In Uganda today, politics has a peculiar way of reminding everyone that “normal” is a flexible concept. One day, you are discussing budgets, medical interns, and the next day, you are refreshing updates about senior political figures being abducted, and somehow, you try to piece together what exactly is happening. Today’s abduction of Erias Lukwago has once again fed into that familiar national routine: speculation, outrage, counter-narratives, and then silence until the next episode begins.
Hovering above all this is the Muhoozi; we are slowly becoming accustomed to a political culture where the line between institution and individual is so thin it is practically decorative. Where state authority does not just act, it appears, reacts, and trends. The irony, of course, is that this is not even a uniquely Ugandan invention. Political dynasties and presidential offspring have existed everywhere from Washington to Manila to Singapore, each producing its own version of inherited influence and public scrutiny. But elsewhere, institutions at least try to maintain the illusion that they are larger than personalities.
Here, the illusion sometimes does not even pretend. And so the public is left doing what it does best: interpreting national events like episodes of a series that was never properly scripted. Every new development is either “unprecedented” or “expected,” depending on how tired people are that day.
Still, history has a habit of being unkind to systems that assume permanence. What feels solid in one moment becomes a reference point in another. What feels untouchable becomes a case study. And what feels like the centre of gravity today is often just a passing chapter in a much longer political story. Ugandans may not control the pace of that story, but they are not outside it either. They are its audience, its critics, and eventually its authors.