When we were growing up in Uganda, the community raised the children. That wasn’t just a saying—it was a truth we lived. If a child began to speak in obscene language, if they suddenly started showing signs of disrespect or behaving recklessly, we didn’t just look at the child. We looked at the home they came from. You’d often hear the neighbors whisper, “That child’s father is a drunkard,” or “Those parents are always fighting.” It was an unspoken rule that the state of the household was reflected in the character of the child. And when a child behaved without fear—when they cursed in front of elders or started fights in public—it wasn’t just mischief. It was a symptom. It was a sign of a broken home, a house where the parents were either absent, abusive, vulgar, or negligent.
Fast forward to today, and we are witnessing a much bigger, far more dangerous version of that child. His name is Muhoozi Kainerugaba.
He is the son of President Yoweri Museveni, a man who has ruled Uganda with an iron fist for nearly four decades. Muhoozi, a high-ranking military officer and once a favored heir to the throne, has taken to the internet—Twitter in particular—to spew tribalistic rhetoric, issue veiled threats, and show open contempt for ordinary Ugandans. He does all of this with a level of arrogance that can only be cultivated in an environment without consequences. A home where such behavior is not only tolerated but encouraged behind closed doors.
Let’s not pretend. Let’s not act shocked. Muhoozi is a product of the very same regime that has terrorized, suppressed, and exploited Ugandans since the 1980s. The only difference between the past and now is that Muhoozi lives in the age of the internet. He is the embodiment of a generation raised in dictatorship, drunk on unchecked power, and blinded by tribal loyalty. And let’s be honest—he is foolish. Not just in what he says, but in how and where he says it. In another era, their crimes would have remained hidden behind the high walls of State House. But today, Muhoozi posts them on Twitter with emojis.
And yet, when Museveni or Kagame or any of the other political figures pretend to discipline him, the issue is never about what he says. It’s about where he says it. It’s not the tribalism they take issue with—it’s that the tribalism is now on display for the world to see. It's not the threats or the language that bother them—it’s the fact that Muhoozi doesn’t understand discretion. They’re upset that the curtain has been pulled back.
Let’s take a moment to reflect on what this means for us, the people.
This regime has held power through propaganda, fear, and manufactured silence. For over 40 years, they have controlled the narrative. They have pitted tribes against each other, Muslims against Christians, Baganda against Banyankole, Northerners against Southerners. It’s a cycle they perfected—divide, conquer, silence. And now, the mask is slipping. Muhoozi is not a rogue element. He is the perfect mirror of his father's regime, only more careless.
So when Muhoozi promotes tribalism, when he mocks Ugandans online, when he threatens to run for president like it’s a joke—we must understand that this is not new. This is what they’ve been doing all along. Only now, the spotlight is on.
And in the midst of all this, we continue to lose voices that dared to speak out.
Rest in peace, Hon. Muhammad Segirinya.
Segirinya was not a perfect man. No one is. But he was a voice for the oppressed. He was a loud, unpolished, and defiant voice that echoed the pain of the ghetto, of the youth, of the forgotten. He was jailed, tortured, mocked—but he never stopped speaking. He paid the price for standing up. A price too many of our leaders are not willing to pay.
And what about Eddie Mutwe?
He is still behind bars, paying for the crime of loyalty—to people, not power. For standing beside Bobi Wine, for believing that Uganda deserves better. For believing that this nation belongs to its people, not a single family.
The silence around Eddie's continued detention is deafening. Where are the religious leaders? The elders? The so-called neutral voices? Their silence is complicity. Their quiet diplomacy is betrayal. And that brings me to something uncomfortable, but necessary.
A Muganda who still supports this regime is a fool.
The Baganda have historically borne the brunt of this regime's wrath. From the brutal crackdown on Buganda Kingdom loyalists to the targeted arrests of MPs like Zaake and Segirinya, we’ve seen time and time again that loyalty to the regime does not protect us. If anything, it makes us useful pawns—until we’re no longer useful.
And for my Muslim brothers and sisters—may Allah have mercy on you if you still stand by this government.
This regime has not hidden its disdain. The Muslim community has been criminalized, stereotyped, and unfairly targeted. Young Muslims disappear in the night. Mosques have been raided without warning or justification. Leaders have been silenced or bribed. And yet, some still hold on, hoping for favor that will never come.
The time for neutrality has passed. The regime has shown us who they are. It is up to us to believe them. It is up to us to speak, to act, and to resist in every way we can.
This is no longer just a political issue. It is a moral one. The line has been drawn. Are we on the side of truth, justice, and dignity? Or are we comfortable in the shadows, trading our souls for temporary comfort?
We must choose.
The legacy we leave behind depends on what we do now. Not tomorrow. Not when it's convenient. Now.
Because history will not be kind to those who stood by and watched.
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