Power, Privilege and the birth of Entitlement

At a time when many of us have been hoarded into our homes like unripe bananas, it would be an opportune moment to have a discussion about privilege and its begotten child entitlement. The subject is more apparent given that the world is afflicted by a global pandemic as World Health Organisation puts, a ‘privileged disease’, as I sometimes refer to it. Privileged, because it has been to apartments and palatial mansions (a rare occurrence for pandemics) but we also know for a fact that it has sojourned in the corridors of the Buckingham castle. But that is not a conversation for today.

I will use a familiar tale, one that has been music to our ears for quite some time now; it has been drummed into us. We now know it like the back of our hands. In 1980, the current President of the country garnered courage (he picked up the guns later) to wage war against the government of the day. He was followed by his close friends, in-laws, kinsmen and well wishers. From a rag-tag rebel outfit, they became an embellished army who sustained a military offensive that unsettled the sitting government. However, for the eagle-eyed there was something fascinating about their organisational structure and ranks. There were fierce fighters who earned their pips on the basis of their heroic acts in battles and these were called loyalists. There existed another equally conspicuous group who enjoyed special status not because of their military abilities but majorly because of their tribal leaning.  These were called royalists. Stories abound of how time and again their Commander in Chief had to deal with various standoffs between the loyalists and royalists. But again that is not for today. The takeaway here is that status has a way of bestowing immeasurable leverage over and above the others. It is this that has the metamorphic ability to sire privilege.

In an attempt to underscore the context within which I talk about privilege, do not only imagine a politician who is chauffeured in a state of the art latest SUV. Consider those who are fortunate to pick their food from freezers, those whose deliveries are made at a click of an imaginary button or even the farmer who picks hanging fruits from their garden that sits on hectares. Privilege is more about possession and how it is used. But it is broader if you look at it in the context of race, of sex and gender or even tribe as Museveni’s royalists will tell you.

To look at privilege, we need to consider the bigger outlook that our society is. It was supposed to be organised to function smoothly and effectively with members sharing some basic tenets but that did not happen. Humanity was supposed to have a face whose outlook was accommodative rather than combative but that was only a utopian setting.

But what is wrong with being privileged? What is wrong with having the wherewithal? Absolutely nothing to start with but it can be everything in the long run. Privilege for starters has a position of thinking that it confines its hosts. They tend to look at the context of things quite differently. People can be insensitive to the suffering of others because they don’t have the imaginative ability of getting into the skin of another, to be able to see the world through the eyes that for once are not their own. There are people who have amassed power and with it come privilege. Their children’s main struggle is normally over the remote control in their plush living rooms, and many times the greatest danger they face is boredom. For others the greatest risk their lives are facing is not being texted back. They don’t understand that meals can sometimes be a luxury, that basic human decency, like water and food is a consistent inconsistency for many. But the dictates of life wouldn’t let many understand this because the only time they interact with food is on the dining table. The food chain is what they read in academic books but they don’t make as much meaning out of it.

So what then is the point? The point is that many times our selfishness that is born out of privilege hinders our ability to step in the shoes of the less privileged even for a moment. You can tweet from the comfort of your sofas, knowing that your fridge is fully packed, calling for the Fountain of Honour to impose a total lockdown on the country. The rest can always find a way after all there is an imaginary threat to your existence. How about those whose existence is being threatened on a daily by real dangers? Harm and peril that stares them in the face and lurks around them! Of course we would never know because they don’t have the luxury to tweet about it or be hosted in mainstream media to air it out. But like Achebe famously said, privilege, is one of the great adversaries of the imagination; it spreads a thick layer of adipose tissue over our sensitivity.

So what should we do? Social exclusion, identity seclusion and isolation from the social mainstream are still the dark realities faced by individuals today. It is only when each and every individual is liberated from the shackles of such bondage and is able to work towards full development of his/her personality that we can call ourselves a truly free society. We concede to the diversity and variegated hues that nature has created but we can take steps by vanquishing the enemies of prejudice and injustice and undoing the wrongs done so as to make way for progress and inclusion.

*Inspired by Arinda Lillian

De’-Pato, you forgot to say Goodbye! Rest in Peace

It's too hard to say goodbye
It's too hard to say goodbye
just can't say goodbye
              Westlife


On Thursday March 26, 2020, as the cover of darkness slowly lifted to give birth to a new day, it took with it a life of a bright, promising young man. It took with it my good friend and brother, Patrick Kansiime. The account by those who were with him in his last hours is that he was fine (atleast by looks and deeds). He wasn’t complaining about anything the night before, made plans for the following day and went to bed like we all did. He actually woke up very early in the morning (around 6am) and even took a glass of water before shortly going back to bed. Patrick didn’t wake up again! The postmortem report indicates that he died from pneumonia related complications. It is a life full of uncertainties! I will not delve into the complexities of this earthly life but I will recount some of the fondest memories that we shared with Patrick.

In school (Ntare), we didn’t have many students that went by the name Patrick. In fact, I was certain that I shared my Christian name with only him. But now the challenge came with having to call us out since we all went by the short name Pato. At first we fleeted with the idea of referring to him as Pato the basket-baller and me as Pato the debater but this would defeat the whole purpose of shortening our names because those would be a mouthful in themselves. Because he was the author and finisher of most of the school’s slang, he was a man who was never short of words. He had the seamless ability to conjure a word from nowhere. He was the one who came up with a solution when he decided to add ‘De’ before his short name and made a print at the back of his shirts with “De’ Pato” on it. Problem solved or as you would say, crisis averted. From then on, you would be looking for him if you mentioned “De’ Pato” and omission of the first word would mean it was me you were coming after.

De’ Pato and I shared many things beyond a name; we shared a class, a room, a football team, did the same combination plus many other preferences that space and time can never allow me to exhaust. The most prominent thing he was known for was probably basketball. He was never born playing basketball; he only learnt this in High School and boy he became a super star. He made the game look so easy, we called him the king of 3-pointers. He was the talk of school. For any basketball game that the school competed in, there were three constants, his signature 3-pointer, a dunk and a world class run. He was a real talent. In room, he was always throwing around things to hit imaginary targets and soon it rubbed off against many of us. On the sidelines of his stellar basketball career, he also groomed a tennis career and with this he was also part of the school’s elite brigade. If Ntare School was a military outfit, we would easily say that in as far as sports were concerned Kansiime Patrick constituted its top brass.

For many reasons, after joining different Universities, we wouldn’t talk as often but whenever we caught up, it was always a continuation of where we left it the last time. My last conversation with De’ Pato was about three weeks ago when he called in to wish me success in my forthcoming examinations. We wandered alot in our talks and I do remember how he kept teasing me about one of his beautiful cousins. We laughed about how I have always used academics as an excuse for not pursuing my woman crush. He always liked to tell me that the moment you like someone, reach out to them and make your feelings known. “Knock on the door and let them know that you are around. They can choose to open but even if they don’t, it will only be a matter of time before they do.” Oh I already miss those calls!

I can never forget the days during our holiday when he would connect the entire room on a conference call and then allow us to catch up. He had the luxury to do it because never in his life had he been short of resources but beyond that he had a heart that loved to give. He didn’t give because you asked but it was in his nature to make comfortable those around him. Phones were not allowed in school but somehow he had created exception to that rule. He carried his phone to school but it looked like it was never his. Most of the time, it was one of us either playing a game, texting away or even making those late night calls that many times yielded nil. For those who had girlfriends in other schools, it was that phone that helped keep the communication going, for some who were trying out their luck; he offered us hope through his phone. As people who spent our school days with him, these memories will forever remain part of us.

But like any other mortal, De’ Pato wasn’t without his flaws and struggles. He battled some illnesses and his education was at times interrupted but like a fearless warrior who never gave up, he soldiered on. He studied with dedication, completed his education and had started on the bitter-sweet arduous journey of employment. He had his other personal difficulties and many of those we may never know. Some he shared with his friends but others he only confided in his creator. It is heart breaking that the ugly pangs of death snatched him when he was only getting started with his life!

Patrick will be dearly missed by all of us that knew him, that laughed and enjoyed basking in his jokes and all that had an opportunity to cross his path. The most painful thing however will be that we won’t have the opportunity to send him off and say our final byes.

The angels in heaven will still welcome you Patrick!

Rest well De’ Pato!

We shall always miss you.

Laying Foundations; the anxiety and hurdles

December 2018 gave birth to an idea. I cannot tell with exact precision how long the gestation period was but what I am certain of is that the labor and delivery heralded new beginnings. The start of what would be building blocks for many generations after us.

In the middle of December last year, an extraordinary meeting sat somewhere in the leafy neighborhood of Kololo. This time though, the venue wasn't a hotel with stars and neither was it a palatable mansion but it was small well kept compound that would accommodate a bunch of people pregnant with big ideas but moving around with empty pockets. Mind you the compound had been secured by one of us who as you would expect by now exploited his relationship with a friend to allow us hang around in his compound. Nevertheless we sat, luckily enough on some chairs that were out of use at the time. For us ‘the now’ didn't matter, what we looked at was the horizon beyond where we stood; the unforeseen future that we only hoped would present with it not what we feared but rather what we figured.

The faithfuls (I call them so because everything has been done by faith) who were gathered in the compound that evening were proud bearers of the Debate Society Uganda tag name. It wasn't a get-together to make merry but what you would term as an Annual General Meeting if you were to borrow the business lexicon.

It is here that we thought of having a high school debate championship organized and facilitated exclusively by Debate Society Uganda. Not that there had been an arid of debate championships before but what we intended to bring to the fore was a very well organized and highly competitive tournament that would still stand even if double checked against what we rate as the world's elite debate competitions. If you had asked me for an opinion then, I would have dismissed us as a group of youth who detest dreaming individually but choose to come together to share the sleep. I was wrong!

In two weeks time, we shall cross the newly constructed bridge in Jinja and descend on the Eastern region of this country to do what will be our second regional tournament after a successful one in the Northern region just a month or so ago. For those who have been following our social media pages, the pictures tell the story but for some of us who have been in the thick of things there is a bigger story which we would rather not tell.

The one moment I will never forget about this program was the conversation I had with our team leader after we had agreed on the dates for the respective regional tournaments. When I asked how we intended to raise the finances (a very huge budget it was) to run the tournaments, this was his response; “Patrick we have to find money in some way, in any way but whether or not we find it the program will still go on.” Unfortunately we didn’t raise the amount we needed but it didn’t stop us from going to Gulu. We shall hopefully be in Jinja the weekend after the next and hopefully to Mbarara in the sixth month of this year.

Our currency of operation has been faith and hope, they have refused to run out and we pray that the tank doesn’t empty soon, because we need them around for some time. It is Robin Sharma who says that when you are inspired by some great purpose, some extra ordinary project, all of your thoughts break their bonds; your mind transcends limitations, your consciousness expands in every direction and you find yourself in a new, great and wonderful world. Dormant forces, faculties and talents become alive and you discover yourself to be a greater person than you ever dreamed yourself to be.

The path we have chosen is one of laying foundations. We are committed to filling the foundation with stone, brick and poured concrete to ensure that it withstands the storms but should the ‘structure’ by any stroke of bad luck falter or waver, it will never be because of a weak foundation.

Blessed week ahead!

Politics, Governance and the Price of Leadership

There are three constants in life; death, taxes and you can all guess the third, politics (you all guessed right). It is written all over, ticks most boxes that affect us, and like a big bully is always stamping authority even in places it is most undesirous, we can feel it and we can almost touch it. For the few who find it nauseating, the options are not many! We have nowhere to hide, like a hound tracking down its prey the domineering influence of politics always catches up.

I cannot attempt to belittle the work of many of our country men because I am aware of the sacrifices made for any individual to occupy these spaces. A place where you are rarely appreciated, accept even those from the lowest economic stratum to toss about your name as if you were a little pet but still accept to remain a servant of the people.  

As a matter of example, when the British Prime Minister was leaving office after seven years of hard work but also of uproar, furore, and the tumultuous decisions, Phillip Stephens described him this way,

“The Tony Blair who spoke to that slightly bemused audience in Sedgefield in the spring of 2004 was scarcely recognizable from the fresh-faced young man who had become his party’s leader a decade earlier. Seven years in Downing Street, the burdens and battles of office and the angry controversy over the war against Iraq were etched deep into the lines under his eyes. His hair had thinned. The grayish hue of his skin had for some time told of stress and exhaustion.”

The truth is that office can wear you out, for those who are unlucky it can even reduce your life span, it can also cast you as a lonely and tired figure well past their sell-by-date.

The past two-three weeks have been unsettling not just for Makerere University but for many other institutions of higher learning. The university has been all about colours and slogans, about affiliation and loyalty, the surprises were not many. The search for a new set of leaders, responsible and enterprising to spur their respective constituencies to higher grounds has been ongoing and it still continues. I will not make mention of the ugly side that the campaigns took because some things are best left in the past but for the greater part will focus on the after period.

Two things have always informed my view of student and youth leadership but also by default any kind of position of service. That first of all we can choose to take these places of leadership and responsibility and make them count but second and most importantly we can use that opportunity to show everyone why it was important that you are in that place.

One of two things can happen when you are elected. You can either be that once in a generation leader whose election heralds an earthquake that alters completely the contours of how the others look at the politics of that position. Alternatively you can be that drab, dreary and spineless leader that we quickly make reference to when we need quick and evident examples of ‘nothing doers’. Some things should not be about politics, they are simply a matter of willingness to learn, focus and intention together of course with a little dose of good upbringing.

Even when the storms begin raging it shouldn’t be much of a concern. That is the moment to display true character, the moment to show your mental adeptness and why it is you and not someone else in that office. In the words of Tony Blair when asked whether he wanted to continue being Prime Minister of the UK after the Iraq invasion that had turned out a complete disaster, he had this to say; “It is always a privilege to do the job. You have to be resilient in this because you have to believe in what you are doing, and, in the end it is for the people to decide.  

If anyone took up a leadership position today we expect their job to be simple, to serve and to simply serve us well. That is the price of leadership and it is not a big ask!

On a personal note, I take the opportunity to congratulate all those that have been lucky enough to take up positions of leadership in the past few days and those who are still waiting in the wings. It is by no means a small feat having a group of people fully vesting their trust in you. We look forward to good service in the coming days.

Blessed week ahead!

Balance for Better; why women rightly deserve a place at the table

There is always something memorable about one’s childhood days. For some it is the games and toys, for others it is the special treatment but for many it is the moments that proved you were the child that you actually are. Calling and you have an immediate answer or crying and a minute later you are in someone’s arms, being soothed and caressed remains among the joys and blessings of being a child.

Growing up has never been an event, it is a process that requires you to undergo a series of transitional rites that take you from one stage to another. My own experience was no different from the rest. The moments that can’t easily go away are those where the privileges and perks that caused much joy over our elders would suddenly be taken away and just like the crowds, we would settle for the normal.

The most pronounced was mostly at dinner as the evenings unfolded into nights. Because of the limited capacity that the dining table could handle, we the little ones would be allowed the licence to roam on the mats (not the carpets because they were a luxury). It is while ensconced somewhere in a far away corner, a good distance away from the table that you would loathe the visitor that came around because ultimately, they had cost you your seat at the coveted table.

 Uganda joined the rest of the world on 8^th March to celebrate the International Women’s Day. It was a day to hold special, to celebrate and honour our mothers, wives, sisters, girlfriends and fiancées. The real purpose of women’s day as it should be is to celebrate women’s history, highlighting their achievements and milestones and not forgetting to use the opportunity to raise awareness about the need for equality. We cannot run away from the enormous value of women in our society today, from the mother who carried you for nine months, bathed you and made sure you slept satisfied to the sister who chose your first date outfit to the wives who have to find a balance between family and career.

Our mothers, sisters, wives and girlfriends have however been constantly suffered marginalization. And this is not a thing of yesterday; it is part of the things our predominantly patriarchal society has accepted to live with at times by omission but majority of times by commission. But we can’t say we haven’t made strides because our great grandmothers, grandmothers and some of our mothers were denied certain delicacies, lived without may privileges, that is now partly a thing of the past, the titles that had been constructed for a certain gender are beginning to be unconstructed and the women are accepting to challenge in the arenas that were recently male dominated, the strides are being taken. The campaigns and women movements are also doing great work in debunking certain myths, unshackling those in patriarchy bondage and freeing the minds of those still held hostage.

I for one didn’t understand the real place of women in my entire childhood; I didn’t appreciate them enough because my surroundings didn’t favour it. In school, the teachers would unashamedly admit that the first place was not meant for girls. The boys would be kept on constant pressure of making sure they outdo the girls. I didn’t bother to ask myself why until it happened one day, a girl topped the class. The day was normal just like any other, the sky didn’t come down and the sun rose from the East and set in the West. It is at my later stage in life that I learnt about how gifted the same way we all are, what a man can do, a woman can do and sometimes even much better.

I will share a simple story. During the 1994 Genocide, Sula Karuhimbi hid and protected hundreds of people in her property and nourished them with food from her field. Using her reputation as a healer, Sula convinced the militia that whoever dares to enter her house will be eaten up by her fetishes. She was an example of courage and humanity, like so many other women in the world. This is just one of the many examples of women that have stood tall in this world and created an impact on the lives of others, they have displayed to those ready to see that you don’t need a certain genetic make up to accomplish certain feats.

 The world didn’t seem to pay attention many years ago but that is no longer acceptable today. The achievements of women stare in our faces wherever we choose to look, they are hard to ignore and we must embrace them.

For many years, women have been pushed away from the table, huddled in a corner away because the men had turned into permanent visitors. That is a thing of yesterday, if the seats are not enough; the men are going to have to push up and accept to share the table with women because that is where they deserve to be!

Blessed week ahead!

The Corruption Conversation is either tired or we are tired of it

On a chilly Tuesday evening in the upscale suburb of Kololo, it is an event that is familiar to those in attendance. One that has outlived the presidential campaign of its chief protagonist even when many thought it was only strategically made for the season.

The territory and location is familiar but unlike previously when we had our engagements in the spaces on the ground floor, this time we had to move a few feet high. No coincidence, it is only those who like to over-think that would relate the nature of discussion expected to the few steps that we were obliged to scale.

There are definitely new faces in the crowd as always, trying to feel comfortable and yet striving not to discomfort others, adjusting to the set up and yet struggling not to look lost. But there is no complexity in all this, just a group of advocates and those intending to be gathered on an evening out, sharing experiences over a cup of coffee. A guest is usually invited to share their experience from far and wide with a group of mostly the young people, eager to listen.

The guest of this particular day is familiar, atleast to the audience. He is not a media darling and neither is he a social media person but he is someone that has appended his signature to numerous decisions, made orders to various effects and sat as an arbiter in tones of cases as a judge of the High Court in Uganda. Justice Yasin Nyanzi, a Judge attached to the Criminal Division of the High Court, in charge of juvenile justice was our guest speaker. In a low and almost inaudible tone, he spoke a lot about his humble background, the primary school where he went to and how it was never on the grid of recognized schools in the country, the sacrifices he made to be able to move from one class to another. But despite all odds, he remained resilient and steadfast, for us who saw him that evening, he stood tall on the platform in front of us, accomplished in every sense of the word and you could not help but simply admire what the man had become.

On every such day, a topic for discussion is laid out and like a careful navigator; the guest speaker guides us through. It was a turn to discuss corruption.  For every one of us, this is something that has been discussed, mentioned in passing, pondered in the dead of the night or even been a part of. But like Justice Nyanzi pointed out, it is a thing that has existed from the time of Adam and Eve, lived through generations, is stuck with us and will not be shy to pass it on to the generations that will come after us.

As expected he talked about the different forms in which corruption manifests, from the small favors to dishonesty, to blackmail, bribery and preferential treatment. For many of these we knew, had probably experienced or were part of but the standout was his personal story. As a judge of the courts of judicature of Uganda, the temptation to be drawn in either of the above is huge. People have grown not to have any trust in their judicial officers. But Justice Nyanzi went on record to say that for all his time as a judicial officer, he had never attempted to take a bribe knowingly or unknowingly. “I leave within my means but most importantly I want to leave a legacy of honesty.” It was heart-warming.

As he summed up the evening, he rallied us to be passionate fighters against corruption, because if blame is to be rationed out, when all has been said and done we shall have only ourselves to blame. In the minds of mortals, this is an impossible goal to achieve but there are no limits to humanity, we can be bad but we can be good and very good too.

This conversation may be tired or we may even be tired of having it but in our small ways we can do something about it!

Blessed week ahead!

Classless acts and how they mirror on our image

There is something unique and distinctive about class. It is a thing that is quite difficult to define with precision, one that you may not touch with your physical hands but yet seems obvious to the human eye. Class has never been about resources, wealth or power although these could accentuate its existence, but it is a cocktail of bits and pieces of one’s acts, conduct and general outlook. You cannot attach a price to it but its unflagging aura is one that you would classify as priceless.  It comes in simple and innocuous ways such as what you say, how you say it, the things that you choose to do, the manner in which you do them.  

In a week that has been dominated by thinly veiled barbs and cheap shots, from water melons to pumpkins to sending others to hang and in hell, it was not an audition of character or good morals but it was a display of classless acts that mirror the image of us, our society and how much we have accepted as okay.

I will share a very short story about a very important lear that I picked from one of the most impactful teachers I have met in my education life. I have since come to terms with the fact that some of the greatest lessons I have learnt in life, were those imparted in me during my callow years at the beginning of my mid education life. As it is the life of many of us to be naughty and jumpy at this age, so was this little boy in class whose name I can hardly recall. During a school gathering on a certain occasion, he did something (I don’t remember what) that provoked the ire of one of the teachers. The teacher looked at him, then looked at us all and then looked at him again; at that point no one could guess what would be next, probably a slap or rebuke but neither was forthcoming. Instead, with a calm and gentle stance, he asked a seemingly simple and straightforward question from no-one-knows-where; “Did you grow up or you were brought up?” It wasn’t just about the strangeness of the question but his face was also revealing, you didn’t need to be an expert in body language to know how disgusted he was. Because that simple statement had attracted the attention of many, he seized the opportunity to give us a life lesson. He explained that there is a huge difference between growing up and being brought up because the former means that like an offshoot of a plant you accumulated years and without being tendered and raised you have reached that age of your life, the latter on the other hand means that you were cared for and most importantly in the meticulous process of bringing you up, you were taught manners and how to behave especially in the presence of other members of the public. He wasn’t done yet. Much more than being brought up, it needn’t have been in a house but rather a home, the difference being obvious! For the little boy who had misbehaved, he wished the earth could swallow him up but for the rest of us it was a point driven home.

Ultimately as a matter of fact, our conduct as individuals is not something that is watermarked on us at birth but rather components that we learn bit by bit from the actions and examples that are before us. This is exactly why the family environment is very important for child upbringing because in the absence of a caring and compassionate atmosphere, the effects are easy to notice.

I don’t proclaim sainthood for starters but for more times than not, the young people (call them the millennials or even the burger-sausage-pizza generation) have been castigated for mostly their shortcomings rather than their achievements. But we also need to look at it in a larger context; do these young ones have older people that they look up to? If they look up to them, then we must consider what the elders have in their showroom that we visit and take along with us ready to adopt and make part of our lives. It is easy for us to adopt in our vocabulary watermelons or pumpkins or even send people to hang or in hell because those are the examples we are being fed on everyday and each day!

Blessed week!