Opposition leaders in our ever-striving Uganda, a land of freedom, which you have turned into a playground of irony. Where justice is only justice when it suits the narrative of the opposition! Where the arrest of criminals is only a crime when those criminals wear the badge of dissent. Where upholding the law is an unforgivable sin if the person in question is a political adversary of the government. Such is the hypocrisy that colours our discourse today.
Dr Kizza Besigye remains behind bars, and suddenly, every self-styled freedom fighter, every keyboard warrior, and every reactionary opposition figure finds a new lease of life in lamentation. “It’s a political witch hunt!” they cry. “It’s an abuse of human rights!” they shout. “It’s a dictatorship!” they insist. But let’s pause for a moment and ask; why is Besigye in prison? Did the Supreme Court order his release? No. Has he answered the charges he was arrested for in the civilian court? No. So, what exactly is the outrage about?
Let’s be honest, fellow Ugandans. We have developed a peculiar case of Selective Justice Syndrome. We demand arrests when it suits us and cry foul when those arrests inconvenience our political agenda.
We complain about crime rates, but when criminals are held accountable, suddenly the law is being weaponized. We lament corruption, but when one of our own is implicated, we label it persecution. Where is the consistency? Why do we expect different standards for different people?
Take, for instance, the curious case of Juma wa Bobi, the fine gentleman who publicly threatened to behead all NRM supporters if political prisoners, including Besigye, were not released.
On February 18, 2025, with the confidence of a man who believes the internet is a safe space for criminal threats, Juma went on TikTok to declare that the time for action was now.
But wait—what exactly is the action he speaks of? Beheadings? Murders? The annihilation of all NRM supporters? And yet, where is the uproar from the so-called defenders of human rights? Where are the activists denouncing these violent threats? Where are the opposition leaders distancing themselves from such rhetoric? Silent. Conveniently silent.
If an NRM supporter had made similar threats, we all know the script: “Dictatorship has taken over!” “This is the end of democracy!” “Uganda is burning!” But since it’s an opposition figure, suddenly, it’s just an expression of frustration, a mere outburst of passion, nothing to be concerned about. This level of selective outrage is not just laughable—it’s a full-blown comedy show.
The truth is, we must be willing to call a spade a spade. If Besigye has a case to answer, let him answer it. If opposition figures incite violence, let them be held accountable. If we truly believe in justice, then justice must apply to all, not just to those we disagree with politically.
The day we start applying the law consistently is the day Uganda will start making real progress. Until then, we shall remain stuck in this tragicomedy of contradictions, where the opposition wants the rule of law—just not when it applies to them.
Dr Kizza Besigye remains behind bars, and suddenly, every self-styled freedom fighter, every keyboard warrior, and every reactionary opposition figure finds a new lease of life in lamentation. “It’s a political witch hunt!” they cry. “It’s an abuse of human rights!” they shout. “It’s a dictatorship!” they insist. But let’s pause for a moment and ask; why is Besigye in prison? Did the Supreme Court order his release? No. Has he answered the charges he was arrested for in the civilian court? No. So, what exactly is the outrage about?
Let’s be honest, fellow Ugandans. We have developed a peculiar case of Selective Justice Syndrome. We demand arrests when it suits us and cry foul when those arrests inconvenience our political agenda.
We complain about crime rates, but when criminals are held accountable, suddenly the law is being weaponized. We lament corruption, but when one of our own is implicated, we label it persecution. Where is the consistency? Why do we expect different standards for different people?
Take, for instance, the curious case of Juma wa Bobi, the fine gentleman who publicly threatened to behead all NRM supporters if political prisoners, including Besigye, were not released.
On February 18, 2025, with the confidence of a man who believes the internet is a safe space for criminal threats, Juma went on TikTok to declare that the time for action was now.
But wait—what exactly is the action he speaks of? Beheadings? Murders? The annihilation of all NRM supporters? And yet, where is the uproar from the so-called defenders of human rights? Where are the activists denouncing these violent threats? Where are the opposition leaders distancing themselves from such rhetoric? Silent. Conveniently silent.
If an NRM supporter had made similar threats, we all know the script: “Dictatorship has taken over!” “This is the end of democracy!” “Uganda is burning!” But since it’s an opposition figure, suddenly, it’s just an expression of frustration, a mere outburst of passion, nothing to be concerned about. This level of selective outrage is not just laughable—it’s a full-blown comedy show.
The truth is, we must be willing to call a spade a spade. If Besigye has a case to answer, let him answer it. If opposition figures incite violence, let them be held accountable. If we truly believe in justice, then justice must apply to all, not just to those we disagree with politically.
The day we start applying the law consistently is the day Uganda will start making real progress. Until then, we shall remain stuck in this tragicomedy of contradictions, where the opposition wants the rule of law—just not when it applies to them.
