born when a platoon of twenty-seven young men under Yoweri Museveni struck the Kabamba School of Infantry.” That audacious raid was not a spontaneous act of bravado; it was a surgical signal: a small, disciplined force could puncture the theatre of state power. It is thus no surprise that a group of few ladies led by Ingrid Turinawe and Doreen Nyanjura are swiftly dealt with if they dare storm the streets. Museveni does not take risks on protestors, however small and insignificant they might be, a reason Museveni will neither be a Mugabe nor Bashir.
Even as a guerrilla, Museveni grasped early the indispensable value of grassroots support. Together with his allies, they meticulously organized Ugandans into Resistance Councils, forming a hierarchy that extended from the village level, comprising just a few families, to the district level, representing thousands of parishes. The National Resistance Council served as the political wing and supreme organ of the Movement, while the National Resistance Army functioned as its military wing. They understood that both elite and ordinary participation were critical to sustaining a successful struggle.
He engaged elites in leadership roles within the political wing, recognizing their influence and expertise, while also empowering the military wing to secure and defend the movement. Unlike Museveni, Uganda’s contemporary opposition has failed to internalize this lesson, centering their politics in urban areas and finding it extremely difficult to penetrate rural communities where the majority of Ugandans reside. This is compounded by the fact that they neglect the elite, and are instead preoccupied with appeasing their foot soldiers, resulting in fragmented strategy and weak leadership.
Complementing these structures was the Publicity and Propaganda Committee, which acted as the Movement’s public relations engine both domestically and internationally. Luminaries such as Prof. Kanyeihamba, Rusiita, the late Ben Matogo, Joseph Tomusange, and Simon Kabuzi were instrumental in shaping persuasive and sophisticated narratives that advanced the Movement’s objectives. Today, opposition propaganda is largely driven by ill-informed social media influencers, whose efforts often devolve into insults, abuse, and the promotion of division rather than the intellectual and strategic persuasion that Museveni’s team mastered decades ago. Having perfectly understood the power of propaganda, Museveni has put in place cyber law that cripple the already weak and delusional opposition propaganda machine.
When Balaki Kirya the then leader of UFM was abducted from Kenya in 1983, Museveni took note. He leant that survival depended not merely on victory against the enemy, but on the systematic neutralization of critics within and beyond his own ranks. From the moment he seized power in 1986, Museveni ensured that opposition would never again find fertile ground to organize as it had under Obote. Every splinter group that emerged has been studied, infiltrated, and, when necessary, dismantled with precision not with the crude violence of the Amin years, but with the silent efficiency of intelligence work and legal maneuver.
He thus understood that opposition must never speak in one voice. His politics has thus been a calculated art of fragmentation. He mastered the craft of co-optation, elevating rivals with titles that neutralized them, creating movements within movements, parties within parliaments, and factions within parties. When opposition leaders grow too bold, he sows mistrust among them; when they grow too weak, he resuscitates them by bringing a new one just enough to keep the illusion of competition alive. He has ensured that Uganda does not see a coalition of dissent with enough coherence to pose a real threat.
Therefore, Museveni stands not merely as a survivor of Uganda’s political storms, but as its architect and navigator. He has perfected the art of dismantling opposition before it takes root; fracturing alliances, absorbing rivals, and turning dissent into disunity. In elections he is not simply a contestant but the system itself and on the streets he has turned protest control into a clinical science that snuffs out sparks before they become fires. With foreign powers he plays the long game: never needlessly provoking core interests, yet always securing the room to operate. So let there be no romantic illusions: if anyone believes a single ballot, a single uprising, or some sudden replay of Harare, Khartoum or Tripoli will dislodge him, they should forget it.
This post was created with our nice and easy submission form. Create your post!
Written by
Did this story move you? Every gift goes directly to EJIKU Justine — writers on Muwado earn from reader appreciation, not algorithms. Even $1 makes a difference.
Muwado weekly chart
Get Africa’s top 10 stories every Thursday
No account needed — just your email.
Want to follow EJIKU Justine and get notified every time they publish?
Create a free Muwado account →