Regime Hegemony in Museveni's Uganda: Pax Musevenica

Regime H egemony in Museveni’ s Uganda

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Regime H egemony in M useveni’ s Uganda Pax Musevenica

by Joshua B. Rubongoya

REGIME HEGEMONY IN MUSEVENI’S UGANDA

© Joshua B. Rubongoya, 2007. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. First published in 2007 by PALGRAVE MACMILLAN™ 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010 and Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire, England RG21 6XS Companies and representatives throughout the world. PALGRAVE MACMILLAN is the global academic imprint of the Palgrave Macmillan division of St. Martin’s Press, LLC and of Palgrave Macmillan Ltd. Macmillan® is a registered trademark in the United States, United Kingdom and other countries. Palgrave is a registered trademark in the European Union and other countries. ISBN-13: 978–1–4039–7605–5 ISBN-10: 1–4039–7605–8 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Rubongoya, Joshua B. Regime hegemony in Museveni’s Uganda : Pax Musevenica / by Joshua B. Rubongoya. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 1–4039–7605–8 (alk. paper) 1. Uganda—Politics and government. 2. Legitimacy of governments— Uganda. 3. Political stability—Uganda. 4. Postcolonialism—Uganda. 5. National Resistance Movement (Uganda) 6. Museveni, Yoweri, 1944– I. Title. JQ2951.A58R83 2007 320.96761—dc22

2006047527

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Design by Newgen Imaging Systems (P) Ltd., Chennai, India. First edition: January 2007 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Printed in the United States of America.

This book is dedicated to my brothers Herbert, Patrick, Abraham, and Charles whose lives were taken too early for them to take part in celebrating this accomplishment

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Contents

List of Tables and Figures

ix

Foreword

xi

Acronyms and Abbreviations

xiii

Part 1: The Definition and Roots of Regime Hegemony 1.

Introduction

3

Part 2: Post Colonial Institutions of Hegemony 2. Continuities in Delegitimation—Postcolonial Tyranny and Anarchy (1962 to 1986)

33

Part 3: Pax Musevenica and Executive supremacy 3. Reconstructing the State: Challenges of Legitimacy and Power Consolidation

59

4.

95

Institutional Change and Democratization

5. Political Legitimacy Threatened: The Return of Presidentialism

131

6.

Convergence not Fundamental Change

161

7.

Conclusion

183

Time Line of Key Historical Events

201

Notes

231

Bibliography

253

Index

271

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L ist of Tables and Figures

Tables 4.1 Indicators of Economic Performance 1991 to 1996 (index and percent) 4.2 Location of new investments in Uganda made during 1991 to 1996 4.3 Head count-poverty ratio (percent of population below the poverty line) by region 4.4 Adjusted consumption per capita (Ug. shs. per month at 1989 Ug. shs.) 4.5 Social Development in Uganda 4.6 1996 Presidential Election Results 5.1 2001 Presidential Elections in Uganda 5.2 Uganda: Growth Patterns Since 1989 6.1 Corruption Perception Index, 2002 6.2 Corruption Perception Index, 2003 7.1 Legitimacy/Effectiveness

120 121 122 122 123 125 150 153 166 166 194

Figures 4.1 Polity IV and Freedom House Measures of Democracy in Uganda 5.1. National and Personal Economic Evaluations 5.2. Most Important Problems 5.3. Government Performance

127 147 147 156

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Foreword

I

n Africa, elections have not settled the question of who should exercise power and how to acquire the right to rule. The basis of gaining such a right has been and continues to be contested. This book is an attempt to find out why. Inevitably, therefore, this is also a book about the complex notion of power as it relates to political systems that have undergone multiple identity changes over time. I refer to changes imposed on African states by imperial powers and perpetuated by a global structure of dominance. The indelible mark left on the peoples and political cultures of Africa by these intrusions, fused with their own specific political experience, combine to provide the context for my analysis. Uganda provides a laboratory of inordinate magnitude for a discourse on the intricacies concerning power, its use and misuse. It is a country with multiple ethnicities and traditional political systems. The Ugandan state has died, been buried, and resurrected. And the people’s search for the ultimate cure for the African political virus is unending. This not only makes for a multifarious political narrative but is also a process with insightful lessons for the continent. This work grew out of the research started during my sabbatical leave in Uganda, during the fall of 1998. I am, therefore, grateful for all the support provided by Roanoke College since then. In particular, I am indebted to Pat Scott, Stan Umberger, Becky Heller, and the staff of the Fintel Library. At different stages of my research, the following student assistants have contributed to this work: Cindi Root, Anne Roemer, Erin Grant, Adiyah Ali, Carrie Krug, Sarah Teitt, Kelli Goad, David Drebes, Nick Slijepcevic, Natalie Gessert, Amanda Dennis, and, most importantly, Allison Barlow. I could not have done without the secretarial support of Carmen Lowe, who stuck with the project even after leaving Roanoke College. The painstaking and meticulous work of Judi Pinckney of the Public Affairs Department has been truly invaluable. I have received scholarly support and encouragement from Nelson Kasfir and Paul Kaiser, both of whom reviewed the first chapter, and Ron Kassimir, who helped clear ambiguities in the early stages of conceptualizing the main ideas for the book. I credit Dr. Gerry McDermott of Roanoke College for his intellectual inspiration.

xii

F oreword

I could not have done the research for this book without access to The Center for Basic Research in Kampala. I am particularly grateful for the assistance of the former librarian, J. Akello, and researcher, C. Kyomugisha. My former student H. Twebaze deserves mention for providing data and research materials. I must also express thanks to the Lutheran College Washington Semester Program for providing the condo at Rosslyn during my research in Washington DC, during the fall of 2001 and 2003. My thanks go specifically to Dr. Nancy Joyner, Douglas Stewart, and Kellie Bryan. My greatest debt is owed to my family, which has had to endure long periods of my absence, and for their unfaltering support for my endeavors. My wife, Evelyn, and our two boys, Jonathan and Kenneth, are very much a part of this book. I take personal responsibility, however, for the content.

Acronyms and A bbreviations

AC ADF AI AIDS AGOA BUCADEF CA CADs CAOs CDF CID CMB CMI CP CSRP DP DPP DRC ERP ESO FDC GDP GSU HIPC HIV HRW HSMF IFI IGG IMF ISO JATF LC LEGCO LGC LGFC

Army Council Allied Defense Forces Amnesty International Acquired Immunity Deficiency Syndrome African Growth and Opportunity Act Buganda Cultural and Development Foundation Constituent Assembly Constituent Assembly Delegates Chief Administrative Officers Constituency Development Fund Criminal Investigation Department Coffee Marketing Board Chieftaincy of Military Intelligence Conservative Party Civil Service Reform Program Democratic Party Director of Public Prosecutions Democratic Republic of the Congo Economic Recovery Program External Security Organization Forum for Democratic Change Gross Domestic Product General Service Unit Heavily Indebted Poor Countries Human ImmunoDeficiency Virus Human Rights Watch Holy Spirit Mobile Force International Financial Institutions Inspector General of Government International Monetary Fund Internal Security Organization Joint Anti-Terrorism Task Force Local Council Legislative Council Local Government Commission Local Government Finance Commission

xiv

LISSA LMB LRA MA MP MPs MTN NAAM NCC NEC NGO NRA NRM NRM/A NRM-O OGL PAC PAFO PAPSCA PEA PEAP PERD PMA POA PPOA PRA PSRRC PSU RA RC RDC ROM SAF SAP SNO SRB TANU UCB VCCU UDC UFM UHRC UIA UMA UMC

A cronyms and A bbreviations

Low Income Sub-Saharan Africa Lint Marketing Board Lords Resistance Army Movement Act Military Police Members of Parliament Mobile Telephone Networks National Advancement for the Advancement of Muslims National Consultant Council National Executive Committee Non-Governmental Organization National Resistance Council National Resistance Movement National Resistance Movement/Army National Resistance Movement-Organization Open General Licensing Public Accounts Committee Parliamentary Advocacy Forum Program for the Alleviation of Poverty and the Social Costs of Adjustment Presidential Election Act Poverty Eradication Action Plan Public Enterprise Reform and Divestiture Plan for Modernization of Agriculture Political Organizations Act Political Parties Organizations Act Popular Resistance Army Public Service Revenue Reorganization Commission Public Safety Unit Reform Agenda Resistance Council Resident District Commissioner Results Oriented Management Structural Adjustment Facility Structural Adjustment Program Second National Operator State Research Bureau Tanzania African National Union Uganda Commercial Bank Violent Crime Crack Unit Uganda Development Corporation Uganda Freedom Movement Uganda Human Rights Commission Uganda Investment Agency Uganda Manufacturers Association Uganda Muslim Community

A cronyms and A bbreviations

UMUF UN UNC UPC UPCYL UPDA UPDF UPDM/A UPE UPM UP&TC UPU URA URC UNLA UNLF USAID Ug. shs WTO VAT

Ugandan Multiple Debt Fund United Nations Uganda National Congress Uganda Peoples Congress Uganda Peoples Congress Youth League Uganda Peoples Democratic Army Uganda Peoples Defense Forces Uganda Peoples Defense Movement/Army Universal Primary Education Uganda Patriotic Movement Uganda Posts and Telecommunications Corporations Uganda Peoples Union Uganda Revenue Authority Uganda Railways Corporation Uganda National Liberation Army Uganda National Liberation Front United States Agency for International Development Uganda Shillings World Trade Organization Value Added Tax

xv

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Part 1 The Definition and Roots of Regime H egemony

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1

Introduction I. Conceptualizing Political Legitimacy This study is about Africa’s most disturbing political deficit, namely, the failure to restore legitimate authority in the postcolonial state. The phenomenon of collapsed or failed states can be traced back to the continent’s political legitimacy crisis. There is a growing consensus among scholars that the critical political issue in Africa has to do with the restoration of legitimate authority following the disintegration of credible claims to the exercise of power.1 Indeed in most African states the political situation is most grave during periods of transition because crises of legitimacy are often crises of change (Lipset 1984: 89). After two-and-a-half decades of political turmoil in Uganda, change was fundamentally rooted in the possibility and urgency of restoring legitimate authority and reconstructing a collapsed state. Shortly after 1986, Uganda embarked on what many felt was the best chance for reversing the politics of the past and entering a new political era.2 This book tells the story of what has happened since. It illuminates the complex challenges of establishing authoritative governance in Uganda following the end of the liberation battle (in 1986) by the National Resistance Army/Movement (NRA/M) led by President Yoweri Museveni. In terms of both ideology and policy, the National Resistance Movement (NRM, also referred to as the Movement) had to respond to the following question: when a violent, authoritarian state makes constitutional power transition impossible, and when extraconstitutional means are used to get rid of it, how should the new regime go about authenticating its right to govern? This study examines the various strategies adopted by the NRM to gain political legitimacy, consolidate power, reconstruct the state, and pave the way toward democracy. The central argument is as follows: while the NRM was initially able to legitimate and consolidate its power by exploiting its character and history as an internal, social liberation movement and by expending the political capital flowing from Museveni’s charisma and war hero persona, the Movement did not extend legitimacy to the state itself. For sure the first 10 years of NRM rule did involve the resuscitation of key state institutions in the areas of local administration, the economy, constitutional reform, and civil-military relations. However, these were soon subsumed by the various organs of the Movement in its bid to shore up its legitimacy and power. This trend blocked possibilities for maintaining the authoritative exercise of power,

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compromised the NRM’s ability to resolve regional, ethnic, and religious cleavages, and diminished its capacity to ameliorate tensions inherent in democratic governance. For example, the Movement insisted on building and sometimes imposing consensus while adamantly restricting political competition. Popular consent was circumscribed under the pretext of providing effective governance, and the fear of past anarchy was often used to justify limits on political organization and representation. As a result the legitimacy project in Uganda was doomed: incipient democratic institutions were stillborn and the strategies for authoritative governance ineffectual. Today the governance structure in Uganda is not different from that of the 1980 to 1986 period, despite Museveni’s 1986 promise to bring about fundamental change. A convergence between Obote II and Museveni II/III has occurred. Uganda’s experience under Pax Musevenica3 (i.e., the 20 years of NRM rule) has not produced revolutionary change, it is instead reminiscent of the hegemonic regimes of preceding governments. Over time, Museveni has acquired the status of an imperial president and some government structures have taken on a modus vivendi of a police state. To understand Uganda’s legitimacy crisis and to assess the efficacy of NRM legitimation strategies, a historical analysis of various power structures is necessary. There are two basic propositions undergirding this part of the discourse: the first is that the colonial state destroyed the indigenous structures of power, with clans and age groups as centers of authority, thus creating a political vacuum out of which grew Uganda’s (and most of Africa’s) legitimacy crisis. It seems axiomatic therefore that legitimacy can be restored by devolving power to the localities, as had been the case before colonial rule created the entity known as “Uganda.” NRM policies such as restoration of kingships, devolution of power through Local Councils (LCs),4 civil service reform, and economic liberalization are some of the key institutional bridges that led to the reconstruction of legitimate rule. However, this study examines these institutional changes with an emphasis on the extent to which real power was devolved from the center to the periphery, given the creation of parallel local government institutions such as Resident District Commissioners (RDCs), the recently announced policy of recentralizing the appointments of Chief Administrative Officers (CAOs), the regional tier system, and the overall top-down approach adopted by the NRM as their tenure in office wore on. The conclusion is that over time real and meaningful devolution has not occurred. Rather, said institutions have simply been used to entrench a regime that has become patently statist and hegemonic. The second proposition is that colonial rule did not uproot the patrimonial institutions of precolonial Uganda. It instead superimposed a set of formal/ legal institutions onto the precolonial political formations. Subsequently the postcolonial state simply perpetrated this hybrid (or neopatrimonial) structure of power thus giving rise to what I shall call neopatrimonial legitimacy. The latter is devoid of democratic content and relies on state coercion and the award of personal favors in the form of patronage and prebends such as state jobs for political support. Over time, recipients of such favors become clients

I ntroduction

5

of the state thus giving rise to the institution of clientalism. I contrast this with democratic legitimacy that refers to values of popular support and consent emanating from citizens’ positive association with and support for institutions and patterns of rule. Therefore, in the postcolonial era the project of restoring legitimate authority has required that political elites minimize the corollaries of neopatrimonial governance. However the history of political violence in postcolonial Africa is testimony to the dismal failures that have characterized responses to this challenge.

II. The Cogency of Uganda’s Case Several factors explain why Uganda provides a perfect laboratory for the study of political legitimacy in Africa. First, Uganda’s history is replete with secessionist attempts, constitutional crises, civil wars, military coups, insurgencies, and violent unconstitutional regime changes. At the root of this political turmoil is the absence of consensual grounds for the rightful exercise of power. Second, the novelty of Uganda’s so called no-party democracy introduced by the NRM to ameliorate the effects of sectarianism drew tremendous curiosity from scholars and support from African and western leaders alike. It, therefore, provides invaluable theoretical and practical lessons for African states in democratic transition. One important lesson relates to the resilience and embeddedness of informal, personalized power relations in the formal institutions of modern African polities. But, the no-party system also raises several other important questions about governance in societies with deeprooted ethnic, religious, and political cleavages. For example, is a no-party system necessary to provide stability in a very difficult transitional period of statelessness, or does it simply delay political change thereby frustrating the consolidation of democracy? Is it just a regime consolidation strategy that delays the legitimation and institutionalization of the state? For future researchers, this book raises (but does not answer) a couple of insightful questions: of the multiple attributes of legitimacy (e.g., economic opportunity, civil society, security, political stability, constitutionalism, et cetera), which ones are more important and which ones, less? Is legitimacy an all-or-nothing process or can we locate it on a continuum?5

III. Uganda’s Politics in Conceptual Context The core of this study is supported by three main concepts (viz., state, democracy, and legitimacy) that need definition and clarification. State Naomi Chazan et al. argue that the character of the contemporary African state entails transactions between social groups and state institutions, how they are carried out, and how these in turn alter the nature of public institutions as well

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R egime H egemony in M useveni’ s U ganda

as of social formations.6 However, the polemic of whether the state is an autonomous entity and, thus, fully independent of civil society is still pervasive, and for good reason.7 In traditional African society the public and private spheres were intricately related. Makau wa Mutua articulates this point well; . . . The state . . . such as it existed, was not apart from the community . . . or contradictory to it . . . [it] was viewed neither as the primary culprit nor as the institution solely or primarily responsible for stopping abuses. (1997: 23)

In fact, in most traditional African societies the king or elder was also the head of a royal clan or age-set, respectively. But, because varied societies claimed common ancestry or kinship lineages the distinction between the public (state) and private (societal) arenas did not exist. However, the colonial state disfigured precolonial centralized polities and the traditional decentralized power structures comprising of clans and segmental nonkinship age groups respectively. They were replaced by a caricature of the western “modern” state. As a result, the precolonial structure of power as described by Makau wa Mutua above began giving way to a separation, albeit distorted, between state and civil society. It is distorted because the contemporary postcolonial state is marked by western-style formal/bureaucratic institutions suffused with the informal/communal ties of the precolonial political structures. This hybrid structure of power has given rise to a postcolonial state with a form of governance known as neopatrimonialism. The contours of a neopatrimonial state combine norms of small and traditional polities in which the private and public spheres cannot be clearly distinguished from those of modern polities in which rational-legal authority clearly distinguishes public institutions from the private arena.8 In such political systems, . . . an individual rules by dint of personal prestige and power, ordinary folk are treated as extensions of the “big mans” household, with no rights or privileges other than those bestowed by the ruler. Authority is entirely personalized, shaped by the ruler’s preferences rather than any codified system of laws . . . [but at the same time] . . . written laws and bureaucratic institutions routinize the exercise of authority and protect individuals and their property from capricious leaders.9

Thus, the African state depicts a modified form of both the modern rational/legal and the traditional. The “big man” (in modern times the strong man) together with his surrogates (or patrons) create a network of unequal forms of political reciprocity that links them with clients across vertical social lines.10 While the legal-constitutional order and the laws and institutions that emanate from it will be respected, the powerful politician’s (or patron’s) will often prevails in order to influence and meet the expectations of clients according to well-established norms of reciprocity.11 Authority is entirely personalized, the ruler ensures political stability and personal political survival primarily through a selective distribution of favors and material benefits to loyal

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followers who do the same down the chain of subpatrons and clients.12 The right to exercise power (or neopatrimonial legitimacy) is therefore rooted in these reciprocal exchange networks. All this often takes place through the use of bureaucratic institutions of the formal/public sector that bestow inordinate power to the president and high-ranking government officials. This is the basis of presidentialism, the twin sister institution of clientelism. Thus, neopatrimonial legitimacy requires the fulfillment of particularistic obligations that have nothing to do with the emergence of a public sphere transcending infranational identities.13 The foregoing explains why the state is both weak and nondemocratic. Neopatrimonialism undermines formal institutions and creates a state that is structurally flawed. For example, the conflation of the public and private spheres under neopatrimonialism constrains the emergence of an independent civil society. The resulting conduct of the state—informal, uncodified, and unpoliced—gives rise to high levels of corruption, rent-seeking behavior, and violence and civil strife.14 These conditions undermine the productive systems of society while diminishing the state’s extractive capacity. Depleted state resources tend to weaken the very core and logic of the neopatrimonial state, that is, the redistributive mechanism that binds patron to client. Consequently, violence and coercion become the inevitable instruments of governance as poverty and deprivation spread through the polity. In concrete terms the neopatrimonial state cannot sustain a governance realm over an extended period of time. This realm, described by Goran Hyden (1992) as the nexus of state authority, reciprocity, trust, and accountability can only be maintained if the vertical patron-client relationships hold together. Therefore, the health of the neopatrimonial state depends on the steady flow of resources from patron to client and, as long as this is so, (neopatrimonial) legitimacy prevails and gives elites a modicum of authority to govern. However, over time the intrinsic elements of the system, for example, corruption, rent-seeking, and civil strife, will inevitably undermine economic growth and development. Thus, the ensuing crisis of democratic legitimacy stems from limitations in the governance realm, that is, deficits in authoritative governance, lack of a consensus on basic rules of politics and civil society, absence of trust or cooperation among different ethnic groups and civic associations, and deficiencies in accountability or effectiveness with which the governed can exercise influence over their leaders.15 Finally, neopatrimonial governance is often supported by very specific regime types. A regime is a formal and informal organization of the center of political power and its relations with the broader political community.16 It determines who has access to political power and how those who are in power deal with those who are not.17 Typically neopatrimonial states flourish under statist regime types which are often handicapped by structural monopoly. In statist regimes, power is concentrated in the state and over time political elites become arrogant and unresponsive as social capital depreciates.18 These characteristics are also intensified by limited and declining state resources. The monopolization and concentration of power in the state has the perverse

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effect of alienating more and more social groups, thus circumscribing the governance realm. Statist regimes are symptoms of a crisis in democratic legitimacy. They are often characterized by (a) disregard for the rules of power, (b) questionable sources of authority (c) lack of autonomy from other structures in society, and (d) withdrawal of demonstrable expressions of consent on the part of the subordinates or citizens.19 Instead, as is explained below, neopatrimonial legitimacy emerges as the alternative form of regime validation. The foregoing describes the typical postcolonial state in Africa and its most prominent regime type. However, by 1986 when President Museveni captured power in Uganda, the state, even in its neopatrimonial form, had essentially collapsed. What follows is a critical analysis of Museveni’s efforts to reconstruct the state and establish a democratic regime type by restoring legitimate authority. Focus is directed toward the strategies adapted by Museveni (and the NRM) in order to consolidate power and establish legitimate authority. While the NRM has succeeded in some ways there are strong and visible signs of a resurgence of neopatrimonial governance and statism. The analysis in part 3 of the book explains the reasons behind these trends. Democracy This is a concept that has undergone so much conceptual stretching that any attempt at defining it entails a good measure of futility. Nonetheless, certain thematic categories have emerged among scholars from which a working definition can be gleaned. For example, the classic view of democracy as entailing free participation and contestation is still widespread. Thus, there is democracy, if a regime provides an ideal environment for the involvement of citizens as political equals in matters of selecting leaders and making policy (i.e., popular participation). Political contestation refers to open rivalry and competition among diverse political interests.20 The combination of both contestation and participation augurs well for any system that claims some measure of procedural democracy.21 The latter implies that free and fair elections are held periodically. That a constitution with limitations on the power of the state vis à vis the people exists, and that a system of government with checks and balances and separation of powers between the three branches of government be in place. However, procedural democracy has been summarily criticized for its undue emphasis on elections (electoralism).22 These critiques have added a new dimension to definitions of democracy, namely, substantive democracy. The latter lays emphasis on values such as social and economic egalitarianism that go beyond the formal aspects of democracy. Therefore, the analysis herein adopts Mahmood Monshipouri’s definition of democracy, it includes both the procedural and substantive dimensions. He says, democracy encompasses a set of institutional arrangements; e.g., elections, political parties, and an independent judiciary designed to safeguard popular participation and

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contestation; minority rights; and the rule of law . . . democracy also has a set of structures and processes for the promotion of socioeconomic justice . . . it also includes structures that promote socioeconomic opportunity . . . it implies some degree of equality. (1995: 15–16)23

This definition makes it possible to operationalize democracy as a concept. But, in the context of Uganda’s neopatrimonial, postcolonial state the definition of procedural and substantive democracy needs a few more qualifications. First, and most importantly, democracy in Africa (Uganda, in particular) requires a separation of the formal and informal spheres of political life. The establishment of a rational/legal authority within a constitutional order (and thus rule of law) is necessary in order to reconstruct the state and to functionally differentiate it from society. The opposite condition, that is, arbitrary rule dictated by the permutations of patron-client relationships, empties the state of its democratic content. This overlap between the private and public sectors further cripples the democratic project by limiting the emergence of sufficient political space within which an independent civil society could facilitate and articulate a governance realm. In other words, the hallmarks of a democratic system such as accountability, trust, and authority are subsumed in state conduct that is essentially corrupt and unresponsive. Therefore, democracy in Uganda (and Africa in general) calls for a reversal of these tendencies. But, can these characteristics be resolved without economic development? The promotion of socioeconomic justice (a key component of democracy) is critically important for democratization. But as the analysis above suggests the neopatrimonial superstructure with its penchant for corruption and rentseeking behavior creates conditions that are inimical to economic growth and development. A small political elite monopolizes economic gains and undermines a just system of economic allocation and distribution. Thus again, neither procedural nor substantive democracy is likely to be realized without change in the structure and logic of the neopatrimonial state as depicted in the outgoing discourse. Finally, every democratic political system is burdened by three paradoxes or contradictions that engender tensions that persist in the underbelly of a liberal polity and give meaning to both progressive and reactionary movements in processes of transition. The integrity of democracy as a system of governance is heavily dependent on how political elites manage and perhaps resolve these “paradoxes of democracy.”24 In evaluating the trajectory of Uganda’s struggles for the restoration of legitimate rule, this study evaluates how effective the NRM has been in balancing these tensions. The first and most critical conundrum of democratic governance has to do with balancing consent with effectiveness.25 This tension is the focal point of this book. The consent of the people—the res publica—is key to a democratic system of government. Consent is the basis for political legitimacy because it is indicative of a society’s recognition that existing or emerging political institutions are appropriate for meeting their demands. Yet, to meet such

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demands, these institutions must be seen to be effective, that is, they must satisfy basic governmental functions as defined by the dominant social groups. However, to seek consent without limiting political boundaries may, in fact, diminish the capacity for effectiveness without which legitimacy is undermined in the long run. For example, initial NRM policy changes such as mass layoffs (retrenchment) in the civil service, economic liberalization and improved revenue collection, privatization, et cetera did improve government effectiveness, but state legitimacy was somewhat eroded in the eyes of disadvantaged social groups previously entrenched in neopatrimonial relationships with parastatals and the civil service. Thus, how to solve the consent/effectiveness paradox becomes the overriding challenge for any leadership seeking democratic change. In seeking to consolidate power and ensuring regime survival, the NRM has subordinated popular consent to effective governance. The second paradox entails the tension between the desire to enable competition, which often breeds conflict, and the need to maintain consensus. When the NRM assumed the reigns of power in 1986 it expanded political space that was soon occupied by both progressive and reactionary sections of civil society. These groups ranged from federalists and royalists to multipartyists, and from movementists and civil libertarians to separatists. In the period between 1986 and 1996, these organizations, with the help of a free press, spawned a plethora of conflict areas at a time of limited and weak consensusbuilding state institutions. The challenge for the NRM was to shepherd the country through the process of building institutions that might permit conflict and competition within defined and universally accepted boundaries—in other words, without stifling the potential for consensus. The NRM open-door policy toward elites from previous regimes, also known as political “broad-basedness,” its decision to reinstate traditional kingdoms, constitutional reforms, the incorporation of women (and other formerly marginalized groups) into the political system did help to “moderate the intensity of partisan battle”26 and create an enabling environment for the possible emergence of a democratic society and a governance realm. Nevertheless, certain interests were met with strict and inflexible NRM objections, these included demands for a political settlement of the northern insurgency, political party politics, and federalism. Given the monumental task of state reconstruction that faced the NRM government in the first ten years, restricting party politics and federalism was a prudent strategy for managing competition during a politically fragile period of consensus building. However, after the 1996 national elections and the constitutional dispensation that followed, restrictions on party politics only served to intensify conflict and restrain competition, thus, upsetting the political equilibrium necessary for consensus. Indeed, as the NRM grudgingly embraced the notion of multiparty politics in the run up to the 2006 polls, it at the same time arm twisted legislators into amending the constitution in order to remove presidential term limits, while pushing for restrictive laws such as the Political Parties Organizations Act (PPOA) and the Media Bill (2001), both of which restrained political organization and media freedom, respectively. Heavy-handed policy

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positions such as these stifled competition and dissent, weakened institutional frameworks for settling conflict, and undermined consent. The failure to resolve the LRA-led insurgency should be understood in this context. The third paradox depicts the tension between representation and governability. Since by definition democracy means “people power” and, thus, entails placing authority in the hands of many in order to enhance representation and accountability, the possible end result could be weakness in the governing structure itself. This factor is symptomatic of Uganda’s political history, which has been characterized by alternating periods of anarchy and tyranny. When Museveni took over in 1986, Uganda was once again faced with the challenge of establishing effective governance in light of a diffuse structure of power and a collapsed state. President Museveni argued that the movement system or “no-party” democracy provided the ideal vehicle for representation and participation, because it diminished sectarian conflict and promoted effective governance. Thus, he favored representative democracy at the national level and popular democracy at the local level. The reintroduction of traditional kingdoms and the 1989 local and national elections followed by the 1996 presidential/parliamentary polls were some of the key policy decisions made to improve representation. These trends, however, changed in the years following 1996. Two examples from the post–1996 election period will suffice to demonstrate a shift toward greater emphasis on governability and away from representativeness. First, in 1997, the parliament passed the Movement Bill into law without the necessary two-thirds majority. The Movement Act (MA) in essence transformed all Ugandans into members of the NRM and effectively pushed back the timetable for the reinstatement of party politics. The Movement Act was followed by a referendum through which Ugandans would decide if the no-party system would be maintained or replaced by a multiparty system. The law legalizing the referendum—the Referendum (Political Systems) Act 1999—was passed by only 50 votes in a parliament that lacked a quorum: this was the reason that the law was ruled unconstitutional. The Referendum Act 2000 that was passed to replace the 1999 version was also invalidated by the Supreme Court albeit the outcome of the referendum itself was upheld. Therefore, had the MA been challenged on the grounds of lack of quorum, it too would have been nullified. Thus neither the MA nor the Referendum Act carried the necessary legitimacy to make them binding. Not surprisingly, the referendum itself was held amidst all manner of manipulation and interference by the NRM government, and its outcome was therefore never in doubt. However, once again the return to multiparty, pluralistic, and more competitive/representative governance was blocked. When the NRM was finally forced to open political space for multiparty politics, the PPOA was enacted in order to free potential party activity but in ways that left the Movement dominant and hegemonic (see chapter 6). So, what can we learn from the strategies adopted to resolve these tensions of democracy? They provide insights into the character of democratic transition in Uganda and the role of the NRM in this process. In the first ten years

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of NRM rule, political space was created, albeit within a single political organization, the NRM—which was quite open, initially, to varying and dissenting views and interests. Local and national elections improved representation and legitimized the regime—a sign that consent was forthcoming and, more broadly, that a governance realm was being constructed. NRM economic policy improved effectiveness by restoring economic stability as well as law and order. All these policies seemed to point toward the possible emergence of a liberal regime type and a departure from the traditional neopatrimonial system. After 1996, however, the political character of the state seemed to lean steadily toward the structural monopoly element of the statist regime type, itself a consequence of the rising influence of neopatrimonial elements within the governing elite. As the NRM struggled to control national demands for pluralism and to limit the political damage of the northern insurgency, its mission of political broad-basedness (i.e., the inclusion of elites with differing ideological and political values in government) was struck off the priority list and replaced by its ethnic variant (i.e., the appointment of government officials on a regional basis in exchange for political support), the objective of which was to entrench the NRM and marginalize opposition groups. This, in turn, triggered a drift away from representative and competitive politics and toward a coerced, even manipulated consensus. By the 2001 elections, the outlines of a patron-client power structure were beginning to gain sharp focus. Official positions and resources were now being used as prebends (i.e., governmental rewards for political favors) intended to earn support for the NRM and the movement system in general. As the NRM struggled to keep humpty dumpty together it had no choice but to increase its instrumentalist grasp of state institutions. The latter were employed to perform and satisfy the interests of the regime. Decision making became informal and personalized at different levels of the government. These political changes coupled with the concentration of power in the president’s hands led to characteristics akin to what scholars call presidentialism—an institutional condition in which all but the most trivial decisions are made by one individual: very often the president (Bratton and van de Walle: 1997). By 2006 (the twentieth year of NRM rule), presidentialism had become the normative underpinning of an emerging imperial presidency. In short, the institutional checks and balances on executive power were being subordinated by presidential supremacy. Informalism and personalized decision making also seeped into institutions such as the NRM-dominated parliament, Uganda Revenue Authority (URA), the police, judiciary, and other public offices, all of which became the prebends of their occupants. The ensuing corruption and rent-seeking behavior began eating away at the economy. By 2004, the crisis of democratic legitimacy rooted in neopatrimonial governance became crystallized in the conflicts over the issue of amending the constitution to allow limitless presidential terms (referred to locally as Ekisanja), and in the acrimony that emerged between hard-core movementists and the multipartyists and profederalists who sought more space for competitive politics. That these contradictions had trickled deep into the underbelly of

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the Movement was clear proof that a dark cloud was casting doubt on the viability of the so-called no-party democracy. These developments also provided clear evidence of the contested nature of NRM legitimacy. Finally, a word about the notion of democratic transition: it means a period of time marked by structural and normative changes. Given that the neopatrimonial state is inherently destructive of the normative substructure necessary for liberal governance, democratic transition in Uganda (and most African states) must involve a radical departure from the institutions of neopatrimonialism that have in Uganda’s political history included highly contracted political spaces often reduced by systematic strategies of departicipation,27 elite manipulation of political rules to make way for unchecked power, conspicuous ubiquity of the military in public affairs, gross violations of human rights buttressed by draconian laws, and the suspension or rigging of elections resulting in unpopular governments.28 Transition, therefore, refers to a condition in which ruling elites and civil society initiate institutional measures aimed at balancing consensus, governability, and effectiveness with competition, representativeness, and consent. Simply put, a democratic transition must entail the prying apart of the neopatrimonial state structure, that is, the separation of the formal from the informal sector of the political process. It must also engender the emergence of a governance realm, that is, a system wherein there is a measure of bargaining, compromise, trust, and tolerance among competing interests, and between those who exercise authority and those who are subject to it.29 This project endeavors to critically evaluate the successes and failures of the NRM government in institutionalizing a governance realm and to, thus, implicitly establish democratic legitimacy. Leadership plays a critical role in determining the mode of transition. Borrowing from Guy Martin, democratic transitions in Africa generally occur in three forms—“guided democracy,” “co-opted,” and “regime-change-viamultiparty-elections.”30 “Guided democracy” engenders elite-driven political change. This mode of transition best describes the political changes in Uganda during the first ten years of NRM rule. For example, although the 1991 to 1996 constitutional process was relatively democratic, the intervention of the elites was unmistakable. However, after 1996 NRM leadership became infected by the neopatrimonial virus, the symptoms of this caused a shift in transition from “guided democracy” to “co-opted.” “Co-opted” transitions are characteristically despotic in nature and tend to exhibit limitations in political participation while emphasizing governability at the expense of representation. Governance realms tend to be narrow and regime types nondemocratic. Thus by 2006, a statist regime had emerged in Uganda despite the extraordinary liberalization of the first ten years (1986–1996). Legitimacy Political legitimacy entails notions of popular consent as the bedrock of democratic rule. In the classic Lockean sense of the concept, political legitimacy presupposes a separation between civil society and the state, with both bound

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by a social contract. Through the consent of the res publica, the state becomes the custodian of the people’s rights. A violation of these terms diminishes claims to legitimacy and, therefore, to democracy. This, in theory, calls for the dissolution of the contract, in which case, the state must enter into new negotiations with society. But, as the foregoing description of the neopatrimonial state and its corresponding statist regime type makes clear, in Africa the formal state-society contract gained at the ballot box and through the constitution is often suffused with the informal one between patrons and clients. In Africa the latter seems to be more prevalent than the former and as such often represents the basis for claiming legitimacy. Political legitimacy in the postcolonial era has often reflected relationships between patrons and their clients and how the resulting patron-client networks fit (or do not fit) into the legal/constitutional order of the formal state. This is the form of legitimation that is referred to above as patrimonial legitimacy and is differentiated from democratic legitimacy. Neopatrimonial legitimacy refers to acceptance of a regime based on its capacity to distribute material or financial rewards to clients. It lacks democratic currency because it limits notions of social trust and accountability to the distribution of patronage and therefore to an exclusive patron-client network. Secondly, though the authority of the state should (in theory) be based on widespread approval (or acceptance) of its citizens and represented by a broad cross-section of civil society, in the postcolonial state the latter is often depoliticized by political elites (i.e., patrons) who circumscribe horizontal professional or functional connections while emphasizing vertical clientelist networks.31 As resources inevitably diminish due to the corrupt nature of neopatrimonial governance, elites have very little to deliver to their clients, which explains in part the reason for the huge legitimacy deficits that have characterized politics and frustrated democratic transitions since independence. The other explanation for legitimacy deficits is that, in the event of resourcelessness caused by clients, the state enters a crisis because clientelism has emptied it of its institutional coherence and validation. It can no longer be viewed as “a set of administrative, legal bureaucratic and coercive systems that attempt to structure relationships between civil society and public authority.”32 Thus, the state is considered legitimate if it is institutionalized and is able to arbitrate differences between various social groups and to carry out its administrative, legal, extractive, and coercive functions. A state claiming legitimacy must, therefore, be functionally differentiated from society because this is the only way it can mediate between various social groups. But, state legitimacy does not necessarily mean regime legitimacy. Regime legitimacy entails questions of how a group of political decisionmakers (or political elites) gains the right to exercise authoritative power. A regime is legitimate when (a) its members are able to maintain the belief among citizens that existing political institutions are the most appropriate ones, (b) it has been able to resolve (if not manage) the key issues that have historically divided society, and (c) its values fit those of the society of which it is a part.33 For these conditions to be relevant, regimes must meet the following conditions that in the case of Uganda (or most of Africa) are

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circumscribed by the logic of the neopatrimonial patterns of rule: Firstly, the regime must be correctly placed in particular roles or positions, that is, according to generally accepted rules that are often expressed in the form of a constitution.34 The opposite of this condition, that is, a continued disregard or manipulation of the rules of power creates popular distrust and could contribute to a legitimacy crisis. Secondly, the regime must be seen as carrying out the functions of said roles/positions correctly. This is the effectiveness or regime-performance dimension of democratic legitimacy. It concerns the degree to which ruling elites perform the basic functions of a government, a degree that is determined by the perception of most of the population and of such powerful groups within it as big business and the armed forces.35 Conversely, failure to perform in this way leads to crisis. Thirdly, given that legitimacy implies the right and title to rule,36 its sources must be seen to tally with the values of society. Although, such sources have predominantly involved reciprocal, prebendal relations between patrons and clients, the Uganda case suggests that in order to enhance consensus and consent (i.e., to promote democracy), fair elections, political competition, a governance realm, and effective performance must replace the institutions of neopatrimonialism as the basis for legitimate authority. To understand the evolution of the legitimation process in Uganda after 1986, it is important to recall Seymour M. Lipset’s argument that legitimacy crises often occur during a transition to a new social structure if, all major groups in the society do not have access to the political system in the transitional period, or at least as soon as they develop political demands. After a new social structure is established, if the new system is unable to sustain the expectations of major groups (on the grounds of “effectiveness”) for a long enough period to develop legitimacy upon the new basis, a new crisis may develop.37

When the NRM came to power in 1986, they had to overcome four challenges, all directly related to questions of democratic legitimacy. Firstly, how was the NRM to expand its presence and control beyond the cradle of its guerilla struggle in Buganda and the southwest? This they did by mandating a system of self-government through a hierarchy of LCs into every village, parish, subcounty, and district in Uganda.38 This enabled the establishment of the penetrative capacity of the regime and ultimately of the state. Each LC had to have women and youth representatives on it. The inclusion of these previously marginalized groups was a key strategy in the legitimation and power consolidation design of the NRM. The second challenge was for the NRM to gain popular appeal, given that they captured power through guerilla warfare. In this case, the NRM’s policy of setting up a politically “broad-based” government by including persons of varying political and ideological backgrounds served to qualify the regime’s antisectarian philosophy and to appease pro-party sections of society that were unhappy with the “no-party” system. While this political tactic was undoubtedly effective in legitimizing the regime,

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as mentioned above, it later became the nucleus of the patronage system as it mutated into regional and ethnic broad-basedness. Thirdly, with respect to representation and participation, the NRM could proudly point to the LC and National Assembly elections of 1989 that were widely hailed as innovative and representative of the popular will.39 But, NRM legitimacy was also linked to state legitimacy or more generally state reconstruction, and this was the fourth challenge. In this regard the NRM cut the size of the bureaucracy, initiated reforms in the civil service and local government, liberalized the economy, privatized most parastatals, introduced semiautonomous, service-oriented agencies such as the Uganda Revenue Authority (URA), the Uganda Investment Authority (UIA), the Inspector General of Government (IGG), et cetera. In the meantime, the country was engaged in consultations and debate regarding a new constitution that was eventually promulgated in 1995. Of utmost importance was the restoration of relative peace and order in most parts of the country except those in the north. These were among the many policies put in place before 1996 to institutionalize and legitimate the state. But, it was also part of President Museveni’s professed goal of effecting a “fundamental change” and radically differentiating his regime from previous ones. Museveni’s landslide victory in the 1996 presidential elections and the comfortable NRM majority in Parliament provided evidence that some degree of democratic legitimacy had been bestowed on the NRM regime. These elections reflected two important factors related to the legitimacy project in Uganda. The first was that the election outcome was not contested. The losers’ peaceful acceptance of the 1996 elections gave legitimacy to the process and to a degree to the new constitution. Secondly, the 1996 elections were free of violence, thus, legitimizing the electoral contest as a peaceful means of allocating political power.40 The protests, violence, and state manipulation that preceded and followed both the outcome and the process of latter elections (2001 and 2006) would mark the deterioration of popular consent for the institutional character of power and of those who sought to exercise it. After 1996, the patronage system reemerged, first (as mentioned above) in the form of regional/ethnic broad-basedness and, later, through the president’s free rein in appointing 40 percent of the legislators from women, youth, army veterans, and workers groups. Regional/ethnic broad-basedness was not meant to be inclusive. Rather, the NRM sought to pander to different regions and ethnic groups in exchange for political support. Clientelism had gained regional and ethnic content. This shift in governing philosophy was marked by the expulsion of dissenters from the NRM, thus diminishing political space for the moderates within the Movement. In the meantime, important unresolved issues such as federalism for Buganda and multipartyism made their way to the top of the political agenda only to be blocked by a Movement that now eschewed competition (even from within itself) and clamored for control. New interest groups found themselves increasingly isolated as the NRM sought to either shrink or micromanage what went on in the available political space. Insurgencies in the north, east, and west and war with the Democratic Republic of Congo sapped the treasury, thus diminishing

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state largesse available to clients from their patrons. Instead, the military brass enjoyed the lion’s share of the loot from Congo.41 These developments created tensions in the patron-client system. With diminishing state resources and a small, leaner state bureaucracy, corruption began to tarnish Museveni’s claim of having engineered a “fundamental change”—yet this was the basis for the restoration of legitimate authority. As internal fragmentation and defections mounted, the NRM was forced to abandon the “no-party” system and create room for multiparty politics in the run up to the 2006 elections. This would have been a step forward had it not come at the same time that the NRM was engineering the repeal of presidential term limits from the constitution, harassing media personalities, and intimidating the opposition. The heightened levels of repression at this time are a clear indication of diminished democratic legitimacy. Therefore, to understand the reelection of President Museveni in 2006, the book focuses on the relevance and persistence of neopatrimonial legitimacy and its place in African electoral politics.

IV. Distortions in Legitimate Power Structures The Precolonial Era The structural and normative transformation of legitimate power in Uganda is a function of European (explorers, missionaries, and colonial agents) penetration into Africa. The contradictions between these external forces and the indigenous structures of power form a significant part of the historical genesis of illegitimacy and thus a critical factor in explaining autocratic rule in modern Africa. The approach adopted here provides a critique of the sources of power, how it was acquired and used, and for whom. This, then, serves as the backdrop for understanding the impact of colonial rule on African postcolonial politics. As a modern state, Uganda grew out of a “consolidation” of fragmented societies.42 Prior to European intervention, these societies coexisted but did not identify politically, nor did they have systematic economic/social systems that united them in the pursuit of a common goal.43 Some of them (e.g., the Baganda of Buganda) were centralized and highly bureaucratic kingdomstates.44 The kingdom-states of Bunyoro and Ankole were less centralized while other societies such as the agriculturalist groups of northern Uganda and the northeastern pastoralists (e.g., Karamoja) and the eastern peoples of Bugisu, Sebei, Bukedi, and Teso were stateless and politically organized on the basis of democratic, decentralized, self-governing villages.45 The scale of political organization for the societies did not go beyond the kinship unit. The kingdom of Paimol (present day Acholi) in northern Uganda was among the very few that had successfully married the segmentary (nonstate) and the kinship systems.46 Finally, almost all the precolonial societies in Uganda were patriarchal and, as such, illiberal in the modern sense. Most, albeit not all, communities based decision making on the clan as the primary form of social/political organization. The clan system was more than

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a social organization based on blood kinship—it was a basis for claiming the title to rule (i.e., legitimacy) and a form of political association. In a way, clans represented links between and intersections with formal political elites, the monarchs in particular. Among the stateless communities, it is the elders who were charged with organizing the clans. Age was, therefore, the legitimating factor in the process of decision making. Kingdom states such as Ankole, Buganda, Bunyoro, and Busoga used heredity as a principle of legitimate power exercise within the general context of the clan. First, in these kingdom states, the chief was an economic nexus, a center of exchange receiving and distributing goods and services according to the needs of his people. Thus, clans contained redistributive mechanisms that thwarted tendencies to reproduce inequalities in a cumulative fashion.47 Secondly, the chief was to plan for droughts and famine and, whenever possible, to vanquish them.48 This explains why in the kingdom-state of Ankole, for example, legitimacy was also related to one’s wealth measured in terms of heads of cattle. So, having acquired power through one’s clan, heredity, merit, or ascription, the leaders’ primary obligation was to guarantee the welfare of the community by sharing his wealth and performing duties that contributed to their security. The more successful they were in this vein, the greater their personal prestige and the more personalized authority became, but also the more difficult it was to distinguish the leadership from civil society or the private from the public domain. Clearly, patrimonial legitimacy was the more common form of validation for leaders. To reiterate Bratton and van de Walle’s (1997) observation, in this form of power structure, an individual (i.e., a clan leader, chief, etc.) rules by dint of personal prestige and power, ordinary folk are extensions of the leaders’ household/ family and there are no codified systems of laws or western style bureaucratic institutions. The exercise of power (and, in fact, political power itself) was embedded in a cultural milieu that did not demand the resolution of tensions (e.g., representation versus governability) associated with democratic or liberal systems of government. The governance realm was also a function of politicocultural leaders’ abilities to satisfy client demands/needs. How these needs were met was rarely an issue of concern to ordinary folk. Colonial rule turned this equation on its head. Abuses of political power and rights became a function of politics as indigenous African political culture was subordinated to the imperatives of Western political institutions and objectives. To understand the relationship between clans and monarchs, it is vital to shed light on their political composition. In Buganda, for example, each individual clan chose council members based on personal merit, and the primary role of each was to act as custodians of community-held land. As such, the king (or Kabaka) of Buganda felt it politically expedient to appoint administrative chiefs from both humble and noble origins in order to counter the power of hereditary clan chiefs and to maintain his centralized, supreme authority. In Bunyoro, the tendency was toward the consolidation of a landed aristocracy with inheritable wealth.49 Mamdani maintains that the landed nobility in Bunyoro continued to check the centralizing ambitions of the king

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(or Omukama) and that even in highly centralized Buganda the clans continued to function as a popular whistle-blower keeping a check on both the king and the appointed administration.50 The two categories of chiefs, the administrative and clan or kin groups, were in turn checked by clan and lineage-based councils, village councils, and local councils. The foregoing explains the contours of a precolonial power structure extant in Uganda’s kingdom-states. It was elaborate, with some checks and balances. However, colonial rule would turn the institution of chiefship into a “full-blown village-based despot, shorn of rule-based restraint.”51 The stateless societies as noted above had less structure and were more democratic owing to the highly decentralized nature of society. The absence of hierarchical, formal political offices meant that clan elders met on an ad hoc basis whenever there were important matters to resolve. Women and young men were excluded from decision making, but the latter acquired more responsibility as they transitioned upward into the category of elders. These societies (compared to the kingdom-states) would experience the most severe changes in the colonial era as the formal institutions of imperial despotism were introduced and (super)imposed on the indigenous social and political institutions. The Colonial Impact What were the subtle and not-so-subtle ways by which indigenous power structures were distorted by missionary and colonial interests? The inconsistencies and contradictions between indigenous structures and externally imposed institutions form a significant part of the historical genesis of Africa’s legitimacy crisis, and since these externalities took the form of colonial rule, a summary review is necessary. But, long before the onslaught of colonial rule, the major transformations of Ugandan society were effected by the work of Christian missionaries. In fact, English missionaries were instrumental in attracting colonial interests and in shaping Whitehall’s decision to establish a protectorate over Uganda. The arrival of Christian missionaries (and the Muslims before them) in Uganda also signaled the beginning of a deep sociopolitical fault line in Ugandan society that would deepen well into the postcolonial period. Newly converted Christians no longer recognized traditional secular authorities as legitimate rulers, given that they had shifted allegiance to their missionary mentors. As indigenous leaders struggled to maintain their authority, a bitter struggle ensued between them and the missionaries who were emerging as the new centers of power. In other words, the legitimacy of indigenous rulers was being undermined by the ideological and political influence of both the missionaries and, later, their colonial underwriters. These contradictions resulted in what historian Samwiri Karugire has termed religiopolitical polarization—a process that continued into postcolonial Uganda with devastating political consequences.52 For example, political identity, participation, and contestation crystallized along religious lines, adding to already existing

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ethnic formations. This made it difficult to build strong, coherent political parties with national appeal. Civil society was also strictly polarized along these lines. Contested loci of trust, accountability, reciprocity, and authority rendered all efforts to construct a governance realm impossible. As chapter 2 extrapolates, these social/political cleavages were later exploited by postcolonial elites in their bid to maintain order. The tyranny of Idi Amin’s regime was the most extreme manifestation of these contradictions and it is on the basis of these experiences that President Museveni would ban political party activity in favor of a “no-party,” all-encompassing, broad-based political organization— the NRM.53 But, the failure of the “no-party” system to ameliorate political/ social cleavage is testimony to the dangers of religious sectarianism bequeathed to African states that were already ethnically diverse. Indeed, novel institutions such as the “no-party” system do not fail of their own volition, rather, as elites lose sight of authoritative forms of decision making, they politicize ethnic and religious differences, turning them into instruments of control. The imperialists’ initial challenge was to consolidate the variegated societies in Africa into protectorates or colonies answerable to agents of the colonial state. The latter was borne out of this challenge. It was a unique political entity, existing “independently” and, yet, not sovereign in its own right: Ultimate power was vested in the colonizing state [Britain], delegated to its agents of rule. The doctrine of nation, redolent with overtones of selfdetermination, was vigorously disputed by the proprietary powers until the eve of their departure. And the colonial state was not an actor on the international scene; at most it was occasionally a stagehand. (Young 1994: 43)

The establishment of the Uganda Protectorate as one of the many stagehands was a product of both imperial interests and a response to missionary demands for protection. In its colonial form, Uganda was established in 1894, a period which also marked the initial phase of the usurpation of sovereignty from the various polities that pre-dated the creation of Uganda. But, violations of sovereignty and self-determination (by the colonial state) are only manifestations of the macropolitics. The transformations at the microlevel were even more revolutionary. First, Ugandans were transformed into subjects of the British crown. Thus, without the status of citizenship and in light of the aforementioned religious/ethnic cleavages, the development of a viable (i.e., independent) civil society, crucial to the construction of legitimate power structures, was not possible. Yet, the colonial agents also introduced the notion of a formal public domain, politically separated from the informal private realm of statehood. Because this was alien to African forms of political organization, the ensuing contradictions became the nucleus of the legitimacy crisis that would bedevil the postcolonial state in Uganda. Secondly, the colonial state instituted agencies such as bureaucracies, police, standing armies, and intelligence organizations. Together with these agencies, alien ideologies and values (e.g., liberal democracy, individual rights, protection of individual property) were introduced to consolidate and internalize British

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power. At the same time, indigenous sources of legitimate power were systematically being cast aside, though not completely replaced. Gone was the clan as a political/social and economic entity. Instead of familial sources of power, leaders and citizens were bound by social contract and committed to so-called canons of constitutional behavior.54 The institutionalized, standing army was an outgrowth of colonial rule rather than an evolutionary product of African political development. As such, when the traditional foundations for the rightful exercise of power were deformed, distorted, and weakened, the military (and by definition coercion) became the main source of legitimacy and—by definition—symbolized the alienation of the state from society. Military rule by its very nature circumscribes the formal/public realm of governance and reifies the private/informal domain. When the military was not directly involved in regime action (i.e., during civilian rule), the formal (public) domain was suffused with the informal (private), because the precolonial patrimonial structure was never fully replaced, thus, the emergence of neopatrimonial governance and legitimacy. During military rule, however, the formal domain is completely cast aside, as often symbolized by the suspension of the constitution shortly after a military takeover. Perhaps the colonial form of Uganda’s balkanization was the most insidious policy associated with colonialism. Uganda was divided up into several administrative districts, each representing a specific ethnic group. Some districts such as Buganda became the nerve center and instrument of colonial administration while the rest remained subjects to be brought under greater control using Baganda agents, that is, chiefs. The divide and rule dimension of British indirect rule would delay the project of nationhood and pit ethnic groups against each other. By the end of colonial rule Uganda was politically and socially fragmented at two levels. At one level was the clear isolation of Buganda from the rest of the country while at another, none of the other districts viewed themselves as part of a national whole. This partly explains Buganda’s perennial demands for federalism (or federo) and the lukewarm interest that other parts of the country showed in the change. These political cleavages were also used to apportion educational and vocational opportunities. Those in the south—Buganda, in particular—had better access to education than those in the north.55 Based on the so-called martial tribes/races thesis,56 the north became the recruiting ground for the police, army, and prison services—occupations that did not require high levels of skill—in order to fulfill the political and administrative interests of the protectorate government. An ethnoregional dichotomy (a north/south axis) soon emerged alongside the religious cleavages introduced earlier by the missionaries. Finally, colonial rule brought about yet another monumental change. The open exchange of goods and services hitherto overseen by the chief and/or clan elders was replaced by a new institution—the free market. This institution would shatter extended family ties, destroy the economic and political basis of the social justice system, and deprive leaders of one more mechanism of social control. The result was that postcolonial elites resorted to the prebendal use of political office, the civil service, and parastatal organizations as sources of

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patronage to be doled out to potential allies and voters, that is, to those who shared similar religious/ethnic and political orientations. This was the only rational strategy for social control and political support in an environment devoid of more institutionalized and formal structures of political legitimacy. Thus, the seeds of postcolonial, neopatrimonial governance were sown by the colonial state. It was blatantly autocratic because its source of power and legitimacy was external—a function of the British government. As such, it was not faced with the challenge of resolving the tensions borne out of democratic governance. The overriding concern as defined by Whitehall in London was to (a) maintain consensus (competition was not part of the modus operandi, (b) guarantee governability (representation was alien to this system of rule), and (c) promote effectiveness without the need for popular consent. Effectiveness in the colonial era had a specific meaning: maintaining law and order within the regime constructed by the governor general, and providing a stable environment for the transfer of raw materials out of Uganda. Crawford Young (1994) has eloquently described the statist regime-type imposed by the colonial state as modified because it was not as centralized as its postcolonial progenitor.57 Its more specific name—decentralized despotism—was coined by the scholarship of Mahmood Mamdani.58 Mamdani describes British indirect rule as enabling unrestrained colonial power to flow through a cadre of chiefs scattered throughout the Protectorate. In their individual localities, the chiefs accumulated and often exercised inordinate power outside the purview of their colonial masters who looked away as long as colonial interests such as tax collection or natural resource procurement were not at risk. In summary, colonial rule distorted the political, social, and economic institutions indigenous to Ugandan society by imposing its own logic. This fact, coupled with the decentralized despotism of the colonial state, left the postcolonial elite (and society at large) bereft of any experience with democratic governance. But, the fundamental problem was rooted in what became the postcolonial crisis of legitimacy, that is, the tensions born out of the challenge of acquiring and maintaining the right to rule fragmented societies corralled into an unwieldy political entity known as Uganda. The Postcolonial Era (1962 to 1986) The colonial state lives absorbed into the structures of the independent polity.59 Today, Uganda is struggling to pull out of the weaknesses of its colonial projenitor. The single most powerful claim to legitimate authority that the immediate postcolonial leaders could make was linked to their role as nationalists in the struggle for independence. They ran out of this particular form of political capital within ten years. Religioethnic cleavages coupled with neoimperialist forces continued to weaken and fragment the fragile structure of power in Uganda. This, in turn, frustrated any prospects for the establishment of a governance realm. President Milton Obote resorted to coercion as the primary source of power, further devaluing claims to the right and title to rule. Consequently, neither President Obote nor the political

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elites around him could muster the consent necessary to govern. This led to state collapse nine years later during the reign of Idi Amin.60 Against this background, chapter 2 argues that in the postcolonial era the fundamental cause of Uganda’s political crisis was not the suspension of the constitution, the ban on political parties, the abolition of kingdoms, or even the rise of Idi Amin’s military regime, but rather the awkward superimposition of foreign forms of legitimation (e.g., balloting, liberal democratic constitutional arrangements, ideologies, legal/rational bureaucracies, etc.) upon a shattered indigenous structure of power. This so weakened the institutional foundations of the postcolonial state that its governance could not be premised upon democratic forms of legitimacy. Political elites adapted neopatrimonial governance by force of habit and as a matter of pragmatism and survival. But to reiterate, neopatrimonialism is by definition devoid of popular content and is, therefore, merely served to perpetuate the despotism of the colonial state. Secondly, the postcolonial legitimacy crisis was a predicament of change borne out of “the thorny problem of winning the loyalties of the masses to democratic states which [could] do little to meet the utopian objectives set by nationalist movements during the period of colonialism and the transitional struggles to independence” (Lipset 1984: 91). Thirdly, illegitimacy in the postcolonial state grew out of the failure by political elites to transform the character and nature of the state. Therefore, the democratic project in postcolonial Uganda faced two risks: on the one hand the state remained illegitimate while on the other the political leadership ran out of nationalist-based political capital. Chapter 2 is an explication of the political tensions and social strife emanating from these contradictions. The rest of the book critically analyses the efficacy of the political strategies adopted by the NRM (after 1986) in order to restore legitimate authority following state collapse.

V. Reconstruction and Legitimation Legitimacy may prevail within a community based “on devotion to the exceptional sanctity, heroism or exemplary character of an individual person and of the normative patterns of order revealed or ordained by him.”61 This Weberian claim helps explain the initial basis for NRM legitimation, namely, Museveni’s stature as leader and political strategist. Museveni emerged from the bush as a Kenyatta-type, mythic figure who endured years of fighting in the bush in order to bring dictatorship to an end. During the bush war Museveni forged strong relationships with the rural peasantry and working classes that then formed his initial base of support. In chapter 3, as a context for analyzing the early (1986 to 1991) political legitimation and state reconstruction strategies of the NRM government, the points of focus are the history of the Movement as a social, peasant-based liberation organization, and the social origin and personality of President Museveni. These strategies that found expression in the NRM policy blueprint, The Ten Point Progamme, included the formation of a broad-based government, the institutionalization of local councils, the

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introduction of political/military training schools known as mchaka mchaka for the ordinary citizens, his personal zeal for educating the citizenry about political and economic development, and the integration of women into the mainstream of socioeconomic life. But all these strategies assumed a return of security and, above all, the reconstruction of the state itself. These two tasks were also atop the NRM political agenda. Therefore, the first five years of NRM rule were marked by steady improvement in the instrumentalist prerequisite of legitimacy, namely, governmental effectiveness. With the exception of the north relative peace, law and order were restored, reconstruction and repair of feeder roads and telecommunications was underway, and a modicum of personal/individual security was “visible.” Most importantly, the economy was growing and stable. In the long run, it was assumed that effectiveness would lead to restoration of democratic (as opposed to patrimonial) legitimacy, that is, a trend toward citizen identification with the appropriateness of the NRM and the political institutions erected to resolve the key issues that had historically divided Ugandan society. Despite not seeking the people’s mandate, support for the NRM was relatively strong and citizens were able to see clear differences between the NRM and previous administrations. For example, the press was freer and more extensive than in the past, civil society was active and relatively effective, a popular constitutional reform process was underway, and a strong code of military conduct improved the historically contentious civil-military relations. Most importantly, in 1992 the NRM government embarked on the first ever demobilization program in Africa, a program in which 40,000 soldiers would be let go.62 Furthermore, the NRM was beginning to establish between political elites and citizens patterns of shared beliefs and values on matters concerning human rights, HIV/AIDS, poverty alleviation, et cetera. This trend had the potential of reducing the enormous legitimacy deficit in Uganda by promoting reciprocity between state and society. Indeed, external actors such as the United States, Britain, and Sweden together with international financial institutions (IFIs)—World Bank and the International Monetary Fund (IMF)—stipulated these early signs of progress toward legitimate authority and accountability as prerequisites for financial aid provisions. When Museveni launched his Economic Recovery Program (ERP) in 1987—a significant part of his strategy for legitimation and state building—it was funded for the most part by the IMF.63 The all-important task of reconstructing the state in these first five years was taking place along a relatively liberal and democratic trajectory. Legitimate authority was being established by expanding political space, reestablishing respect for the rule of law, trimming the size of the public sector, and enabling civil society activity. Furthermore, early local and national elections helped improve representation, participation, and accountability. An interim legislature—the National Resistance Council (NRC)—was expanded in 1989, thus reestablishing an important branch of government. In short, the foundation for a governance realm was gradually being set.

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Chapter 4 examines the five years between 1991 and 1996. This was a “mixed bag” period. Monumental progress was made in the economic sector and certain important steps were taken along the way toward reconstructing the state. But, at the same time greater political space gave rise to new and old demands and the NRM had to find effective ways of responding to them, but first the successes. Thanks to IMF-induced shock treatment accompanied by concrete economic reform policies, inflation was down, GDP growth was at 5 to 7 percent per annum, and the private sector was expanding, albeit, slowly. The traditional kingdoms were restored, thus further expanding political space and providing new arenas for participation at least among those ethnic groups that sought such forms of expression. The number of private massmedia outlets, for example, radio and T.V. stations, newspapers, et cetera, was rising. No small feat, considering that there was only one radio station and only one T.V. station in 1986, both of which were government-owned. The four-year national process of consultations culminated in the promulgation of the first truly national constitution. A general election was held in 1996, which Museveni won by a landslide and marked the last stage of the NRM’s metamorphosis from guerilla-praetorians to civilian ruling elites. This was clearly the high watermark in the reconstruction of the Ugandan state and the popularity of the NRM. However, the “no-party” Movement system remained in place and was given de jure status in the 1996 constitution. This remained the central source of political contention and the challenge to NRM legitimacy, until the 2005 referendum that changed the political system and made way for multiparty politics. As democratic rule took root, the challenges facing the NRM boiled down to how skillful the leadership would be in balancing the tensions between, for example, popular demands for political competition—unrestricted (i.e., multiparty) politics—and the need for consensus. Furthermore, the regime was being challenged to find a happy medium between popular consent and effective governance. Citizens exerted political pressure to lift the ban on political party activity, to bring transparency in the privatization process, and to curb rising political corruption. In the case of political party activity, the NRM was outright hostile. Choosing consensus and effectiveness President Museveni proposed (in 1992) that political parties be permanently banned. He insisted that parties would perpetuate violence based on religious and ethnic sectarianism. Opposition to this proposal forced a compromise solution in which party activity would be suspended until the year 2000 at which point the issue would be put to a referendum. The controversy, however, continued even after the referendum, that seemed to endorse a continuation of no-party governance.64 Nonetheless, between 1991 and 1996, Museveni kept a tight lid on calls for party politics, largely because there was still room in the Movement for dissenting opinions. Although local and national elections were held under the single umbrella of the NRM, they were competitive and incumbents faced real risks of losing their positions. Moreover, the Movement offered extraordinary opportunities to women and other historically marginalized

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groups. However, the period beyond 1996 would see a gradual closure of political space nationally, particularly within the NRM itself. The 1991 to 1996 period was also marked by impropriety in the divestiture program, a big part of the overall rise in political corruption. As the numbers of the unemployed continued to rise owing to drastic cutbacks in the civil service and the army, corruption swept through all sectors of the government. These developments, some of them induced by IMF prescriptions, were beginning to take a toll on government effectiveness, thus, damaging the support that the NRM had struggled so hard to build in the first five years. The NRM was also faced with several conflicting options, the most important of which was rooted in the question of whether it could maintain its hold on power and still appeal to its traditional support base—mainly the peasantry and the working classes. Under prevailing conditions, the NRM chose to cuddle the reins of power at the expense of rights promotion, transparency, and accountability. This choice would begin compromising important elements in the governance realm, because it was partly precipitated by the consolidation of the neopatrimonial (clientelist) class and its rising influence within the rank and file of the NRM itself. Ipso facto, neopatrimonial legitimacy began competing with the fragile norms of democratic legitimacy: political values that were still in the incubation stage. Shifts in ideological orientation were caused not only by domestic social class pressures, but also by international dictates of the IMF and World Bank through the Structural Adjustment Programs (SAPs). Not surprisingly, the studious adherence to the SAPs meant that the NRM had to compromise its social character. The contradiction between state supported liberal economic orthodoxy and the desire to appeal to ordinary folk finally led to a noticeable but subtle shift in the ruling philosophy of the NRM. This turn of events also caused negative changes in the legitimation process. For example, while the policy of privatization and divestiture was increasing productivity, the beneficiaries (i.e., those with investment capital) were in the minority. This group comprised of foreign entrepreneurs, returning Asian financiers (formerly expelled by Idi Amin), and the traditional patrons of the neopatrimonial class both inside and outside of the NRM. Though the growing and blatant corruption and cronyism involved in the reconstruction of the economic infrastructure were obvious to all, the NRM did little to stop it. In the meantime, unemployment was rising as a result of downsizing of the state and privatization of state enterprises. In the countryside the standard of living was dropping and the cost of living was on the rise. The peasant working-class coalition developed during the days of liberation struggle was beginning to unravel and with it the best opportunity for further NRM legitimation. Also, this had the potential of alienating the state itself from the people. These developments had a serious destabilizing impact on Uganda’s transition to political liberalism because they threatened to circumscribe the emergence of democratic politics. Transition became more and more a function of elite political preferences and, thus “guided from above”—a process that by definition limits the space for popular participation and competition. While this form of transition

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furthered the goal of regime consolidation, the legitimacy of the state itself was still in abeyance albeit not in ways that were obvious to the naked eye. So the 1991 to 1996 period ended on the high note of a Museveni landslide electoral victory that gave the NRM a big majority in the parliament. It was quite apparent that the next five years would entail a tricky balancing act if the legitimacy of the NRM and, most importantly, the state was to be improved. Would the regime be able to sustain effective governance premised on popular consent? Would the NRM desist from imposing a consensus that in the long run would limit competition? In other words, would the Movement relent and create space for party politics? Finally, was the NRM still disciplined enough to prevent a consolidating ethnically western neopatrimonial class from defining its future identity and political agenda? Would a sufficient governance realm prevail to ward off neopatrimonialism as the basis for legitimacy? The distinguishing factor of the 1996 to 2001 five-year period was the NRM’s penchant for centralizing power and using the state apparatus to mobilize society for its (NRM) survival. Chapter 5 elaborates on the claim that beyond 1996, horizontal accountability, that is, the ability of the legislature to check and balance the powers of the executive, began to decline. What started as a very active and independent sixth parliament was quickly brought under the control of the executive branch (in particular, the president), thus indicating the very fluid nature of constitutional governance in Uganda during this particular period. The aforementioned Movement Act symbolized the first serious sign of a co-opted legislature, a conflation of state and regime, and the first clear signs of an emerging supreme executive. The latter was supported by the twin institutions of neopatrimonial rule, namely, presidentalism and clientelism. The use of patronage in exchange for political support increased during this time—another telltale sign of declining democratic legitimacy. Then, the NRM government assumed the role of regional policeman, ostensibly in pursuit of rebel activities in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) and elsewhere. Not only was this a politically costly adventure, but, it siphoned off critical finances allocated for development. The decline in financing development further alienated the peasant/working classes from the NRM because it is these groups that suffered the brunt of privatization in health, education, and other social sectors. In 2000, the referendum on returning Uganda to a multiparty system of government was held. Although the NRM’s no-party position was upheld, the number of those who stayed away and the machinations of the NRM to ensure a “no” vote left very little doubt concerning government’s determination to increase political control. Indeed the democratic transition had been co-opted and was no longer simply guided from above. Political space diminished in tandem with the ascendancy of regime hegemony. The analysis of this shift in NRM rule is the subject of chapter 5. By 2001, institutions of state began to assume the social identity and to pursue the narrow political objectives of the NRM that was now for all intents and purposes no longer a movement but a ruling party—which meant that Uganda was a de facto one-party state. Autonomous civic organization

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was neutralized by the regime that continued to co-opt associational groups as the governance realm narrowed and statism became more pronounced. Inevitably, these changes were accompanied by a steady withdrawal of demonstrable expressions of citizen consent. Indeed, the political violence and manipulation that preceded the 2001 election and the court challenge questioning its outcome is testimony to this claim. The prominence of the military in police work (e.g., Operation Wembley) and the ubiquity of intelligence organizations (e.g., Internal Security Organization (ISO)) further confirmed the expansion of the state into the private realm in pursuit of NRM political ends. After the election of 2001, Uganda entered a formative period during which questions regarding Museveni’s replacement and regime change in general took center stage because constitutionally this was to be his last term in office. Also at stake was the very essence and viability of the democratic transition that would either be thrown into reverse gear or pushed forward depending on whether Museveni would (a) step down after twenty years, (b) enable the reintroduction of multiparty politics, and (c) do all this within constitutional guidelines and limits. Chapter 6 provides a synopsis of the battle for the soul of the democratic process in Uganda. When the Movement was finally forced to lift the ban on political party politics, the overriding concern became one of entrenching Movement hegemony and ensuring Museveni’s rule indefinitely, regardless of what this meant to the institutions of the state and, most notably, to the rule of law. The opposition to this scheme and the determination of the NRM to carry it through crystallized the political contradiction of the five years between 2001 and 2006. Indeed, in dealing with this tension, the NRM unabashedly embraced neopatrimonialism as the preferred choice of governing. As a further sign of the deterioration in democratic legitimacy, money was used to co-opt the parliament, the constitution was manipulated, and the politics of referenda was once again given precedence. All in all, President Museveni got everything he wanted, but not necessarily through popular consent—the referendum to open political space and to allow party politics registered the lowest voter turnout (at 30 percent) in the twenty year reign of the NRM. The low turnout can be explained in two ways. Since the NRM had already endorsed the return to a multiparty system, the referendum was merely a formality mandated by constitutional fiat. Therefore the multipartyists may have shunned the referendum exercise not only because they were assured of getting what they wanted but more importantly because it came with a heavy price tag. The change in political system was accompanied by the repeal of section 105 (a) of the constitution: a section that lifted presidential term limits, thus allowing for a third term (or ekisanja) and possibly a life presidency for Museveni. For Movementists the referendum meant very little considering that the National Executive Committee (NEC) had already endorsed the change to multipartyism and that their man would run again. However, the repeal of the constitution and the prospects for an additional five years to Museveni’s twenty-year reign did not augur well for the legitimacy project in Uganda. The disregard for constitutional limits and

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the manipulation of state institutions hearkened back to the politics of previous regimes. Therefore, the key observation in chapter 6 is the convergence of Pax Musevenica with governance under Obote II. But, of equal significance is the view that some democratic values from the first ten years of NRM rule had taken root, especially among some elite groups. The dissonance between the latter and the rural masses provides one explanation for the NRM’s shift to neopatrimonialism. The conclusion (chapter 7) reconsiders a research question: how should democratic legitimacy be restored following state collapse? Obviously state reconstruction precedes any efforts aimed at reorganizing the basis of power. However, I argue that the establishment of authoritative power is a function of the consolidation strategies that elites adopt. By 1996 the NRM had successfully reconstituted the state as the center of decision making and, with the reconstruction of state capacity, it was beginning to authenticate its right to govern. But, what happened after 1996? The analysis extrapolates the mistakes made by the NRM as it lost democratic legitimacy and took on the mantle of neopatrimonial legitimacy. The generalizations drawn from Uganda’s case and its application to other African states in transition include (a) the nonviability of illiberal democracy, (b) the significance of balancing the contradictions inherent in democratic governance, (c) the tension between neoliberal economic policies and liberal democratic governance, (d) the relationship between strategies of power consolidation and legitimacy to notions of democratic transition and stability, and (e) the dangers of conflating regime priorities with state institutions and of the embedded nature of patrimonial political values among the masses.

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Part 2 Post Colonial Institutions of Hegemony

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2

Continuities in Delegitimation— Postcolonial T yranny and Anarchy (1962 to 1986)

T

o understand the continued delegitimation of state power in the first two decades of Uganda’s postcolonial era, this chapter takes a close look at the structure of power and the complex processes by which political elites assumed positions of authority. These processes became the critical underpinnings of how power was used, for whom, and in whose interests. However, the following factors are important in providing a context for the analysis that follows. First, by its very nature the colonial state could not and did not cultivate a nationally recognized and respected leadership cadre to take over the reigns of power in 1962 when the British departed. Typically, the colonialists only created political space for leaders with a local or ethnic appeal in order to limit the potential for resistance. Second, unlike the events in neighboring Kenya, Uganda’s transition into independence was not preceded by a protracted nationalist struggle with a charismatic revolutionary figure such as Jomo Kenyatta, who could unite the country and forge a new vision. Clearly, Kenyatta’s struggles against the British and his incarceration and final release, inter alia, gave him sufficient legitimacy to effectively exercise power as the first postcolonial president. The same cannot be said of Uganda’s first cohort of postcolonial presidents, namely, Edward Muteesa II (1962 to 1966), Milton Obote (1966 to 1971 and 1980 to 1984), or Idi Amin (1971 to 1979). But, more importantly the absence of a nationalist struggle also denied the Ugandan people a chance to see beyond their ethnic, religious, and regional differences most of which had been disproportionately magnified by colonial state policies. Thus, the first postindependence regime would have to deal with multiple levels of social and political cleavages. Third, the constitutional struggles preceding independence and the constitution that was finally approved left a number of critical questions unanswered. For example, a national consensus was not reached regarding the status of Buganda, which favored separation through federal status and the other kingdom states, and the rest of Uganda. Indeed, because this

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consensus had not been reached, the contradictory position of Edward Muteesa II, who was both King (or Kabaka) of Buganda and Uganda’s first postindependence head of State, was wrought with political challenges—the ramifications of which would dog all postcolonial political elites. Fourth, it is important to recall that the colonial state did not replace the precolonial patrimonial power structure that pervaded politics at the local and regional levels. The so-called modern institutions of the state remained in juxtaposition with the traditional patrimonial ones. The overriding challenge was whether the postcolonial leadership could (or would) initiate and enable a divorce in this unwieldy and undemocratic marriage. Put together, these four factors contributed to a critical absence of legitimizing institutions that are so key to effective governance. Given these circumstances, is it possible that postindependence leaders such as Obote were destined to fail? Could it be that any leader would have found Uganda impossible to govern at this particular time? Was Obote’s leadership style and vision too limited to reverse the conditions inherited from the colonial state and therefore unable to put Uganda on a new course? Or, was it a combination of all these factors?

I. Power Acquisition as a Factor in Delegitimation Firstly, the rise to power of Uganda’s first president and prime minister was characterized by a host of political maneuvers that had more to do with balancing and counterbalancing political/religious groups (with the tacit support of the outgoing colonialists) and less to do with seeking a governance realm or a clear mandate for the exercise of power. Secondly, with exception of Edward Mutesa II, whose support was limited to Buganda to begin with, none of the postcolonial political elites had had the necessary time to develop a broad base of support at the regional, let alone national, level. Since the position of Mutesa II in the immediate postindependence period was very short lived, attention needs to be focused on the circumstances surrounding Milton Obote’s rise to power. The major political parties in Uganda in the 1950s were the Uganda National Congress (UNC), the Democratic Party (DP), and the Progressive Party (PP). In the 1960s, the following parties had gained prominence: the Kabaka Yekka (KY), the DP, and the Uganda Peoples Congress (UPC). Obote formed the latter in 1960 when he led a splinter group from the UNC and united it with the Uganda Peoples Union (UPU). However, he remained one political notable among many—he had to contend with political heavyweights, notably William Nadiope (cofounder of the UPU and king or Kyabazinga of Busoga) and B.K. Kirya (a capitalist farmer politician, also from Busoga), G.S.K. Ibingira from Ankole and C.J. Obwangor from Teso district. With the exception of Ibingira and Obwangor all of these personalities had been prominent in the UPU and could claim solid bases of support independent from Obote. Indeed Obote had risen to a leadership position not

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because of his longer experience in politics, or proven qualities of statesmanship or charismatic characteristics, but simply by chance.1 Thus, Obote’s rise to the helm of the UPC was not preceded by a campaign in the primaries, or competition for party nominations, or heated debates among several competing candidates concerning national issues. It was a process of political expediency. Moreover, the UPC itself was a national confederation of locally powerful political notables competing for control over allocation of state patronage to enhance their local patron-client relationships.2 The result of all this was that individual and, not least of all, party discipline would be hard to achieve. In fact, without party discipline and unity it was very difficult to formulate a solid ideology and initiate other forms of party institutionalization that were critically important if the party was going to effectively lead this new state. Before long, deep ideological rifts developed between the militant nationalism of Party President Obote and his two lieutenants—George Magezi, the first party secretary general, and John Kakonge, the radical socialist who later replaced him. One would have expected, based on the circumstances that led to Obote’s rise to power, that his initial objective would have been to endear himself to the oversized egos of his top party members and, thus consolidate and legitimize his position as party president. Obote would also have been expected to consolidate power and establish a more statesmanlike image by rising above the petty and ideological squabbles heating up in the rank and file of the party. This was not what happened, however. Instead, Obote distanced himself from Secretary General Kakonge, by appointing him Uganda’s permanent representative to the UN. He rejected the appointment and fled to Tanzania for fear of possibly losing his life.3 Ibingira, who replaced Kakonge as secretary general after the 1964 Gulu Delegates Conference, soon fell out with Obote. Two years later (February 1966), Ibingira and five other right wing ministers were arrested during a cabinet meeting and thrown behind bars. Part 3 of this study examines the emergence of these same traits later in Museveni’s government—first, with the alienation of old-time movement stalwarts such as Winnie Byanyima, Miria Matembe, Eriya Kategaya, and Bidandi Ssali. Second, with the flight of former NRM veteran and Museveni physician Kizza Besigye to South Africa via the United States (August 2001), a flight that is reminiscent of Kakonge’s experience. Nonetheless, coming in less than five years of Uganda’s independence, these incidents would become the imprimatur of Obote’s politics. His fortuitous rise to power had left him in a very insecure position and the methods he chose to consolidate power with served instead to undermine his capacity to exercise authoritative power. To understand the grave consequences of Obote’s political tactics, one need only recall that all these political backflips were taking place in the party, and that their impact on the national stage is yet to be assessed. Obote’s rise to national stature was also attained by allying the UPC party with the KY. Thus, the UPC/KY coalition, which had formed to oppose the ascendancy of the Catholic-dominated DP, took charge of the postcolonial

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state without a consensus on political principle or leadership vision. However, in the spirit of keeping the coalition together, the UPC quickly conceded, inter alia,4 the presidency to Buganda’s Kabaka Edward Mutesa II, and the vice presidency to Busoga’s William Nadiope. Obote assumed the position of prime minister. But, as Jorgensen aptly puts it, Neither side [UPC or KY] had any illusions about the permanency of the alliance between republican “socialists” [UPC] and capitalist monarchists [KY]. From the perspective of the UPC, the alliance between it and the KY was necessary to bring the Buganda Kingdom into the postcolonial state, to gain electoral victory over the Democratic Party, and to ensure UPC dominance in the coalition government. (1981:216)

Again, the circumstances of Obote’s rise to power present a clue regarding how he would govern and if he would do so authoritatively. The politics of expediency do not extend much political legitimacy to its architects. As a matter of fact, by 1964 the UPC had no need for the KY. The UPC’s objectives as outlined above had been met and it was time to dissolve the alliance. The breakup of the UPC/KY alliance resulted from a combination of UPC political intrigue and a split within the KY itself. The most devastating blow to the alliance was the dispute over the “lost counties.” Bunyoro’s claim to these counties, namely, Buhekura, Ebuuru, Buruli, Buyaga, and Bugangaizi, had never ceased. The 1962 Uganda (Independence) Order in Council clearly stated that a referendum should be held in those counties at some point before October 9, 1964 to determine whether the counties were to be transferred to Bunyoro, to remain in Buganda, or to become a separate district.5 This was a compromise decision made after the governor had turned down DP President Ben Kiwanuka’s intuitive proposal that the “lost counties” issue be resolved before the 1962 general elections and, more importantly, before independence. Had this proposal been accepted, Uganda’s immediate postindependence history might have been drastically different. However, Obote took advantage of a divided and, thus, weak KY that had lost two prominent members (Joseph Kiwanuka and K. Musazi) to UPC. He dissolved the UPC/KY alliance and set November 4, 1964 as the date for a referendum to decide whether the two counties, Buyaga and Bugangaizi, which had been annexed by Buganda (hence the reference “lost counties”), should be returned to Bunyoro. Both counties voted overwhelmingly to rejoin Bunyoro. The ripple effects of this development have been detailed elsewhere.6 Suffice it to say at this point that Buganda’s attempts to overturn the referendum through the courts did not succeed. When Kabaka Mutesa II, as president of Uganda, refused to sign the bill authorizing the referendum and the subsequent transfer of the counties to Bunyoro in January 1965, Obote signed it. Thus, Buganda lost both land and revenue, not to speak of reputation and status. But, more importantly Buganda’s Parliament or Lukiiko no longer had any political control over Buganda MPs once they got into the Parliament—they now had greater allegiance to Obote. Moreover,

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because the Lukiiko had no power of recall, the mechanism of indirect elections used by the Buganda government to control its representative was rendered null and void.7 Thus, the “lost counties” controversy resulted in several groundbreaking consequences for Uganda’s political development. First, with the loss of parliamentary representation, Buganda’s political position became more precarious. As the postcolonial state was beginning to take shape, the most populous region, that is, Buganda, was becoming more and more isolated. While this development may have been good for Obote and all those interested in advancing the nationalist or republican cause, it resulted in the alienation of the single biggest ethnic group in Uganda. Even with the alliance between progressive Baganda politicians and the UPC, most Baganda remained sympathetic to the Kabaka and highly suspicious of Obote. Buganda would remain the Quebec of Uganda throughout the postcolonial era. In this his first and most important opportunity to manage the aforementioned contradictions in democratic governance, Obote sent a clear signal that his vision of national unity eschewed positive-sum outcomes. In his bid to establish a state-imposed consensus, instead of mediating and staying above the conflicting interests of the day, Obote became entangled in them. In fact, the Buganda crisis discussed below is one such example. The NRM has acceded to the demands (primarily made by Buganda) for reinstating traditional kingdoms but has resisted political pressure for institutionalizing full-fledged federal (referred to locally as federo) system of government. Unlike Obote, Museveni has adopted the strategy of accommodation and representation of Buganda interests and used them to promote his personal political agenda. Having cut Buganda to size, Obote turned inward to deal with the growing conflicts inside the UPC, conflicts that during the years 1964 to 1966 had taken on a more ominous proportion. The ideological alignments and conflicts in the UPC at this time have been brilliantly captured by Jorgensen: In these battles, the conservative faction led by Ibingira, Ochieng and conservative KY “defectors” represented traditional rulers and large-scale landlords. The radical faction—Kakonge, the UPC Youth League (UPCYL) and left-wing trade unionists—claimed to speak for the dispossessed, the unemployed and the labouring poor in rural and urban areas. Obote, Odaka, Onama and Binaisa, a progressive KY defector, led the centre faction representing professionals, aspiring businessmen and trade unionists. (1981:223)

Eventually, the UPC was able to absorb or co-opt the leadership of the radical left and neutralize Kakonge (see above) by orchestrating his ousting from the UPC secretary generalship. Obote then faced two problems both related to power consolidation. First, he felt that Buganda still had too much influence relative to the central government, and second, he still needed to strengthen his own power as a national leader and head of his party. On February 22, 1966, Obote arrested the core of the UPC right wing, namely,

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Grace Ibingira, Dr. E.B.S. Lumu, B.K. Kirya, Mathias Mbalule Ngobi, and George B.K. Magezi. On February 24, 1966, he suspended the independence (i.e., 1962) constitution and with this move he assumed the positions of president and vice president. Mutesa II and Nadiope, the royalist figureheads in the government, were now gone. In April 1966, Obote abrogated the 1962 constitution, replaced it with a provisional one8—until 1967 when a formal republican one was introduced—and then formally declared himself executive president. The Mengo (i.e., Buganda) government was outraged by these unilateral, extraconstitutional decisions by Obote. The Lukiiko declared the suspension of the independence constitution null and void and ordered the central government off Buganda soil, and the Kabaka appealed to the UN to help restore constitutional order. Obote’s response to what he considered a treasonous act by the Kabaka and his government was swift. He ordered several units of the army to attack and occupy the Kabaka’s palace in the Lubiri. These are the events known infamously as the Buganda Crisis. The most important precedent set by these developments was the formal entry of the military into Uganda’s postcolonial politics. From 1966 onward, the military became central to Uganda’s political process and in 1971 it replaced Obote’s civilian government and assumed control of the state. Thus far, we have examined the fluid nature of Uganda’s postcolonial power structure and the means by which political authorities assumed positions of power. The 1966 crisis was clearly a political turning point in the history of Uganda’s postcolonial politics. Political vacuums typically produce political and social turmoil. From the American Civil War to the rise of the haciendado and caudillos in Latin America’s postcolonial period, history points to the fact that political crises are bound to characterize a period of fluid power structures and weak political institutions. Obote’s political circumstances were such that he had to kowtow to the caudillos in the military because his rise to power was vacuous. At no point did he try to garner the level of political support (legitimacy) necessary to balance the social and political tensions extant on the eve of independence or thereafter. Furthermore, there was no serious effort to establish governance realm values such as accountability, authority, or trust. Yet, if Obote’s vision for a new and effective Uganda government was through the lens of republicanism, it was imperative that there be a concerted effort to ameliorate the tension between his overall concern with state effectiveness and popular consent. His complete dismissal of this notion constrained his ability to act as an honest broker between, for instance, the central government and Buganda. But, this difficulty stemmed from the fact that right from the beginning, that is, during the constitutional debates and the final draft of Uganda’s postindependence constitution, Obote did not have the political weight to effectively alter the constitutional course that was charted in London. This also explains the inclusion in the constitution of provisions for a semifederal system that favored Buganda among all the other kingdoms. The 1966 and 1967 constitutions thrust upon Ugandans by Obote did not enjoy popular support, but it is not clear how much legitimacy

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the previous ones commanded either, especially outside Buganda.9 Furthermore, Prime Minister Obote’s weak position led to the inevitability of making space for a president whose loyalty was heavily weighted in favor of another political jurisdiction—Buganda. The struggle for power, both within and without of the UPC, was typical of a political tradition that was shaped by colonial autocracy and that valued religion, ethnicity, and personality as factors determining political participation and representation. There were other circumstances inherited from the colonial state that precipitated conflict. For example, the issue of the “lost counties,” or the fact that at independence the military was predominantly northern in ethnic composition and that it was partly this fact that emboldened Obote to take the military option in 1966. While the argument made above articulates the inevitable challenges of Uganda’s immediate postindependence politics, particularly the dictatorial struggles for control of the postcolonial state led by Obote, it is possible for a leader who comes to power illegitimately to put in place institutions that, over time, bestow legitimacy and, thus, popular support. This process will be amplified in part 3 where the analysis contrasts President Museveni’s power consolidation strategies to those of other postcolonial leaders and exposes his own pitfalls in the later years of NRM rule. What is evident in Obote’s first term is a general disdain for institutions and processes that would broaden his base of support and bridge the ethnic/regional/religious cleavages dividing Ugandan society at the time. Instead of empowering civil society, he sought further centralization of power, and rather than manage opposition he chose to eliminate or forcefully co-opt it through the UPC party. Inevitably a statist regime took the place of the colonial state and because such polities are in the long run ineffective, neither the political elites nor the institutions they erected could claim popular support. The Buganda Crisis is evidence of the contested nature of Obote’s leadership style and ipso facto of the institutions built around it. As challenges to UPC rule mounted, Obote employed the institutions of neopatrimonialism to maintain control. Part 3 assesses the early successes and the reasons why the second phase of Pax Musevenica mirrors the politics of Obote II.

II. The Construction of Despotism The period between 1966 and 1971 marked a steady drift toward dictatorship stemming from Obote’s policies of power centralization. The formal centralization process began with the interim 1966 constitution that Obote presented without allowing debate in the National Assembly or consultating with the people. The primary purpose of this document was to transform Uganda from a federal/semifederal to a unitary state and to eliminate autonomous centers of power, most specifically, Buganda. This policy struck directly at the power of the traditional hierarchy in Buganda.10 Among other things, first, the 1966 constitution barred chiefs from sitting in kingdom legislatures and left this function to political parties (read UPC). Second, the Buganda Civil

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Service Commission was abolished and all powers were assumed by the central government. Third, the Buganda court system and High Court were eliminated and adjudication was now the sole preserve of the central government judiciary. Fourth, the government seized official mailo (freehold) estates, and by so doing undercut any power left to the chiefs whose authority was deeply steeped in their custodianship of land rights. Fifth, constitutional heads of kingdoms and districts were barred from holding public office. Finally, by giving the National Assembly sovereign legislative powers in all matters, the federal division of legislative authority was eliminated. To complete the political castration of Buganda, the central government took over the Kabaka’s palace at Lubiri by force of arms, declared a state of emergency in Buganda, and divided the kingdom into four administrative districts. The Kabaka fled into exile in England. These events, however, were not inevitable. It was conceivable, and in fact likely, that had Obote subjected the issue of unitary government to the Parliament or through referenda, he would have achieved his objectives without raising the profile of the army as the political instrument in domestic politics. He may not have achieved all the sweeping changes at once, but the mark of a shrewd leader is to recognize the prudence of making incremental change. At the very least, good leadership is expected to weigh gradual change against the vagaries of tyranny and destruction. Obote seemed oblivious to these principles. In 1967, a new republican constitution was introduced, abolishing all traditional rulers and local legislatures, but incorporating most of the provisions of the 1966 version. General elections scheduled for 1967 were postponed to 1971. It is to be recalled at this point that by abrogating the 1962 constitution, Obote used the ensuing constitutions to pump more power into the presidency. He was now both head of State and chief executive. Beyond the constitution, the process of centralization took on a life of its own as most civilian institutions of legitimation were downgraded.11 The early shape, character, and identity of the neopatrimonial state in Uganda was now emerging with a blurring of the lines dividing the legal and illegal, formal and informal, rational and irrational. Uganda inherited a professional civil service with an independent Public Civil Service commission responsible for appointments and discipline. Obote withdrew executive power from the commission and the executive branch assumed the latter’s responsibilities. The civil service was soon turned into an institution through which Obote’s lackeys could be rewarded or assuaged— the tribute and prebendal dimension of neopatrimonialism. To qualify for appointment, promotion, or preferred transfers, one had to belong to the party and in most cases declare loyalty to Obote himself. In describing the consequences of this pathology, Karugire (1980: 192–193) opines that when promotion does not depend on proven merit but on other political factors, then intrigues for position and deposition multiply, and this was the case with Obote’s administration in the late 1960s. Unfortunately, this became a common occurrence in all areas of professional life in postcolonial Uganda. Over time, this corruption of power retarded Uganda’s institutional capacity.

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In the area of law enforcement, the colonial state left behind a fairly sound and professional police force. One illustrative example was the Police Ordinance, which was an instrument issued to control assemblies and processions. To invoke this ordinance, police could apply for a permit from a judge but not before the organizers were heard in a court of law. However, by passing the 1965 Police Ordinance (Amendment) Act, the Uganda Parliament, at the behest of the executive branch, empowered the police to stop any assembly or procession without reference to a judge. Just like that, a critical portion of basic civil liberties was chipped away and with it began the erosion of key democratic values. What is even more telling about this facet of despotic rule was the acquiescence of the legislature to the dictatorial propensities of the chief executive. In Mugaju’s (1999) words, parliamentary opposition had long ceased to exist. Open debate and dissent had been silenced.12 The Detention Act was readily available to imprison, without trial, those who opposed the Obote regime. One more example of the steady erosion of individual rights was the Uganda Penal Code, which was amended to include Section 2b, thus, legally negating citizens’ freedom of expression. The penalty for breaking this law was life imprisonment without an option of a fine. In fact, the radio and TV media in Uganda remained government controlled until shortly after the NRM takeover in 1986. The few private newspapers were constantly censored and their editors harassed by so-called sedition laws or those of the state of emergency.13 The final nail in the coffin of civil rights in Uganda was the declaration of a state of emergency throughout Uganda, following the assassination attempt on Obote’s life on December 19, 1969. The state of emergency over Buganda had been in force since May 1966. Thus, the practice of summary suspension of civil liberties and rights as a method of political control became a characteristic trait of postcolonial Uganda and another facet of the neopatrimonial polity. Some of these facets such as compromising the legislature, manipulating the judiciary and violations of individual rights, and harassment of journalists using extrajudicial means have become a mainstay of post–1996 NRM rule. Most recently, for example, the managing editor of the independent daily newspaper The Monitor was charged under section 50 of the Penal Code for having published false news, meaning news stories that were unfavorable to the NRM government. Fortunately the Supreme Court dropped the charges on the paper’s journalists, ruling that the government’s case was not sufficiently strong to impose limitations on freedom of expression.14 In the area of local government, it could be said that Obote’s government not only perpetuated the flaws of the colonial state, but in many cases it also exacerbated them. Once the political parties had gained control of district councils, the latter could not extricate themselves from the divisions that pervaded the parties and the country in general. For example, district council elections were constantly manipulated to favor the ruling UPC party, especially if the winners were from the opposition Catholic-dominated DP.15 Or, district boundaries were redrawn (gerrymandered) to make it easier for the UPC and harder for the DP to win elections.16 In some cases, election laws

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would be altered ex post facto to legalize what would otherwise be illegal procedure.17 Since some of these tactics were done through the courts, this development would eventually undermine the institutionalization and, in the long run, the legitimacy of Uganda’s judiciary, thereby leaving the function of adjudication and the justice system in the hands of the politicians, in particular those in the executive branch. Without proper checks and balances, more and more power was flowing into the executive branch, which in turn compromised the legal/rational dimension of the state. Affairs of state would now be shaped by the informality and individual interests of the politicians, for example, offices of the judiciary would now be used as prebends for rewarding clients. Not unlike the colonial governors of yesteryear, the UPC government continued to make public policy decisions based on ethnic and religious considerations. A few examples will suffice. Whether it was in the area of upgrading public schools or training/promoting teachers, the main criterion was religion, and the Catholic schools and teachers always got the short end of the deal. The Protestants were favored in most cases. The treatment of Muslims was not very different. For instance, in order to drive a wedge between the Muslims, Obote’s cousin and senior cabinet minister, Adoko Nekyon, formed the National Association for the Advancement of Muslims (NAAM) as a counterforce to the already established Uganda Muslim Community (UMC).18 Earlier on (1963 to 1964) Nekyon helped organize the National Union of Youth Organization (NUYO) in order to undercut the left-leaning UPC Youth League (UPCYL). In the NAAM case, Nekyon’s machinations represented what became regular practice, namely, undercutting sections of autonomous civil society. On the other hand, the NUYO phenomenon was an inside job meant to marginalize elements of the UPC party that were not ideologically aligned with those of Obote and his centrist supporters such as Godfrey Binaisa and Felix Onama. Women’s associational groups were also played one against the other—the independent ones were marginalized and the rest co-opted by the state. The “divide and rule” tactics of the colonial state had been inherited carte blanche by the Obote regime but so was the politicization or state co-optation of autonomous segments of civil society. These policies became the building blocks of the statist regime and set the tone and tenor of early postcolonial politics in Uganda. It was, however, the politicization of the Uganda army that sounded the death knell to any prospects for a democratic transition in Uganda. Religious and ethnic divisions, coupled with the breakdown of professionalism across all sectors of Uganda’s governance system, percolated into the army and destroyed its core command structure and discipline. Soon, the army became the most important branch of government. In fact, it became the main source of legitimacy. Obote buttressed the military with units that were responsible and accountable to him, units such as the General Service Unit (GSU). Within the police, an elite paramilitary special force was instituted and was answerable directly to the president’s office. Finally, an omnipresent intelligence network comprised the third pillar of Obote’s political survival matrix. As

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institutional coherence diminished and politics became more personalized, these organs were (as was the civil service) placed in the hands of Obote’s tribesmen and relatives such as Akena Adoko. The emergence of what I shall call “ethnic thickness” in which northerners, especially the Langi, pervaded all sectors of administration and business gained prominence in the emerging neopatrimonial structure of power that was quickly taking root in Uganda. The analysis in part 3 shows that despite his antisectarian rhetoric Museveni has not been successful in overcoming this problem. Ethnic thickness notwithstanding, the political pressure against Obote’s regime was gradually building to a crescendo as more and more of his erstwhile supporters were alienated and cast aside.19 Most importantly, at the same time that his political base of support was diminishing, the economy was beginning to show serious signs of decline. The response from Obote’s government was predictable—he reorganized the state in order for it to play a more active role in the economy, and, just as was the case at the level of politics, centralization of the economy became the new method for restructuring the basis of regime legitimacy. This move would provide state elites with the patronage they needed to maintain political validation from their clients. The economic plan adopted by the regime involved two strategies. The first one was to establish new state corporations (parastatals) and expand and reorganize the old ones created by the colonial state. New state corporations in areas of housing, banking, tourism, dairy farming, et cetera were established. Through these corporations the regime would try to win public support by using the economy as a political instrument. State corporations were used to reward supportive constituents and mollify potential political enemies. In other words, corporations became vehicles by which the new scheme of patrimonial legitimation would be implemented. Through these governmentowned companies, state jobs and resources were doled out to supporters of the regime, thereby reinforcing the patron-client patterns of power and giving institutional support to rent-seeking behavior. These patterns led to waste and inefficiency and subsequently to a decline in the states capacity to deal with social and economic problems. The second strategy came by way of the Second Five-Year Plan (1966/ 1967 to 1970/1971) in which a socialist program was introduced, thus indicating a shift toward greater centralization of state power. Through this five-year plan, the regime announced a “Move to the Left,” a policy that was accompanied by ambitious nationalization measures.20 The details of these presidential initiatives, mostly promulgated in the Common’s Man’s Charter, have been critically examined elsewhere.21 One innovative electoral stipulation that was to be resurrected during the Museveni era was the “one plus three” election proposal. In the name of diminishing subnational ethnic rivalry, Obote mandated that each candidate running for a seat in the National Assembly stand for election in three regional constituencies aside from his/her own.22 Thirty years later, this scheme was reintroduced by the NRM in the form of the Presidential Election Act 2000 sections 9(1)(b)

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and 19(1), these required that each candidate running for Parliament secure one hundred signatures from at least two-thirds of all districts in Uganda. The implications of this will be tackled in the chapters to come. It is instructive at this point to examine the factors behind Obote’s ideological move to the Left. Obote’s professed motive for the move to the Left was to improve the condition of the masses by using state power to break the back of the economic elites (especially the landed gentry) in Uganda. The state would nationalize privately held enterprises and then redistribute wealth to the dispossessed— an attempt to address colonial-based social inequalities. Obote’s basic claim was that this would help his war against poverty, ignorance, and disease. However, a close look at the plan shows that, in fact, it was a populist attempt at window dressing, the objective of which was to strengthen executive power and conflate the UPC party/regime with the teleological functions of the state. Students of Obote’s so called “Move to the Left” have made several insightful observations regarding the contradictions inherent in the strategy and, thus, its weaknesses. Tarsis Kabwegyere, for example, points out that the Common Man’s Charter was antipluralistic. Instead of giving power to the masses, it was yet another strategy for Obote to consolidate state power through centralization.23 Mahmood Mamdani has eloquently described the fallacy of the “Move to the Left”: . . . the expansion of the state sector was identified as the building of socialism and the period of its own formation as that of transition to socialism. But in this petty bourgeois conception socialism was stripped of the class struggle, of its political content, and was set forth as an economic ideology in its static conception. (1976:273)

Furthermore, the message of the documents of the “Move to the Left” challenged the very basis on which most of the people whose duty it was to implement them stood.24 So, it is no wonder that cooperation and constructive criticism at the implementation level were badly lacking. Moreover, in his desperation to do something about his sagging popularity, Obote had not allowed sufficient time to mobilize grassroot support for what was perceived to be a draconian shift in Uganda’s political and social order. Naturally, rather than enhance democratic legitimacy, the strategy met with suspicion and resistance from the propertied class, especially the Buganda section, and skepticism from the workers, the very class that the plan was meant to invigorate. Based on the foregoing, Obote’s last gasp for political oxygen fell far short of what he expected or hoped for. In this environment of uncertainty, a crosssection of Ugandans was willing to appeal or at least to throw their support behind the military for a change in direction. They were helped by the British and Israeli governments (both opposed to Obote’s socialist leanings) that provided Idi Amin with logistical support and promised diplomatic and economic assistance. These factors and the political and economic conditions described above inspired the 1971 military coup that gradually led to a complete disintegration of the state in Uganda.

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By 1971, a strong foundation for despotic rule had been laid down. First, with a statist regime type now quite evident, the government was devoid of the all-important governance realm in which trust, accountability, and reciprocity undergird state-society relations and form the basis of legitimate power or authority. Instead the seeds of presidentialism had been sown with patrimonial legitimacy as the basis of rule. This reality was itself a result of the strategies adapted by Obote for power consolidation. His policies circumscribed notions of representation, political competition, and popular consent. When Obote declared socialism as the official ideology and nationalization of individual property as the policy agenda, it was no longer possible to separate the state from the regime. Moreover, one of the key instruments of state coercion, the military, was now at the heart of the state, not to protect the citizens but to force them into compliance. It did not take long for the military to assert itself as the ruling “party.” In January 1971, General Idi Amin overthrew Obote’s government by coup d’état.

III. Delegitimation and the Decline into Praetorian Rule A praetorian state is by definition a military dictatorship. Under Idi Amin, Uganda represented a personalist praetorian model of despotic tyranny. In this instance, the political system depends on graft and sycophants; it is actually a kleptocracy (government by the ripoff artist)!25 How did Uganda descend into this darkness? The overthrow of Obote marked the end of a quasi-military state and its replacement with a fully militarized political system. Obote’s regime caused irreparable damage to most state institutions, with the steady downgrading of civilian structures of legitimation being the most notable and consequential. The Amin regime simply pushed to a logical conclusion trends already set in motion by Obote—trends that increasingly rendered powerless any political institutions for resolving conflicts.26 Initially, the Idi Amin military coup had significant support and goodwill from the Ugandan people. Based on the outpouring of joy and jubilation on the streets of Kampala and elsewhere, the perception was that Amin had a relatively healthy measure of political capital, enough at least to put forth a constructive program and possibly follow it through. Of course, the celebration was only an indication of the joy that relief from Obote’s dictatorship, in particular his socialist program, brought. However, one notes also that there were several telltale signs of things to come. First, it was quite evident that the post-Obote euphoria was simply that—a sort of drug-induced giddiness that wears off, leaving the victim wallowing in the emotional and physical trauma of withdrawal. There was nothing in Amin’s background that would suggest a concerted commitment to democracy. He did not have the educational background necessary to understand basic economic principles, nor did he have a well-grounded following at the national level. His support in the army was only partial, considering that the institution was split along

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various ethnic and intraethnic lines. As a Muslim, Amin may have been a safe bet owing to his not being a member of the two most influential and deeply divided Christian denominations, but in the matrix of Uganda’s politics this fact would be cancelled out by his ethnic background. To the extent that ethnicity provided the most solid basis of support and an acceptable vehicle for political participation, Amin’s “membership” of the minority kakwa ethnic group left him with a very narrow natural constituency. Finally, the state as an administrative structure had already been compromised by Obote’s thirst for power and the neopatrimonial fallout of a state-based patron-client system. These factors provided a rather ominous future for Uganda despite the initial signs of elation on the faces of Ugandans who poured into the cities by the truckload to celebrate Obote’s demise in January of 1971. Just as was the case with the analysis of Obote’s reign, the Amin regime can be best understood by examining the strategies of power acquisition and consolidation. This seems to allow for deeper review of how power is used, for whom, and in whose interests. Amin’s rise to power constituted a series of events shaped not by his demonstrated capacity to lead, or by a solid following. It was power acquisition by default. Obote had failed miserably and civil society was too weak to prevent the ascendancy of a military junta to power. Uganda’s political institutions had been devastated by Obote, thus, leaving the military as the most well-structured institution and, therefore, the one most able to replace Obote’s government. Indeed, Obote’s politics had transformed the military from a guardian/custodial role to a praetorian-predatory institution that had distinct group interests of its own, a character that had by then been deeply entrenched in politics.27 Thus, if Amin was to succeed, he would have to build a solid base of support beyond the narrow confines of the military establishment. He would have to initiate a comprehensive plan for the country—one that would help restore political legitimacy following the euphoric celebrations of Obote’s exit. Amin, however, was not able to go beyond his initial appointment of a broad-based civilian cabinet. Even with the support of his external sponsors, namely, the British, Americans, and Israelis who poured financial assistance into Uganda soon after the coup, Amin’s regime soon deteriorated into brutal tyranny. Nevertheless, Amin did make an attempt, albeit, short-lived, to garner some support. First, he quickly restored the car loans and annual salary increases that Obote had suspended in 1970. Next he released fifty five (of ninety three) political detainees, including outspoken monarchists and the five cabinet members arrested on the orders of Obote in 1966. Thirdly, he arranged for Buganda’s Kabaka Mutesa, who had died in exile in England, to be buried in a lavish ceremony in Uganda in April 1971. Finally, Amin reversed the undemocratic process of appointed miluka chiefs, thus, allowing the election of these local leaders.28 However, like his predecessors, Amin could not escape the instrumentalist dimension of ethnicity and religion that was used as a building block for support and power consolidation. After all, he was inheriting a political system

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whose institutions were decaying at their very foundations—a legacy of the Obote era. Amin merely hastened this process to its logical end by mere pronouncement. This process set a number of other developments in motion. For example, state violence/coercion became the only tool for maintaining law and order. The military, which had already gained prominence in the Obote government, replaced all the other governance institutions such as the constitution, legislature, et cetera. To intensify the crisis that was Amin’s era, economic productivity steadily declined as the peasantry lost confidence in the state and withdrew from the formal cash economy. All other sectors were transformed into an exchange economy devoid of production. The key task for this study is to examine the antecedents of the steady decline of political legitimacy in Uganda, or perhaps more specifically, the challenges associated with attempts toward developing modern democratic systems of governance. At this stage in the discourse, attention is paid to Amin’s military regime. Emphasis is also placed on the deterioration of the governance structure: neopatrimonial rule declined to patrimonialism writ large. The analysis considers three broad subcategories of this descent into informal and personalistic rule. First, it investigates the militarization of politics and the dynamic by which a praetorian state is established. This political dimension of delegitimation includes the reification of the state in ways that disconnected it from civil society groups, which in their representative capacity are supposed to bestow the rightful exercise of power on a political system. The second subcategory is economic in nature. Amin applied economic instrumentalism to gain regime legitimacy. However, the economic policies he enacted not only marginalized the most productive classes, they also destroyed the institutions and values vital for a functioning economy. Economic mismanagement then led to the third dimension, namely, the social context, which is vital for the state to operate. Under Amin, the state disconnected itself from its social periphery. Its raison d’être lay in the constant application of the tools of coercion, with the military as the core to this malignant form of administration and governance.

IV. The Militarization of the State Amin’s contribution to the collapse of the Ugandan state was the militarization of politics.29 The first sign of this was the rise in military spending in the fiscal year 1971 to 1972 from one-tenth (during Obote’s last full fiscal year) to one-fourth of the state budget. This was a jump from Ug. shs. 170.2 to 565.3 million.30 These hikes in military spending were accompanied by promulgations that decreed that ●

● ●

security officers had the power to use any force (including death) necessary to apprehend those suspected of robbery (Decree 7), all government officials were immune from civil proceedings (Decree 8), and soldiers and prison officers had the right to arrest any one without a warrant (Decree 26).

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These directives were preceded by earlier ones in 1971, during which at least thirty-five decrees were issued. Prominent among them was the February 2 Armed Forces Decree that established a Defense Council, and the Administration and Urban Authorities Decrees that effectively dissolved district, municipal, and town councils.31 Henceforth, the decision-making process became a monopoly of the military establishment. Rule by decree echoing back to the colonial system (which used decrees but called them ordinances) became the substitute for any form of constitutionally based legal framework. In fact, the Parliament was dissolved following the suspension of the executive and legislative sections of the 1967 constitution. Power was then vested in the military-dominated Defense Council as the supreme executive body. By the end of 1972, all pretences of constructing a broad-based government with the institutional capacity for balancing popular consent with government effectiveness, or for responding to domestic demands in ways that would not stifle representation, were lost. As military officers replaced the civilian members of cabinet and managers of parastatals, the technocratic aspect of managing the state apparatus gave way to mediocre, inferior, and inexperienced control. Finally, to ensure military order, Amin’s regime erected the triple pillars of praetorian bureaucratic coercion. The first of these was the State Research Bureau (SRB), responsible for internal intelligence. This was the largest of the three institutions of coercion and was charged with spying on citizens and with interrogating and torturing them. To fulfill its mission the SRB ironically became the only equal opportunity employer, recruiting from all ethnic groups in Uganda in order to cast a wide net of intelligence and counterintelligence all over the country. The other two pillars supporting Amin’s coercive state machine were the Public Safety Unit (PSU) and the Military Police (MP) headquartered in Naguru and Makindye (both suburbs of Kampala), respectively. The irony of Uganda’s crisis was in the name-function mismatch of these institutions. The Public Safety Unit did not provide safety as its name would have us believe, on the contrary it ensured the survival of Amin’s praetorianism by instilling terror in any potential enemy of the state, real or imagined. Instead of upholding the law and protecting citizens from lawbreakers, the military police dismissed the law, burglarized citizens’ homes, robbed them of their possessions, and detained them for the most arcane activities. The institutionalization of these three units was a function of the frequency with which their tactics became routine government policy. As reciprocity between the regime and the people deteriorated, the role of the PSU, MP, and the SRB became prominent. In other words, the decline in the political legitimacy of Amin’s regime could be measured by the increasing ubiquity of the triple pillars of his coercive military machine. Khadiagala has succinctly captured the situation in Uganda at this time: In using force to exact compliance, the Amin regime lost its organizational clarity and functional role as a social manager . . . Relying solely on despotic power became counterproductive since it could not dovetail with any infrastructural

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objectives . . . [it] demonstrated the relapse of [Amin’s] public power into political irresponsibility, the transformation of a pivotal state institution into a source of insecurity. (1995:37)

So while the raison d’être of the central government was premised on the use of as much force as was necessary to sustain the regime, the military and its auxiliary institutions ensured a state of violence in the rural periphery of the state. This cocktail of tyranny and anarchy, not unlike its colonial counterpart, but perhaps worse, would finally bring down Amin as the politics of terror caught up with the disastrous collapse of state and economy.

V. The Political Economy of Despotism The Amin regime presents a classic case study of the relationship between political delegitimation and economic collapse. For Amin, the economy became the instrument by which he could perhaps restore his much depleted political capital. What better way to do this than by adopting an economic nationalist philosophy? Amin declared a so-called Economic War during 1971 and 1972, the policies of which were aimed at returning all the means and sectors of production to Ugandan citizens. One of the most prominent aspects of this policy was the expulsion of Asian entrepreneurs and the redistribution of their properties to Ugandans. Amin insisted that the Africanization of the commercial and distribution systems was long overdue. It was time for Africans to finally end colonialism by putting their economic destiny in their own hands, he declared. Capitalizing on these sentiments, in 1972, Amin ordered the expulsion of all British subjects of Asian origin including Indians, Pakistanis, and Bangladeshis living in Uganda at the time. Needless to say, this policy gave Amin a political boost from Ugandan populists who could not wait to take over the assets the Asians had “abandoned.” These included 5,655 firms, factories, ranches, and agricultural estates as well as homes, cars, and household goods.32 All this euphoria notwithstanding, at the end of the day the beneficiaries from the Asian expulsion were limited to high-ranking military officers, middle class Kakwa bureaucrats, and the state, which nationalized all the buildings formerly owned by the departed Asians and created a state agency—the Departed Asian Custodian Board. This board was charged with doling out the spoils33 from the Asian expulsion. Amin himself distributed about 500 businesses to individual friends and supporters and in so doing continued to strengthen the patron-clientelist aspect of his patrimonial state. The bigger, more complex businesses were allocated to parastatals such as the Uganda Development Corporation (UDC). The UDC, however, was beset by technical incompetence, and personality conflicts that in the end forced the entire enterprise into the ground. The experience of the UDC was common to almost all of the other parastatals in charge of running the departed Asian properties. Inexperience, incompetence, and greed also characterized the individually run businesses. Most importantly, however, in the end, the

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constituencies that Amin sought to woo with his Economic War were left out in the cold. A couple of years after the expulsion of the Asians, the populists and other business people found themselves marginalized by bureaucrats who used the state and with it the economic apparatus to enrich themselves at the expense of all the others and, more critically, at the risk of destroying the very state that facilitated their individual wealth accumulation. These statist entrepreneurs became known as the mafuta mingi, a Kiswahili phrase that when literally translated means “dripping with oil wealth.” The mafuta mingi were a class engaged in institutional rent-seeking—the hoarding of essential commodities, black-marketeering, smuggling, price gouging, and looting of personal assets. As the economy got worse, levels of exploitation by the mafuta mingi also rose. This also contributed to a further alienation of the populace, contrary to Amin’s desire to increase support and legitimacy. The emergence of the mafuta mingi was accompanied by the development of an informal underground economy known as magendo that by the 1980s accounted for as much as two-thirds of Uganda’s monetary GDP.34 This was a black-market economy emanating from the price fixing policies of the Amin regime coupled with the smuggling, hoarding, price gouging, and the accompanying scarcity of goods, particularly essential goods. The magendo economy was also a system of survival. The formal institutions of government, together with the normative foundation for a stable healthy economy, had collapsed. Magendo became the only, but also very brutal and desperate, means of existence, following the retreat of the state from the rural areas and its virtual dysfunction in the urban centers. With the withdrawal of the state from the rural areas, the peasantry gained autonomy and used this newfound independence to operate around and outside the military regime. These economic and political practices and the socalled economic war in general served to further weaken state-society linkages. At this point, neither the regime nor the state could lay claim to the authoritative exercise of power. Amin was left with no alternative but to increase the use of terror and violence as the only instruments of control.

VI. Social Disintegration and the Challenges of Legitimacy The social consequences of Amin’s regime have left generations of Ugandans without the normative structure vital for a normally functioning society. Values such as trust, patience, patriotism, unity, and, most importantly, democracy were effaced by institutionalized violence. Instead, the motto for the majority of Ugandans was “every man for himself and God for us all.” Corruption and cronyism became integral to the culture. Subsequent governments have struggled with the reconstruction and rehabilitation of the value system without which the re-creation of a viable civil society is impossible. Thus, the significance of the analysis that follows.

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To understand the social impact of Amin’s regime, the approach demands a two-pronged investigation, first, into the use of religion, ethnicity, and military credentials as criteria for employment and, later, for the distribution of essential commodities. Second, what social forces did the mafuta mingis as agents of the magendo economy unleash? The analysis of these two broad areas allows for an evaluation and assessment of the process by which the Amin regime depleted the social capital so critically vital for the construction of popular legitimacy. The politics of ethnicity and religion have deep roots in Uganda, hailing back to the early years of missionary work and its colonial ideological orientations. In the postcolonial period the use of ethnicity and religion as political instruments reflected a deep insecurity stemming from narrow social/political bases of support. Early in 1971, thirteen out of the twentytwo high-ranking officers promoted by Idi Amin were from his home region in the northwest of Uganda. The pro-Obote, Langi/Acholi/Iteso officers who dominated the General Service Unit, the Special Forces, and the proObote faction within the army were all eliminated through state-sponsored assassinations between January and July 1971. Survivors, such as Tito Okello (Acholi), and David Oyite Ojok (Langi), escaped into exile in Tanzania.35 State-sponsored murder became a common practice in areas such as the bureaucracy, commercial sectors, parastatals, et cetera. Midway through Amin’s rule, at the height of the magendo economy, religion and ethnic background became the institutionalized criteria for procuring scarce commodities such as sugar, oil, and soap. Scores of Ugandans converted to Islam in order to improve their position in relation to the new system of distribution. For Amin, however, the number of Muslims relative to the Christians remained very small and, likewise, his fellow Kakwa remained the smallest ethnic group. Ali Mazrui is right in arguing that in Uganda only a small minority of Ugandan Muslims are Nubi or Kakwa as were Amin and his chosen few. But, he is wrong in denying the salience of Islam in shaping the structure of power in Amin’s regime (Mazrui: 1975). Amin felt most secure, particularly toward the end of his rule, with Ugandans who shared similar religious and ethnic backgrounds. In political terms, however, this was too small a constituency to sufficiently provide the social capital and political legitimacy necessary to govern even in a semidemocratic way. In the long run, Muslims were associated with the evils of the military regime and this, in turn, magnified the chasm between them and Ugandans of other faiths. Also associated with Amin’s regime was the use of the Kiswahili language, which was popular among the rank and file of the military. But, this relationship prevented the spread of Kiswahili within the civilian population because of the stigma attached to it due to its association with a brutal and murderous military elite. As a result, unlike in neighboring Kenya and Tanzania, in Uganda Kiswahili has not become the lingua franca. This fact has made it even harder to attain unity, facilitate a national discourse, and, most notably, enable a coherent civil society.

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Harkening back to the colonial days, the military attracted the lesseducated Ugandans, leaving the bureaucracy and civil service for the more-educated natives. During Amin’s regime and following Obote’s model, this practice became more pronounced as the uneducated and semi-illiterate, and mostly northwestern Kakwa, were heavily recruited into the military, prison staff, and police forces, creating some sort of lumpen militariat in the armed forces.36 This, coupled with the use of military credentials as prerequisites for both high- and low-profile employment, had the effect of diluting the significance of education as a value. Not only did the magendo economy deprive the citizens of the financial wherewithal to afford education, but also people, the youth in particular, saw no value in going to school when education did not promise a good job and when the mafuta mingi, to whom they aspired, were the least educated. In the 1970s, yesterday’s muyaye (plural bayaye) or petty thief could be tomorrow’s mafuta mingi if he/she happened to get a quick, lucrative deal, itself often gleaned from the state. Furthermore, the magendo phenomenon prevented the development of a fully constituted, legally sound, and self-sustaining middle class in Uganda. The participants in this economy were fully aware that their ill-gotten wealth could disappear in a day, because there was no firm foundation in this transitory mode of exchange. Even those businesses accustomed to longterm investment and astute utilizations of the means of production reverted to magendoism for fear that some powerful military officer could, as was common practice, take over what had taken so long to construct. Out of all this was born a morality (or immorality) of what could be called predatory individualism driven by a “survival of the fittest” mentality. Under these circumstances, the evolution and development of a middle class capable of stabilizing politics and sustaining economic productivity could not take place. As a class the mafuta mingi had no existence independent of the state. Ironically, the activities of this class undermined the very institution (i.e., the state) that was its lifeline. Therefore, with regard to political legitimacy—or more specifically democratic legitimacy—the failure to support a sound middle class exacerbated the illegitimacy of the Amin regime because the character and nature of the mafuta mingi could not enable the state to supply consensus for the exercise of its power in securing resources from society.37 For the state to do this, it would have had to resuscitate its regulative and penetrative capacity and this was anathema to the very raison d’être of the mafuta mingi of which it was a part. The reconstruction of infrastructure was not the greatest challenge to the Museveni administration, it was rather the reconstitution of the social value system necessary to promote a socially conscious civil society. The destruction of moral rectitude has earned Uganda the ignominious reputation of being one of the most corrupt countries in Africa. Government attempts to address this malady have been met with resistance from a population that has internalized corruption as morally acceptable or instrumentally profitable.38 As noted in chapter 6, Museveni’s government itself (especially in its latter

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tenure) has not escaped the trappings of corruption identified with all neopatrimonial systems of governance.

VII. Obote II: Lessons Not Learned Following the fall of Idi Amin in 1979, a series of leaders from Lule to Binaisa and, then, finally to Milton Obote tried their luck at rebuilding the state without much success. The main proposition is that at the root of the failure in state reconstruction was the continuing deficiency in democratic legitimacy. Since the interim governments of Lule and Binaisa were too brief to form a basis for political analysis, focus here will be limited to Obote’s second presidential term (which in this volume will be referred to as Obote II). Obote rose to power in 1980 by way of a botched election. This very fact, which was itself a consequence of failure to muster broad popular support, seems to have forecast the character of Obote’s government between 1980 and 1984. The illegitimacy of the 1980 election and, therefore, of Obote’s power was soon thereafter exposed by the emergence of a strong guerilla opposition mounted by what would become the NRA/M. Thus, not unlike his first term, Obote’s second term presented unique challenges to democratic governance. In his analysis of the illegitimate government of Obote, Khadiagala argues that Obote had again to resort to segments within the military to subdue a growing opposition. As before, despotic power used without infrastructural power confirmed the vulnerability of state managers and, at most, emboldened opposition factions. (1995:38)

Right from the start, Obote had to wrestle with an economy that had one leg in the grave and the other in intensive care. The state was hobbling along under the weight of the magendo economy and its accompanying moral and ethical malaise. Social cleavages between town and country, between Christians and Muslims, and between haves and have-nots left very limited room for national unity. The chasm between northerners and southerners represented another political fault line. All told, the political culture was too distorted to support a democratic civil society, but equally important was the fact that the policies of Obote II restricted the emergence of an effective civil society. To add to this mix, the political parties of old were reintroduced to contest the 1980 elections, thus, creating new political and social fault lines. There were several credible reports confirming claims of election fraud and rigging carried out with the express intention of ensuring victory for Obote’s UPC party.39 Indeed, it was in response to the contested nature of the 1980 elections that Obote’s Minister of Defense Yoweri Museveni abandoned the government to launch a rebel opposition that would lead to the ouster of Obote in 1986. What, then, could any post-Amin government do, to restore the rule of law, democratic legitimacy, accountability, and economic productivity? Success in these three areas would at least restore the instrumentalist prerequisite of legitimacy, namely, state effectiveness.

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First, with respect to the economy, Obote’s 1981 budget speech announced the following policies in order to correct state-imposed economic distortions and to end the black market: ● ●

●

The shilling was allowed to float in order to wipe out arbitrary profits. Administered profits were removed from all consumer goods except petrol, to permit prices of state-owned commodities to rise to their market value. Prices paid to growers for export commodities were raised and border patrols were reinforced to reduce coffee smuggling and to encourage production of other export crops, and in 1982, a “second window” for purchasing (by auction) foreign exchange for business purposes was opened, this was an effort to break the black market in currency that had survived the float.40

These policies helped stem the intensity of coffee smuggling and the foreign exchange black market known locally as kibanda. However, state prices for cash crops remained fairly low relative to what farmers were paid by the mafuta mingi. Furthermore, the state apparatus was still unable to protect the peasant from the violence of the mafuta mingi that, as Kasfir has argued, could still seize agricultural produce with impunity, thus, creating an opportunity for primitive accumulation outside and independent of the state (1983:97). It is quite possible, also, that mafuta mingi funds ended up supporting UPC campaigns, thus, compromising the ability of the government to act as honest broker between state and society. As Obote’s second tenure wore on, the above-mentioned policy achievements were weakened by rampant corruption, mostly among agents of the state entrusted to realize financial commitments to the war against rebel insurgencies. By 1985, inflation was out of control, unemployment high, and foreign investment was declining. As the economy worsened and the Museveni-led rebel attacks intensified, Obote’s attempts to restore the institutional logic of the state began to wane and so did the chances of reconstituting viable sources of legitimacy. Following the elections of 1980 (rigging notwithstanding), and the seating of a new Parliament, the procedural aspect of democracy was somewhat completed. It still remained to be seen whether the substantive aspect of democracy would be achieved, that is, whether democratic politics would be the end result of the elections. First, as mentioned above, Obote had the difficult task of winning popular support not only because of perceptions of electoral fraud but also because of the poor record of his first tenure as president. The bungled elections further weakened his claims to legitimacy and forced him to concentrate power in a few trusted supporters. Secondly, it became increasingly difficult to separate the UPC regime from the state. Yet, the post-Amin UPC party was a weakened party, in fact, a shadow of its old self.41 It was not only split along several political and ethnic factions, but it was also facing a stronger and resurgent Democratic Party (DP) and a highly politicized military with representatives in the Parliament. UPC MPs were beholden to the members of the executive branch, specifically to President Obote personally. The president had control over the party, the executive

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branch, and a very politicized military. The UPC was too weak internally to perform the functions of mass mobilization, interest aggregation, and provider of viable policy alternatives. Under these circumstances state-society relations were so constrained as to block the emergence of a governance realm. Values of trust, reciprocity, accountability, and authority were all linked to party loyalty or to personal relations with the president and other high-ranking party/government political elites. Limitations on political space precluded the expected activities of opposition parties, civil society, and particularly the media. The peasantry once again exited the formal economy, resorting instead to smuggling, trading in local foodstuff, or simply subsistence agriculture. As the prospects for establishing a governance realm dwindled, the ensuing legitimacy deficit was only reinforced by the emergence of a fortified statist regime type and a neopatrimonial state. Obote could not extricate himself (as alluded to by Khadiagala above) from the forces that had been central to his political resurrection, namely, the Uganda National Liberation Front and its military wing, the Uganda National Liberation Army (UNLA). He used them in his futile attempts to restore law and order. Not only did influential elements in these bodies pave the way for Obote’s political fortunes, but they also threw their support behind the political parties, particularly the UPC. In this process, two crucial developments emerged: the militarization of politics on the one hand and the politicization of the military, on the other. The result of this syndrome was that interests peculiar to the military would be taken care of by military representatives, and military representation would also enable the army to participate in the decision-making processes in top civilian organs.42 The military, therefore, became increasingly central not only in maintaining law and order, as had been the case in Obote’s first government, but also in administration. The reinstitutionalization of the General Service Unit and other intelligence organs perfected the structure of coercion without which Obote could not maintain control. The military, together with the political elites, formed a strong alliance that used the state as a conduit for the delivery of patronage to select groups of clients. This form of patrimonial legitimacy sealed any hopes of a transition to democracy in Uganda. Ironically, Obote allowed the ethnic factor (a policy responsible for his downfall in his first term) to undermine the coherence of the military and its capacity to keep the peace and defend the nation. This is because he once again sought to purge the army of the Acholi elements while elevating his fellow Langis—a sign that even in the military, support for him was narrow and, in fact, tenuous. In the spirit of this policy, Obote’s commanders disproportionately deployed the Acholis to the frontline to face a strengthened guerilla force in the name of the National Resistance Army (NRA).43 So, while Obote relied on the army to maintain order by rounding up, torturing, detaining, and terrorizing suspected citizens in several urban centers, his policy of ethnic cleansing within the military seemed to undermine the very institution he needed to gain legitimacy, if not control. It was, indeed, the victims of this ethnic cleansing, the Acholi army officers, who led a coup that toppled Obote for the second time.

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The opportunity for the restoration of democratic legitimacy had once again eluded Ugandans. Those who found themselves marginalized from the state either fled into exile or joined Museveni and his NRA. The wanton killing of innocent citizens escalated in proportion to the strength and vibrancy of the rebel NRA, particularly in the Luwero triangle. But, before the NRA could overthrow Obote, the end came from within the ranks of his own army.

VIII. Conclusion: Assessing the Challenges of Political Legitimation The key factor underlying postcolonial despotism is the failure of the respective governments to fundamentally alter the colonial structure of power. From Obote I to Obote II, force and violence constituted the core instruments of governance and control just as had been the case in colonial days—though perhaps in more extreme ways. Very little was done in terms of constructing a governance realm. In other words, political elites were either unable or unwilling (most likely the latter) to build institutions that restrain state power, promote trust and accountability, and maintain reciprocal state-society relationships. Without a governance realm it is hardly possible to sustain popular support and legitimacy, and without the latter, elites relied exclusively on the coercive dimension of the state. Secondly, the growing legitimacy deficit undermined the leadership necessary to balance the tensions (contradictions) inherent to democratic transformation. For example, Obote’s (and Amin’s) power consolidation strategies precluded him from rising above conflicting social and political interests. Instead, his government was held hostage and was forced to rely on state coercion, thus compromising the potential for competitive/representative politics. These facts are related to the third observation: Obote took an effective, albeit illegitimate, postcolonial state apparatus and rendered it ineffective. The state as inherited by the postcolonial elites was effective as a normative and practical expression of colonial interests, which is why it was illegitimate in the eyes of most Ugandans. Prudent and visionary leadership could have legitimized the state by transforming it into an effectual instrument for dealing with prevailing social and political problems and for maintaining order and justice. However, in his first tenure as president, Obote rolled back most autonomous centers of power at the local and national level, abolished traditional kingdoms, and abrogated the 1962 federalist constitution. He deprofessionalized the civil service and police force, neutralized the judiciary, politicized the military, circumscribed civil society, and centralized economic activity through the nationalization program. In fact, the Common Man’s Charter represented the maturation of the statist regime type, indicating closure of political space and the ascendancy of presidentialism. Obote could not reverse this state of affairs in his second tenure, especially after the trauma of Amin’s autocratic regime—this explains why he was again forced out of office by military coup.

Part 3 Pax Musevenica and Executive Supremacy

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Reconstructing the State: C hallenges of Legitimacy and Power Consolidation

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etween 1986 and 1991, the political situation in Uganda improved markedly, compared to the desperate conditions that characterized the pre1986 period. Despite the insurgencies in the north, much of the country was in a mood of political and infrastructural rehabilitation coupled with an economic renaissance. This mood grew out of a fresh political outlook in civilmilitary relations based on what appeared to be a new brand of political (NRM) and military (NRA) elites and an emerging progressive ideological orientation. The new military elites were under a strict code of conduct, to which they adhered very well—at least in ways that were qualitatively different from those of past armies in Uganda. The initial policy outcomes of the NRM government (security, economic growth, popular democracy, etc.) became an important springboard from which the NRM could claim some measure of popular consent, despite not having called for presidential elections. Whereas the authority of the NRM had initially been questionable, given their unconstitutional ascent to power, successful “introductory” programs (coupled with early local elections in 1989) did translate into a normative template for the rightful exercise of power. This was the starting point in answering the question raised at the beginning of this study, namely, how a new government authenticates its right to govern, having risen to power through extraconstitutional means and having vanquished a despotic regime such as Obote’s in 1986. The analysis in later chapters considers the challenges of nurturing and consolidating these policies, particularly those formulated after 1996; in the early years, however, there was clear evidence of state capacity reconstruction. Furthermore, the progress made in the social and economic sectors promised a healthy, reciprocal relationship between state and society, a relationship that formed the basis for establishing a governance realm. This trend had the potential to further strengthen the authority of the NRM, consolidate its power, and resuscitate the sovereign identity of the state. This chapter illuminates the cogency of these developments by examining the NRM political decisions, choices, and programs that formed the foundation for the first

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phase of Pax Musevenica. They include the introduction of Local Councils (LCs) as tools for grassroots popular democracy, the institutionalization of what has been dubbed “movement” democracy, the recruitment of women into mainstream politics, restoration of security and stability, the 1989 elections, the resuscitation of the economy, the initiation of a constitutional reform process, and the development of a legitimizing political discourse. Secondly, it tackles the equally important issue of the sociopolitical context from which these choices emanated, most notably the social and political basis of the NRM bush struggle. The underpinnings of these strategies, however, can be traced from the social context of Museveni’s vision, personality, and leadership under the NRM.

I. The Social Basis of Museveni’s Political Vision Uganda’s post-1986 political fortunes and mishaps cannot be understood without extrapolating the social background of Museveni’s leadership vision. Museveni is a peasant/warrior, but education sets him apart from his warrior/soldier predecessor—Idi Amin.1 This self-proclaimed nationalist hails from a cattle-rearing people in southwest Uganda. As a herdboy, in his youth Museveni witnessed the injustices of both the colonial and postcolonial state with regard to issues of land tenure and land ownership. His people were often evicted from their grazing lands by the government, without being given compensation, and for a cattle-rearing community, grazing land was central to life. His peasant-based, cattle-rearing background gave Museveni a critical understanding of the rural masses and their mode of production. He acknowledges their weaknesses (i.e., political immaturity and economic backwardness) and, yet, feels the need to empower them through political and economic liberation. Unlike Obote who sought to “liberate” the so-called common man by making him more dependent on an extended state, Museveni’s initial vision was to localize and place decision making in the hands of the peasants through the LC system. The state’s role would be to provide the (infra) structures for wealth accumulation. So his plan was to repair roads, instal telecommunication systems, et cetera, in order to help peasants get their produce to the market. In his legendary folksy style, he encouraged the peasantry to kulembeka, a luganda word used to describe the process of trapping rain water from the rooftops. Museveni reasoned that rain was free water only if the people trapped (kulemkeka) it from their roofs. Likewise, economic prosperity was accessible to all only if they took advantage of the infrastructure put at their disposal by government. The kulembeka metaphor is rooted in the social and material conditions of the peasantry, but it is equally important in defining Museveni’s early views concerning the role of the state vis-à-vis society. For Museveni, this liberal ideology, partly a product of his western education (and partly dictated by international financial institutions), was the ideal for empowering and liberating what he often refers to as “my people.” It also shaped his early political vision and became

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the underpinning to national policy initiatives such as Entandikwa (or seed money for starting a business), decentralization, civil service reform, privatization, and, more recently, Uganda’s participation in the African Growth and Opportunity Act (AGOA) trade with the United States. Museveni’s parents had no formal education. But, his mother’s strict Christian beliefs coupled with his fathers pragmatic worldview and a traditional sense of justice and tolerance led to what Michael Twaddle has termed Museveni’s “secularized Puritanism,” a reference to his obsession with logic, sang froid, control, and discipline.2 These attributes became (and have continued to be) very important to Museveni’s politics and rhetoric. Take, for example, his disdain for sectarianism. In his swearing-in speech, Museveni’s logic makes the answer to a complex question self-evident: Take the road from here, Parliament Buildings, to Republic House. This road is so bad that if a pregnant woman travels on it, I am sure she will have a miscarriage! Now, does that road harm only Catholics and spare Protestants? Is it a bad road only for Moslems and not for Christians, or for Acholis and not for Baganda? That road is bad and it is bad for everyone. All the users of that road should have one common aspiration: to have it repaired.3

His decision to attend University of Dar es Salaam, a hotbed of socialist and Marxist political paradigms, further strengthened Museveni’s Weltanschauung or worldview and convinced him of a need for a fundamental transformation of both the socioeconomic structure of the peasantry and the peasants’ consciousness of it. Drawing from his social roots, Museveni makes the observation that African societies are precapitalist (and in a sense patrimonial) based on identity rather than rationality and are, therefore, vulnerable to local or international elite manipulation. Because of these characteristics he argues that peasant ideology is still guided by an insidious form of superstition that limits entrepreneurial capacities, thus, perpetuating backwardness.4 Out of this thinking emerges Museveni’s opposition to political parties in general and multiparty democracy in particular. He reasoned that Uganda’s political history was replete with examples of political parties that served as conduits through which parochial, ethnic, and religious interests have subsumed national priorities. They have perverted the development of national unity and consciousness, thus, undermining the roots of a modern economic system. Indeed, his reasoning is that superstition, sectarianism, and the absence of a capitalist class have slowed the development of modern productive forces and left the peasantry open to the machinations of uncouth, irresponsible political party elites. In order to deal with these pathologies, Museveni advocated and implemented what has come to be known as “movement” or “no-party” democracy (Nelson Kasfir 2000). This explains his Johnny-come-lately advocacy for multiparty politics. Nonetheless, when Museveni announced his desire to bring about “fundamental change” on January 29, 1986, he meant not only restructuring society but also changing the political culture of Uganda’s political elite. He campaigned for a shift from, in his words, the cheap, backward, and myopic

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forms of leadership to principled, disciplined, and scientific management of the state (Museveni 1997, 2000). In practical terms, Museveni exhorted NRM leaders to mobilize and educate the masses, which explains why he personally went around the country teaching, lecturing, and debating issues pertinent to his political vision and philosophy (Museveni 1997, 2000). This form of communication earned President Museveni the label of democratic populist because it blends well with the local cultures in which consultation and talks between leader and the citizens is widely accepted and is, therefore, legitimizing.5 Indeed, much of Museveni’s early popularity hinged on his virtuosity in combining paternalistic and populist elements in his leadership style.6 The charismatic authority flowing from these elements has allowed Museveni to inspire, inter alia, local community development projects and volunteerism, especially by LC committees and Local Defense Units (LDUs) that complemented national law enforcement and security units. Museveni’s leadership style appeared to reflect an intimate acquaintance with the everyday life and experiences of the masses. To ignore this background is to miss an important trajectory in the growth of his thinking and leadership, both as a guerilla fighter from a peasant background and as president of Uganda since 1986. Indeed, much of what sets Museveni apart from his predecessors is rooted in the particularities of his social background. Some have argued that Museveni was never an ally of the peasant/working classes, but a good political tactician.7 Be that as it may, Museveni’s social roots cannot be divorced from the character, nature, and outcome of the bush war or from the political vision he projected after assuming state power—these form the normative foundation for the early period of Pax Musevenica. Indeed once in government, these same political values became the springboard from which he would launch sweeping changes to the political, social, and economic landscape of Uganda. What were the challenges that redirected Museveni’s vision for Uganda? What political choices did his leadership make, and why? Which ones were imposed on him? What were the missed opportunities during this very pivotal moment in Uganda’s history? And central to this study, how much democratic legitimacy did the NRM gain and to what extent was it used to further state institutionalization?

II. The Social Roots of the NRM When Museveni left for the bush in 1981, as he had promised he would if the previous year’s elections were rigged, Uganda was in the grip of Obote’s second dictatorship. The decision not to organize a possible coup against the now newly formed government of Obote was critical in shaping the future of the Museveni revolution. The success of a possible coup against Obote was in doubt, considering that over 1000 Tanzanian soldiers were still in Uganda following the overthrow of Idi Amin. The other alternative was to appeal to the international community to annul the election results, but foreign election observers had already declared the elections “free and fair,” thus, lending the all-important external legitimacy to the outcome of the polls.

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The third alternative would have been to wage an urban campaign using assassinations of ruling elites and the destruction of state institutions as the main methods of opposition. Museveni rejected all of these options, favoring instead the more protracted and arduous process of launching a grassroot, peasant-based guerilla war. Not only would this option mobilize the support of peasant/working classes, but it would also ultimately lead to the Movement uprooting the elites and institutions of neopatrimonial governance. This decision was initially important in shaping the dynamic and ideological orientation of the Movement because the latter was freed of external obligations. Peasant- and working-class participation would provide the strongest foundation both for the revolution and for the post-Obote system of government, especially at the local level. The first and critical component of Museveni’s revolution was the institutionalization of a force that would impose military resistance to the Obote regime. Museveni started with a military “force” of twenty-six men and hardly any ammunition. The February 8, 1981, attack on Kabamba Military Training Wing would be the first of many such raids on military installations inside Uganda.8 Since the expected consignment of arms from foreign sources did not materialize, these raids were absolutely vital (as weapons supply sources) for an internal, incipient guerilla force. But, more importantly, during this initial phase, Museveni was faced with two challenges, namely, to be self-reliant in weapons acquisition and to find and train recruits for his embryonic army. Furthermore, Museveni was determined not to repeat the mistakes of both the colonial and the previous postcolonial states in their policies of recruiting, training, and disciplining their militaries. Thus, the recruitment, partly out of necessity and partly out of a conscious decision, targeted both men and women—it sought to close the traditional gender gap in the military. The training of recruits included not only military discipline and know-how, but most importantly political education as well. While peasants involved in actual combat received more advanced training, the noncombatants underwent military training involving drills and gunhandling. Also included in the training courses were military songs, physical exercises, and group dynamics and cohesion. But the popularity of these courses rested on the NRM rationale, namely, that such preparations would enable Ugandans to defend themselves in the event of a return to statedirected tyranny.9 And, in Buganda, in particular, this claim was poignant considering Obote’s systematic slaughter of innocent citizens in the Luwero triangle from 1981 to 1984, for which his wife, Miria Obote, would later apologize. Turning now to political education, the “curriculum” consisted of “daily lectures on topics such as African and Ugandan history, colonialism, law and justice, democracy, the practicalities of the LC system (to be discussed below), civic rights and responsibilities, women’s rights and economic development.”10 These courses (known locally as mchaka mchaka) were very popular because there was consensus among the peasantry that the acquired knowledge would cure the “political immaturity” prevalent among the rural

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majority.11 The fact that this way of thinking among the rural masses fit perfectly with Museveni’s paternalism contributed to his legitimacy early on, this was because the training (and the concomitant LC system) was seen as a democratization program that ran with the grain of local political culture rather than against it.12 It was out of these mutations that the NRM/A was able to construct a social foundation upon which the basic political thrust of the anti-Obote movement would manifest, flourish, and lead to regime change. Even though mchaka mchaka programs later became propagandistic tools by which the NRM sought to exert state hegemony, in the beginning they were effective instruments for establishing badly needed regime legitimacy. Because such programs were unprecedented, NRM elites were able to distinguish themselves from previous regimes by strengthening their claims to fundamental change. But more importantly, by enabling ordinary Ugandan peasants to defend themselves against state tyranny, the NRM gained credibility and trust while improving values-based reciprocity between state and society. It is from these early strategies that a governance realm would begin to emerge during this early period of power consolidation. Museveni inculcated a new culture and ideology built around respect for civic virtue and the rights that flow from it. With these principles in place, the initial force of twenty-six individuals gradually expanded to include the mostly disenfranchised and alienated peasants and workers in the Buganda region that was later to be known as the Luwero Triangle. The latter became the geographic nucleus of Museveni’s guerilla movement. The NRA itself was an amalgamation of Museveni’s initial organization, the Popular Resistance Army (PRA), which was mostly made up of the Banyankore and the Baganda–dominated Uganda Freedom Fighters (UFF) led by Professor Yusuf Lule. This measure was undertaken to begin the construction of a nonsectarian military force in contrast to previous postcolonial armies that were dominated by northern ethnic groups. The institutionalization of a gender neutral and ethnically balanced military was a key decision not only in legitimizing the army, but also in turning it into an instrument for improving civil-military relations. This latter objective would become a key factor in the success of the guerilla struggle itself. The second component of Museveni’s revolution concerns the process of creating a political system that would work in tandem with the new military force. The rationale was that the opposition to Obote would include a political front, or, in the words of Museveni’s close associate, an organization of the people for managing their own affairs, to replace the state apparatus of the oppressor regime. The equivalent of these in the Ugandan case are the Resistance Councils (RCs), that were first formed in the crumbling enemy administration, to fill the vacuum thus created and to mobilize the masses to carry the struggle forward . . . it initiated the dismantling of the sociopolitical structures left behind by the colonialists, while popularizing politics by absorbing the ordinary masses of the people of Uganda into the political arena. The process . . . was thus at once anti-imperialist and democratic—in short a national democratic revolution.13

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The creation of LCs was one of the most politically prudent initiative of the guerilla struggle. LCs were also an outgrowth of the social roots of the NRM. By 1986, when Museveni took over power, the NRM-controlled part of the country was already organized on the basis of the LC structure, which was the core grassroot political system. The LC system was, then, systematically extended into other parts of Uganda, thus, avoiding long periods of time during which the absence of an administrative institution would have led to political instability and possibly anarchy. The legitimacy of the revolution was strengthened by a heightened mass awareness of political empowerment that was also facilitated by the LC system. This was in sharp contrast to the decentralized despotism of the colonial and previous postcolonial regimes, which concentrated power in the central government under the guise of a decentralized administrative structure.14 This form of political organization (amidst a guerilla war) was unprecedented in Africa.15 The system was unique in Uganda’s political history. First, it sidestepped political parties and instead recognized and promoted individual merit, empowerment of the people (both women and men) in their localities, and popular grassroot democracy. The second and most important characteristic of the LC system is best described by its chief architect: The Resistance Council system started at village level, known as RC1. All the people of a village, that is the electors, formed a Resistance Council from which they elected their committee of nine, to run the local affairs of the village on a day-to-day basis. Each member of the committee had a specific field of duty. In the beginning we did not use a secret ballot for these local RC elections, we just asked people to line up behind the candidates of their choice . . . Above the RC1 came the Parish Resistance Council, RC2. All the committees of nine from all the villages in a parish formed the RC2 Resistance Council, and it was from this council that the RC2 Resistance Committee was elected. The system was replicated through the sub-county, RC3, level, to the county, RC4 and on to the district, RC5, level. Under the new Constitution these Resistance Councils have been renamed, and are now Local Councils (LCs) 1–5.16

The fact that the LC system pre-dated the capture of state power was significant in that the core principles (i.e., open, transparent, and undisputed elections) were continued following the capture of power in 1986. This aspect of popular participation was particularly effective in empowering the grassroots and, thus, breathing badly needed legitimacy into the fragile NRM government. An analysis of the political implications of the LC system, especially the limits on popular participation at levels above LC1, follows later. The ongoing discussion underscores some key NRM strategies that helped set the stage for the routinization and institutionalization of authority in postcolonial Uganda. In summary, while the LC system and the construction of a peoples’ army were the two most visible political innovations of the fiveyear guerilla war, the two institutions cannot be divorced from the populism of Museveni’s politics and the Movement’s social philosophy. There were,

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however, two less-visible but key principles that set the agenda for NRM rule: ● The first was the introduction of a new ideology. Since guerilla warfare requires a unified fighting force in order to be successful, it was incumbent on Museveni to create a philosophical and political set of ideals around which the different opposition groups would be united. The unification of the PRA and UFF helped strengthen the movement not only in terms of numbers, but also in terms of dissolving the aforementioned ethnic rift. Also embedded in the PRA/UFF merger was a deep ideological cleavage between the progressive, left of center PRA, and the conservative UFF. The reconciliation of this split allowed the Movement to acquire a strong social base of popular support. The NRM did this by invoking a new nationalist doctrine that was quite different from its colonial predecessor. While the latter was merely anticolonialist, Museveni’s vision was rooted in creating a political movement for a genuine reconstruction of Uganda’s political and social institutions. The PRA/UFF merger (and the birth of the NRM) was symptomatic of the desire to move beyond the ideological/ethnic divide borne out of the colonial experience, in order to foster national unity. Initially, the NRM’s challenge was to bring down Obote’s regime, but after 1986 the challenge was to institutionalize this new nationalism. In fact, this new ideology is credited with making the NRM-NRA one of a very small number of African liberation movements that did not suffer any splits as it campaigned for state power and this is perhaps why Museveni was the first guerilla leader to overthrow an African government.17 What conferred political power on him, both ideologically and programmatically, was the defining document The Ten Point Programme of the NRM. The program included, inter alia, the restoration of democracy, security, and national unity. Also prominent in the document is the pledge to defend national independence and unity and establish a mixed economy. Thus, while precolonial nationalists sought to replace incumbent British administrations, Museveni’s nationalism had strong elements that could establish democracy and alter the institutions of neocolonialism. ● The second was the challenge of resolving, if not ameliorating, class contradictions between the intellectuals/petty bourgeoisie and the peasant/ working classes. These deeply rooted social class conflicts threatened to undermine the objectives of the revolution. To reduce class-based polarization Museveni launched a political education program centered on four core principles: a new nationalist outlook, popular democracy, self-reliance, and basic military training (mchaka mchaka). And, to eliminate what he considered the vehicles of class, religious, and ethnic sectarian politics, Museveni suspended political party activity shortly after taking power.

The institutional and structural innovations put in place during the guerilla war became the foundations for authenticating NRM authority following the capture of state power in 1986. These changes seemed to indicate (at least during this initial phase) a departure from the statist regime type typical of Uganda’s postcolonial period. It was not clear, however, if these ideals would

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bring about a transition to a democratic regime type. Were these programs merely a power consolidation scheme or would local level governance structures (LCs) continue to be responsive to citizens’ demands? Would the NRM allow for high levels of citizen control while transforming the market into a mechanism for resource/value allocation?18 If so, for how long? In responding to these questions, I focus on the early strategies and policy choices of the NRM government. They provide a programmatic framework, in fact a template for understanding the early phase of Pax Musevenica.

III. NRM Strategies and Choices of Legitimation The Ten-Point Programme of the NRM outlined a political agenda, that promised first and foremost to restore democracy and establish, for the first time since independence, a “government of the people, by the people and for the people.” The institutionalization of LCs throughout Uganda was the NRM’s first, and perhaps most significant, step toward establishing popular democracy and extending the reach of the state beyond the nucleus of NRM power in southwestern and southern Uganda.

Popular Democracy and the Local Council (LC) System The structure of the LC system has been described above. There is no question that it enhanced the states penetrative capacity not only in the rural areas but in towns and cities as well. It offered the NRM the most immediate and perhaps the most useful technique it could credibly deploy to broaden its appeal among groups with whom it had few social connections.19 Nelson Kasfir adds that the NRM’s decision to introduce democratic self-government through a hierarchy of LCs into every village, parish, sub-county and district in Uganda soon after taking power is probably still its most momentous political intervention.20

In her article on women’s empowerment in Uganda, Rosalind E. Boyd argues that the most important initiative of the NRM government is the establishment of the Resistance Committees and Councils (RCs) . . . these committees have made mobilization, particularly for women, easier; messages transfer more effectively between the grassroots and a given Ministry. The RCs appear to provide a challenge to traditional gender ideology in the economy and in the household.21

In his assessment, E.A. Brett asserts that the LC system was the key mechanism created to ensure that the politically powerful can be made accountable

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to the masses in Uganda.22 He observes further that the RC system, in giving public roles to hundreds of thousands of people, has stimulated an immense growth in social responsibility and creativity . . . and this, combined with access to an open and competitive political system, has brought many into active political life . . . and given many citizens the feeling that they have representatives in the state who they can call on for assistance and get rid of if they fail.23

Finally, in his evaluation of the role of LCs at Uganda’s oldest, most renowned institution of higher learning—Makerere University—Apolo Nsibambi points out that LCs also enhanced political participation and accountability, resolution of social conflict, economic development, security consciousness, and flow of information.24 Clearly, the LC system was a key component of the NRM legitimacy and democracy project, given its positive impact on political participation, representation, and recruitment. But, in addition, LCs helped the NRM consolidate power and extend administrative authority to areas hitherto outside NRM influence. This strategy of power consolidation was markedly different from previous governments and, thus, in stark contrast to Obote’s or Amin’s (see chapter 2). Its distinction was in expanding political space, empowering the res publica, and promoting political recruitment. Furthermore, the LC system played a pivotal role in changing the character of the political process itself. First, the system of lining up behind ones preferred candidate for the village committee replaced the old fraudridden secret ballot system. This technique also reduced expenses and empowered the masses at the grassroots who, hitherto, had represented the most disenfranchised section of the populace. Second, the system mandated elections every two years, during which candidates could be recalled if voters were not satisfied. The principle of accountability, transparency, and competition that this system entailed seemed to alter the process in ways that were considerably effective in legitimizing the NRM government and paving the way toward democratic transition. Third, since each committee had to have a representative for, inter alia, the youth and women, the LC system began to mobilize and create a solid base of support for the regime from traditionally marginalized groups. These groups, particularly the women, continued to form the strongest voting bloc for the NRM well into the twenty-first century. Fourth, the existence of committee portfolios for information, mass mobilization and education, security, and finance meant that the decisionmaking process would be decentralized, thus, raising the possibility of local ownership of the decision-making process. This was reinforced by additional responsibilities for the committees such as resolution of local conflicts, settling domestic and land disputes, maintaining law and order, and even setting up local militias. Although these additional roles and the absence of funding from the state tended to weaken the councils, the idea of people making decisions about their local problems was quite appealing. Finally, the existence and efficacy of the LC system was symbolized by the NRM’s commitment to

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maintaining its link with the peasantry and working class, and by the fact that the mobilization of these classes was still believed to be the most important basis for acquiring the right to authoritatively exercise power. Thus, during the first five years of NRM rule, the LC system was without question the most important legitimizing strategy adopted by the NRM and it worked. It provided the political and social basis for resolving the inevitable tensions embedded in democratic politics, namely, consent, competition, and representation versus effectiveness, consensus, and governability. In the period following 1991, however, political and social forces, both internal and external, began to impinge on the efficacy of the LCs. The central challenge for the NRM was whether it could continue to transform these councils from instruments of resistance to structures of governance and democratic politics. The LCs were initially part of a political movement against despotism. Could they now adjust to a new role of mobilizing the populace in order to fundamentally point the political system in the direction of democracy?25 Could the NRM remain committed to its populist (read working-class and the peasant) base in order to promote democracy, or would the desire to hold on to power eclipse this principle? These questions would come more to the fore in the five to ten years following the period under study in this chapter.

“Movement” Democracy and Legitimacy Museveni’s philosophical and ideological views regarding political parties and multiparty democracy have been extrapolated above. However, his choice for no-party democracy under the general rubric of the Movement political system can best be understood in historical context because as a political ideal it underwent several mutations in both meaning and application. Initially, “movement” democracy meant that individuals have the right to join the national political movement and participate in elected governing councils in their places of residence. Their elected representatives form additional councils in each longer administrative unit. Since the movement embraces all citizens who wish to join, its operation is considered incompatible with activity by political parties.26

In the absence of political party activity, these governing councils formed the core of the LC system and were, therefore, key components of “movement” democracy because they provided an alternative structure for mass mobilization and participation. Under the umbrella of the LC system, functions such as elections, political recruitment, interest aggregation and articulation, usually associated with political parties, were performed. Furthermore, candidates critical of the government were allowed to campaign and run for elections, and when elected, they were allowed to assume office. In these early days, the system was relatively free of fraud and the media was free to criticize and support opposition candidates.

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However, “movement” democracy was not fully projected as an alternative to multiparty politics from the beginning. It was reflective of the following historical exigencies as articulated by Kasfir:27 ● In 1986, the NRM could only claim a very narrow social base, primarily limited to Buganda and western Uganda. The movement system was, therefore, important in legitimating the new regime by expanding the social base of support throughout the rest of the country. Furthermore, the NRM found a political and administrative structure that was moribund and in disrepute. They, therefore, had to introduce a new ideology and structure. “Movement” democracy not only provided that structure, but also helped the NRM consolidate its power and effect its national legitimation. ● In order to civilianize itself, (once in power) the NRM used “movement” democracy. Ideologically and in terms of policy, the system allowed citizens to become part of the administrative and security apparatus in the new political order. Given that citizens had never been empowered in this way, the NRM gained badly needed support because by using this strategy they were able to bridge the legitimacy gap at the non-elite, grassroots level. ● As well, “movement” democracy was used to close the legitimacy gap at the elite level. This was done through the creation of a “broad-based” government. Broad-basedness, as it came to be known, receives further treatment below, but it’s important to note here that with time it became the guiding rationale used by a small inner NRM clique to justify patronage and prebendalism in the form of cabinet and other portfolios to elites of former regimes and other non-NRM political groups. Nevertheless, early popular perceptions of socio-political inclusion resulting from this policy improved regime legitimation on the one hand and furthered power consolidation on the other. ● By the 1989 local and national elections, President Museveni himself no longer touted democracy as the main virtue of the movement system, but rather, that it was the most suitable vehicle for pre-industrial societies in transition toward democracy.

These changes in “movement” democracy notwithstanding, the LC part of it was poised to remain a powerful tool as long as it was perceived to be an end in itself, that is, as a system for, by, and of the people. But, if it were to become an instrument by which the NRM would simply establish hegemony, a serious dimension of the democratization process would be compromised. And, this began to happen when in 1987 the NRM government passed legislation to reign in the LCs and bring them under government control (RC Statute No. 9, 1987). This policy was controversial. Some have argued that Statute No. 9 reinforced the old order of concentrating power at the top.28 However, it is equally plausible that in 1987 Uganda’s polity risked giving way to political anarchy in the absence of a center that was strong enough to prevent things from falling apart. In fact, a compelling argument can be made that in the first ten years of NRM rule, the Ugandan people themselves put a

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greater premium on security and order than on a blanket mandate for a swift and rapid reorganization of state power with all the risks of instability that this entailed. Moreover, despite Statute No. 9, Rosalind Boyd (1988) finds that by 1988, “movement” democracy in Uganda had had a notable impact on the empowerment of civil society, in particular on that of women. Furthermore, in their analyses, both Apolo Nsibambi (1991b) and E.A. Brett (1991) find qualitative changes in the state of Uganda’s transition to democracy, albeit with “considerable challenges ahead.” Therefore, despite Statute No. 9, “movement” democracy had succeeded in empowering sections of Uganda’s populace that had hitherto been marginalized by centrally controlled political parties. This also had positive outcomes with regard to the establishment of a governance realm and with it to the normative framework for balancing social conflict and political competition with national consensus. At this juncture, the more important question is why the NRM continued to exert tight control over the LCs and other institutions after the initial ten-year period. This question is answered in the next chapter and it underscores two characteristic of Pax Musevenica, namely, the illiberalism of “no-party” democracy and the guided form of democratic transition. Aside from the LC component, the creation of the aforementioned broad-based government was the second important prong of “movement” democracy. The key principle was for government to enact policies that would be representative of all the interests and ideological permutations in the country. To do this, Museveni put together a cabinet that reached out even to personalities associated with previously shunned regimes. His fiftymember cabinet became the mechanism for accommodating dynamic political interests in the country while upholding the central doctrine of “movement” democracy, namely, that all are welcome under the tent without consideration of ethnicity, religion, ideology, or previous political affiliation. The significance of this principle, at least in the initial stages of NRM rule, was that it lent credibility to the state by sending a message of political reconciliation and inclusiveness. The policy effectively reversed the traditional practice wherein the rise of a new government was the kiss of death for those who had previously been in control of the state apparatus. This dimension of “movement” democracy had the effect, on the one hand, of establishing patterns of intraelite and interelite consensus based on shared values, while on the other, of lowering the long-standing deficit in political legitimacy. In the long run, broad-basedness also promised to lower the intensity for state control as the main mechanism for physical if not material survival. Again, the key question was whether the NRM would remain true to this doctrine and what the consequences would be if it, too, reverted to the practice of packing the cabinet with like-minded, ethnically loyal officers for the sole purpose of maintaining political control. More to the point, Museveni was faced with a more practical question of whether a broad-based government could be cohesive enough to allow the business of state to be carried out smoothly over time. As we shall see in chapter 4, by 1996, the dominance of the Banyankore in government was quite noticeable despite the absence of any

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particular challenges to the integrity of the government. Broad-basedness ceased to mean inclusion of different ideological/political interests and instead became tied to the NRM’s strategy for exacting support from each and every district. Moreover, by 2001, not only had political inclusion turned broadbasedness into a conduit for patronage but also, as the “broad” component shrunk, strains of neopatrimonialism (e.g., clientalism, presidentialism, etc.) became more pronounced. The policy of broad-basedness extended into the area of legislative elections where the president insisted on special elections for special interest groups, meaning traditionally marginalized groups such as women, the military, the disabled, and the youth. This scheme not only improved regime legitimacy, it also increased the power of the executive vis-à-vis the legislature because these special interest groups felt beholden to the president and more generally to the NRM. Nonetheless the inclusion of these groups expanded participation and in some ways liberalized the Ugandan polity. In toto, the coalition constructed under the idea of broad-basedness included women, the youth, workers, the peasantry, and a wide spectrum of elites from various political groups and previous governments. In the 1996 elections, this proved to be a winning coalition (see chapter 4). Therefore, in its early stages, “movement” democracy can be seen as a dual composite system seeking political control and consolidation for the regime while at the same time providing political space for the articulation and aggregation of civil society interests. In a political system where elites have historically eschewed consent and support from the people, the idea that affirmative action was necessary to ensure representation of traditionally disenfranchised groups is not debatable, nor can we underestimate its potential for regime validation. However, the president could and did use these new groups in the system to exert his influence vis-à-vis other branches of government, notably the legislature. Be that as it may, it is important to note that at this early stage in the reconstruction of the state, a strong executive willing to empower traditionally marginalized groups was good for political stability. And, in fact, Uganda’s experience at this stage was not very different from other states undergoing fundamental change, for example, postrevolution Mexico and China or even the United States in the aftermath of the Civil War. The NRM adopted three other very crucial strategies that would enable power consolidation and provide badly needed political capital. The first one has been referred to in passing and it cannot be overemphasized, it is the strategy of mobilizing women into the political process. The second was the initiation of a statewide mass consultation culminating in the promulgation of a popular constitution. But, of immediate urgency was the need to fulfill the promise of holding elections within the first four years of NRM rule. The 1989 Elections and NRM Legitimacy As barometers of regime support, elections provide periodic measures of elite legitimacy, the efficacy of their programs, and the vision for the future.

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Furthermore, elections add value to the notion of regime accountability while building trust in the state’s institutional purpose. The 1989 elections have been treated in great detail elsewhere.29 The task here is to evaluate the degree to which they may have given the NRM some kind of mandate and support, especially since they were the first nationwide elections at all levels, including the national legislature then known as the National Resistance Council (NRC). If fundamental change was the basis of NRM legitimacy, and by extension the foundation for further power consolidation, then the 1989 elections have to be evaluated and examined in terms of how qualitatively different they were from past polls. Furthermore, given that fundamental change to the NRM meant, inter alia, a departure from the dictatorship of the past to democracy, then the cogency of the first elections under NRM rule had to be judged in the context of these factors. The analysis that follows is predicated upon these propositions. It traces the continuities, as well as the discontinuities, reflected in the 1989 elections and evaluates how much popular support and acceptability the NRM earned from them. Of greater significance in reading these elections is the exercise of gleaning insights into state institutionalization—an important indicator (if not predictor) of prospects for consolidating democracy. The 1989 elections were different in both form and substance from any that had preceded them. There was no voter registration, no secret balloting system, no open campaigning, and political party participation was banned. LC demarcations were used as constituent units, members of the NRC and the NRM Secretariat (instead of an independent Electoral Commission) served as election supervisors and pro-NRM district administrators served as district returning officers. Furthermore, nomination rules were eased to allow many more to run.30 Direct elections were held at the village level for LC1 committees, but from LC2 through LC5 and to the NRC, the electoral college system kicked in. These innovations certainly represented change. But, how fundamental was it? Put another way, how democratic was the process and the outcome? Was regime and state legitimacy enhanced? First, never before had ordinary people at the grassroots enjoyed such open and free participation in the political process. Given that most Ugandan citizens are rural dwellers, this exercise extended citizenship rights to a big portion of Ugandans31 and popularized the movement system. Although the electoral college mechanism undermined the direct participation method beyond the village level, at this early stage of NRM rule, the novelty of the LC system clearly created a perception that ordinary citizens had a greater stake in the process. More specifically, the exercise can be seen as having empowered previously neglected voting blocs, and, as such, raised levels of efficacy. To the degree that these early elections helped improve the relationship between state and society, they also marked the beginning of state reconstruction. Thus, the LC system had the effect of sustaining the connection to the new regime of village officials, and through them, of villagers more generally. Considering the withdrawal of

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But, in the long run, the electoral colleges certainly diminished popular democracy as the system advanced upward from LC1 to the NRC level. As a mechanism for protecting incumbency, the system in this regard was no different from the earlier ones. And, Museveni’s claims that the NRM eschewed manipulation were not so credible, especially when seen against the broader structure of the electoral system. Second, there is no doubt that the prohibition of political party participation and campaigning went against most accepted definitions of democracy. One way to justify the no-party democracy model introduced by the NRM was to examine the treatment and prospects for candidates known to have been running under the banner of parties such as the DP and the UPC, that is, did the latter have good chances of winning and did the NRM candidates seriously risk losing? Following the elections, fourteen ministers and deputy ministers lost elections in county or urban divisional constituencies. Two women defeated male competitors for county NRC seats in addition to the 34 who won the district seats reserved for women. In a few constituencies the UPC successfully canvassed enough support in enough villages to gain control of an entire county at the RC1 level and thus to elect a UPC notable to the NRC . . . four important members of Obote’s UPC government won seats in county constituencies.33

The other important and significant observation is that victorious UPC candidates won seats in Museveni stronghold districts of Mbarara, Bushenyi, and Kabale. Clearly, this was very unusual in the politics of Uganda where elections were often rubberstamps for perpetuating incumbency. These particular results were important for lending credibility to “movement” or “no-party” democracy in that they indicated the possibility of competition not only between politicians with opposing ideologies but also women between and men. This could certainly presage the emergence of a governance realm. Another precedent was that once the electoral rules were set, the incumbents did not change them or intervene in the elections. While these observations pointed toward progress, the NRM, perhaps in anticipation of too many victories by old party stalwarts, dipped into the old bag of Ugandan politics to ensure final triumph. For example, the NRM decreed that thirty-eight so-called historicals or MPs who had fought in the guerilla war would retain their seats in the NRC without facing elections. The president could also legally appoint twenty MPs and ten representatives from the army while forty-two seats were reserved for youth, workers, and women, and these three groups were guaranteed to favor the NRM and were elected by narrow electorates. Thus, excluding the women, workers, and youth groups, the NRM retained a 25 percent margin of victory before the election

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results were in. This scheme certainly helped the NRM consolidate its position in the NRC, but it adversely impacted prospects for institutionalizing democracy. Instead of the secretive and more underhanded technique of ballot box stuffing, the NRM again preferred the benign approach—open election manipulation using affirmative action to guarantee and justify favorable political outcomes. Again, we have mixed results. Change was palpable but not fundamental. While it was shown that those opposed to no-party democracy could win, the NRM did not feel secure enough to leave its prospects squarely in the hands of the voters. Yet, as promised, they held an election during the four years of transition. The template for democratic elections was emerging, but there were still huge gaps yet to be thought through and one of these gaps was whether full-fledged democracy could really flourish without political party activity. Third, the system of voting by queuing behind a candidate instead of having a secret ballot ensured transparency, avoided fraud and corruption, and in fact was relatively cheap. This was fundamentally different from the past in some ways, but not in others. Open voting tended to favor the status quo and was, therefore, deleterious to the opposition. So, the fraud often attributed to ballot box stuffing and vote rigging was replaced by a more benign, albeit, equally marginalizing scheme. This, coupled with the adverse effects of the electoral college mechanism, makes for a system that guarantees hegemony of and manipulation from the top.34 Nonetheless, while the question of whether citizens preferred the past or present system is an empirical one, it would seem obvious that the NRM system gave more to the voters than it took away. In any case, a precedent was set (i.e., direct and transparent elections at the village level) from which future efforts for clean elections (i.e., direct elections at all levels) could be based. This challenge was rooted in the continued reconstruction of the state. Perhaps the laws associated with the 1989 elections were inevitable. Certainly, the process of power consolidation was far from complete and this may have dictated the nature and character of the electoral rules that were put in place by a very insecure regime that was determined to keep its promise of holding an election within four years of taking power. As outlined above the elections brought the NRM closer to the people but they also further entrenched the movement system. But, the prospects for state legitimation and institutionalization did not change much as a result of these elections, particularly because of the unusual rules prohibiting voter registration, campaigning, political party activities, et cetera. The absence of an electoral commission or an institutionalized system of returning officers represented lost opportunities for transforming the state into a neutral arena for determining state officeholders. However, if Guillermo O’Donnell et al. (1986) are right, that the movement from authoritarian rule to democracy is a social process that requires time, strategy, and some unusual alliances,35 then the NRM could not have possibly introduced fundamental change (i.e., democratization) in Uganda in just three years, especially given the country’s past. The question, therefore, is whether following the 1989 elections, the NRM would

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hold elections under a structure of rules and regulations that would be more enabling for democratic politics and more conducive to the emergence of the authoritative exercise of power. That this would be reality had a lot to do with the process of enacting a liberal and democratic constitution. Constitutionalism The question of how to work an ideal constitution for the Ugandan people has remained open since independence. The process by which a genuinely Ugandan constitution would be crafted has traditionally been a subject of debate and controversy. The first postindependence constitution (1962) was illegitimate because it was a product of the colonialists and a small group of their Ugandan collaborators. It lacked broad mass input and was a reflection of the parochialism of colonial interests coupled with those of the nationalist elites. Just one year after its promulgation, the 1962 constitution was amended to enable a ceremonial president to replace the governor general. In his first term (1966 to 1971), Obote abrogated the first constitution and replaced it with a so-called interim one, also known as the “pigeonhole constitution” because it was promulgated through parliamentary members’ mailboxes. Any hopes that this constitution would be popularly accepted were dashed when Obote declared himself executive president and used his new position to single-handedly abolish the prime ministers position. Again in 1967, for his personal political gain and without consulting with any branch of government or civil society, Obote introduced a republican constitution that turned Uganda into a unitary state, abolishing traditional kingdoms and the federal system.36 But, it was this constitution that extended extraordinary powers to the executive branch, specifically the presidency—power to govern by ordinance, to detain without trial and, eventually, to ban opposition parties. The 1967 constitution gave legal validity to presidentialism. This history of constitutionalism clearly depicts the political troubles of postindependence Uganda and explains why the NRM was determined to make democratic constitutionalism a key priority upon capturing power in 1986. For the NRM, the constitution-making process was not a postliberation strategy. At the beginning of the bush war in 1981, the constitutional plan of action was published in the National Resistance News. It was reported that “as part of laying the groundwork for returning Uganda to democratic government, the interim administration (NRM) shall see to it that a new constitution based on popular will is drafted and promulgated by a Constituent Assembly elected by the people themselves.”37 Indeed, a constitutional commission was instituted (Uganda Constitutional Commission Statute No. 5/1988) and given a mandate of touring the entire country and soliciting input from the grassroots to the national level. A noted political scientist describes how extensive this process was: Every institution, every class of society, every area, was to be drawn into the discussion, and even schoolchildren were invited to write on the subject.

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The result of all the minutes of meetings, submissions, petitions, resolutions and other documents constitutes a huge archive which has had to be housed in a special building . . .38

The extensive nature of the process compelled the constitutional commission to ask for two more years beyond the initial couple in order to complete its work. This—together with the fact that the commission grappled and could not resolve controversial questions concerning multipartyism, unitary or federal status, and the restoration of monarchies—tarnished the legitimacy of the process and, to a lesser degree, the outcome. Nonetheless, the commission reclaimed some of its reputation by recommending that a democratically elected special Constituent Assembly (CA) be the proper institution to debate and approve the draft constitution. When the NRM grudgingly accepted this recommendation it also regained a measure of badly needed popular support because it had hitherto created the perception that its endorsement of a two-year extension for the constitutional commission entailed its own propagation.39 But, then the more popular idea of electing and debating the draft constitution also demanded more time for campaigning. The NRM was again seen as engaging in a very clever game of perpetuating its tenure under pretexts that very few could plausibly dispute. Much has been written about the Constituent Assembly elections.40 Since these elections became part of the constitutional process, it was important that they be democratic and transparent. True to the doctrine of movement politics, political parties were forbidden from participating and candidates were to stand and campaign on individual merit (Statutes 4 Constituent Assembly Election Rules of statute 6/1993 and statutes 11 and 12, Election Campaigns, in the Third Schedule). This part of the process was supported by a section of Uganda’s intelligentsia on the grounds that a constitution should represent all Ugandans and not only the views/interests of a majority party.41 But, there were other government restrictions that were more controversial because of their undemocratic nature. For example, the candidates were to refrain from holding meetings without the presence of other candidates and voters. Secondly, time alloted to candidates for making speeches was limited and, thirdly, the money to finance campaigns was scarce, especially for those who were not favored by the NRM. Moreover, about sixty-four members representing the youth, women, the NRA, trade union workers, and the disabled were specially elected. The president nominated ten. The move for these special elections was politically expedient for the NRM in that its women’s groups in particular had been strong pro-NRM voters since the bush war. However, given that these groups had been traditionally excluded from Ugandan politics, no reasonable and least of all democratic person could dispute affirmative action as a justified need. But, the move was undoubtedly a shot in the political arm of the NRM in the directly elected 214-member assembly. The fact that NRM elites, their colonial predecessors, had used the tactic of special interest representation to maintain a firm grip on the nature, character, and outcome of legislative

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business was not lost on critics. In this case, the tactic was particularly significant because the CA was about to approve the most important political document in the governance of the country and one that would also define the regime type and the nature and character of the state. These decisions that were at once logical and indisputable and yet seemed to increase the influence and power of the chief executive became the imprimatur of Museveni’s leadership style. Indeed, the political tug-of-war emanating from these constitutional processes would come to a head in the run up to the multiparty transition and the 2006 elections (see chapter 6). Nonetheless, the Constituent Assembly elections proceeded without major problems, and they were declared “free and fair” by international observers. For purposes of this chapter (covering 1986 to 1991), however, the initiation of the constitutional process in 1988, culminating in the completion of the draft constitution and the recommendation of a Constituent Assembly, marked a milestone in Uganda’s return to some measure of political institutionalization and state reconstruction. All the criticism notwithstanding, citizen participation was very high with the commissioners collecting an unprecedented 25,547 submissions of views from individuals, interest groups, LCs, and educational seminars. The commission’s hearings, workshops, and seminars were also crucial for political socialization of Ugandans whose general knowledge of constitutionalism was, and still is, rather limited.42 The very debate that accompanied the process both in the papers and other mass-media outlets (e.g., television and radio) was symptomatic of the heightened levels of political awareness and freedom in Uganda. The record turn out for the Constituent Assembly elections in 1994 was, at the very least, an indicator of how engaged the people were and how strong the support and ipso facto consent for the constitutional process was. There is, thus, no question about the significance of constitutional reconstruction process not only to gaining NRM legitimacy, but also to reaching the very practical objective of further consolidation of power and institutionalization of the Ugandan state. These legitimation and consolidation strategies were radically different from those employed by Museveni’s predecessors. While Obote will forever be remembered for the “pigeonhole” constitution and Amin for suspending constitutional rule altogether, the NRM will be known for initiating a constitutional procedure that seemed to have captured popular support. It was certainly an important step toward validating the NRM regime and legitimizing the state itself. Once again, the constitutional process provided part of the answer to the overall question: when a violent authoritarian state makes constitutional power transition impossible, and extraconstitutional means are used to get rid of it, how should the new regime go about authenticating its right to govern? However, despite the broad consultations, the process was still controlled from above. For example, statute number 5 of 1988 empowered the president, in consultation with the minister responsible for constitutional affairs, to appoint the twenty-one member Constitutional Commission. Later in the process, the provisions in the Constituent Assembly Statute of 1993

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empowered the president to appoint on the advice of the cabinet a commissioner and two deputies for the CA; and, yet again, once the CA was constituted, its chair and deputy were to be nominated by the president and elected by the delegates of the assembly at its first meeting. After the enactment of the constitution, it was the president who appointed the Constitutional Review Commission that was responsible for setting the constitutional amendment agenda. These elements of guided democracy would later block political liberalization as chapters 5 and 6 will show. Gender and its Role in Political Legitimation How important was the mobilization of women to the legitimation of the NRM government? How did women’s recruitment contribute to the state building enterprise? What role did such enlistment play in power consolidation and transition toward democracy? Besides the introduction of LCs, the recruitment of women into the NRM and later into the mainstream of Ugandan politics was the second most important agent used to recapture political legitimacy in Uganda after 1986. Simply put, the NRM could not have begun the process of democratization without the participation of the majority of the population (women constitute 51 percent).43 Because much has already been said about the role of women in Uganda’s politics,44 a summary analysis will suffice. The mobilization and recruitment of women had its roots in the five-year guerilla war that brought the NRM into power. Partly out of a dire need for combatants and because of Museveni’s personal belief in the pivotal role that women were capable of playing, the latter were recruited into the NRA. In the NRM/A-initiated process to restructure communities under its control (prior to 1986) into LCs, women were central and, as such, their participation on LCs was also guaranteed. For example, each nine-member LC committee had a seat reserved for a woman representative. When the Constitutional Commission was set up in 1988, two of its representatives were women, and later in preparation for debating the draft constitution, it was agreed that each of the thirty-nine districts should produce a woman representative for the CA.45 To increase female enrollment in institutions of higher learning, such as Makerere University, the NRM government introduced in 1990 an affirmative action program for women applicants. This was to be done by weighting the grade points of each female applicant with an additional 1.5 points.46 As a result, the percentage of women admitted to Makerere University rose from 19 percent in 1987 to 30 percent in 1991. Admission to law school experienced the greatest rise with 49 percent of all admissions being female compared to 27 percent in 1987.47 In 1988, a Ministry of Women in Development was established, to be later reconstituted into the Ministry of Gender and Community Development. Overall, the period between 1986 to 1991 was witness to increased representation in the judiciary (the first four women judges were appointed),48 the civil service,49 associational groups, NGOs, and business. The role and efficacy of such

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mobilization in processes of legitimation, consolidation of power, and transition to democracy is best assessed in considering remarks from women leaders such as Ruth Mukama who acknowledges that the NRM government “has always positively responded to women’s aspirations by appointing women to senior positions of responsibility.”50 This consciousness among women translated into badly needed political support for the NRM and validation for the regime. For example, a good majority of women embraced the NRM slogan of “no change” in the 1996 presidential election. Museveni ran as the candidate of the status quo and the rationale was that things were going so well that a change would disrupt the progress that had been made. In the 1996 election, women voted for Museveni in considerable numbers, indicating that the recruitment of women into politics had paid off for the NRM. The positive corelation between the mobilization and recruitment of women into the NRM and democratic politics in general seemed to carry over into the area of state legitimation mainly because 51 percent of the population viewed the state as potentially (if not actually) responsive to their demands. Given this fact, Uganda’s transition to democracy was somewhat enhanced by the contribution of the women to the expansion of the governance realm. However, as the consolidation period ended (post-1991), some NRM policies posited some difficult outcomes for women. The embrace of the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and its Structural Adjustment Programs (SAPs) created very adverse conditions for all Ugandans, particularly for the women, who often shoulder the burden of family sustenance. SAPs forced women in disproportionate numbers into the njua kali or informal sector of the economy.51 Njua kali businesses take place in harsh conditions such as street alleys, corridors, and city pavements, and they in the end seldom yield a living wage. SAPs often expose rural women to severe hardships because social services decline or disappear altogether while women’s reproduction and production workloads increase.52 How women fared under SAPs was illustrative of the challenges that the NRM would face in striking a balance between effective governance, that is, in solving social and economic problems, while maintaining popular support from the people. This was a challenge that became even more sharply defined beyond 1990 when the NRM government imposed deep cuts in the military and civil service. The other challenge could be described as the pandoras box effect. Having provided political space for women’s political empowerment (i.e., opening the box), would the NRM sanction genuine political autonomy for the women’s movement and would this stimulate similar demands from other sections of civil society? In other words, if the women sought political expression that opposed Movement policies rather than support them, would the NRM accede? As will be apparent in the next chapter, the relationship between women and the NRM has been characterized by a give-and-take process in which women have won battles such as effecting changes in university admissions policies and forcing the new constitution to address women’s rights issues, but they have also had trouble with some important landmark

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legislations such as the 1998 Land Bill. Thus, keen students of the women’s movement in Uganda have warned that faith in the movement system was slowly eroding as the system became more centralized and as limits on civil and political freedoms became more apparent in the 1990s.53 Fortunately for the NRM, no viable political organization was able to provide an alternative vehicle for women’s political interests and so the Movement/women coalition continued to be a critical component of the institutional logic of Pax Musevenica. Stability, Security, and Order As noted in chapter 2, governments in postcolonial Uganda have responded to citizen demands for security by declaring curfews and states of emergency. These policy prescriptions have been a response to the symptoms rather than the main causes of insecurity. Contestations of state power (with no institutional backing) and the ambiguities surrounding its exercise have been at the root of such governmental responses. When the NRM took power in 1986, the first and most important task was to restore some measure of institutional support for the rule of law and, thus, restore national and personal security. However, the NRM faced extraordinary challenges: ● First was the dilemma of restoring security in a society with a high deficit in social and political cohesion. Except for the areas where the NRM had had control prior to capturing state power, the rest of the country was characterized by social and political distortion and incoherence. The integrity of the state and the notion of nationhood were in serious doubt. ● Second, the NRM government found itself in the unenviable position of having to extend state control over the rest of the country while at the same time building on its own capacity to govern. This conundrum called for solutions to the “dislocated polity” problem, namely, how to secure sufficient political authority to restore civil order, national integrity, and individual security.54 ● Moreover, the elements of infrastructural foundation (such as the police, prisons, and courts) for maintaining law and order were in tatters. ● The fourth challenge was defined by the NRM itself. What would have to be done in order to construct popular structures of security in place of the traditional institutions of despotic state coercion and control?

The success with which all these tasks would be accomplished would add tremendous legitimacy to the NRM and pave the way for further democratization and economic growth. Right from the start (May 1986), rebel groups opposed to the NRM sprang up, first mainly in the north, then east, and later in the west of the country. Some such as the Lords Resistance Army (LRA) were part of the defeated army of Tito Okello. The LRA was first organized under the name of Uganda Peoples’ Democratic Movement/Army (UPDM/A) and was

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the first group to attack the NRA in August 1986. However, the UPDM/A was an instrument of counterrevolution and had very little to do with the prodemocracy movement of which they claimed to be a part.55 So without a core set of objectives some were soon absorbed into the NRA. Following a peace accord signed in 1988, an estimated 2,000 soldiers of the former UPDA had been incorporated into the NRA.56 But, most went on to join a parallel and emerging rebel group, the Holy Spirit Mobile Force (HSMF), led by an Acholi fisherwoman, Alice Auma, also known as the “Lakwena,” which means messenger. Efforts to find a political solution (peace treaty) to rebel insecurity were viewed positively by Ugandans, thus, giving the NRM the political support necessary to move in that direction. However, the structural causes of rebellion (e.g., relative and absolute economic deprivation in the north and the insecurity stemming from southern perceptions of the north as a “cultural” hotbed of guerilla activity coupled with loss of political and economic power) were not addressed. The NRM chose to co-opt the UPDA, particularly its leaders, into government and to integrate rebel soldiers into the NRA. Perhaps this is all that the NRM could do at this early stage of their administration. It is not clear that sufficient resources were available to address structural conditions that had festered for decades since independence. Thus, from a purely pragmatic position, the NRM adopted the carrot for the compliant and the stick for those who chose to support the rebellion. Government jobs and integration into the military were extended to the rebels, but the military solution was never abandoned, in fact, it continued undeterred. The NRM’s failure to respond to the underlying socioeconomic and political problems in the north contributed to the vitality of the HSMF. The latter was militarily organized and politically astute. They attracted both political and military elites from across the country, thus, broadening their appeal beyond the initially small Acholi ethnic base. Furthermore, HSMF belief in a metaphysical or spiritual blessing seemed to be a powerful rallying point for the peasantry. To the extent that it was related to notions of witchcraft, the “metaphysical” in Lakwena’s movement “seemed to provide a mechanism of social regulation which brought (or promised to bring) both material benefit and communal cohesion to localities”57 still beyond the full control of the NRM. However, the defeat of the HSMF was preceded by major NRA victories in 1987 at the Soroti Flying School where 200 rebels were killed along with 4,000 others at the Aloet Railway Station in Soroti District. The remnants of the HSMF resurrected in a different form under the leadership of Joseph Kony, who changed the group’s name to Lords Resistance Army (LRA). Despite their professed objectives, none of these groups was genuinely fighting for democracy. In fact, the formation of the LRA out of the remnants of the UPDA/HSMF was reflective of the emergence of armed opposition groups that were motivated to merely support the rebellion of a kindred group.58 Indeed, by the end of the period under analysis (1986 to 1991),

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the NRM had usurped the spirit of the LRA, which due to its violent tactics against civilian populations had lost much public support. Over 4,000 women and children had their lips, noses, breasts, and ears cut off by LRA rebels between 1986 and 1991.59 With grassroot support waning in 1991, the LRA began a pro-multiparty propaganda to shore up its credibility and support, but it was too little too late. Beyond 1991, the LRA survived mostly because of the support it was receiving from Sudan. Partly because of the violence of the LRA and partly because of repeated efforts to resolve the rebel issue politically, the NRM remained in good political standing in the rest of the country. And, the support received from Sudan by the LRA further distanced the latter from Western sympathy since the former has for a long time been identified as a terrorist supporting, rogue state. The NRM, on the other hand, remained in the very good books of Western powers, particularly as a counterbalancer to Sudanese intransigence. In the north and northeast, 1991 marked a turning point as the Acholi and Itesot began organizing antirebel strategies following the wanton brutality of the insurgency and the counterinsurgencies of various rebel groups. A NRA-Wi Tong (local, bow and arrow, vigilante groups) alliance was soon formed and was quite effective in routing out the LRA rebels. These modest, though important, successes were a result of significant attempts by the NRM to first empower citizens by helping them provide for their own security and second by decriminalizing rebel groups and integrating them into government and mainstream society. The creation of the NRA-Wi Tong coalition (in 1991 to 1992) together with a new alliance with local leaders, national representatives, and local population greatly altered the nature of conflict in favor of the NRA. However, these efforts at developing a bottomup approach to solving the insurgency were miniscule—the NRM was still determined to pursue a top-down policy.60 Moreover, it was not clear whether such models of democratic conflict resolution could possibly resolve the underlying structural causes of the northern question as identified above. So, the north continued to be haunted by incredible insecurity. Safe zones or “protected” villages were created to protect civilians from insurgency and counterinsurgency terror. Peasants were repatriated from their homes, schools were closed, farms abandoned, children abducted, women raped, and development curtailed. Apart from the atrocities of the rebels, widespread loss of lives and gross human rights abuses by the NRA were also reported by Amnesty International during that period.61 The NRA chief of combat operations, Major General Salim Saleh, admitted that within the NRA there were bad elements who committed atrocities, although he insisted this was not official NRA policy.62 It, therefore, comes as no surprise that in the north NRM legitimacy and support has remained very low indeed. In fact the very extension of statehood to significant parts of the area has remained problematic. The first real test of NRM support in the north was the 1994 Constituent Assembly election.63 The NRM fared badly in Apac, Gulu, Kitgum, Lira, Soroti, and Nebbi.64 By 1996, when the first national presidential election

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was held, Museveni won nationally with 74.2 percent of the vote, but his rival, Paul Ssemwogere, won most of the districts in the north, in some cases by 90 percent.65 In the 2001 general election, again, Museveni’s rival, Kizza Besigye, won the north hands down while losing the national election itself. These trends indicate a tremendous deficit in legitimacy and support for the NRM in the north. The traditional schism between north and south has not been overcome despite the efforts (as shall be examined in the next chapters) to extend statehood through development projects and monies to the north, and efforts that included the creation of a ministerial portfolio (headed by Betty Acan Bigombe) specifically for the advancement of the area. Clearly, by 1991, the NRM consolidation/legitimation project had hardly made a difference among those in the north. It is worth reiterating the enigma of insecurity in the north, namely, that the rebels lacked democratic or any well-articulated demands. Rebel activities were propelled by a thirst for power, a need to deal with the causes of relative deprivation, and a general sense of insecurity stemming from conflicting perceptions of historical identity between north and south, perceptions that were shaken by the shift in ethnic identity extant in the NRA. Finally, the crisis in the north was possibly rooted in one other factor: rebel leaders such as Kony and the Lakwena were acting as self-serving individuals with welldefined, calculated interests.66 Thus, in the case of the north, NRM legitimacy could not be achieved by promises of popular democracy, at least not in the early years of the NRM administration. No matter how democratic the NRM may have appeared in the south, the northerners would not be impressed until the basic structural antecedents of insecurity mentioned above were resolved. That said, however, the situation in the south in the period under study (1986 to 1991) was quite different. The only other rebel group to seriously challenge NRM government was the Allied Democratic Forces (ADF). While this group had its roots in the Muslim youth movement known as the Tabliq, it did not pose a serious challenge to the state until November 1989. Unlike the rebel groups discussed above, the ADF had a southern complexion, was predominantly based in the west where support for Museveni was greatest, and adopted urban terrorism as part of its strategy. It was also an eclectic mix of people without a clear ideological bent. In fact, in its later years, the ADF lost its Muslim identity as personalities of different religions and ethnic backgrounds joined it. Skirmishes between the ADF and the NRM continued and later gave the latter the pretext to occupy parts of the Congo, ostensibly to clear the formers’ bases (see chapter 5). In the end, citizen vigilantism led to the isolation of the ADF and to their final defeat. Much of the west and parts of Buganda, particularly the Luwero Triangle, had been politically mobilized and sensitized by the NRM/A during the guerilla war. Apart from the already institutionalized LCs, the south also benefited from the introduction of local peoples’ militia known as Local Defense Units (LDUs). This, coupled with the ubiquitous presence of the NRA, contributed to a steady restoration of peace and stability together with some

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credible structure for law and order. It was this semblance of peace that gradually attracted investors and exiled Ugandans back into the country. Kampala was soon witnessing a renaissance of construction and rehabilitation not seen since independence. Returning Asians were renovating their previously nationalized hotels, shops, and industries as well as buying real estate and constructing residential and business enterprises. And, international donors were pouring aid into Uganda through both government and nongovernmental organizations (NGOs). Bilateral aid from major Western donors increased from US$179.7 million in 1989 to US$342.7 million in 1994.67 After decades of isolation, important international meetings (e.g., African Caribbean Pacific/EEC conference in 1991) were being convened in Uganda again, a sign that there was sufficient confidence in the security and infrastructural capacity of the country or at least of the capital, Kampala, and the south in general. Local businesses that used to close by six in the evening could operate late in the evening. It was now safe again to travel late in the night, in fact, nightlife in Kampala was once again active with several night-clubs, bars, and theater operating into the wee hours of the morning. Moreover, the dreaded military-manned roadblocks of the previous regimes had been removed by 1991, allowing for the free flow of commuters throughout the south and east. The nocturnal acts of violence and burglary that prevented a good night’s rest were a thing of the past. Gradually, normal life was returning to at least the southern half of the country and it was perhaps this more than anything else that endeared the NRM to a vast majority of the people in Uganda. Parts of the country that were unstable looked toward the south as an example of what could possibly happen in Pax Musevenica. With these developments, the NRM was only beginning to close the legitimacy deficit caused by its capture of power through armed struggle rather than through popular mandate. It is fair to say, therefore, that in the first five years of NRM rule, the security situation in Uganda could be fully relied upon as a source of legitimacy for the NRM, depending on ones location in the country. Although the south was beginning to recover from the instability of the past, the psychological impact of the fighting in the north created enough uncertainty and skepticism about the viability of the NRM system of governance. Furthermore, the NRM had to deal with reconstruction of civil society and nationhood while at the same time extending state control across the country. The tenuous security situation in the north continued to exacerbate the “dislocated polity” problem especially as it related to the legitimacy deficit. Despite the emergence of a ruling majority, national unity was still elusive and signs of dislocation between north and south continued to present the central challenge. The NRM/A was still unable to command sufficient political authority to restore territorial integrity throughout the country, mostly because of a deficiency in resources and institutional incoherence—both of which the NRM had had no time to acquire. However, the political and economic progress made in the five years under examination, coupled with relative stability, soon convinced Ugandan

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emigrants that it was safe to return. The most well-known returnees included Drs. J.J. Otim and Edward Rugumayo, Mr. Kasendwa Dumba, Mr. Paul Amule Otiti, Mr. Thomas Odur, Prof. William Bazeterra Banage, and former junta leader, Tito Okello, all of whom returned in 1993. The following year saw the return of Col. William Omaria, Gen. Yusuf Gowon, and Mr. Masette Kuya. In 1995, the flow of returnees included Col. Wilson Toko, Mr. Joel Aliro Omara, Mr. Tony Olanya, and Mr. Moses Apiliga. This list, which includes prominent officials from discredited past governments, seemed to confirm, at least initially, the NRM’s genuine interest in reconciliation and broad-basedness. But, it also undoubtedly built a pillar of support and growing legitimacy for the government as none of the returnees could associate it with the regimes of which they had been a part. The Economy and the Quest for Legitimacy The individual and collective security of Uganda was also closely related to changes of economic reconstruction. If peace initiatives were to be sustained nationally, especially in the north and northeast, they had to be accompanied by a consistent drive toward economic recovery.68 However, in 1986, the Ugandan economy was in shambles. The GDP share of agriculture in Uganda rose from 52 percent of 1965 GDP to 70 percent of the 1986 to 1987 period, while the GDP share of industry declined from 13 percent to 8 percent for the same two periods.69 Even when compared with low-income sub-Saharan Africa (LISSA), Uganda’s decline in industrialization and dependence on agriculture was a matter of grave concern given the adverse terms of trade in agricultural exports. In fact, Uganda’s balance of payments was negatively affected as export earnings totaled a mere US$320 million or US$20 per capita (1987) as compared to US$32 per capita for LISSA. At the same time, import capacity in 1987 was US$31 per capita.70 In fiscal year 1987 to 1988, Uganda’s inflation rate reached a massive 243 percent,71 up from 237 percent in 1986.72 Due to colonial-based distortions, the mismanagement of the Amin and Obote regimes, and the NRA-led liberation war itself, tea, sugar, and coffee estates had been neglected as farmers withdrew into subsistence systems of production and exchange. Underlying these economic facts was a very serious decline in social indicators. For example, there was a decline in primary school enrollments, a near doubling in the ratio of population per physician, and a relatively lower infant mortality rate. Sadly, this was the time when HIV/AIDS was beginning to wreak havoc on the country. Furthermore, physical infrastructure including telecommunications, school buildings, hospitals, and road, rail, and air transportation systems had deteriorated so much that it took hours from the airport in Entebbe to the capital, Kampala—a distance of only 26 km! Illicit transactions in foreign currency, or kibanda, and illegal trade, or magendo, had become acceptable means of making a living in Kampala. Most importantly, there was a yearning among Ugandans to return to a time when basic needs were no longer scarce commodities.

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So, for the NRM, the slogan was not “it’s the economy stupid,”73 but rather “it’s the economy or else . . . .” If the basic institutions of the economy were not reconstructed quickly, the authority of the NRM would remain nestled in the muzzle of the guns that had facilitated their rise to power. This would contradict the assertion made by President Museveni at his swearingin ceremony in 1986 purporting that the NRM represented “not a mere change of guards but a fundamental change.” In line with the central thesis of this study, without a fundamental change and, in this case, a revolutionary turn-around in the economy, the NRM would continue to suffer a political legitimacy handicap. As a matter of fact, it would be impossible to manage the tension between popular consent and effective governance without a functioning economy. In their summary of a study on twenty-six developing countries, a study that focused on the antecedents of democracy, Larry Diamond et al. point out that regimes which lack effectiveness, especially in economic growth, tend to continue to be low in legitimacy . . . While they have not been immune to problems of recession, inflation, and corruption, the more successful democracies in our study have generally experienced relatively steady economic growth, which in turn has strengthened their legitimacy.74

Thus, for President Museveni, economic policy was vital for the very survival of the NRM and, more importantly, for the rest of the agenda as laid out in the Ten Point Programme platform. Following the capture of state power, Museveni and the NRM entered into a protracted debate as to what model would be most appropriate for the restoration of the Ugandan economy. Despite his assertion to follow “an economic strategy of a mixed economy,”75 there was no consensus among NRM elites that IMF and World Bank policies of Structural Adjustment Programs (SAPs) would be the appropriate way forward. However, the reality of the scenario described above left no alternative for the NRM: By the fourth quarter of 1986 the economic situation was almost untenable. The administration realized that economic chaos was beginning to erode the political capital the NRM had built up. There was growing anxiety to prevent the germination of new seeds of popular discontent. In November . . . the NRM finally decided to begin serious negotiations with the IMF.76

In November of 1986, the government declared a program to make sweeping changes, beginning with the installation of new teams in the Ministries of Finance and Planning and the Bank of Uganda and the launch in May 1987 of the Economic Recovery Program (ERP) by President Museveni. It had the following core objectives: ● Restoring economic stability—this would entail rapid economic growth (GDP in excess of 5 percent), reduction of the high inflation rate into single digits by 1991 to 1992, and improving Uganda’s balance of payments to

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allow for improvements in net international reserves while eliminating external arrears. In this respect, government fiscal policy emphasized increases in revenues and taxation of petroleum products and higher recovery expenditures. Monetary policy focused on curbing monetary expansion and growth in private sector credit. Incentives for domestic productivity and savings/investments were also put in place. ● Establishing realistic prices using the exchange rate as the principle tool. The Uganda shilling was devalued, tax and tariff reforms implemented, and coffee prices liberalized. ● Rehabilitating the country’s productive and social infrastructure. This also included the alleviation of poverty, particularly the social costs of the adjustment program itself. This initiative was the Program for the Alleviation of Poverty and the Social Costs of Adjustment (PAPSCA). The policy objectives outlined above were later reinforced by the budget speech of July 1987, which emphasized several legitimating strategies. These included the establishment of a Central Purchasing Agency to reduce fraud, the reactivation and revamping of the verification committee to find a lasting solution to the Departed Asians’ Property, and the introduction of the Open General Licensing (OGL) system under which importers would obtain import licenses and foreign exchange immediately upon request.77 In fact these strategies also had the potential to institutionalize the state. These measures were enough to win support from the IMF and funding from the World Bank and several western countries. The IMF extended a Structural Adjustment Facility (SAF) package (US$40 million) of support and the International Development Agency (IDA) chipped in a US$200 million economic recovery assistance package, which was extended in 1990. In order to relieve debt pressure, the Paris Club rescheduled Uganda’s bilateral debt, arrears, and current obligations (1986 to 1987) worth about US$185 million. For its part, the World Bank disbursed US$55 million for Uganda’s economic recovery. This was soon followed by an EEC release of US$15 million and the United Kingdom’s US$10 million. The Ugandan economy responded with mixed results. GDP growth rose from 0.3 percent in 1986 to 7.1 percent in 1988.78 The growth rate in other sectors of the economy was equally impressive, considering the past: for example, industry (25.1 percent), monetary agriculture (8.5 percent), agricultural processing (40 percent), forestry, fishing, and hunting (39.2 percent), construction (19.2 percent), manufacture of foods (31.3 percent) and non-monetary economy (5.2 percent).79 However, the economy remained destabilized with inflation in the years 1987 to 1988 at a fever-pitch high of 243 percent. The 1988 to 1989 up-front devaluation coupled with other policies such as flexible exchange rates eventually brought down inflation to 30 percent by the end of 1990. And, with the increase of exports relative to imports, the balance of payments improved from a deficit of US$8.5 million in 1987 to US$7.6 million in 1988.

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Underlying these economic figures was a spectrum of changes in the lives of average Ugandans. For example, the tight fiscal policy completely ended the illicit trade in foreign currency and essential commodities—kibanda and magendo businesses were eliminated. Essential commodities were now fully available, albeit, the cost of living was still quite high. Due to the improvement in physical infrastructure and the associated lower transportation costs, it was easier and cheaper to get food products to urban markets. The liberalization of coffee prices reenergized growers to rehabilitate their farms and take advantage of the more affordable transportation costs. The construction of new commercial and residential buildings picked up steam by the end of 1991, triggering extraordinary demand for building materials and labor. It was not unusual to overhear ordinary folk in Kampala making comments such as “omusajja akoze” or “omusaija akozire wewe,” which is Luganda and Rutoro respectively for “the man [the president] has worked hard.” Thus far, the NRM had succeeded in imposing economic shock therapy without suffering a noticeable withdrawal of popular consent. As far as legitimacy from the international community was concerned, the NRM was in very good books as shown by the amount of aid and loans poured into the country from the time the IMF conditionalities were accepted in 1987. In the five years following the 1991 African Caribbean Pacific/EEC joint assembly meeting in Kampala, multilateral economic assistance worth US$1.1 billion was extended to Uganda.80 Clearly, the international community had considerable confidence in the NRM government and its capacity to steer the Ugandan economy in the right direction. Although the classical definitions of political legitimacy have been limited to domestic factors and actors, the Uganda case (as representative of African states in general) seems to demonstrate a shift in this regard. The impact that international actors have had on African countries in transition is both positive and negative. They can instigate a shift toward political and economic liberalization, a shift that would otherwise be impossible considering the weaknesses inherent in civil society and the unwillingness of political elites. At the same time, they dictate a model of liberalization that suits their preconceived notions and that, worse still, might endanger transition if the preconditions for it conflict with the priorities of the economic models (most notably SAPs) that they champion. Be that as it may, in Uganda and elsewhere in Africa, the efficacy of governments (e.g., the NRM) is very much a function of the opinion of the international community: It seems an undeniable paradox that the return of national liberal democracy to the African continent has been paralleled by an increasing transfer of power and influence over policy matters to international actors.81

In the case of Uganda, however, Abrahamsen’s observation (above) is only half right. Although economic policy was very much a function of IMF/World Bank dictates, Uganda remained stubbornly opposed to the other IFI conditionalities, particularly to political pluralism and liberalism.82 The no-party

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system of government remained firmly in control and political parties were strictly forbidden from holding conventions and from campaigning. Political Discourse as a Vector of Legitimacy and Consolidation It would be misguided not to consider the efficacy of language in the legitimation of the NRM. Indeed, an examination of the discursive element of early NRM policy provides critical insights into changes in political culture and other state- and regime-support institutions. In order for the NRM to justify its rule and qualify its claims of making a “fundamental change in the politics of Uganda,” they had to bring meaning to their notion of democracy. A contested term under any circumstance, “democracy” became central to the political language of the NRM shortly after taking power in 1986. The concept was used to describe a system in which political party activities were curtailed and popular political participation (especially at the grassroots) was promoted through a single political entity, the NRM. Since the Movement was open to all regardless of ideological, ethnic, or religious stripes, it was argued by the “movementists” (itself a new term describing NRM ideologues) that it was, therefore, more inclusive and enabling for the rightful exercise of power. President Museveni qualified the definition of this brand of democracy by contrasting it to previous political arrangements: Uganda could not possibly be more democratic . . . There is a world of difference between a no-party democracy, which we have proclaimed, and the one-party state which used to exist in Africa . . . In our system we let all trends contend within the Movement: there are rightists, leftists, Marxists, feudalists, etc. No tendency is excluded.83

Of course, those who favored multiparty politics (the “multipartyists”—a new term born out of this contention) argued that democracy was incompatible with the suppression of fundamental rights, specifically, freedom of association.84 In the opinion of these pluralists, the banning of political party activities rendered NRM claims to democracy null and void. Kasfir (2000) makes the claim that the NRM used “movement” democracy merely to legitimize the regime and perpetuate their hold on to power. This is because the NRM’s definition and justification for “movement” democracy has changed drastically over time, and at each stage the intention has been to suit the political circumstances of the day. Later the NRM abandoned (see chapter 6) the “no-party” system, grudgingly accepted a multiparty system, and in essence conceded that it had become a political party. Be that as it may, in the early days, the reasons given by the NRM to justify no-party democracy were very hard for the multipartyists to overcome. More specifically, it was hard for multipartyists to communicate their logic to the people. When member of parliament and UPC stalwart Cecilia Ogwal made

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the following argument, she may have been right, but she was the wrong messenger considering the horrendous past record of the UPC: The government seems to have given the wrong impression that it is moving toward true democracy . . . This man Museveni, is entrenching himself daily, militarily. The whole country is being militarized to support a dictatorial system.85

For its part, the NRM argued that “movement” democracy was justified at that particular time in the history of the country because (a) Ugandans had suffered since independence on account of multiparty competition that had in turn promoted both religious and ethnic sectarianism and undermined national unity, (b) the Movement was nonpartisan, all-inclusive, and welcoming of all Ugandans regardless of political/ideological differences, and (c) a united people under the Movement would be better able to undertake the challenges of modernization and throw off the shackles of backwardness.86 The power of these arguments lay in the fact that Ugandans did not need to be reminded of the evils of politics under both Obote I, politics that led to the emergence of tyranny under Idi Amin, or of the political corruption and military brutality of Obote II. The movementists were successful in tying this history to multiparty politics and, thus, legitimizing their own brand of democracy. To further qualify their definition of democracy, the NRM language introduced the concept of “broad-basedness” with its accompanying notion of inclusiveness. At the risk of losing ideological coherence, the NRM invited elites from previous regimes and various political party affiliations to join it, elites such as Paul Semwogerere of the DP and, later, Idi Amin strong man Moses Ali. Indeed, the Democratic Party, which possessed the legitimacy of almost certainly having been the actual winner of the 1980 elections, received the largest share of the most important cabinet portfolios.87 There is no doubt, therefore, that the rhetoric, and out of it the policy of broad-basedness, helped qualify the statements and rationale for no-party or “movement” democracy. When, in 1987, the DP organizing secretary reported that 84 percent of LC5 seats had been won by the DP, with the NRM and UPC winning 7 percent each, the idea that no-party democracy was open and transparent to all became even more compelling. It is, thus, difficult to avoid the conclusion that in the period under study (1986 to 1991), the rhetoric of no-party or “movement” democracy with its tangential offshoots of inclusiveness and broad-basedness played an important role in regime legitimation and power consolidation. It is also important to bear in mind that from this language flowed other new concepts, all of which also concretized Museveni’s populism. For example, the phrase “gender balance” was linked to inclusiveness, but it was equally powerful in winning women’s support for the Movement. Inclusiveness was also used in political rhetoric as the antidote to “sectarianism,” another one of the common phrases in the narrative of NRM rule. Not only did he turn sectarianism (or at least the behavior associated

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with it) into a bad word, Museveni also used it to bestow on himself the nationalist label. This was critically important in creating the perception that his presidency (and by extension the NRM) was national in character and, thus, transcended ethnic and religious parochialism. Finally, while it may not be possible to exhaust the NRM political lexicon, a summary of Museveni’s early speeches (recorded in his Sowing the Mustard Seed)88 shows how language was used to legitimize NRM leadership and disparage the previous ones.89 For example, Uganda’s postcolonial political elite is described as cheap, opportunistic, unprincipled, reactionary, feudalist, bankrupt, artificial, ignorant, myopic, greedy, obscurantist, corrupt and backward. UPC leaders are described as an “uncouth breed” and those of the DP as “inept.” In contrast, Museveni’s rhetoric always depicted the NRM leadership as principled, disciplined, proper, scientific, systematic, and logical.90 Fresh from the bush, and following the atrocities of the Obote/Okello regimes, the NRM was able to effectively use this rhetoric to contrast and set itself apart from previous regimes. What was not clear was whether the same rhetoric would be appealing and meaningful to the masses past the consolidation stage and whether policy would match the rhetoric. Indeed, as shall be shown in the following chapters, sectarianism and with it exclusivity would come to infect the NRM just as broad-basedness would itself inevitably diminish. Intolerance for dissent within the NRM sent old bush allies such as Kizza Besigye out of the Movement and out of the country into exile. In fact, by 2004, the whole no-party argument breaks down and the NRM is forced to accept multiparty politics.

IV. Conclusion Bienen and Herbst (1993) posit the “new broom” phenomenon as a political situation in which a new leader capable of using the honeymoon period effects big reforms without the constraints of patronage networks that typically jeopardize development in Africa. The first five years (or honeymoon) of Pax Musevenica typically cast President Museveni as a “new broom” who after sweeping away the likes of Tito Okello proceeded to consolidate power, negotiate a new structural adjustment program with donors, and initiate what is clearly the broadest agenda of policy reforms in Uganda’s postcolonial history.91 By not reaching a political deal with any of the previous regimes, the NRM was able to sweep away the old neopatrimonial clientalist networks, thus, leaving a political/social tabula rasa upon which to write the principles of a new polity. Secondly, given the history of Uganda, Museveni’s “new broom” credentials were facilitated by a “new” army that was free of the colonial or immediate postcolonial sociopolitical hangovers. The National Resistance Army (NRA) had developed deep social roots in preparation for and during their successful launch of an internal guerilla war. Thirdly, as a leader, Museveni brought a new and fresh outlook to the office of president. He was perceived to be honest, patriotic, and committed to principles of social justice. Was the NRM successful in laying the

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foundation for a governance realm and, therefore, for the legitimate exercise of power? Would this realm provide a normative basis for the construction of democratic state institutions, or would the legitimacy project be limited to the regime? What mode of transition was the NRM establishing and what regime type would emerge from it? There were clear signs by 1991 that the NRM was making progress with regard to the establishment of a governance realm. The strategies of legitimation outlined above were quite effective in restoring reciprocal statesociety and civil-military relations, both of which were vital for restoring trust and accountability in the polity. The 1989 elections, the LC system, the constitutional process and associational vibrancy set the ball rolling for reciprocity by initiating the emergence of liberal politics. NRM policies toward restoration of security, order, rule of law, and a sound economic system improved the prospects for establishing the rightful exercise of power and, indeed, a governance realm. Finally, the new political discourse in Ugandan politics became an important vector for restoring social trust between political elites and citizens. These factors provided two invaluable assets for the NRM. The first was a normative template for regime legitimacy, albeit, state legitimation would take much longer and require greater political fortitude. The second major achievement was the acquisition of enough political and social capital to implement tough reforms in all sectors of Ugandan society. The long and drawn out constitutional consultations represented the NRM’s determination to bring about fundamental change, but it was not clear that state (as opposed to regime) institutional legitimation would follow. Furthermore, in these first five years, the novelty of “movement democracy” was instrumental in legitimizing the NRM, but as shall be evident in the years (chapters) to follow, the ideology and programmatic ideals of the system were never institutionalized in ways that would survive President Museveni. The mode of transition remained directed from above— a top-down, guided form of change. Moreover, the professed meaning of “movement” or no-party democracy seemed to shift ever so often as a reflection of the political (mis)fortunes of the NRM. Thus, while NRM legitimacy was greatly enhanced, the prospects for state legitimation still hang in the balance. Nevertheless, the structural foundations for the early phase of Pax Musevenica were laid down in the early strategies/policies. Therefore, the years from 1991 to 1996 (chapter 4) and beyond would provide more concrete evidence regarding the political legitimacy project and the further consolidation of democratic ideals. Several potholes, detours, and blind spots would shape the political safari of the next ten years. These included heightened demands for the restoration of political party politics, agitation for a federalist system of governance, the politics of constitutional reform, the social/political costs of economic liberalism, reaction to regional instability, and so on. The process of responding to these challenges would test the political leadership and the vision of the NRM, shape the emerging regime type, and determine the possibility of Uganda’s transition to democracy.

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he power consolidation and legitimacy strategies laid out in the years between 1986 and 1991 began to develop institutional identities during the years under study in this chapter, namely, 1991 to 1996. Following deregulation, the press was gaining a vibrancy unprecedented in Uganda’s history. Already-established private newspapers, and TV and radio stations, were finding their niche as organs for the people’s voice, while new ones were still being established. Women’s associations were fast emerging as the strongest section of civil society. The Commission of Enquiry into the Violation of Human Rights became the forerunner of the constitutional Commission of Human Rights. An anticorruption, government ombudsman—Inspector General of Government (IGG)—was also given constitutional latitude coupled with a full-fledged Ministry of Ethics. At the same time, these and many other developments were beginning to create feedback loops that would redirect and reshape other strategies of governance and administration. For example, in public political debate, questions were being raised: would this new era of economic liberalization also include political opening and in particular the legalization of political party politics? What factors were responsible for the continuing insecurity in the north and what would it take to find a permanent settlement? How much real power would be delegated to the legislature in order for it to check and balance the executive branch? How much authority would the newly introduced traditional kingdoms enjoy vis-à-vis the national government? Would the LCs develop sufficient autonomy so as to independently articulate popular interest without interference from regime elites? Regional politics was also beginning to push its way up the NRM agenda. These were all questions and challenges that would test the NRM’s capacity to (a) satisfy basic government functions in ways that would meet the approval of the res publica, (b) maintain consensus regarding the rules of the political game while enabling competition among and between various social groups, and (c) cultivate an environment in which state-building policies and effective governance did not stifle institutions of increased and meaningful representation. These three factors would improve the prospects for establishing vital state-society linkages based on trust, accountability, and reciprocity. The subsequent emergence of a governance

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realm would sustain the process of authenticating NRM power and contribute positively to the reconstruction of the state. This chapter analyses NRM policies and assesses their effectiveness based on whether, in response to the above mentioned questions, a governance realm was being created, regime legitimation was being furthered, and the project of state institutionalization was being promoted. It focuses on the following policies and political strategies: the completion of the constitutional process, the institutionalization of the LC system, civil service reform, restoration of traditional kingdoms, economic reform, and the 1996 general elections.

I. The Challenges of Constitutionalism The single most defining event of the five years between 1991 and 1996 was the enactment of the constitution. But, as much as this was the crowning event, the initial challenge raised the critical question of whether Ugandans could reach a consensus on the actual process by which the constitution would be enacted. For example, still unsettled was the question of which political organization would claim political or legal authority to debate and ultimately promulgate the new constitution. How would such an institution be constituted? What would the status of the prevailing NRM government and legislature be in the interim? Moreover, in order for the NRM to restore legitimacy, the new constitution itself had to engender two complementary principles, both of which would have to be debated in the process of enactment. Tenet number one invoked the construction of legitimate and respected modalities of power and tenet number two demanded the creation of strong “state-limiting doctrines” such as power devolution (including decentralization and/or federalism), and the equivalent of a bill of rights. For the first time in their postindependence history, Ugandans were seeking to establish key institutional instruments for organizational consensus and were doing this on their own terms. Institutional construction represents the mediations that transform the private lives of individuals into shared and collective identities.1 Given Uganda’s history of ethnic, religious, and political sectarianism, an ever-widening mass-elite gap, and the concomitant lack of national unity, the constitutional process was considered the ideal project for providing a framework within which collective identities could be unified and conflicting interests managed. Such was the primacy of this period that it had the potential to lay the foundation for a democratic transition. As this change unfolded, the out-of-focus edges of an evolving regime type were beginning to emerge, thus, giving substance to the reconstruction of important state institutions. Institutionalization, as analyzed below, prepares the ground for democratic transition, which then leads to the construction of a regime in which the state is strong, capable of mobilizing societal collective interests, but restrained enough to seek legitimacy through meaningful representation and popular participation. But, in Uganda, this process of institution building has

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always been fraught with political cultural hurdles, and frustrated by the vagaries of history, such as ethnic and religious conflict, political violence, zero-sum game, and patronage politics. So, this was clearly a pivotal moment in the country’s history.

II. Institutionalization: The Process and Substance of Constitutionalizing Politics In 1991, the nationwide process of soliciting citizens’ views toward the making of a new constitution was winding down.2 The details of this landmark exercise have been dealt with elsewhere,3 but a chronological course of events is important as context for a discourse on the form and substance of constitutionalism in Uganda. The Constitutional Commission (to be referred to as the Odoki Commission, named after its chairman Benjamin Odoki) had completed its countrywide solicitation of opinions and was, by 1991, meeting with organized stakeholders—these included multiparty advocates, federalists, women’s activists, et cetera. Those seeking the reintroduction of party politics comprised the most vocal group. In June 1991, the commission organized a two-day conference during which multipartyists were invited to discuss the constitutional proposals that were to be included in the draft constitution. Whatever may have taken place at this conference did not endear the latter or their ideas to the commission, the president, or the legislature, because in August of the following year political party activities were formally suspended by the NRC, and the movement system was deeply ensconced in the draft constitution. In December 1992, Odoki submitted the Constitutional Commission Report accompanied by the Draft Constitution to President Museveni. Faced with a lot of criticism and opposition, the NRM suggested and the NRC grudgingly approved (through Constituent Assembly Statute #6 of 1993) close to two years for campaigning and organizing Constituent Assembly (CA) elections. The CA, and not the NRC, would debate and finally enact the constitution. The statute also specified the time period for the debate of the draft constitution. Elections for the CA took place in March 1994, followed by the extension of the NRM’s interim period of rule until a general election to be held under the new constitution. In October 1995, Uganda’s new constitution was promulgated, and as planned, the first national elections were held in December of that year. President Museveni won the elections by a landslide, garnering over 70 percent of the votes cast. In the new Parliament, the NRM commanded a majority of seats giving the government the form of a parliamentary system. A Critique of the Constitutional Process The constitutional process stimulated wide-ranging debates within Uganda’s civil society. News media outlets, women’s groups, farmers, trade unions,

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multipartyists, movementists, the clergy, and many others joined in the discourse of constitution making. Lawyers, academics, journalists, pundits, et cetera used this opportunity to size up the entire political process and to, thus, evaluate ways in which Uganda had or had not changed.4 This was the first time that Ugandans had had an opportunity to publicly debate the rules and institutions of power since independence. In evaluating the process preceding the enactment of the Uganda constitution in 1995, several points merit discussion. First, it has been argued that, in principle, the idea of appointing a constitutional commission to solicit, compile, and synthesize citizens’ views into the draft constitution was an important first step toward changing the history of constitution making in Uganda. For example, the solicitation of citizen’s views, if for nothing else, raised the level of political awareness and involvement, thus, aiding in the function of political recruitment. The process also stimulated intense activity within various aspects of civil society, in particular, women’s rights and human rights in general. In the end, emphasis on these interests differentiated the 1995 constitution from its predecessors: The [Constitutional] Commission has quite rightly taken advantage of the latest development in the feminist and gender movement and has put together a number of articles which make the Uganda Constitution, in this respect, a model instrument . . . The Commission has taken great pains to put in place appropriate mechanisms for the promotion, protection and enforcement of the rights and freedoms of the individual [such as] the establishment of the Uganda Human Rights Commission, the office of the Inspector of Government (Ombudsman) and the Leadership Code Committee.5

Additionally, the constitution also put noticeable checks on presidential power. A noted critic of Movement politics, John Jean Barya, conceded that “the hitherto dictatorial powers of the President have been curtailed and many presidential acts are subject to parliamentary approval.”6 Above all, he added that “the president must be directly elected and can only lead for two five-year terms.” This reference to presidential term limits (Art. 105(a) of the Constitution) would become the focus of the political crisis preceding the 2006 elections (see chapter 6). Nonetheless, the seven-year constitutional voyage was unprecedented in its magnitude of citizen consultation and involvement, and compared to other constitutional reform efforts in East Africa, Uganda’s case was the most expansive in history.7 However, there is no doubt that the Uganda constitution was directed from above. At the heart of this contention is the fact that both the process and the outcome (i.e., the draft constitution) were intended to and, in fact, did entrench NRM rule in Uganda. The evidence supporting this argument is quite formidable. It includes the following: ● The long-drawn-out process that prolonged and allowed NRM ideology and political culture and structures (such as the LCs) to take root and,

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more importantly, the inclusion of NRM political Commissar as well as his counterpart in the NRA8 ● The above led to the election of a Constituent Assembly (CA) that was dominated by NRM supporters and that, as a result, enacted a final document entrenching movement democracy and reflecting NRM interests. ● The use of NRM-supported LCs as instruments for seeking and studying citizens views Some observers have described the work of NRM cadres particularly at the subcounty level as performing the role of vetting on behalf of the incumbents (Furley and Katalikawe 1997:248). ● The nomination/appointment of the Constitutional Commission, the commissioner, and two deputies for the CA by the president or the minister of constitutional affairs instead of by popular vote or people’s representatives ● The exclusion of issues that the NRM did not favor. For example, the issue of political party politics was rejected, prompting the walk out of the multiparty delegates from the CA deliberations three months (June 1995) before the constitution was enacted. Federalism was another issue that was summarily dismissed by the CA from the Draft Constitution and later from the final constitution itself. These flaws watered down the constitution as a normative framework for the authoritative exercise of power. It remained to be seen whether the constitution would provide a legitimate social contract between state and society, and whether a governance realm would emerge from this relationship? Furthermore, questions remained as to the evolution of an efficacious civil society—one capable of checking the powers of the executive. Answers to these questions would become clearer in the years beyond 1996 (seechapter 5). Constitutional Reform and Political Legitimacy The 1995 constitution provided partial legitimacy to the NRM in that it emphasized democracy, but it was weak in the area of enabling liberal politics. Even with the retention of the movement system, it was able to provide a framework for nonpartisan competitive elections with guarantees of certain rights such as individual freedom, worship, and assembly. However, the key obstruction was in the area of group and political organization—the new constitution insisted on banning the right to form political parties. It is the illiberal nature of democracy under Pax Musevenica that would eventually drain the regime (and by extension the state) of trust and social capital. Space limitations do not allow for a thorough examination of the entire constitution, especially the specific issue of legitimation. What follows is a discussion of the most important and conspicuous feature of the 1995 constitution, namely, the restriction of pluralist democracy. Given that pluralism is fundamental to the establishment of democratic legitimacy, strict limits on political organization (as outlined by Art. 269 of the 1995 constitution) and, therefore, representation greatly weakened the

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constitutional promotion of power legitimation and, by extension, liberal democracy. While article 72 establishes “the right to form political parties and any other political organization [as] guaranteed,” articles 269–271 negate both the spirit and letter of the former. To limit participation and representation is to tip the balance between consent and effectiveness in favor of the latter. Irrespective of article 74, which calls for a referendum “for the purpose of changing the political system . . .” that is, reversing the stipulations of article 269,9 the key point is that political organization cannot in principle be legislated. And, if this important principle is politicized, it is then subject to manipulation—which is what the referendum did.10 The fact that the 1995 constitution provided for civil and human rights seems to suggest that article 269 was added into the constitution as a political strategy for managing political change from above and for restructuring the political landscape to favor the NRM. The gamble taken by the NRM was that the emphasis on other areas of human rights, particularly those concerned with women, would overshadow the clamor for multiparty politics. However, together with the federalists, multipartyists constituted the most formidable opposition to movement politics in Uganda.11 It was clear back then that if the NRM was to substantially legitimate its rule, it had to enter into negotiations and dialogue with multipartyists or acquiesce to their demands.12 This was particularly so because the NRM’s hitherto proclaimed commitment to broad-basedness (article 70) was becoming increasingly difficult to defend owing to diminishing support for dissenting voices within the Movement.13 The real manifestation of this trend, however, became much clearer later when NRM veterans such as Kizza Besigye and Winnie Byanyima (and later Eriya Kategaya, Miria Matembe, Mugisha Muntu, and others) were forced out. While article 70a mandates that the NRM respect popular participatory democracy, one example, that of the Local Council (LC) system, restricted this by allowing LC2s and LC3s to function as electoral colleges, thus, restraining the much-touted popular participatory feature of no-party democracy in the upper echelons of local government. Given that LCs acted as administrative arms of the NRM (especially in the absence of party competition), the electoral college system inevitably increased the power of the regime relative to that of the people. This development underscores an important principle: the existence of a single, dominant political organization such as the NRM cannot, by definition, guarantee an environment for the free and open contestation of wide-ranging ideas and interests. The NRM experiment (of “no-party” or “movement” democracy) clearly illustrates that a formal opposition compels the incumbents to reform, rejuvenate, and be more responsive. On the other hand, a monolithic political system lacks the safety valves and self-cleansing mechanisms to uphold (for an extended period of time) a governance realm and its requisite tenets of liberal politics. As a result, the political organization, in this case the NRM, is no longer a living, breathing and dynamic organism—it suffers institutional atrophy and decay. Therefore, in dictating some of the terms of the constitution, the

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NRM was concerned, inter alia, with effective governance, understood primarily in the context of political participation and only secondarily as an extension of full citizenship rights. But, it was participation within the parameters provided for and dictated by the NRM. Therefore, Uganda’s constitutional choices were skewed such that the expedient superseded the fundamental.14 Later in 1997, the Movement confirmed this assertion when the NRM-dominated NRC enacted the Movement Act, a law that, in effect, compelled all citizens to become members of the NRM. To effectively legitimize the NRM, but most importantly the state itself, and to improve and facilitate pluralism and political competition, the constitution had to be amended to remove antidemocratic stipulations such as articles 269, 270, and 274.15 These restrictions constrained power legitimation by blocking alternative entry points for hitherto excluded social groups (e.g., multipartyists, rebel groups, and federalists) into the political arena. No matter how effective the NRM government was, these groups, particularly the multipartyists, remained alienated and were, therefore, disinclined to identify with new institutions of governance because of the closed environment in which they were constructed. It is no wonder, therefore, that less than ten years after the promulgation of the 1995 constitution, a constitutional review commission was set up to revisit the political knots within the fabric of the new legal framework. Thus, the constitution was both boon and bane in the process of legitimation because while it may have answered a number of questions and settled a plethora of controversial issues, thus, allowing the NRM to claim higher (albeit, temporary) levels of legitimacy for itself and certain state institutions (e.g., Inspector General of Government), it also raised new and vexing questions. The Movement Act (which flows out of constitutional provisions) became a symbol of regimes of yesteryear. For example, Obote’s regime, which sought to perpetuate its hold on power indefinitely by marginalizing opposition groups. The NRM seemed to be more concerned with maintaining stability and relative consensus rather than taking what it believed to be the risk of anarchy flowing from open competition. However, as the political system stabilized, this reasoning became more and more self-serving and led predictably to heightened political conflict. The long-term effect of these contradictions was manifest in reduced levels of social trust and a delayed timetable for the emergence of a governance realm. Notwithstanding these deleterious consequences, the regime emerged from the constitutional process politically better off than before. The process of constitution making increased the number of stakeholders in the affairs of state while infusing the NRM with legitimacy.16 New civil society interests (e.g., women, the youth, etc.) were better represented in the new constitutional dispensation than ever before, not to mention their assimilation into the process of interest articulation and aggregation. Moreover, with regards the absence of pluralistic democracy, public opinion polls seemed to indicate that not only did Ugandans “remain attached to the idea of oneparty rule,” but they also associated democracy more with the delivery of

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benefits such as education, food, water, and shelter than with “regular elections, majority rule, competing political parties and freedom to criticize the government.”17 Thus, the closure of political space in the form of restrictions on political party politics did not irreparably damage the project of regime (albeit, not necessarily state) legitimacy. As a matter of fact, the constitutional process, despite the undemocratic features pointed out above, appears to have contributed to increased support for President Museveni and the NRM, as was to be seen in the 1996 elections. The latter symbolized the high watermark of the regime’s popularity and ipso facto of Pax Musevenica. It is thus apropos to examine the institutional transformation and regime type that was emerging from this historic constitutional process.

III. Institutionalization: Determining Regime Type The Museveni-engineered transition was a typical elite-driven, guided change from above. The preceding argument, for example, clearly shows that the constitutional process and its outcomes were shaped by NRM political objectives despite the countrywide consultations that preceded the promulgation of the constitution. The restraints on political organization (e.g., political party activity) and other forms of political expression were meant to tighten central control and to give the NRM elites enough room to reconstruct the state and to shape Uganda’s transition in their image. This approach toward transition gradually led to the emergence of a statist regime type, although the evidence for this would become more concrete in the years after 1996. In fact the NRM remained committed to economic neoliberalism until 2005. But the constitutional entrenchment of the NRM seemed to conflate the regime’s political objectives with the raison d’etre of the state. The Movement then began using state institutions to work toward its own maintenance and survival. There are several factors that contributed to this drift toward statism.

Legitimacy and Regime Type The difference between the first five years of NRM rule and the five under scrutiny here lies in the shift that began taking place in its social base of support. Ideologically the NRM began to move toward the right, even though the practical effects of this would be more evident beyond 1996. The following sociopolitical pressures formed the background to these changes in ideological orientation: the recruitment of nontraditional members into the NRM, the dictates of the IMF/World Bank, the continued rebel activities in the country, and the influence of the neopatrimonial class that was beginning to regroup and reestablish itself inside the NRM. In adjusting to these pressures, the NRM later abandoned its revolutionary character, and consolidation of power became an end in itself. As illustrated below, this change in

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ideological direction did have and continues to have an adverse effect on state legitimation. The second factor leading to statism came from increasing pressure from multipartyists who were seeking more political space for competitive politics. For example, following their walkout of the CA in protest of the latter’s failure to delete the movement system from the constitution, the advocates of multiparty politics formed a coalition to contest the 1996 presidential elections. Their leader, Paulo Ssemwogerere, also resigned from his cabinet post in the NRM government, thus, dealing a blow to the NRM policy of broad-basedness. Thirdly, armed opposition became a ubiquitous phenomenon in Uganda, expressing, in part, the absence of institutional mechanisms other than the NRM through which grievances could be expressed and resolved. Fourthly, hundreds of people were rendered jobless (thus, swelling the ranks of the unemployed) as the public sector began shrinking. The ensuing state of unemployment amidst apparent prosperity (6 to 10 percent annual economic growth between 1992 and 1996) cultivated fertile ground for political opposition. Finally, in the process of privatization and other IMF/World Bank economic reforms, corruption gripped the country and threatened to undo much of the political capital that the NRM had built.18 For a regime obsessed with maintaining effective governance, these pressures were seen as a threat to the coherence and stability of the political system. Thus the NRM sought greater state intervention in the form of legislative initiatives such as the Movement Act (1997). The NRM also appointed RDCs as extensions of the state and therefore as mechanisms for keeping LCs in line with the political prerogatives of the state. Finally, the state extended its reach into society by transforming political education programs such as mchaka mchaka into conduits for indoctrinating Movement philosophy and political objectives. However, Uganda’s reconstruction narrative is much more complex than meets the eye. Despite these early signs of statism, the NRM did adopt a number of legitimating policies. These included decentralization of power and the creation of enough political space for a vibrant civil society in which women, youth groups, and the mass media thrived.19 The reintroduction of traditional kingdoms (despite the political expediency of this policy to the NRM)20 also helped create space for political participation and introduced both new and old ideas into the political marketplace. Pushed by the IMF/World Bank, the NRM’s laissez-faire policies led to liberal economic reforms in the areas of, inter alia, currency stabilization, investment, and export and crop marketing systems. These policies (as shall be shown below) encouraged individual entrepreneurship and rapid economic growth. State-owned parastatals (such as the Coffee Marketing Board) were sold off and infrastructural rehabilitation continued.21 Through the Universal Primary Education (UPE) policy, school enrollment rose from 67 percent in 1990 to 91 percent in 1991. Enrollment in secondary school went up from 11 percent in 1991, to 13 percent in 1993. Correspondingly, adult literacy rates rose from 54 percent in 1991 to 61 percent in 1994. Finally, the infant mortality rate (per 1000 births) dropped from

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114 in 1993 to 98 in 1995.22 The NRM was able to capture considerable political support from these strategies, particularly among the rural masses, the nascent but growing middle class, and the international community. The ultimate evidence for this was the landslide NRM victory in the 1996 general elections that undoubtedly validated Movement claims to the right and title to rule. The 1996 victory was also symbolic of gains in the area of social trust and therefore of potentially making room for the emergence of a governance realm. Although political competition and contestation were constrained at the national level—local level politics retained a competitive dimension that made for meaningful representation and participation. This bright scenario, however, did not last beyond 1996. The regime continued to poison the environment for competitive politics by blocking party politics and co-opting sections of civil society. By 2001 the structures of statism were more profoundly evident as the institutions of neopatrimonialism—presidentialism and clientelism—gained prominence.

IV. Institutionalization: Reestablishing Authority and Socioeconomic Organization In order to reestablish authority, a vast array of state institutions needs to be revamped and strengthened. Thus, the 1991 to 1996 period was witness to several regime/state institutional transformations. The following analysis will focus on five main areas: the institutionalization of local administration through the LC system, the restoration of traditional kingdoms, economic liberal reforms, the 1996 general elections, civil service reform, and decentralization. The analysis will distinguish between three forms of decentralization: deconcentration of the sort wherein responsibility or authority is transferred, but not resources or local accountability; delegation, when responsibility, authority, and resources are transferred, but accountability still resides in the center; and devolution, when there is transfer by law and other formal actions, of responsibility, resources, and accountability (Olowu and Wunsch 2004; Smith 1985; Adamolekun 1999). Institutionalizing the Administrative System: LCs and Decentralization The second LC1–5 elections were held in February 1992, a time (unlike the first LC elections in 1989) when most of the country was better prepared to vote and, thus, give the NRM some badly needed validation. The 1992 elections would further institutionalize the LC system, promote decentralization, and strengthen popular democracy. They also had the potential of strengthening the administrative reach of the NRM in most areas but the north. As E.A. Brett has observed the LC system, undoubtedly strengthened state capacity and the development of a participatory culture at every level. RCs have become cost effective mechanisms for

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settling disputes, maintaining security, improving infrastructure and, at the district level, making policy, managing local revenue, and supervising the work of the district administration23

The continued effectiveness of the LC system, however, required a greater level of democratic authority delegated to the local levels. Hence, the NRM was faced with two important political questions. Would the old conservative interests (the neopatrimonial class) at the center allow for devolution of power (as opposed to delegation or deconcentration) to the periphery, and second, would the NRM remain committed to the empowerment of the peasant and working classes so as to meaningfully transfer power to them at the local levels? This would certainly indicate a willingness by the NRM to exchange a guided form of democratization for more meaningful, bottom-up processes of participation characteristic of a liberal regime type. The devolution of power to localities and its impact on citizens could potentially give concrete form to the mode of transition, the emerging regime type, and a governance realm. Also at stake was whether the NRM would use the LC system to balance its obsession with effective governance and with citizen consent and representativeness. Two case studies will help answer these questions. In his field work in two Buganda villages of Kamira and Namasujju, Per Tidemand (1994) investigated the workings of the LC system in terms of representativeness, citizen empowerment, and function. As a snapshot of how LCs operated on the ground, his findings are important for assessing the degree of legitimacy that the NRM may have acquired from them during the early period of Pax Musevenica, (1986 to 1996). Per Tidemand’s study also examines the nature and character of decentralization. For example, his study finds that popular participation was markedly higher at the LC1 level than at LC5. In the 1992 elections, 82 percent of the citizens in Namasujju and 62 percent in Kamira voted. Citizens at the LC1 were more likely to know their committee members (96 and 78 percent in Namasujju and Kamira, respectively), while only 18 percent knew their LC5 chairpersons. At LC1 levels, 50 and 42 percent of Namasujju and Kamira citizens, respectively, reported attending their last LC meeting. Well-to-do citizens were more likely to dominate LC1 committees, although this tendency was much stronger at the LC5 level. Finally, the level of participation among women at LC1 was half that among men, albeit this was still much better than systems of local governance in administrations previous to the NRM. How representative were the LC1 committees at the village level? Again, Per Tidemand’s research offers a glimpse into the dynamics of these committees, their politicoideological orientation, and how both of these attributes contributed to representativeness. LC1 committees functioned primarily as instruments of social control and law and order at the village level. This role involved regulation of strangers, social control of youth (e.g., hooliganism), deviant behavior (e.g., witchcraft), and adjudication. The judicial function had a “popular” content. For instance, in most land disputes the committees tended to favor tenants as opposed to

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landlords. Also, “common sense” often prevailed over the technicalities of customary, religious, and modern law while sentences tend to be more restitutive.24 Be that as it may, social/political patterns did emerge and provided insights concerning the efficacy of LC1 committees and how much legitimacy they delivered to the NRM. Several factors explain how village committees were emptied of their popular content. For example, judging from the Namasujju and Kamira case studies these included high fines levied by the LC1 courts, lack of basic knowledge in law, and, related to this, their inability to handle serious cases such as murder. The most serious problem, however, was that village committees were often wedded to “local interests” and “village establishments.”25 The latter characteristic, in particular, tended to drive landlords to magistrates’ courts in matters regarding land disputes involving tenants or squatters. Also, for women, village level courts tended to be lacking in efficacy because of their inherent bias favoring a patriarchal social order. In her research conducted beyond 1996, Lynn Khadiagala concluded that popular justice had failed to protect the customary property rights of women because of the ability of local elites to use informal institutions (such as maledominated beer parties) for purposes of social control.26 As such, women have tended to associate LC courts (despite women membership on them) with the “rule of persons.” They have instead resorted to state magistrates courts that they perceive to be more committed to the “rule of law.”27 At the LC5 or district level, Per Tidemand found that participation was even more limited. The ban on campaigning at this level made it difficult for candidates to do any more than expound on their personal qualities to the electorate and reciprocally for the electorate to do more than debate the candidates in these terms.28 Consequently candidates leveraged their appeals on the basis of personal qualities such as ability to deliver basic needs or perceptions of sociability. Therefore, elements of patronage politics and neopatrimonial governance in the NRM can be traced from these developments. Second, the electoral college system from LC2 upward inevitably strips the system of its popular content, leaving relatively well-educated professional politicians in charge of the committees. In Namasujju and Kamira, respectively, only 24 and 30 percent of village citizens knew at least two of their district (LC5) councilors.29 Thus, when compared to LC1 in terms of representativeness and participation, LC5s have considerably less efficacy and play a more diminished democratic role. This is even more so considering that decisions made by LC5 committees were often interfered with, reversed, or questioned by parallel central government officers such as district development committees or district administrators (DA)30 who are presidential appointees with a “supervisory” function and are considered to be the “political heads of districts.” Per Tidemand found considerable reluctance by central government staff, charged with “preparation, evaluation, monitoring and implementation of district plans,” to accept the authority of elected politicians whose main task was “to formulate and review development plans.”31 In a number of districts, this produced instances of conflict over decision-making

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responsibilities and expenditure priorities between technical and political personnel.32 Levels of conflict were greatest when LC5s performed their rightful role as watchdogs over possible civil servants’ misuse of power.33 There is no doubt that these structural weaknesses further attenuated the representativeness of district councils that already suffered from the weaknesses inherent in having been constituted through an electoral college system. But, also, the nexus between state appointed and local officials represented a conflation of regime political interests and what would otherwise be important state building mechanisms. For instance, the LCs were used by the NRM to maintain control in the periphery, particularly after the 1996 general elections. LCs often represented “party branches” as they aggregated NRM interests and frustrated popular demands or circumscribed the goals of groups opposed to the Movement. Local-level institutions such as RC judicial systems that tried to exercise independence and autonomy from the NRM were often sabotaged by the government using other LC structures as the political instruments of choice. These forms of political behavior would later give way to the emergence of statist/neopatrimonial patterns of administration. The taxation function of LC5s was also fraught with problems. Until 1995, when the devolution dimension of decentralization opened the way for 50 percent of graduated taxes to be retained at the local level, LC5 functions were highly dependent on tax collection from lower-level (i.e., LC1 through 3) jurisdictions. But, in both Namasujju and Kamira, not only were graduated taxes regressive but also district councils often failed to show proper use of taxpayers’ money, especially to folks in localities below the district level. In fact, in addition to paying taxes, citizens at these levels especially peasants found themselves in the position of supplying their own social provisions, doing so at a considerable cost to their individual households.34 Despite interdistrict differences, the Namasujju and Kamira case studies provide a good starting point in assessing the degree of democratization associated with the LC system and the character of the emerging regime type. Furthermore, the cases provide a template for analyzing the distribution of authority at the local level, the degree to which this empowers local citizens, and finally, how effective these arrangements are for legitimizing the regime (i.e., the NRM) and presumably the state. Clearly, LC5s had a considerably lower level of efficacy than their counterparts at LC1, despite the weaknesses associated with both units as outlined above. The role of central government officials in subverting popular decision making at the district level contradicted NRM claims of having fully devolved power to localities. The president’s oft-heard argument (see chapter 3) that peasants are backward may partly explain the interventionary politics of the National Secretariat or the president in LC affairs.35 These are clearly signs of a regime wedded to strengthening governability at the expense of popular representation and control, especially at the national level. Furthermore, the guided democracy model of the NRM (which later turns in to co-optation) called for inordinate control of the political process and it

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thus undermined levels of popular consent and legitimacy. These weaknesses have frustrated transition to democracy and expansion of a governance realm. However, at levels below LC3, in particular at LC1, a “peoples’ organization” was created in local level self-governance. Clearly, not all people had equal say in them, because they were only partly expressive of the rights of the people they represented.36 Nevertheless, LCs were not merely instrumentalist agencies for NRM control and power because, many old UPC and DP politicians participated in the 1989 and 1992 RC elections and many were elected at all levels, including parliament. Moreover, there is little doubt that all the RCs examined here enjoyed considerable legitimacy.37

Furthermore, LCs did claim local political spaces in light of a central government that due to retrenchment and shrinkage in the public sector and the liberalization of the economy was losing some measure of social control. As such, the state no longer had the capacity to dominate all domains of local political spaces and, in fact, nor do the RCs, whose efficacy was only enhanced by their physical proximity to and familiarity with the people. Moreover, LCs guarded their spaces jealously, thus, forcing the central government to depend on them for tax collection and other governmental functions. The implications of these observations for this study are critically important. There is no doubt that people power increases as we go down the various levels of government and that the converse is true: the higher the level, the lesser the people power. So, the governance realm was deeper at the lower levels of the LC system. It can be inferred, therefore, that levels of regime legitimacy were higher at the village level. But, of course, this was not enough to consolidate a democratic transition. Secondly, the institutional framework for democratic governance had been put in place with the potential to strengthen the state qua state, provided that local level capacity building was maintained. If the regime continued to improve the intensity and quality of state-society linkages, there was a good possibility for the development of democratic politics in Uganda. There is no doubt, however, that folks at the grassroots felt more empowered by the RC system than ever before. Indeed, support from rural constituencies is partly responsible for the NRM’s good showing and Museveni’s landslide victory in the 1996 general elections. The rural areas have remained solidly behind Museveni and are a significant part of Pax Musevenica. But, the analysis in later chapters shows a shift in the NRM attitude toward LCs. Most notable of these changes was the shift from a guided to a co-opted form of transition. The post-1996 period was witness to blatant co-optation of LCs that became political appendages beholden to NRM interests. In the same year that the second LC elections were held, the president announced sweeping changes in local governments, changes that were aimed at further decentralization and state withdrawal. On October 2, 1992, President Museveni launched the local government decentralization program in a major policy statement in Kampala.38 On the one hand, this was in line

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with the NRM Ten Point Programme, on the other, it was in response to hundreds of memoranda submitted (from 1990 to 1991) to the Constitutional Commission in which civil society groups demanded a meaningful decentralization of power from the center in order to achieve greater accountability and localized control over policymaking, implementation, and financial management at the local levels.39 In short, they demanded devolution. The objectives of the president’s policy proposals also reflected World Bank recommendations to significantly shift control from central ministries to local authorities and to reform structures for the delivery of local services. The final outcome of these reforms was intended to radically alter the structure and significantly shift the very ideology undergirding the exercise of power in Uganda. These policy decisions were expected to liberalize the decisionmaking process and (in the long run) to shore up the governance realm. The legislature responded by passing the Local Governments (Resistance Councils) Statute of 1993, which laid down the parameters for political decentralization by legally widening the powers, functions, and services of district and urban councils. But, for decentralization to be effective it must be accompanied by devolution that in turn requires fiscal transfer of resources to the periphery. So, the Local Government Commission (LGC) was established in 1993 to decentralize the central budget and to enable transfer of grants and other resources to local governments.40 The commission devised a block grant system, it failed and was replaced with an allocation system based on a “needsbased formula” with a weighting system in which moneys were allocated based on area, general and school-age population size, and child mortality.41 But, it was the 1995 Constitution and the Local Governments Act of 1997 that formally finalized the institutional framework for the devolution of power to local governments.42 It had several important dimensions to it. First, the Local Government Finance Commission (LGFC) that was to advise the president on matters related to financing decentralization. The 1997 Act required that 50 percent of graduated taxes be retained by the subcounty and lower levels in order for devolution of power to be meaningful. Second, significant power was directed toward local levels of government with the district as the main point of focus. The provision of secondary education, health care, field services including agricultural extension and the overall poverty eradication program was devolved to local authorities. The 1997 Act further entrusts legislative powers with district councils and executive authority to district executive committees. District councils (through the District Service Commission) employ chief administrative officers (CAOs) who serve as accounting and administrative officials. The administrative and governance functions of district councils are carried out through sectoral committees, such as finance, health, and education. Below the district level, of course, is the entire LC hierarchy of government structures (with specific powers) from village (LC1), parish (LC2), subcounty (LC3) levels to the county (LC4) levels. That these legislative measures were actually enacted in Uganda marked a milestone in the country’s history, but the biggest challenge was whether

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beyond the legislative prescriptions, power could truly be devolved from the center to the periphery, thus, promoting more democratic government and politics. Also, at stake was whether capacity building at the local level would be enhanced and whether local ownership of development programs would be fostered. While the 1997 Act provided the legal framework for defining local as opposed to central power and the spending parameters of both, it was still not clear whether these changes would win the support of central state actors who, as seen above, were determined to attenuate the powers of local authorities. But, the most daunting problem for decentralization and devolution was the lack of resources to finance all the functions now left in the hands of local authorities. Responses to these challenges would shape state institutional reconstruction, regime legitimacy, and the transition to liberal democracy. On the ground, decentralization met with extraordinary stumbling blocks. Conservative sections of the central government, whose mandate it was to implement decentralization, were still reluctant to let go of their positions of power at the center. Government ministries and district officials still controlled the bulk of capital spending—most of which came from donorfunded projects. There was an inherent tension centered on conflicting objectives—the conservatives wishing to see the status quo maintained and the liberals seeking a radical departure from the past. This schism was also apparent within the NRM itself, which owing to its broad-based philosophy now had a radical wing of veterans (led by high-ranking personalities such as Local Government Minister Bidandi Ssali) vehemently lobbying for change while the conservative newcomers, who were not so enamored by the loss of central power implied by decentralization, preferred the status quo. Moreover, the NRM did not hesitate whenever it was politically expedient to use local government structures to further political gains, thus, reversing devolution and risking the popular participatory element of decentralization. For example, despite the fact that their powers were reduced by the 1997 Act, resident district commissioners (RDCs), who are presidential appointees, acted as government watchdogs at the local levels. Most notably, RDCs took on important pro-NRM functions during elections.43 Moreover, the president was prone to giving in to popular demands for the creation of more districts, regardless of the cost or necessity. Because creating more districts is politically expedient for the NRM, the president has acceded to these pressures on the eve of every presidential election since 1996.44 Uganda today has a staggering seventy-eight districts, up from thirty-nine in 1994. District proliferation duplicates services, diminishes economies of scale, and results in higher costs for local administration and governance. At the local levels, the problems engendered by decentralization and devolution were equally daunting. They included among others the following: fraud, corruption, and embezzlement through the local government tender boards and other avenues; nepotism and tribalism in hiring; poorly-trained district level officers in bookkeeping, finance, and auditing and accounts; lack of interaction between LC5 councilors and lower level officials.45 Moreover,

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civil society was too undeveloped to effectively check the activities of the officials, but the lack of ethical probity was so serious as to prompt this warning from a noted Ugandan scholar: Unless this kind of corruption [misappropriation of public funds for personal use] is checked, the objectives of decentralization will not be achieved. What the rampant corruption in local councils portrays is that decentralization has devolved corruption and created opportunities for the embourgeoisement of local elites.46

Corruption depleted the already limited funds available for reforms in fiscal decentralization at the local level. This means that despite the 65 percent retention of revenues collected at the subcounty level and the 50 percent at the municipal level, substantial transfers were still needed from the central state or international donors if the project of decentralization and devolution was to achieve its stated objectives. Yet, central government actors were reluctant to let go of control over donor funds. In selected districts with significant injection of donor funding, relative and identifiable progress toward fiscal adequacy was made, albeit, in an environment likely to lead to serious interdistrict and interregional problems of revenue and expenditure imbalance.47 At the level of implementation, decentralization is a long way from bringing about real and meaningful devolution. It appears that the situation after the 1997 Act was more akin to deconcentration or delegation of functional responsibilities. In later years, however, devolution took on greater urgency and relevance. In political terms, the policy of decentralization did provide effective legitimation for the NRM as the 1996 elections loomed. In fact, decentralization remained a defining element of movement or no-party democracy. In the period under study, it would have been difficult to imagine that it had not affected people’s attitudes regarding the movement system and their perceptions of what was central to democracy.48 Decentralization funneled more life into the LC system that from the beginning was projected as the structural and functional equivalent of political parties. Despite lowerthan-expected levels of participation, unlike the previous centralized system, LCs became important cost-effective mechanisms for settling disputes and maintaining security. More importantly, in performing these functions, they helped set the institutional foundation for participatory cultures at the local levels.49 Coupled with LCs, Local Defense Units (LDUs) also helped fill the security gap in rural areas where the absence of security was symptomatic of the collapsed system of local government extant in 1986. Secondly, the unseating of many unpopular incumbents in the 1989 and 1992 LC elections clearly demonstrated a heightened level of accountability and real competition in the electoral process. In fact, the powerful community response to LCs, and continuing suspicions of the integrity and competence of central ministries, has consolidated public support for further decentralization.50 In responding to popular demands for devolution, the NRM aligned itself with

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public opinion and, thus, gained tremendous political capital going into the 1996 national elections. Thirdly, the structures (e.g., dispute settlement and local defense, policymaking, supervision, and local revenue management, etc.) set up as part of the decentralization program seem to have started the process of restoring the state’s role as an institution wherein social conflicts might be resolved. Decentralization appears to have improved the normative basis for NRM claims that the evolving state institutions were appropriate for Uganda’s society. Indeed, the efficacy of lower-level administrative and government institutions constituted the most important associational arena outside the religious sphere in much of rural Uganda . . . [and are] potentially, the strongest institutional impetus toward democratization and the reconstruction of state-society relations.51

Thus, it is clear that by 1997, decentralization was a very powerful tool for NRM legitimacy and power consolidation despite the on-the-ground problems it entailed. Although corruption was in a lot of cases devolved to the localities, the culprits were easier to trace—as demonstrated by the 1994 to 1997 crisis in Ntungamo District.52 Anne Meete Kjaer argues that decentralization in Uganda has resulted in transfers to the districts of real powers such as the recruiting and firing of staff, real functions such as service delivery, and real resources. She concludes that decentralization is viewed by the government as an essential part of its efforts at state consolidation.53 Sadly, in 2004 (see chapter 6) the government enacted a new public policy of regional tier governments funded by the central government, thus adding a new layer of administration above the district level. But because the central government will be funding these administrative units, there is no doubt that they will be beholden to regime interests. They, therefore, represent a weakening of the decentralization system and a freeze on devolution. Be that as it may, the outgoing analysis suggests that serious efforts were made by the NRM in the first ten years to lay the foundation stone for a governance realm, most notably at the local levels. Would trust and accountability emerge and enable a modus operandi in which the exercise of authority was anchored to the cultural and political milieu of the various local communities? This possibility would also depend on, inter alia, improvements in service delivery and higher efficiency quotients of local government units. Partly in response to these concerns and partly in furtherance of its consolidation of legitimacy projects, the NRM embarked on another set of sweeping reforms in the Uganda civil service. Civil Service Reform When the NRM embarked on radical institutional reforms in the civil service, it had in mind several important objectives. The most important of these were (a) improving service delivery, (b) reducing the size of Uganda’s topheavy bureaucracy, a reduction that would in turn impact positively on

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macroeconomic planning, and (c) consolidating the government’s plans to further institutionalize decentralization. Civil service reforms were carried out using two main instruments: the Public Service Revenue and Reorganization Commission (PSRRC) that was set up in 1989 to diagnose the main problems in the civil service and to provide a vision for a new, leaner, and more efficient bureaucracy. In its 1990 report, the Commission identified the problems in the civil service as mainly inefficiency, poor performance, and a bloated structure. It recommended, inter alia, the dismissal (retrenchment) of approximately 6000 nonperforming civil servants. Although the number of ministries would later balloon to seventy-eight as the prebendal aspect of Pax Musevenica became more pronounced, at this particular time the number of ministries was reduced from thirty-two to twenty-one. Other reforms included setting a minimum living wage, improved public service delivery, and a results-oriented management (ROM) system.54 The second instrument of institutional reform in the civil service was the Civil Service Reform Program (CSRP). The latter, introduced in 1990, was charged with putting the vision of the PSRRC into action. Specifically, the program was designed to take into account the country’s changing macroeconomic and institutional context with emphasis on the government’s stated development objectives, decentralization, and army demobilization.55 These initial achievements were impressive: the civil service bureaucracy was trimmed from 320,000 to 170,000, while the military ranks were reduced from 90,000 to 50,000; the goal of reducing the department ministries from thirty-two to twenty-one was achieved, albeit, temporarily; pay levels were raised by roughly 50 percent a year in the 1990–1993 period, although in FY 1995 a teacher was still making the equivalent of US$45 while the minimum living wage was US$75. From 1993 to 1994 and from 1997 to 1998, wages rose from 1.8 to 3.6 percent in terms of GDP.56 The downsizing of the civil service also shifted government service delivery to local governments (i.e., districts and subdistrict levels) thereby transferring political, administrative, and fiscal control closer to the point of consumption. But, as discussed above, the challenge lay in the dearth of financial resources and human capacity at local government levels. This was clearly detrimental to the efficacy of decentralization. Nonetheless, in the long run, reforms in the civil service produced several positive developments in the economy: reduction in military spending as a percentage of GNP from 35 percent in 1990 to 16 percent in 1994 through demobilization, a decline in interest rates from 21 percent in December 1992 to 11 percent in December 1993, and an increase in revenue collection as a percentage of GNP from 8 percent in FY 1992 to 12 percent in FY 1994.57 These wide-ranging institutional reforms in the civil service were clearly a step forward in shrinking the state, increasing efficiency, and enhancing accountability. But, beyond 1995, as has been noted above, the NRM did increase the number of districts. More disturbing was the increase in corruption and the creation of parallel central government portfolios such as RDCs, thus, undermining the spirit of decentralization and devolution and aiding

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the conflation of regime (i.e., NRM) prerogatives with the raison d’être of the state. Uganda’s civil service reforms also provide a classic contradiction between regime legitimacy and effective governance. For example, clearing/ridding the civil service of 42,000 overdue retirees, 16,000 ghost workers, and other redundancies coupled with the abolition of group employee schemes was a formative moment in the government’s effort to create an effective resultsoriented bureaucracy. But, the resulting unemployment caused hardships that led most workers, especially in Kampala, to distance themselves from NRM policies and to identify less with its vision. As revenue collection intensified, the business community, which was not used to effective tax instruments, felt more exploited than empowered. This was especially so because businesses and firms shouldered the burden of taxation in order to compensate for the governments poor capacity for collection of taxes in the informal sector.58 Those who had benefited from personal financial gain accruing from ghost workers began decampaigning NRM programs. Of course, the fact that the public sector shrunk faster than the expansion of the private domain created further resentment as the unemployment figures spiked up. In general, 45 to 68 percent of Ugandans lived in poverty, partly as a result of cuts in public spending, and limited access to social infrastructure and services.59 The North registered the highest levels of poverty because of the rebel insurgency and the brutality of government counterinsurgency measures. This cost the NRM tremendous political capital. Indeed, in the 1996 presidential elections, Museveni lost all the seats in the northern region. However, the Movement won in Buganda where Kampala is located, an indication that the ill-effects of retrenchment in this area would become more pronounced in the years beyond 1996.60 Thus, it is one thing to create perceptions of citizen empowerment and efficacy (effectiveness), and entirely another thing to accomplish real change in the material conditions of society by fostering social ownership of development (legitimacy). It is even harder to transcend formal institutional changes and match them with delivery of services or with provisions of infrastructure services. The next chapter evaluates the challenges faced by the NRM in its bid to reconcile these processes beyond the 1991 to 1996 formal institutional phase. But, one other change related to decentralization was the restoration of traditional kingdoms. The Restoration of Traditional Kingdoms The Constitution Amendment Bill (Ebyaffe Bill), which was passed by the NRC in July 1993, paved the way for the restoration of the traditional rulers/kingdoms and the return of cultural sites (referred to locally as ebyaffe) to Buganda. The passage of this bill was followed by several key developments: ●

The crowning of Ronald Muwenda Mutebi II as the thirty-sixth Kabaka (king) of Buganda—July 31, 1993

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● ●

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The opening of Buganda’s Lukiiko (parliament) by President Museveni— August 2, 1993 The secret crowning of Prince Barigye as Omugabe (king) of Ankole, which was promptly declared illegal by the NRM government— November 20, 1993 The coronation of Prince Solomon Iguru Gafabusa as twenty-seventh Omukama (king) of Bunyoro—June 11, 1994 The restoration of the kingdom of Toro The constitutional amendment by the CA, recognizing Buganda’s districts as united The promulgation of the 1995 Uganda Constitution, explicitly recognizing traditional/cultural leaders and institutions

The movement for the restoration of traditional leaders was spearheaded by Buganda and, in fact, it is the Buganda kingdom that provides a prototype for other traditional institutions vying for quasi-statehood. Not only did the Baganda provide tremendous help to Museveni’s bush war in the Luwero Triangle, but there was also an implicit understanding that when in power Buganda’s assets (ebyaffe) seized in 1967 would be returned and that the monarchy would be reinstated. The then-crown prince of Buganda, Ronald Muwenda Mutebi, visited liberated areas in Buganda in 1985, thus, setting the foundation for future negotiations with a Museveni government. But, it is also the case that, before 1986, the Baganda were more committed to maintaining their precolonial clan system as a core to a possible restoration of kingship than most other ethnic groups. In comparison, the kingdoms of Toro, Bunyoro, Busoga, and other traditional leaderships currently have only rudimentary institutional identities. The Tooro kingdom, in fact, appears to have co-opted the NRM government by appointing President Museveni as omujwara nkondo (guardian of the infant king). The Ankole kingship was aborted when the Banyankore could not agree on the very question of its restoration.61 In Busoga, power struggles and internal schisms prevented the emergence of a strong coherent institution capable of transcending its mere symbolic value. In the north, traditional chiefs such as Rwot David Ocen Acana II were reinstated but not with the institutional and organizational coherence of Buganda. Therefore, the rest of the analysis is going to adopt the case study approach with a focus on Buganda’s kingship, its functions, organizational strength, and internal dynamics, followed by an assessment of the relevance of kingship to regime legitimacy and state reconstruction in Uganda. Buganda has, by most measures, acquired the status of a quasi-state despite the constitutional parameters preventing such a development.62 Its political institutions range from legislative (e.g., lukiiko), executive, bureaucratic, and administrative structures,63 to overseas representatives and symbols (e.g., coronations, football leagues, etc.). The Kabaka has set up a modern day government mirroring its national counterpart. For example, cabinet ministers heading ministries of land, electricity, education, health, et cetera, have

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been set up and a prime minister, the Katikkiro, has been appointed as chief of government business. To complement these structures, the Buganda government has fourteen “ministers of state” suggesting the extent to which Mengo already perceives itself as a state.64 The kingdoms physical identity has been strengthened by a return to the Bulange as the seat of government and as a symbol of monarchical tradition and authority. The Buganda kingship has also been very resourceful in raising revenues and working around the constitutional prohibition of taxation. Revenues from renting royal real estate and most recently Bulange itself, news media outlets such as Njuba and CBS radio have been complemented by fund-raising events and private donations. Also, the kingdom is adept at pressurizing and mobilizing its loyal subjects to volunteer their labor for social projects, for example, the Kabaka’s coronation, and development projects such as secondary road repairs. Through voluntary private contributions the Baganda have been able to fund the kingdoms recurrent expenditures. The mobilizational capacity of the Buganda kingdom has extended beyond Uganda into the international domain. Using nongovernmental organizations such as the Buganda Cultural and Development Foundation (BUCADEF), the kingdom has received funds totaling a little over Ug. shs.1 trillion from the United States Agency for Development (USAID) and the World Bank: [T]his capacity for mobilization derives from the perceived legitimacy of the kingdom by most Baganda and from the popularity of the king whose return was seen as a new ferment of social cohesion after twenty five years of chaos.65

The restoration of traditional political institutions must be seen as part of the overall NRM legitimacy project of the early 1990s. To what degree did the restoration of traditional leaders and institutions enhance the NRM’s ability to manage state and regime legitimacy? Answers to these questions engender opening political space for improved citizen participation, promoting institutions for political decentralization, and constructing a foundation for democratic governance and politics. In the case of Buganda, levels of participation and interest articulation are quite high, considering that it functions well beyond the letter and spirit of the 1995 constitution that limited traditional leaders to cultural functions with no powers of taxation. There is no doubt that kingdom restoration was a key strategy in Museveni’s bid to reap political capital particularly from traditional leaders and their royalist followers. Museveni’s strategy was to woo the all-important and vote-rich Buganda constituency that was the primer in the entire process of kingdom restoration. As Karlstrom has aptly pointed out, [O]nly by appeasing Buganda to some degree could they [the NRM] hope to retain strong support there. Out of this situation arose a balancing act which has continued for the past thirteen years of NRM rule . . . the process must be deemed a considerable success by comparison with the repression and alienation which characterized this relationship during previous regimes.66

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Clearly, the timing of the restoration of kingdoms, coming close on the heels of the 1994 Constituent Assembly (CA) elections was, as some observers have rightfully pointed out, a move to win over Buganda in order for the latter to support pro-Movement candidates for the CA. After all, the NRM is on record as having initially expressed strongly worded objections to the restoration of traditional leaders.67 Furthermore, the NRM was unwilling—back in 1986, when demands for the restoration of the Buganda kingdom were first made—to consider the highly volatile issue of Buganda’s kingship before consolidating their hold on power.68 Be that as it may, in paving the way for the restoration of traditional leaders, the NRM was successful in creating new local spaces for popular participation as alternatives to political party politicking. The Buganda case suggests that through parallel quasi-governmental institutions, citizens in Bunyoro, Toro, Busoga, and other traditional jurisdictions could participate in decision making through local level self-help domains. To the extent that there is still significant legitimacy associated with customary institutions in some areas, their restoration was certainly a plus for democratic governance. Furthermore, traditional structures (as is seen in the Buganda case) can lift the development burden off the back of central government by raising funds, mobilizing volunteer labor, and creating a sense of empowerment at the grassroots. The restoration of traditional kingships ultimately weakens the development of civil society, but particularistic institutions (such as traditional kingdoms) can and do often elevate the profile and cultural, if not political, efficacy of popular groups such as interclan (or Bika) soccer teams. Moreover, kingships also serve the purpose of political recruitment. The formation of nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) such as BUCADEF, the Kabaka Foundation, private media outlets such as Njuba, and others bodes well for delegating public authority to local social organizations. Some have argued that this may be part of the long-term solution to limiting, if not ending, corruption in Africa.69 The restoration of traditional institutions has not, however, been free of problems, the most acute being the contradictions between central government notions of sovereignty and competing claims of authority by traditional leaders. Buganda’s demands for federal status, or federo as it is locally known, and the return of 9,000 square miles of land previously confiscated from the monarchy were rejected and did not make it into the 1995 constitution. The NRM has argued that the land belongs to the state because the 1900 Agreement had left it in the hands of the then central authority, that is, the colonial government or the British Crown. The failure to win this land back and the constitutional denial of taxation powers has left all traditional leaders with limited financial resources, weak capacities for meeting their subjects’ demands, and too much reliance on historical nostalgia for allegiance. Traditional leaders’ agitation for federal status was partly a struggle for capturing the fiscal powers of districts, as well as for garnering their allocations from the national budget. That the NRM government was not prepared to grant federal powers to the kingdoms is testimony to the persistent strains

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that guided democracy was causing within the NRM. It also appears that in granting decentralization (in the form of deconcentration) and not federal status (i.e., devolution), Museveni eschews the prospects of unlimited structures of representation, administrative fragmentation, and the possible decline in the capacity to govern effectively. In his latest move to assuage the federo lobby, the president proposed (in a constitutional amendment) a regional tier system of government (mentioned above) in which any two or more districts that are willing to form a regional government will be allowed to do so by passing resolutions supported by at least two-thirds of the members of the district councils.70 Notwithstanding the Kabaka’s endorsement of the regional tiers system, a good number of Baganda contend that it falls short of their ultimate goal of true autonomy within a federal system. Buganda must also be aware of the fact that by retaining the powers to finance the regional tier government system, the central government will retain inordinate power over them. The frustrations over the federo issue has turned most Baganda into ardent advocates of multipartyism that they hope might offer them a better or alternative route to a federal system of government. One last point about the restoration of traditional kingships—in Buganda, there is an ongoing effort to reclaim the central role of the clan as a social/political institution by which the monarch can mobilize human resources, instill social cohesion, and garner popular support (or legitimacy) for his programmatic agenda. Although duplicating the Buganda model in the rest of Uganda might be difficult, any self-help traditional-based centers of social mobilization can only bode well for constructing popular bases of citizen empowerment and ultimately for democratic transition. Economic Reform The NRM’s legitimacy project was closely related to the construction of a sound economy. In pursuit of this goal, the NRM shifted gears in its macroeconomic policy, turning from the early (1986 to 1991) economic statism mandated by the IMF/World Bank to a more neoliberal philosophical approach. Between 1991 and 1996, economic reform in Uganda became “Ugandan owned” as Museveni and the NRM built a proreform coalition.71 The latter included several key partners. First, local farmers and entrepreneurs were mobilized through LCs, NGOs, and self-help schemes to promote economic recovery and development. By 1993, the families, villages, and markets of Uganda were considered “the primary fuel energizing the country’s recent high growth rate.”72 Correspondingly, coffee farmers’ incomes began rising in 1991 despite the fall in world prices.73 The NGOs (over 1000) operating in Uganda initiated rural credit, savings, and education, thus, tapping into the country’s traditionally strong rural credit system.74 The second element of the proreform coalition comprised of teams of experts from the IMF, World Bank, and other foreign agencies. Through these agents, Uganda was able to win a commitment of US$800 million from

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the Paris Club Consultation Group that met in May 1992.75 In 1995, the World Bank established the Ugandan Multiple Debt Fund (UMUF), which in 1996 was succeeded by the Highly Indebted Poor Countries (HIPC) Program. Beyond these broad philosophical shifts, this partnership engendered practical reforms such as privatization and other neoliberal economic policies including downsizing the public sector, removal of barriers against the free operation of the market, monetary liberalization, and poverty alleviation. Privatization The details of the privatization program have been chronicled elsewhere.76 The main objective here is to evaluate its impact on the evolving nature and character of the state and the fleeting pursuit of regime legitimation. To do this, however, a brief outline of the privatization program is necessary. The privatization program was expected to generate US$500 million. It covered big state-owned monopolistic enterprises such as the Coffee Marketing Board (CMB), the Lint Marketing Board (LMB), and the Produce Marketing Board (PMB). The most successful case was the CMB that, when all was said and done, became an autonomous though partially state-owned company competing with several cooperatives in the business of marketing coffee, even though it retained a monopoly in coffee processing. This particular case registered impressive results with rising coffee prices to farmers, coupled with improved efficiency and accountability in the industry. In fact, the Ugandan market began attracting smuggled coffee from Congo and Tanzania. However, privatization efforts in the other two major parastatals registered dismal results. The NRM did not insist and the NRC did not legislatively mandate that inefficient companies declare bankruptcy or be bought out. As a result, both the PMB and the LMB were kept alive by powerful clients and patrons of the state for much longer than should have been the case. These enterprises used tremendous political influence to stay alive, so much so that for a while even the World Bank could not force their demise. Furthermore, apart from the return of business enterprises back to their original Asian owners and the transfer of the Pepsi Cola factory to private hands, the rest of the exercise was fraught with inefficiency and corruption.77 In 1993, the National Resistance Council had to order the suspension of negotiations on the sales of public enterprises by the Public Enterprises Reform and Divestiture Secretariat (PERDS), pending the enactment of appropriate laws. However, sales continued. In the 1994–1995 financial year, thirteen public enterprises were divested, and by the end of 1995, prospective investors were considering the purchase of eleven more entities. These enterprises included the Uganda Hotels chain, Uganda Grain Milling Corporation, Entebbe Handling Services Ltd., Kampala Sheraton, and cement factories and tea processing firms such as Blenders Uganda Limited. The biggest fiasco in the privatization process would come later in the name of Uganda Commercial Bank (UCB). Privatization became the battleground

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upon which the growing conservative (neopatrimonial) class went head-tohead with the revolutionary elements in the Movement. Indeed, it is in the process of privatization that we find evidence of a gradual deepening of the two weaknesses of Pax Musevenica: the disproportionate flow of the privatization spoils to ethnic westerners, and the use of privatized assets or the proceeds therefrom as patronage. Monetary and Market Liberalization In order to enable the free operation of the market and to create an environment for equal competition between new and old commercial interests, the NRM enacted policies aimed at removing state restrictions on the monetary and trade regimes. These included the introduction of foreign exchange bureaus to do away with black marketeering and removal of state subsidies in order to subject trade to market forces. The bureaus were quite successful in stemming the flow of foreign exchange into the hands of enterprising speculators in Uganda, Kenya, and in far-away South Africa. The legalization of kibanda (see chapter 3) improved state control over currency flows by destroying the basis for black marketeering. In the 1991–1996 period, exchange bureaus netted an average of US$30 million a month from aid dollars, trading, short-term funds and returning flight capital.78 These macroeconomic polices yielded impressive results as Table 4.1 shows: an average growth rate of 6.5 percent, a doubling of real manufacturing wages from an index of 211 to 513, a gross domestic savings to GDP average of 3.6 percent, and inflation down from 64 percent to 3 percent between 1991and 1996.79 Investment In this era of the “Ugandan owned” economic reform program, the country’s economy was slowly integrating IFI and bilateral aid with foreign investment. Investment to GDP ratio was 161 between 1990 and 1995,

Table 4.1 Indicators of Economic Performance 1991 to 1996 (index and percent)

GDP growth (%) Gross domestic savings/GDP (%) Real manufacturing wages (1987⫽100) Inflation (GDP deflator) Interest, bank savings rate

1991

1992

1993

1994

1995

1996

5.2 1

4.5 1

6.3 2

10.4 6

8.4 7

4.7 4.7

211

232

294

405

513

32

60

1

16

3

30

32

12

6

3

5

Sources: Uganda (1996), Background to the Budget 1996–1997; Uganda, Key Economic Indicators, January 1996; IMF: International Financial Statistics; World Bank (1995); World Bank Development Data; Statistical Abstracts 1998; Bank of Uganda, Monthly Economic Report January–March, 1999.

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Table 4.2 Location of New Investments in Uganda Made during 1991 to 1996 District

Kampala Jinja Mbarara Mukono Mbale Kabale Masaka Mpigi Entebbe/Tororo Lira

Number of Projects

%

769 46 41 24 21 18 17 16 13 11

73.1 4.4 3.9 2.3 2.0 1.7 1.6 1.5 1.2 1.0

Source: UIA: Investor Survey Report (1997).

compared to the last recorded figure of 12 in 1987.80 Table 4.2 shows (despite regional disparities) a total of 976 investment projects in Uganda between 1991 and 1996. These correlate with the rise in manufacturing wages mentioned above. In the agricultural sector, investors in nontraditional exports such as horticultural products came from Kenya and joined in the export of roses to the European market. Investments also occurred in other nontraditional exports including silk cocoons, vanilla, pyrethrum, and asparagus—with export earnings from silk cocoons alone projected at US$20 million a year.81 At the institutional level, government took several measures to ease the process of investment. These included the introduction of the Kampala Stock Exchange (KSE), the Uganda Investment Authority (UIA, as a “one-stop shop” for would-be investors), and an Investment Code in 1992 to improve incentives. In July 1993, the United Kingdom’s Barclay’s Metals and France’s Bureau Pour la Recherché Geologique et Miniere (BRGM) invested US$20 million in the Kilembe cobalt recovery scheme.82 Poverty Alleviation In 1990, the UNDP estimated that 69 percent of Ugandans lived under the poverty line.83 To assist those who would be marginalized by liberalization, particularly in the rural areas, the government instituted a pilot microlending (Entandikwa) scheme for the Luwero Triangle. The more systematic program for poverty alleviation would come later in 1997. The Luwero Triangle was a natural starting point, given the level of displacement and instability during the 1981–1986 liberation war. However, when the Entandikwa scheme was later extended nationwide, its efficacy was severely undercut by lack of a corresponding increase in funding. In order to compensate those laid off as a result of reductions in the public sector and downsizing in privatizing public enterprises, a redundancy account was to be opened in the then Uganda Commercial Bank (UCB). But, again the source

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of the funds for the redundancy account was not specified nor was the amount. Thus, while the structural reforms had some benefits for the elite, neopatrimonial class, which was in a better position to take advantage of the free market policy reforms, the vast majority of Ugandans were still on the outside looking in. However, as Table 4.3 shows, by 1996 the percentage of the population below the poverty line at the national level had declined from 69 percent in 1990 to 45.5. Even in the war-torn, impoverished region of the north, where poverty levels were still quite high, there was a decline, albeit, slight. These national data reflected new investments (especially in Kampala), a rise in real manufacturing wages, and increases in wages for farmers in the export sector. Table 4.4 shows a rise, as well, in per capita consumption. For the period under study, several social indicators were also showing positive microeconomic effects of the NRM neoliberal policies. These included, as Table 4.5 below shows, improvements in primary and secondary school enrollments, access to safe water, adult literacy, and infant mortality rates. Table 4.3 Head Count-Poverty Ratio (Percent of Population below the Poverty Line) by Region

National Rural Urban Central East West North Central rural Central urban East rural East urban West rural West urban North rural North urban

1992

1993/94

1994/95

1995/96

55.6 59.4 29.4 44.7 59.5 52.5 71.4 52.9 21.2 61.2 42.6 53.6 34.4 72.7 49.7

50.3 54.8 19.6 33.4 55.6 54.3 66.1 40.6 13.1 57.9 28.0 56.1 22.5 68.7 40.5

49.2 53.3 21.0 29.7 64.2 48.1 62.6 35.7 11.9 66.2 39.7 49.6 25.2 64.3 41.7

45.5 49.7 20.0 28.0 53.3 42.3 65.1 34.4 13.6 55.0 30.3 44.1 13.9 67.9 42.8

Source: Appleton S, (1998) “Changes in Poverty in Uganda, 1992–1996,” Mimeo, CSAE, Oxford University.

Table 4.4 Adjusted Consumption per Capita (Ug. shs. per Month at 1989 Ug. shs.)

Rural Urban Total % on food

1992

1993/94

1994/95

1995/96

4718 10470 5438 58.6

4996 11709 5833 56.6

5276 11793 6096 54.7

5449 11924 6353 52.7

Source: Appleton S, (1998) “Changes in Poverty in Uganda, 1992–1996,” Mimeo, CSAE, Oxford University.

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Table 4.5 Social Development in Uganda

Primary School Enrollment (percent) Secondary School Enrollment (percent) Population with Access to Safe Water (percent) Adult Literacy (percent) Infant Mortality Rate (per 1000 live births)

1990

1995

67

91

11

13

34

42

54 114

61 98

Sources: UNDP (1996) and Human Development Report (various editions); World Bank (1989, 1996a) and World Development Report (various editions).

By 1996, the above mentioned neoliberal economic policies signaled an unmistakable change in NRM ideological orientation. The Movement was gradually shedding its progressive, populist philosophy of the early years and moving to the right of center as the interests of its clientelist class (together with those of the donors) gained prominence in defining the political agenda. Without opposition from these vested interests, for example, unprofitable parastatals would have been left to die. Instead, the state continued to sustain them using taxes from workers and peasants who benefited the least from them. Indeed, most of the privatized businesses were sold to well-capitalized foreigners, particularly the well-financed returning Asian business elite together with a small group of Ugandan entrepreneurs, some of whom also happened to hold high-profile government jobs. Undoubtedly, the NRM government did expend some hard-won legitimacy as it compromised its traditional ideological position in order to promote economic neoliberalism. While the idea of liberalization and privatization was good in theory, the process was done in ways that brought back the habits of the old conservative stakeholders. The old structure of citizen exploitation that was propped up by corruption and inefficiency was left in place. This tended to undermine the official claim of “fundamental change” as the basis for NRM legitimacy. Appeals to arrest the corruption of NRM insiders, especially with regard to the divestment program, fell on deaf ears and, instead, caused the marginalization of NRM veterans such as Winnie Byanyima who had become critical of the direction the Movement was taking. The intensity of corruption and its ill-effects would become more pronounced between 2001 and 2006 (see chapter 6), but there is no doubt as to its deleterious effects on building social trust. The other critical challenge, that is, poverty reduction, was high on the agenda, but with 45.5 percent of the population below the poverty line, 65 percent in the worsthit north, the NRM still had a long way to go. In the north, poverty, among other things, cost President Museveni and the NRM support and legitimacy. But, these developments were still in their gestation period. The full effects would unfold and manifest themselves in the years beyond 1996.

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The question of how economic and other reforms were being received by Ugandan citizens and of their impact on the construction of a governance realm would be settled in the first general elections held in 1996. This would be the first time that President Museveni’s ten-year policies/programs would be put to the test and, indeed, the first clear sign of whether the NRM had a popular mandate to govern.

The General Elections of 1996 The 1996 general election was historic in that it was the first time Ugandans would directly elect their president. It was also, perhaps, the highest point of Museveni’s tenure in power because it would mark the final stage in the civilianization of the NRM and a major step forward in regime legitimation. The transformation of the presidency into a popularly elected position would clearly extend the process of democratization, even as he insisted that other candidates for the position could only compete for the office of president as long as they did not do so under a party label. The details of the 1996 presidential elections have been outlined elsewhere;84 the task at hand is to critically assess the significance of the election in the context of Museveni’s overall efforts toward legitimizing his regime and the state. He had two key targets in mind: the Ugandan people and, equally important, the international donor community. Several factors ensured Museveni’s victory at the polls. The first one was the politically fatal decision by the strongest opposition candidate and Democratic Party flag bearer, Paul Ssemwogerere, to enter into what has been described as an “unholy alliance” (the Inter-Party Co-operative) with the discredited Uganda Peoples Congress (UPC) party and his promise to return its equally disreputable leader Milton Obote from exile.85 While this decision may have won Ssemwogerere a landslide victory in the north, he was not able to muster majorities elsewhere, including his home area Buganda. Second, Museveni’s decision to restore traditional institutions, particularly the Buganda monarchy, turned out to be an important step toward building a winning coalition. Third, NRM policies had garnered solid support from women voters who constitute a little over 50 percent of the electorate in Uganda and who were the greatest champions of Museveni’s “no change” campaign slogan—an indication that they were relatively most satisfied with the status quo. Finally, the Museveni campaign took advantage of incumbency (which provided financial and logistical advantages). Nevertheless, the elections were contested energetically, the turnout was exceptionally high and, as Table 4.6 shows, the president won decisively in relation to his closest rival Ssemwogerere. The exercise was deemed “free and fair” (by international observers) despite sporadic complaints of rigging, bribery, and manipulation in some areas (Africa Confidential 1996, The Times 1996).86

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Table 4.6 1996 Presidential Election Results Candidates

Unspecified “Party” Affiliation

Yoweri Museveni Paul Ssemogerere

NRM IPC (DP, UPC, & NLC) Independent

Muhammed Mayanja

Percent of Vote in 1996 Election 74.2 23.7 2.1

Sources: Siegmar Schmidt, “Uganda,” in Dieter Nohlen, Michael Krennerich, and Bernhard Thibaut (eds.), Elections in Africa: A Data Handbook (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), p. 934.

For the first time since 1986, Museveni could plausibly claim a reasonably good measure of legitimacy for the NRM and a somewhat popular endorsement of the effectiveness of the “no-party” democracy system for which the Movement stood. In comparing the no-party system to Kenya’s multiparty model, a noted observer and scholar of Ugandan politics remarked that “most would probably agree that Kenya can hardly be said to be more democratic than Uganda, though the former has 27 parties and the latter has none.”87 At the very least, the election was a stamp of consent for Museveni (as an individual) to exercise executive power. In fact Oliver Furley goes further than this: [T]he presidential election was a triumph for the particular type of democratic process through which Uganda was progressing, and it gave a clear signal that Museveni still retained the overwhelming support of the majority of the people. It also boosted his standing with international donors, who continued to back his regime with substantial support.88

Secondly, this was the first major political event following the promulgation of the constitution. The relatively smooth electoral process was an indication that perhaps constitutionalism was off to a good start in Uganda. Furthermore, the fact that candidates of varying political stripes competed and that observers (and Ugandans) strongly endorsed the outcome of the poll not only strengthened regime support but it also symbolized a milestone in state reconstruction. However, the integrity of the state would depend on the reinstatement of competitive multiparty politics, continued pursuit of a governance realm, a free and open conduct of parliamentary elections, and the effectiveness of the legislative branch in checking the powers of the executive. Following presidential elections, voters went to the polls to elect a new parliament that would replace the disbanded Constituent Assembly (CA), the latter having completed the arduous job of debating and enacting the new constitution. Voter turnout for these elections was much lower (50 percent of the voters cast ballots, nationally) compared to those who voted in the presidential election.89 But, structurally (and the NRM made sure the new constitution would support these measures) the Movement had a few inbuilt mechanisms for ensuring a majority of seats in the new parliament. Clearly

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the NRM was determined to use the electoral process to continue the “guided democracy” model of transition that as we shall see later led to the entrenchment of the NRM. First, “special interest groups,” for example, women (thirty-nine seats), the army (ten seats), youth (five seats), the disabled (five seats), and workers (three seats), would be elected by electoral colleges. There was no question that, once in parliament, these representatives would throw their support behind the NRM. Second, an NRM-appointed Task Force (mostly comprising of government Ministers) would act as a screening or clearing house for election officials who would then be passed on to the Electoral Commission for appointment. Clearly, this blatant intervention in the process not only assured the election of pro-NRM candidates, it also tainted the process and prompted the boycott of the parliamentary elections by the Inter-Party Co-operative coalition. Thus, in contrast to the presidential elections, the parliamentary elections were more controversial with most of the contention swirling around the pro-NRM Electoral Commission. The controversy surrounding these elections was deepened by the withdrawal of opposition candidates, low voter turnout, alleged widespread bribery, illegal printing of voting cards, and fraudulent votes cast. It is no wonder that thirty petitions were immediately served on the commission by the High Court.90 Overall, therefore, the parliamentary elections showed that despite democratic constitutional provisions, the process, substance, and outcome of elections could be manipulated by antidemocratic interests. Most importantly, these elections highlighted the lack of confidence on the part of the NRM that its ideology and vision, was deep rooted enough to transcend Museveni and carry over to the other NRM proponents without assistance or manipulation. In other words, despite the apparent popularity of Museveni as an individual, he had no coattails from which his allies could draw support. The NRM had not institutionalized its ideology, vision, or programs beyond the personality of its leader, Yoweri Museveni. But, again, Uganda’s political narrative is not as straightforward as it first appears. Despite the irregularities discussed above, by and large, the new Uganda parliament was quite representative. Opposition representatives (some of whom were associated with organizations such as the Acholi parliamentary group) were not only allowed to run for parliament as independents, but they were also successfully elected. These MPs openly criticized the NRM. Moreover, after the election, the new parliament, most of whose members (75 percent) were pro-NRM, did not always act as rubber stamps for the executive branch. As is analyzed in chapter 5, at least for a short while, MPs rebuffed and attempted to sanction the indiscrete, sometimes illegal, conduct of the executive branch.

V. Conclusion The 1991–1996 period, most notably the 1996 elections, marked the pinnacle of NRM rule and of Pax Musevenica. Both the Polity IV data set and the

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Degree of Democracy

5

Degree of Democracy in Uganda: Freedom House Scale

4 3 2 1

4 3 2 1 0 1990 1991 1992 1993 1994 1995 1996 1997 1998 1999 2000

0

5

1990 1991 1992 1993 1994 1995 1996 1997 1998 1999

Degree of Democracy

Degree of Democracy in Uganda: Polity IV Data Set

Years

Years

Figure 4.1

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Polity IV and Freedom House Measures of Democracy in Uganda

Freedom House Scale in figure 4.1 below confirm the conclusion drawn here, although Freedom House provides a more realistic depiction of the status of democracy in Uganda beyond 1996. Nonetheless, of the elections that have been held since 1986, the 1996 polls were the least contentious and the results least contested. Not withstanding the absence of opposition parties, they were symbolic of a possible new political dispensation in which social trust might again provide the underpinning of a democratic transition. The 1996 elections were potentially critical to the process of restoring democratic legitimacy to elites and state institutions alike, particularly if future polls were to be carried out in a similar environment. There is no doubt that by 1996 the state in Uganda had been reestablished as the center of political action. First, despite apparent weaknesses in the local governance system, the LC structure had restored the state’s penetrative capacity. Secondly, the decentralization (albeit not yet at the devolution stage) of power signaled the government’s intent to empower citizens at the grassroots and to perhaps lessen the influence of a growing traditional neopatrimonial class located in the central government. Thirdly, territoriality and sovereignty, both key aspects of state identity, were no longer as contested as had been the case in the first five years of NRM rule. Rebel activities in the east had ended, leaving only the north and parts of the west still unsettled. Fourthly, restoration of political kingdoms coupled with a resuscitated economy helped in grounding the state’s socioeconomic capacity and effectiveness. It was now able to collect revenues, to disburse funds, and to respond to (or resist) demands from various societal groups. Traditional kingdoms (especially Buganda) were able to mobilize citizens to

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volunteer their labor and set up development projects, thus, filling a gap left by the cash-strapped state. The mass media had expanded in both scope and breadth and despite difficulties was capable of providing vital checks to instances of abuse of power by the state. It also acted as a mouthpiece for civil society interests. Finally, the 1996 elections provided the ultimate stamp of validation and the institutional basis for legitimacy that the NRM had sought for so long. With an elected president and parliament, the state could now legitimately claim the right to command and conduct public affairs. This period marked the highest point of citizen approval in Uganda’s reconstruction period and the completion of the NRM’s civilianization project. Could a governance realm be said to exist in Uganda after ten years of NRM rule? Had a social contract that could enable a sustained democratic transition been established? It is reasonable to conclude that a foundation (perhaps a template) for the emergence of a governance realm had been set, that is, a foundation of state-society linkages predicated on trust, reciprocity, accountability, and authority. By 1996, associations that cut across ethnicity, race, religion, and class had emerged among the youth, women, and business and labor classes—indicators of trust in the political community. As these associations (some of them related to traditional kingships) took advantage of the political space provided by the regime through the articulation and aggregation of their interests, the reciprocity dimension was strengthened— different forms of consensus about the basic rules of politics were developing. The accountability component was perhaps the strongest indicator of the prospects for democratic a transition in Uganda at this time. High numbers of elite turnover in the 1989, 1992, 1994, and 1996 elections, especially at the LC levels, and the election of candidates opposed to the NRM seemed to bestow a degree of accountability on the political process, even in the absence of political parties. Furthermore, Uganda now had several institutional levels at which elites could be held accountable, for example, inspector general of government, a decent judiciary, a human rights commission, a vibrant press, and several sections of civil society, et cetera. In the end, these accountability checkpoints seemed to breathe badly needed oxygen into the lungs of the political system and to, thus, lend authority to elite decisions. During this period, the NRM government ended the notorious car jackings in Kampala, put an end to what appeared to be signs of growing urban terrorism, kept inflation down, and promoted economic growth. Effective governance was visible in different domains and at different levels. Nonetheless, effectiveness does not automatically breed legitimacy. Although the prospects for regime validation were quite good at this time, it would take greater discipline on the Movement’s part to engender and maintain the belief that the existing political institutions were the most appropriate for the society.91 In other words, the social contract existed, but some were not signatories to it, particularly those who withheld their full endorsement because of specific “contractual clauses” such as those pertaining to constitutional entrenchment of the Movement and ipso facto to the limitations on party politics, the blockage on federalism, or the continued violence

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of the northern war. Indeed, despite the commendable progress made at this time, political challenges were still evident. For example, some serious questions concerning state-society relationships were still unanswered, mainly because the NRM had adopted an untenable Janus-faced political orientation: a programmatic desire to initiate democratic change, especially at the local levels, alongside a deep-seated determination at the national level to hold on to power by advocating a topdown, hegemonic approach. The latter seemed to outweigh the former, thus, constraining the potential for further opening of political space. “Guided democracy” inevitably and disproportionately tipped the balance of governance, and administration toward consensus, governability, and effectiveness and away from competition, representativeness, and consent. Thus, the ban on political party activity, the appointment of regime agents (e.g., RDCs) alongside LCs, the malpractices of the Electoral Commission, and a plethora of NRM-friendly provisions in the 1995 constitution indicated a penchant for control rather than a desire to genuinely ameliorate the tensions inherent to democratic governance. As a result of this proclivity toward control and elite-driven “democracy,” political pressures from civil society would continue to mount against the NRM in the years beyond 1996. In response, the NRM conflated its interests to those of the state, thus, undermining the political capital garnered during the period under study in this chapter. In fact, beyond 1996, NRM policies were geared more toward regime maintenance rather than state institutionalization. This also risked setting the political clock back to a “co-opted” transition, diminishing the liberal dimension of the transition and reverting to the traditional statist regime that pre-dated NRM rule.

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5

Political Legitimacy T hreatened: The Return of Presidentialism

If the period leading up to 1996 was one of great expectations and remarkable

achievements, the five years (1996 to 2001) that followed were marked by a steady contraction inside the NRM in particular and the political system in general. The marginalization of veteran NRM supporters, such as Winnie Byanyima and Kizza Besigye, symbolized this developing illiberalism as the regime began to show intolerance for dissenting views and opinions. Not surprisingly, these changes had the effect of weakening the fundamental principles of “no-party” democracy, namely, accommodation, candidature by individual merit, and broad-basedness. As a result, it became doubtful that a democratic transition was possible under the Movement system and pressures for the reintroduction of multiparty politics mounted. The NRM in turn exerted stricter political control, drifted away from guided democracy toward a co-opted form of transition, and in so doing began distancing itself from the practical imperatives of representativeness, consent, and political competition. This shift presaged the reemergence of neopatrimonialism and its twin institutions of clientelism and presidentialism. The latter, which refers to the concentration of power in the office of the president, began to undermine the constitutional efficacy of other state institutions, such as the legislature, and to erode the foundations of democratic legitimacy. One other important sign of this was the reappearance of the statist regime reminiscent of pre-NRM governments. The governance realm began to atrophy as the formal/legal structures of the state were subordinated to the informal, patron-client networks of power. To round off these developments, levels of political corruption, coercion, and constitutional manipulation began to sap the regime of social trust and shift the basis for political validation from democratic to neopatrimonial legitimacy. These trends gained concrete maturation after 2001 (see next chapter), but their seeds were sown between 1996 and 2001. The 1996 to 2001 five-year period also exposed a subtle but very important trend. While NRM legitimacy began to decline due to elite obsession with control and regime hegemony, the democratic values established in the first ten years seemed to be taking root among the populace itself. For example, NRM policies of entrenchment were met with active opposition. More to the point, popular opposition took the form of heated debates in the press and at

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public gatherings, of political discourses within civil society (especially women’s associational groups that were determined not to lose ground), and of vigorous political contestations through the courts and stepped-up activities of multipartyists. The post-1996 period marked the second phase of Pax Musevenica—a period during which the political and governance paradigm of the first phase began to change in very significant ways. This change can be best explained by examining six pivotal factors: continued rebel activities in the north and west, the conflation of executive and legislative power, the “expiration” of the movement system that technically ceased to exist following the 1996 elections, the referendum on political party politics in 2000, the 2001 general elections, and the economic and social effects of structural adjustment programs (SAPs).

I. Rebellion and the Quest for Security The most immediate, and perhaps the greatest, threat to NRM legitimacy was the widespread threat of insecurity wrought by several rebel groups around the country.1 Not only was the LRA persistent in the north, but now the rebellion in President Museveni’s political stronghold—the west—too had gathered ominous momentum. Rebel groups in Uganda were cognizant of the fact that NRM legitimacy was a function of government capacity to restore law and order. Their strategy of armed opposition was therefore aimed at denying the Movement of a basis for legitimacy by preventing peace and stability. Thus, the NRM had no choice but to prioritize finding a solution to the rebel question. The NRM antirebel strategy was predicated on the assumption that the political vacuum, which followed the demise of long-time Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) dictator, Mobutu Sese Seko, had become the launching pad for rebel group activity that was in turn destabilizing Uganda. These groups were said to have links to those operating in southern Sudan and through them to the anti-Uganda Lords Resistance Army (LRA), a group that was infamous for wreaking havoc in northern Uganda. The NRM policy, therefore, was put in place to kill two birds with one stone. If the rebel-spawning grounds in the DRC were destroyed, their activities in the north might be diminished or, at the very least, weakened; at the same time the Allied Democratic Front (ADF) would no longer have safe havens from where to destabilize western Uganda. Based on this reasoning, Uganda sent her troops into the Congo. In a critical study of the crisis in the Congo, John Clark argues that reasons for Uganda’s intervention in the Congo fall under four main categories: conspiracy theories, official explanations, ideology, and economic motivations.2 The initial intervention into the Congo (in 1996), which included both Rwandan troops and Ugandan military advisers, had more to do with getting rid of long-time dictator Mobutu Sese Seko than with Uganda’s domestic concerns over rebel activities.3 The second and more direct intervention in 1998 was more directly related to Uganda’s concerns over the

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presence of ADF rebels in eastern Congo, and claims (by officials in Kampala) that Mobutu’s successor, Laurent Kabila, was in support of their anti-Uganda activities. Be that as it may, both Uganda and her ally Rwanda had other motives for intervening—motives that in the end cost them dearly at home. Since Uganda is our main focus, the following analysis is limited to Kampala’s motives for intervention in the Congo. First, Museveni was confident that the United States and Britain would support (implicitly, if not explicitly) his activities in the DRC. Second, the incompetence of Kabila, and his apparent condoning of ethnic conflict (among Congolese Rwandans) and alleged support of the ADF, created sufficient justification for Uganda’s invasion. The ADF were infamous for activities such as the mass killings of students at Kicwamba Teacher Training College. The third motive was economic. Uganda (together with Rwanda and later Zimbabwe) is known to have engaged in looting the DRC’s mineral wealth, with the financial gains ending up in private accounts belonging to Uganda’s military brass. Economic gain was the key factor underlying the collapse of the Rwanda-Uganda alliance. Soldiers of both countries began to feud over resources, and conflicts arose between them over who would control resource-rich areas in the DRC. As these developments surfaced in the Ugandan press, NRM claims that the government was simply pursuing rebel groups rapidly lost credibility, yet, credibility was the key to sustaining support for the regional adventurism that became Museveni’s policy up to May 2001 when the government officially announced the beginning of a withdrawal from the Congo.4 The political fallout of Uganda’s intervention in the Congo was formidable both in economic and political terms. Despite the looting and business opportunities that the intervention opened up for Uganda, there seems to have been no net gain. Uganda’s defense budget more than doubled, rising from US$150 million in 1997 to US$350 million in 1999 (Kayunga 2000). Uganda’s gold exports plummeted to US$19 million in 1998 down from four times that level in 1997.5 This was partly because most of the gains made from the chaos in eastern Congo ended up in the pockets of private, often politically well-connected, entrepreneurs who were unwilling to disclose their illegitimate business transactions. The value of the Uganda shilling dropped relative to the dollar as the demand for the latter rose to meet the needed military support for the troops in the DRC. Thus, Uganda’s forays into the DRC had very limited economic gains nationally. The biggest losses, however, were political. Although rebel activities in the west were finally defeated and Kabila removed from power, this conflict damaged the reputation of the NRM and Museveni personally. First, the international perception of Museveni as one of the so called new breed of progressive African leaders6 was tarnished (albeit, aid continued to flow into Kampala) as his pretext for intervention (i.e., the pursuit of anti-Uganda rebels in the DRC) was quickly eclipsed by the struggle between Rwanda and Uganda over natural resources. Second, this conflict expanded to include Zimbabwe and Angola, and it could hardly

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justify Museveni’s claims or credentials as the honest peace broker in the region. Third, the collapse of the Rwanda-Uganda alliance created a long-term rift, thus, depriving both countries the benefits of good trade relations. Conflicts involving border disruptions tend to lower the degree of economic integration, leading to losses of markets, not only for the most vulnerable members in society, the peasant farmers, but also for regular trade between countries.7 The intervention in the Congo, thus, not only damaged trade relations but also increased the flow of arms to the region and raised the level of insecurity there.8 A good number of Ugandans still remembered Obote’s intervention in the Congo in the 1960s and the subsequent scandal over gold.9 Museveni could not truthfully claim to be a champion of fundamental change when, in fact, his policies invoked the ghost of Obote’s intransigence in the Congo. The complicity of the NRM in these illicit state-sponsored activities cast a dark shadow on the NRM and its ability to reclaim the moral ground for legitimate governance at home. Furthermore, in Uganda, public opinion was split between two key observations, both of which were not favorable to NRM intervention: First, the observation that the strongest motive for the Congo incursion was mainly for reasons of economic self-aggrandizement by key military and political figures, prominent among them was the president’s brother Salim Saleh; and related to this is the fact that the conflict was exacerbating a decline in economic productivity and contributing to fluctuating inflation rates.10 With respect to the former, both Salim Saleh and the then army commander in the DRC, Maj. Gen. James Kazini, were later (2005) named in a UN investigation report as the perpetrators of the illegal exploitation of minerals, in particular of gold, from the DRC (see chapter 6). Second, and even more critical, was the observation that the defeat of the ADF did not end or diminish rebel activities in the north. In the meantime, the recently (1996) elected parliament was asking the government to brief the country on the real motives of the intervention in the DRC. In sum, the Congo intervention contributed to the decline in two principle dimensions of the governance realm—trust in the NRM and its accountability, both of which undermined the normative basis for the authoritative exercise of power. But, of immediate concern at home was the extraordinary pressure being brought to bear on the executive from a seemingly hyperactive legislature and a vigilant press.

II. The Taming of Parliamentary Checks and Balances Soon after the presidential and parliamentary elections in 1996, the president, who had done everything to ensure the election of a pro-NRM legislature, was rewarded with a one-year political honeymoon. On several occasions in 1996 (e.g., during the debates concerning the expansion of the cabinet from forty-two to sixty-one, the changing of Value Added Tax [VAT] threshold, or the setting of the minimum academic requirements for local government

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officers), the Parliament quickly moved to amend bills in order to acquiesce to presidential wishes.11 This marked the beginning of an erosion of the powers and legitimacy of parliamentary committee work and of the legislature as a whole. Indeed, at this early stage of a newly elected parliament, the president seems to have established the upper hand in shaping the political agenda and, ipso facto, the political outcomes. For example, the president was ostensibly concerned that if the VAT threshold of income was left at Ug. shs. 150 million (as was in the original law), government revenues would be minimized, thus, adversely affecting his standing in the eyes of the IMF and World Bank and complicating governance at a time when economic recovery was so crucial. This pragmatic consideration explains why the president used the radio to summon MPs to a special Saturday session at which the threshold was changed to his preferred figure of Ug. shs. 50 million.12 Secondly, the president wanted to appease the working and peasant classes, a move that would also uphold his long-standing populist ideals. By shoring up his support for these classes, he would bolster his personal popularity and, thus, be able to govern more effectively. How better to do it than to coerce the parliament into omitting the minimum academic requirement clause from the Local Government Bill of 1997. The president “invited a select group of about eighty MPs for consultation at his Rwakitura country home . . . [where] . . . many ‘apologized’ to the President for their earlier decision” that had left the requirement intact.13 When it was signed into law, clauses 112 (4)(e) and 117 (1) (c) of the Local Government Bill, which mandated a minimum qualification of a high school or O-level certificate, had been removed. Thus, what appeared to be an “elitist” mechanism included in the statute by an “insensitive” legislature was now gone, thanks to the man of the people—Yoweri Museveni! Just as they had done with VAT and the Local Government Bill, Parliament, through its Appointments Committee had, in July 1996, quickly and without much objection accepted the president’s request to cast aside the constitutional stipulation that the cabinet comprise forty-one ministers. They granted the president’s wish to appoint a sixty-onemember cabinet under the (president’s) pretext that all regions would be represented in the cabinet. This marked the end of political broad-basedness and the beginning of regional broad-basedness. However, in the second half of 1997, members of parliament (MPs) went after alleged corruption by ministers and government bureaucrats. Several cabinet ministers were probed and some censured.14 The list of culprits is long, but the most prominent names were those of Kirunda Kivejinja, Jim Muhwezi, Moses Ali, Kahinda Otafire, Mayanja Nkangi, and the vice president, Specioza Kazibwe. Synopses of parliamentary probes into these ministers’ indiscretions will suffice to highlight the short-lived parliamentary activism in the post-1996 elections era. These events also had wide-ranging ramifications for public perceptions of both the NRM and the Parliament. Kirunda Kivejinja was faced with a motion of censure for misusing his portfolio as minister of works, transport and communication by drawing 2,000 liters of gasoline from Uganda Railways Corporation for private use.

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Although Kivejinja lost his ministerial post, he drew the ire of parliamentarians who found out later that not only was he still drawing his ministerial salary, but that he was still in possession of his official car. He was eventually forced to give up the car and cabinet salary, but only under threat of a reopened motion of censure.15 That no one in the executive branch (particularly the president) or the Movement had taken the necessary steps to terminate Kivejinja’s privileges, most importantly his pay, seems to have left the impression that the government was condoning corruption. In fact, Kivejinja was not only reappointed as a member of the Cabinet, he was subsequently also given a prominent position in the NRM Secretariat. The Parliament next turned its attack on NRM veteran and minister of state for education, Brig. Jim Muhwezi. A motion to censure Muhwezi for corruption and financial impropriety was passed by Parliament in accordance to Art. 118 of the 1995 constitution. Muhwezi’s petition to overturn the censure was rejected by the Constitutional Court for inadmissible evidence. He was not dropped from the cabinet until the June 1998 cabinet reshuffle—eight months after the alleged improprieties! Typical of the NRM, however, Muhwezi was reappointed as minister of health and was dropped only in Museveni’s third term (2006).16 In the same week of Muhwezi’s censure, the Parliament turned to the minister of wildlife and tourism, Brig. Moses Ali. Ali had “allegedly diverted Ug. shs. 300 million from the Uganda Wildlife Authority and rented out the Customs House for an exorbitant amount to a private company in which [he] had an interest.”17 Nothing major was done to sanction Ali’s alleged criminal behavior. His portfolio was simply changed to first deputy prime minister and minister of disaster preparedness and refugees. He too was not dropped from the cabinet till the third term. Next was Minister Kahinda Otafire, who according to Parliament was associated with the armed robbery of copper rivets from rail wagons. Also a colonel in the army, Otafire criticized what he called shoddy parliamentary debates and investigations and offered to resign from the military. The president rejected his resignation and left him in the cabinet as minister of water, lands, and environment. Again, the president did not seem to take these signs of growing cronyism and abuse of office seriously. It seemed as though cabinet status provided some kind of political teflon, particularly in the case of veteran movementists such as those named above. The minister of finance, Mayanja Nkangi, was also put under the microscope of the Finance and Economic Planning Parliamentary Sessional Committee, which queried him on the huge 1997 budget deficit (Ug. shs. 74 billion), his attempted sale of the Nile Hotel to a Tunisian company, and the increase in the VAT. The Parliament not only called for Mayanja Nkangi’s resignation, but it also rejected government’s requests to amend the 1997 finance bill.18 But, perhaps not surprisingly, given the government’s indifference to abuse of office, Mayanja Nkangi survived. Next in the long line of political elites to be reprimanded by Parliament was Vice President Specioza Kazibwe. She was allegedly connected to the loss of Ug. shs. 3.5 billion in the

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construction of rural valley dams.19 Nothing, however, was done from the executive side to bring the valley dams scandal to a transparent and proper conclusion. In fact, MPs from Busoga shed their sanctimonious attitude toward the executive branch and rallied around their kinswoman, who subsequently retained her post as vice president (until May 2003) and all the privileges it entailed. Kazibwe’s ouster from the cabinet in 2003 had more to do with her failure to support President Museveni’s third-term objectives rather than her ethical indiscretions. When she finally quit government, she was availed a generous financial package from the public coffers for her postdoctoral studies in the United States. The climax of parliamentary vigilance in Uganda may well have been the pointed criticism from NRM veteran MP, Winnie Byanyima. While acknowledging support for the NRM, she sharply chastised it for lack of accountability and transparency in the conduct of public service. Byanyima pointed out that most cabinet ministers and MPs had ignored the Leadership Code that required all leaders to publicly declare their assets in order to reduce corruption. In a stinging attack, Byanyima pointed out that cabinet “had opposed the Inspector General of Government (IGG) amendment to the Leadership Code which called for spouses and children of leaders to declare their assets and liabilities.”20 In a dramatic fashion, she immediately declared her own assets to the applause of all in the House chamber. But, her example was followed by only a few and no one has had the moral fortitude to insist on resignations for all those (MPs or cabinet ministers) in contravention of the IGG’s Leadership Code. Ms. Byanyima’s open critique may, in fact, have exposed the ever-widening rift inside the NRM and a further diminishing of political broad-basedness. Prominent movementists had earlier been split by Museveni’s attempts to unduly influence the CA (through executive appointments) in the run-up to debating and approving the 1995 Constitution. “Moderate voices in government and the CA appeared to have been purged in that process.”21 In 1998, the Land Bill debacle also exposed cleavages within the NRM between those who favored land proprietary rights for women and the more conservative movementists who preferred the status quo. Thus, if fundamental change was the core vector in legitimating the NRM government, the foregoing corruption sagas did very little in contrasting the current system from its discredited predecessors. Not unlike past governments, the NRM regime was creating a perception that seemed to place ministers above the law. Furthermore, the one person they were answerable to, that is, the president, did nothing to resolve this state of affairs. As a result, the NRM continued to lose ground in the two major areas of the governance realm: trust and accountability. The decline of these important values would in the long run lead the NRM away from democratic to neopatrimonial legitimacy. Clientalism and presidentialism soon became the conduits through which regime support and validation was solicited. Nonetheless while parliamentary vigilance had been seriously harmed by antidemocratic technicalities, the assembly proved to be quite effective (at least initially and particularly regarding issues of corruption and oversight)

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in showing what an independent and efficacious legislature is supposed to look and feel like. Uganda’s post-1996 parliament provided a glimpse into the character and dynamic of an autonomous and independent legislature. This was particularly surprising, given that the NRM commanded an overwhelming majority in parliament. Was a democratic culture emerging in Uganda—one that could perhaps lead to a growing trend toward constitutionalism and the rule of law? Could such an independent legislature legitimate the state by transforming it into an arena for the legal expression and resolution of competing interests? The answer to this question was a resounding “no.” First, the fire that had been lit under the executive branch was quickly put out by the press scrutiny of parliamentary indiscretions. Parliamentary activism was alive and well as long as the media spotlight was kept sharply focused on the executive branch. But, when the press exposed and printed the names and pictures of inactive MPs who had never participated in parliamentary proceedings and were out of touch with their constituents, the independent voice of the parliament fell silent.22 Indeed, beginning with Byanyima’s reprimand of her peers, the press continued to exhume dead wood from the nooks and crannies of Parliament, thus resulting in a debilitating castration of legislative activism. MPs were ranked lowest among elected representatives with only 52 percent of the respondents saying they were satisfied with their MP’s performance.23 Given these conditions, the president took advantage of the political eunuchs in Parliament, wooing and cajoling members into compliance with the president’s political agenda. It was this environment that led to the NRM’s biggest political coup, otherwise known as the Movement Act.

III. The Movement Act (MA) and the Supremacy of the NRM Between 1991 and 1996, policies of keeping a tight lid on party politics appeared justified, considering the traditionally sectarian nature of Ugandan politics, the fragile structure of the political system at that time, and the open and transparent environment within the NRM. From 1996 onward, however, arguments for circumscribing party activities were no longer convincing because the political system was stable enough institutionally and was, therefore, able to accommodate crosscutting views. Secondly, the NRM was considerably less tolerant of (or lackadaisical toward) dissenting views from within its ranks, which meant that it could no longer serve as a platform upon which all political viewpoints could be debated and resolved. Moreover, the “Movement legally ceased to exist on July 8, 1996 when an elected government took power.”24 Thus, supporters of multiparty politics (or multipartyists) continued to demand for the reintroduction of party politics and, most importantly, for amending those provisions in the constitution that entrenched the movement political system. The NRM response was to write the movement system of government into law, while waiting for the constitutionally mandated referendum on political systems in 2000.

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In 1997, the Parliament, acting at the behest of the president (and not surprisingly on the eve of the 1998 local elections), passed the Movement Bill 1997 (thereafter known as the Movement Act, heretofore, referred to as MA) into law with seventy-one votes—less than the required two-thirds quorum.25 Given that the NRM had a sizeable majority in Parliament, this was clearly evidence of an internal split within the Movement. Furthermore, that a bill could become law without the required two-thirds majority meant that the normative basis for a constitutional order was being shredded by the dictates of rising presidentialism. But, what was most telling was the decline of representation and the abuse of the checks-and-balance mechanisms as the executive branch ruthlessly subjugated the legislature. The MA, in effect, legally transformed all Ugandans into movementists (as Museveni’s supporters have come to be known). It also formalized a growing trend in which Movement interests were gradually being superimposed onto the logic of the state in ways that made it even harder for the legitimation of the latter because it was now, more than ever before, that it was being seen as the purveyor of NRM political objectives. Ipso facto, the Movement was no longer able to mediate conflict or represent people with opposing views. Yet, for political legitimacy to prevail, most, if not all, of the people had to identify with the state as the institution with the capacity to objectively resolve long-standing national problems. To the contrary, the district executive committees, the national political commissar, the mayors of municipalities, and the MA compromised the state’s capacity to act as arbiter of social and political conflicts. In addition to requiring all adults to become members of the Movement, the MA also had provisions legalizing the structure of the NRM and mandating that the highest organ of the Movement, the National Conference, be made up of the chairperson, all the MPs, all the resident district commissioners, members delegate elected by an electoral college for each sub-county.26

Secondly, the Movement Secretariat and its entire structure was to be funded by the Ugandan state through a budget vote, thus, making it a bureaucracy supported by taxpayers.27 Thirdly, by this Act the legislators had signed away their autonomy and independence and their capacity to check the rising influence of executive power. The MA, therefore, marked the legal usurpation of the legislature by the executive branch. Second, the emergence of a pseudo one-party state (a la Tanzania under TANU) could no longer be denied. This development was pregnant with adverse consequences for Uganda’s democratization, given the steady erosion of political broad-basedness. In fact, the NRM was accommodating varying social interests only “as a strategy for palliating the ambitions of other parties to have access to power and economic resources, not as a way of building accountability.”28 Finally, the president’s persona was elevated to a level that was in discord with and frightening to democratic transformation. As he cultivated this image of father/liberator, he was also assuming a “strong man”29 mantra, that is, concentrated personalized

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and unrestrained power. The first empirical test of how the MA impacted popular support for the NRM was in the 1998 local elections. Basing her conclusions on the results of the 1998 Local Council (LC5) district level elections, Tripp (2000: 65) rightly points out that support for the NRM was not helped by the MA because NRM incumbents lost their seats in Mbarara, Kabarole, Kasese, Iganga, Mubende, Kampala, Mpigi, Gulu, Masaka, Soroti, and other places. In fact, support dropped considerably in the Kampala area when we compare the 30 percent showing in the 1998 LC5 elections, to the presidential and parliamentary polls of 1996 in which the pro-NRM vote was at 60 to 70 percent, respectively (Ssemwogerere 1998). Thus, support for the NRM was definitely slipping. The impact of this development on governability is that instead of rising above and mediating social and political differences the government had become part of these crisscrossing cleavages. What was not clear was whether the enactment of the MA was a symptom or cause of this slippage. Was the MA an instrument for the transformation of Uganda’s political system into a “party state”? Had a nomenclatura emerged in which NRM stalwarts, supporters, and sympathizers also held state office? In deeply fragmented societies, such as Uganda, legitimacy often emerges from the construction of institutions that have the capacity to accommodate and mitigate conflicting interests rather than those that seek to homogenize the system. Instead, the MA transformed the NRM into something akin to what Sigmund Neumann (1932) calls a “party of integration,” which he argues weakens rather than strengthens democracy. This is because parties of integration . . . are concerned with making the world conform to their basic philosophy. They do not see themselves as contestants in a give and take game of pressure politics, but as partisan in a mighty struggle between divine or historic truth on one side and fundamental error on the other. Given this conception of the world, it becomes necessary to prevent their followers from being exposed to the cross-pressures flowing from contact with outsiders which will reduce their faith.30

Clearly, the MA legalized the existence of a single, omnipresent, and omnipotent political organization, the NRM, that was intent on circumscribing opposition to or separation from the state. Although in the period between 1991 and 1996 the NRM could have been described as a “party” of “democratic integration,” after 1997 it began to develop features of “total integration” that are more characteristic of former communist parties of Eastern Europe. Like the east European political systems, the NRM was beginning to exhibit a number of statist characteristics, most of which typically conflate regime political agendas with the institutional logic of the state. Finally, another NRM similarity with the regimes of Eastern Europe was the use of referenda to provide a stamp of approval for an entrenched elite seeking hegemony, for example, the 2000 referendum on the Movement political system. The most contentious issue of Museveni’s presidency was always centered on the NRM’s determination to constrain and limit space for free and open

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competitive politics. The MA was the tool put in place to strengthen the boundaries around existing political spaces and to control the activities therein. Effective governance seems to have subsumed the logic and rational of a liberal political system.

IV. Searching for Acceptance: The 2000 Referendum On June 29, 2000, voters went to the polls to decide whether to continue with the NRM system of no-party rule or to reintroduce a multiparty arrangement. From the perspective of the NRM the referendum was in deference to Article 271 of the 1995 constitution and a step forward in the direction of constitutionalizing Uganda’s politics. For key opposition groups, however, the referendum was a non sequitur. You cannot subject a fundamental human right to the vote, argued the flagbearers of the Uganda Peoples Congress (UPC), the Democratic Party (DP), and other parties. So, the political parties organized a boycott of the entire referendum exercise. The NRM moved forward, invoking a constitutional imperative to let the people decide what system of governance they preferred. The details of the referendum process, including voter attitudes and practices, have been analyzed in a noted empirical study by Bratton and Lambright.31 It is, however, necessary to outline the salient points of the study that are germane to this project. These points are important in assessing the legitimacy of the referendum exercise and, therefore, of the impact it may have had on the democratization process. Bratton and Lambright (2001) make several observations regarding both the Referendum Act and the campaign preceding the vote: First, that the NRM used the powers of incumbency “to define the rules of the game and to influence the course of the campaign.” In 1999 the NRM tabled the Referendum Bill, which was to legalize the 2000 referendum on whether the Movement system would continue or be replaced with a multiparty structure. It was debated for only three hours and, after numerous waivers of rules of procedure, only fifty MPs voted for it. The bill was 40 votes short of the quorum necessary for it to become law. But President Museveni signed it anyway and in so doing exposed his disdain for the legislature and ipso facto for the popular will that it symbolized. When the 1999 Referendum Act was ruled unconstitutional by the Constitutional Court, the NRM quickly tabled another bill—the Referendum (Political Systems) Act 2000. This too was later ruled unconstitutional by the Supreme Court, although the results of the referendum (i.e., that the movement system would continue) were upheld. This fiasco diminished the institutional coherence of the legislature and its capacity to check and balance executive power. It also exposed deep rifts in the NRM that, with a majority in parliament, should not have failed to muster 90 votes for an initiative that was seemingly in their favor. ●

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Second, that since no other political organization was legally allowed to campaign, the NRM enjoyed legal opportunities to organize at all levels of society, and to prevent its opponents from doing so and in this sense Uganda’s credentials as a de facto one-party state were being strengthened. The president used the influence of incumbency to promise government services—including the creation of new districts, for example, Yumbe county in Arua—in exchange for votes. These forms of patronage were slowly substituting democratic for neopatrimonial legitimacy. ● Third, that the incumbents had access to state funds far exceeding those of the opposition, thus, allowing the former greater access and visibility to voters all over the country. ● Fourth, that state administrative structures, that is, resident district commissioners and district chairpersons (and who knows who else), were used (despite regulations to the contrary) to articulate the platform of the NRM. This was the clearest sign of regime/state conflation. ● Fifth, that the voter registration process was hampered by (a) shortages of personnel and equipment, (b) long distances between voters and voter registration centers (initially at the district level), thus, restricting turnout, (c) arresting tax evaders at registration centers and, thus, discouraging voter turnout, and (d) insecurity in at least eight districts. ● Sixth, that sporadic violence such as the breakup of a multiparty rally in Mbarara by the police using live ammunition created an environment of intimidation. ● Seventh, that the public sensitization (civic education) period was so short (about a month and half) that it is not clear whether voters clearly understood what the exercise was all about, which gave the NRM a clear advantage. ●

Put together, the factors outlined above highlight the essence of a carefully orchestrated attempt by the NRM to manipulate the referendum outcome, an outcome that, not surprisingly, eventually favored the government position. Two conclusions can be made. First, that the NRM was no longer confident of its own political position, thus, the need to engineer the process, albeit, the evidence suggests that they would still have pulled out a victory without the aforementioned political chicanery. The second observation is that the government’s strategy of employing the many illicit tactics listed above can only mean that the institutions, ideology, and values of the Movement had not been sufficiently internalized, that is, that large sections of the population still did not identify with the Movement. Whatever the case might be, this apparent dislocation of basic political ideals between the people and the Movement represents the linchpin in the entire process of democratization because it is this that would determine if the democratic transition would survive and be consolidated. The answer to this question is partially provided by Bratton and Lambright in their analysis of the pre-2000 referendum national sample survey.32 The most significant finding of the study was that “the higher the level of multi-party sentiment in a district, the lower its rate of voter turnout” for the

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referendum vote.33 Clearly, there was a strong correlation between multiparty sympathizers and voter abstention. Furthermore, those who stayed away from the polls (31 percent of registered voters) appeared to have been part of what the authors of the study have called a silent boycott, because during prevote interviews they indicated an intention to vote. Bratton and Lambright reason, correctly, that this was because the referendum offered this block of voters a limited choice. Thus, a good one-third of eligible voters, at least according to this study, were neither supportive of the NRM nor excited about the existing choices of political parties, that is, the UPC and the DP. Bratton and Lambright suggest that the boycott was a rejection of the “Movement’s hegemony or the unpalatable, old-guard partisans represented by the DP and UPC.”34 But, considering the length of their tenure at that time (fourteen years), this was an ominous sign for the NRM, one that seemed to presage a continuation of coercion and manipulation of the electoral process in the future if the Movement was to stay in power. The government did not have the support necessary to attract over a third of the registered voters. And, it was not clear how many voters showed up due to the strong-arm tactics and manipulation of the NRM rather than due to a genuine show of support. The fact is that both of these factors played a key role in determining voter turnout. Uganda’s democratic future, therefore, depended on the willingness of the NRM to liberalize the political system and to allow party competition, and on initiating a public debate on the nature and character of a dramatically different type of party for future contestation of power. A critical requisite for democratic governance is the availability of conditions for moderating the intensity of partisanship. Was the 2000 Referendum such a condition? Did it minimize or increase the rate of partisanship? It seems the referendum raised more questions than it answered. First, if a bill could be signed into law without a quorum (in this case with only fifty votes), then the prospects and status of constitutional, not to mention, representative democracy was in jeopardy. The subsequent (August 2000) nullification of the referendum act helped to sustain a measure of judicial independence while protecting the doctrine of checks and balances from the assault of the executive branch. Secondly, the process leading to the referendum served more to delegitimize it than to affirm its cogency. One implicit message was that a top-down (that is, guided) transition inevitably invites electoral manipulation by political elites whose natural tendency is to produce a desired set of outcomes—in this case an endorsement of the movement system of government. Thus, the referendum poll was not necessarily a good barometer of democracy or a positive sign of further institutionalization of the state. Thirdly, given that the multipartyists (and other opposition groups) openly called for a boycott, it goes without saying that the referendum played no role in mitigating the intensity of partisanship between this group and the ruling NRM. On the contrary, the political cleavages between the two deepened. The referendum revealed another fault line dividing Ugandan voters, namely, the division between those who favored neither the NRM nor the

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old parties—the silent boycotters. Finally, deducing from the above three factors, we can conclude that the level of partisan intensity would rise because the referendum outcome sealed (for the foreseeable future) the fate and dashed the hope of those who expected an opening of political space and, thus, provisions for alternative structures of political participation. This would seem to apply to both the silent boycotters and the multipartyists. But, it is equally plausible to include the northerners (the few who managed to vote) in this category since they perceived the movement system as inept with respect to dealing with the devastating impact of the anti-NRM insurgency. So the referendum failed to mitigate at least two areas of traditional partisan battles in Uganda: the north-south (now turned north-west) axis and the conundrum of party politics. However, Ole Therkildsen (2002) has pointed out that the research by Bratton and Lambright neglects the other important (and more popular) dimension of the movement system, namely, devolution and the impact it may have had on voter satisfaction with the movement system.35 Therkildsen argues that when factored into the attitudes of Ugandan voters toward democracy, the devolution component may explain the strong support (84 percent) for the movement system and why the boycott was not as significant as Bratton and Lambright claim. Therkildsen makes a valid point, given that 92 percent of those interviewed approved of the performance of their LC1, 79 percent of their LC3, and 73 percent of their LC5 chairpersons. In the same surveys, 79 percent of respondents said they trusted their LC1 Council, and 57 and 52 percent trusted their LC3 and LC5 Councils, respectively.36 Be that as it may, the political schizophrenia among Ugandan voters who seemed to support the movement system while dropping NRM candidates in favor of multiparty ones in the 1998 local elections was sufficient to create panic and, thus, a manipulation of the referendum project as pointed out by Bratton and Lambright. To put it another way, voters who favored the movement system did not seem to have cared much for the elites who represented it and resented the political machinations of yesteryear that were employed to ensure their survival. Carrying over issues from one historical period to another makes for a political atmosphere characterized by bitterness and frustration rather than by tolerance and compromise.37 Indeed, the losers of the 2000 referendum may have perceived the political victory of the NRM “as a major moral threat, and the whole system as lacking in effective value-integration.”38 The loss of value integration dovetails with this project’s central subject of analysis, namely, political legitimacy. Basing their argument on partisan preference as the best predictor of state legitimacy, Bratton et al. (2000) found that 57 percent of those intending to vote against the referendum (i.e., multipartyists) “said that citizens should reserve the right to resist public commands with which they disagree.” However, 60 percent of those who planned to vote for the movement system said that government decisions should always be obeyed. Clearly, the June 2000 referendum did not legitimate NRM rule for the 57 percent voters, most of whom were multipartyists who still

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believed that the Movement had no right to rule. Instead, the referendum revealed the NRM’s intent to govern through a hegemonic form of monopoly over state power. A year later, the general election would further expose the NRM’s determination to manipulate the electoral system for its own survival, only this time the stakes were higher because of declining levels of popular acceptance and the emergence within the NRM of a deep fault line that forced Movement veteran Kizza Besigye to run against President Museveni. Indeed, the violence that accompanied the 2001 elections was symptomatic of the growing strength of opposition groups and the NRM’s efforts to subjugate them.

V. The 2001 Presidential ⁄ Parliamentary Elections As instruments by which ruling elites seek to renew and legitimize their right to exercise power, elections also give or refresh the mandate of a government or regime. In the case of Uganda, the 2001 elections provided, yet another opportunity to test the degree of institutionalization ushered in by the 1995 constitution. Also in question was whether this election, through the application of formal constitutional principles, would institutionalize politics in Uganda. Secondly, would this election perpetuate continuities in Uganda’s traditional and informal political trends in which institutions matter less than personalities and patron-client relationships subordinate the formal institutional resolution of the political issues of the day. The 2001 elections were tilted more toward the informal-presidentialism-personalistic side than the more democratic-formal-institutional alternative, but first the more positive developments toward formalism and institutional coherence: The 2001 elections were unprecedented in Uganda’s history because for the first time a popular mandate based on constitutional imperatives would usher in a second consecutive government. Second, the unencumbered public debates on the elections in the different media outlets marked a milestone in Uganda’s development toward the institution of free speech and expression. These outlets run the whole gamut of media, newspapers, FM radio stations, and television, and opinion makers: think tanks and academic institutions. This environment for a public discourse on the issues was crucial for the democratic transition. And to that extent, political participation was somewhat formalized and enhanced. Thirdly, the NRM registered major losses in the 2001 elections. The president won by just over 60 percent as opposed to almost 75 percent in 1996, albeit, his individual popularity ratings were still very high. Ten incumbent ministers lost their parliamentary seats along with fifty other Movement MPs.39 As discussed in greater detail below, a number of parliamentary candidates favored by President Museveni lost and those who faced a negative campaign from the NRM won. However, there was no attempt by the NRM government to nullify these election results. Fourth, following the elections, several petitions were filed with the judiciary by those who disputed the results. The judiciary’s role in the electoral process

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was strengthened, especially by the high-profile petitions of pro-NRM candidate for parliament Ngoma Ngime, against Winnie Byanyima (won by the latter) and presidential candidate Kizza Besigye, who lost by a two to three Supreme Court decision. But, more importantly, as a formal institution the position of the judiciary as an independent respectable institution of the state was strengthened in ways that are unprecedented in the history of Uganda. Although some may disagree with the Supreme Court ruling in the Besigye petition case (a situation not unlike George Bush’s victory following the Supreme Court ruling in the 2000 U.S. presidential election), what emerged from the process was a higher level of institutionalization with respect to adjudicating matters concerning electioneering. The fifth and final positive aspect of the 2001 electoral process was that it exposed several flaws in and a need to review the 1995 constitution.40 The recognition that changes had to be made and the resolve to begin a process of amending the constitution was another important milestone in a country with a political history and culture of suspending, abrogating, or simply ignoring constitutional prerogatives.41 The question, of course, was whether Uganda could begin moving away from just making up new rules to constructing mechanisms for making them last.42 A look at the malpractices and irregularities that accompanied the 2001 election exposes a huge gap between making rules for the political game and respecting them. The election parameters were defined by the Presidential Election Act (PEA) 2000, the 1995 constitution, the 1997 Movement Act (MA), and the 2000 Referendum, all of which reaffirmed and entrenched the no-party movement system and, ipso facto, prohibited political parties from contesting elections. But, this did not prevent party proponents from running for office. Second, unlike the 1996 poll, in the 2001 election, President Museveni had a formidable challenger in NRM/NRA veteran soldier Kizza Besigye. Central to this challenge was whether the NRM would be true to their oft-heard slogan of candidature by merit and welcome the candidacy of Besigye—and, thus, prove that the movement system was capable of providing alternative candidates with differing platforms and issues—or whether such a viable threat to Museveni would force the latter to repudiate the central tenet of movement democracy. In other words, this would be the clearest indication of whether political (as opposed to regional/ethnic) broad-basedness was still the central and defining principle of the NRM. But also, rejecting Besigye’s candidacy would further qualify the NRM as a political party and Uganda as a one-party state. Third, the rebel insurgency in the north was raging on, a fact that raised the premium on NRM victory in other parts of the country, the assumption being that the north was a lost cause. Fourth, in 2001 as opposed to 1996, concerns over poverty and social insecurity were much higher, and in the north this was compounded by rebel-related instability. For example, figure 5.1 shows sharp decline (in just two years) in economic satisfaction and perhaps rising levels of economic deprivation. Figure 5.2 shows how poverty had shot to the top of the “most important national problems” list in 2002.

147

100 90

Percent of Responses

80 70

64 57

60 50

55 2000

45 35

40

2002

38 27 31

30 20 10 0 Positive Rating of National Economy

Own Living Standard Better than One Year Age*

Positive Rating of Own Living Standards

Own Living Standard Better than Others**

* In 2000, resondents were asked to compare with five years ago. **Own living standard worse than others increases much more substantially, from 28 percent in 2000 to 45 percent in 2002.

Figure 5.1

National and Personal Economic Evaluations

Source: Carolyn Logan et al., “Insiders and Outsiders: Varying Perceptions of Democracy and Governance in Uganda,” Afrobarometer Working Paper No. 27, 2003.

16

Poverty 14

Health/AIDS 9

Unemployment

9

Education 7

Political Instability/Violence 6

Water Supply

6

Farming/Agriculture 5

Management of the Economy 4

Crime and Security

4

Corruption 3

Rates and Taxes

3

Infrastructure/Roads 0

2

4

6

8

10

12

14

16

18

Percent of Valid Responses* *Respondents could give up to three responses. Figures reported are the percent of all valid responses, i,e., excluding ‘‘don't know’’ and ‘‘no further answer.’’

Figure 5.2

Most Important Problems

Source: Carolyn Logan et al., “Insiders and Outsiders:Varying Perceptions of Democracy and Governance in Uganda,” Afrobarometer Working Paper No. 27, 2003.

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This, then, gave the 2001 election a stronger flavor of apathy and opposition toward the incumbents than existed in the 1996 polls. Finally, the international context of the 2001 election was two-pronged. Most western donor countries wished to maintain the status quo and, thus, still backed the Museveni regime, irrespective of the latter’s disdain for multiparty democracy. Other external actors (such as Nigerian President Olusegun Obasanjo) reportedly funneled money into the coffers of the NRM, while the Besigye camp allegedly received funding from President Laurent Kabila of the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC).43 Another important international dimension was the presence of international observers whose role was to oversee the process and to, ultimately, give it either legitimacy through their endorsement or disapproval through their condemnation. There is no doubt that the 2001 elections represented a fork in Uganda’s political path, with one branch pointing in the direction of democratization and the other NRM entrenchment and hegemony. The irregularities surrounding the elections (most of them initiated by the government) were clearly intended to keep the doors closed to competitive politics. This would undoubtedly frustrate the democratization project in Uganda and raise the profile of the NRM’s hegemonic design. The constitution provides that candidates aspiring for the presidency must run as individuals and not under political party labels. But, the NRM did everything possible to discourage other presidential candidates while endorsing President Museveni as its sole candidate.44 Kizza Besigye, of course, broke with the rank and file of the NRM and declared his candidacy. As a result, he faced intimidation, harassment, and recrimination throughout the campaign. These developments obviously marred the credibility of the movement system in general and the core NRM principles in particular, principles that defined the NRM as an all-inclusive movement. But, more importantly, they exposed weaknesses in a constitutional order with a checkered past and tenuous future. Apart from the very serious problem of undermining consensus on electoral rules and procedures, these irregularities resulted in several drawbacks for democracy in Uganda. First, it became glaringly clear that constitutionalism existed at the mercy of political elites who could decide in favor or against institutional consolidation. For instance, the effect of movementists vehement disavowal of Besigye’s candidacy in the name of NRM unity45 was to nullify article 70(1), which describes the movement political system as, inter alia, broad-based, inclusive, nonpartisan, and accessible to all positions of leadership by all citizens. The implication of this was that the NRM was, in fact, a political party/organization, and not a movement. Furthermore, as mentioned above, the president and the Movement are on record as having endorsed some candidates and decampaigned others.46 This is a flagrant violation of the spirit and letter of the constitution, the movement system, and its legislative expression—the Movement Act—all of which claimed to represent inclusivity and broad-basedness. Perhaps the biggest inconsistency was the fact that the Besigye candidacy resulted in two manifestos (his and Museveni’s) for the Movement, which, if the latter was all-inclusive, would be a natural phenomenon. However, to argue, as did the president and other

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movementists, that Besigye’s manifesto could not be accepted is to also admit that the movement system was for all intents and purposes dead. The constitution (Articles 60 and 61) vests the powers of appointing the Electoral Commission (EC) in the president who in turn gets it approved by the Parliament. But, does this provision provide a level playing ground if the president is also a candidate and has the backing of MPs whose political futures are deeply rooted in the survival of, in this case, the movement system? Should not the appointment of the EC be left to a relatively neutral body such as the Supreme Court? These questions raised doubts about the essence of the electoral rules and implicitly about the elections themselves. Moreover, the PEA 2000 itself was full of contradictory directives and hardships for nonincumbent aspirants. Some of the more egregious ones included.47 the prevention of aspiring candidates from consultative tours with voters until nomination time, a violation of section 3 of PEA 2000.48 ● the requirement by PEA 2000 9(1)(b) and 19(1) that candidates secure second signatures from at least two-thirds of all the districts in Uganda, and the impossibility of this feat, given that candidates could only be in any one district (where they were virtually strangers) for only two days, and the paucity of campaign funds for nonincumbents.49 ● a mandated nonrefundable fee of Ug. shs. 8 million to the EC (sections 9(6) (7) of PEA 200) by every aspiring candidate. This stipulation somewhat weeded out the less-privileged candidates. One would have expected President Museveni—“the man of the people”—to oppose this provision, as he did the O-level minimum requirement (in the Local Government Bill), in order to allow anyone and everyone a chance to run for political office. But, he did not because it was not politically expedient! It is very likely, therefore, that the candidates with the support of the NRM had an easier time paying the fee and moving forward with the campaign while some “independent” candidates may have seen their dreams dashed by failure to meet this condition. This obviously had adverse connotations for the cogency of the elections and the president whose populism seems to have been limited to local-level politics and/or the politics of expediency. ● the PEA 2000 (section 21(1)) makes it illegal for the president to use state resources for political campaigns, but it includes a clawback clause in subsection 2, a clawback that allows the office holder, in this case the chief executive, to use facilities attached to his office. Seen in the context of the financial and logistical challenges facing nonincumbents above, subsection 2 gives the president and his cohorts significant advantages vis-à-vis other candidates. Clearly, this does not give the elections and their outcome the necessary credibility for strengthening electioneering institutions that are so crucial to democratization. ●

Were the elections, therefore, free and fair? This is the litmus test for any poll and the underlying basis for claiming a popular mandate. Based on the factors listed above, it is hard to relate fairness to the elections. But, it gets even harder to relate fairness to the 2001 elections, considering the political

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violence that characterized them. As listed above, the stakes for the 2001 elections were much higher than those extant in 1996. And, this may explain why the 2001 elections and, in particular, the parliamentary races were accompanied by egregious violations of the peace. Examples of intimidation, threats, and violence in the 2001 elections abound. They range from members of the Uganda Peoples Defense Force (UPDF) firing live ammunition at protesting Makerere University students, shooting at Besigye supporters, and deliberately crashing vehicles into anti-NRM crowds, to defacing Besigye campaign posters and arresting officers such as Maj. Okwir Rabwoni, a Besigye task force official. Intimidation is said to have slapped a covert gag order on the media. Three columnists at the The New Vision newspaper were suspended for printing material critical of the government (Mbabazi et al.: 2001). Several FM radio stations were forced to limit their reporting to only those stories that reflected positively on the NRM. In Kigezi, according to Pamela Mbabazi, et al. (2001), a radio presenter critical of the NRM was barred from moderating a talk show in which the president was going to be the main guest. The orders to sanction the talk show host came from none other than the resident district commissioner (RDC) of Kabale. Obviously, these restrictions, coupled with the general violence of insurgency in the north, marred the elections and undermined their legitimating effect on the winners. The cloud of questions and doubts that enveloped a good number of races also seems to have smeared the mandate of the victors and their ability to make authoritative decisions. Ugandan jails have scores of political prisoners from this time, as verified by the Uganda Human Rights Commission and the parliamentary committee that visited the prisons. Finally, interference by the RDCs gives further evidence of a growing trend in which the political objectives of the NRM were becoming coterminous with state prerogatives. These developments provided breeding grounds for the reemergence of presidentialism that hearkened back to the days of Obote II. When the leadership and the state are equated, a legitimacy deficit is created in that citizens withdraw demonstrable expressions of consent. The election data in table 5.1 seems to point in this direction.

Table 5.1 2001 Presidential Elections in Uganda Candidates

Unspecified “Party” Affiliation

Yoweri Museveni Muhammed Mayanja Kiiza Besigye

NRM Independent NRM (“unofficial”) Independent Independents

Aggrey Awori Others (2)

Percent of Vote in 2001 Election

69.3 1.0 27.8 1.4 0.5

Source: “Elections in Uganda,” http://www.electionworld.org/election/uganda.htm

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President Museveni’s winning margin in 2001 represented a 5 percent decline of voter approval compared to 1996 (see table 4.6, chapter 4), while little-known, time-strapped Besigye, whose campaign was seriously undermined by state coercion, was able to garner between 24 and 28 percent of the votes. In the 276-seat, NRM-dominated parliament, 18 percent (including ten incumbent ministers) were not returned. “The total opposition in the 2001 elections rose to over 35 percent from less than 10 percent in the previous elections.”50 Most of the movement candidates for whom President Museveni campaigned lost, and these included the aforementioned Ngoma Ngime, Sam Engola in Lira municipality, and Kizza Francis in Masaka. And, the converse was true. In Kampala, multipartyist candidates blacklisted by the NRM won their races despite a government-orchestrated negative campaign. These included Sebuliba Mutumba, Ken Lukyamuzi, Latif Sebagala, Michael Mbikke, and Nsubuga Sebuliba. Again, the obvious inference from this pattern is that the NRM capacity to command demonstrable support had declined, largely because their attempts at changing the rules and tipping the odds in their favor created a perception that they could not stake their political careers on the people’s unadulterated choices and opinions. Secondly, and related to this—the demands and cogency of multiparty elections (and politics) became even more critical given the decline of political broad-basedness. NRM exclusivity can be explained by the fact that regimes that stay in power for an inordinately long time tend to lose democratic legitimacy no matter how effective they may be. Typically, a gap in patterns of shared beliefs between ruling elites and nonelites emerges and with it a growing legitimacy deficit. Besides the apathy of about one-third of eligible voters in the 2000 referendum, the longer the NRM stayed in power, the more its claims to the right and title to rule weakened. The decline of NRM legitimacy cannot be separated from that of the state itself, given that both the Movement Act and several articles of the 1995 constitution make both institutions (regime and state) coterminous. As the state assumes the political agenda of the regime, elites outside the political class are left with no other recourse except to force their way into the political system, and, as Lipset aptly puts it, Political systems, which deny new strata access to power except by revolution, also inhibit the growth of legitimacy by introducing millennial hopes into the political arena. Groups, which have to push their way into the body politic by force, are apt to over-exaggerate the possibilities which political participation affords. (1984:90)

The political stress caused by the above phenomenon inhibits the growth of legitimacy and stability, thus, denying the political system support from groups loyal to the old or prevailing regime (e.g., the Besigye/ Byanyima/ Rabwoni coalition) and from those who were then outside the regime (e.g., multipartyists) whose political hopes were unfulfilled. This is a recipe for political extremism as is manifest by groups such as the LRA that harbor

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millienial hopes and aspirations. The 2001 elections seem to have allowed for the continued accumulation (instead of resolution) of citizenship and “collective bargaining” issues that, if left unresolved, risked returning Uganda to the political eras of intolerance of the Obote I, II, and Amin. Indeed, what was really feared was a retreat of the governance realm and, thus, a decline in legitimacy. In their national sample survey done on the eve of the 2000 referendum, Michael Bratton et al. found that 42 percent of respondents either disagreed or “didn’t know” if the NRM government had “the right to make decisions that all people have to abide by.” This conditional compliance to the regime/state leads the researchers to “conclude that the rule of law remains seriously incomplete in Uganda.” By extension, the possibility of establishing social trust and reciprocity between state and society (i.e., the process of creating a governance realm) was still very poor. Secondly, the use of state resources and patronage seems to have become more pronounced and prominent in the run up to the 2001 election. Based on the (mal) practices of the 2001 elections, it was clear that moderation was a thing of the past. In fact, the defining characteristic of the 2001 poll was a crystallization of several characteristics of presidentialism, namely, informalism and arbitrary rule, both of which had serious and debilitating effects on state legitimacy and democratization. As the next chapter makes clear, these trends became more pronounced in the years following 2001 as a more autocratic regime type began to emerge. Two of the four key issues in Museveni’s 2001 election manifesto (and the ones that most likely won him the election)51 addressed the economic objectives that he would pursue if reelected. First, he pledged to consolidate the gains his government had made in the economy: infrastructure reconstruction and development. Second, he promised to create a vibrant regional market capable of penetrating the global one under the World Trade Organization (WTO) (Pamela Mbabazi et al.: 2001). It is worthy, therefore, to analyze the impact of Uganda’s economic performance because it underscores both regime effectiveness and ultimately legitimacy. Indeed, Lambright et al. (2000:16) and Larry Diamond (1987) have rightly pointed out that for regimes that are less than completely democratic and that, therefore, seek political legitimacy, “economic performance is a tried and true method for winning popular compliance and support.”

VI. The Economy: Growth in the Midst of Poverty Just as was the case during the 1991–1996 period, the philosophical underpinning of economic policy between 1996 and 2001 was driven by the twin neoliberal principles of liberalization and privatization. Between 1996 and 1999, Uganda was showing an impressive average growth rate of 5.3 percent (7 percent according to the World Bank) per year (Bigsten and KayizziMugerwa 2001). As shown in table 5.2 below, average growth by sector from 1989 to 1990 and from 1998 to 1999 was quite impressive, particularly

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Table 5.2 Uganda: Growth Patterns Since 1989

Sector Agriculture Manufacturing Construction Trade Hotels and restaurants Transport and communication Total GDP

Average Growth 1989/90–1998/99 (Percent)

Share of GDP (Percent) 1989/90

1998/99

5.98 12.74 10.46 8.41 12.10

24.3 5.4 5.1 5.1 1.1

23.1 9.6 7.3 7.3 1.8

9.03

4.1

5.2

6.40

51.0

60.1

Source: Uganda Bureau of Statistics

because it was driven by investments in manufacturing, construction, hotels, and transportation. Inflation was down from 190 percent in the years 1987 to 1991 to below 5 percent by 2001. Private sector investments in Uganda increased from 9 percent of GDP in the years 1991 to 1992 to 13 percent in by 1999, and the average real rate of GDP growth was 7.6 percent per year in the period 1996 to 2001 (Devarajan et al. 2001). This resulted in a 3.7 percent increase in real GDP per capita. However, World Bank figures indicated a slight cooling down of the economy in FY 2002, with estimated real GDP growth estimated at 5.7 percent owing to harsh weather conditions and falling coffee prices. On the output side of the economy, Uganda emerged as Africa’s largest coffee producer, and the industrial sector registered real output growth of nearly 12 percent per year throughout the 1990s and in the early part of the twenty-first century. Thus, one clear trend was continued robust economic growth. Aid continued to flow into Uganda, reflecting the confidence of donors in Uganda’s economic/political reforms and the management capacity. Aid per capita in Uganda between 1996 through 1999 was US$40 and it accounted for an average of 117 percent of gross domestic investment and 21 percent of GNP (Bigsten and Kayizzi-Mugerwa: 2001).52 This led to a very serious international debt problem for Uganda. In 1996, Uganda’s debt stock amounted to US$3.6 billion. The percentage of debt to exports in 1996 was 492 according to OECD data. Admittedly, Uganda’s debt situation was improving owing to increased exports and relief from the Highly Indebted Poor Countries (HIPC) program. The latter yielded US$2 billion in debt service relief for Uganda. In 1997, in terms of improvement made, Uganda rated highest in the Institutional Investor ratings.53 Thus, as long as Uganda’s exports continued to improve and macroeconomic management kept inflation under firm control, the prospects for Uganda’s fiscal condition looked bright.

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Be that as it may, there is no doubt that Uganda’s economy was being driven less by domestic sustainable capital and more by external, multilateral loans or outright charitable aid. To take another example, Uganda’s development expenditure was also driven almost entirely by donor funds. The country saw a net inflow of capital with US$311 million repatriated in 1997 alone while 53 percent of Uganda’s budget was paid for by donor funds.54 These facts call into question the sustainability of the economic structure in the context of weak domestic savings and foreign private investment inflows. Even more important was the effect of market reforms and liberalization on the lives of ordinary people. This is critically important because both the reality and the perceptions of the common folk have an impact on another key feature of a sustainable economy, namely, the level of governance and political accommodation.55 In Uganda, most of the investment capital has come from outside, primarily from returning Asians and from South African investors. These two groups have been joined by a small politically well-connected group of Ugandan financiers including government officials. Not surprisingly, these three groups have been both the engines and beneficiaries of economic growth and liberalization in Uganda. The broader question (and one that is relevant to notions of legitimacy) is the degree to which poverty reduction and economic growth have been accompanied by income redistribution. According to a World Bank Group country report (September 2002), there was a 35 to 38 percent drop in poverty between 1992 and 2000,56 but at the same time, Uganda remained poor with per capita GDP at US$300 and 55 percent of the population living under the poverty line.57 Generally, however, poverty remained relatively high especially in northern and eastern Uganda despite rising living and consumption standards: [D]uring the last three years [1993/1994 to 1995/1996] there was no improvement for the bottom quintile, indicating that the poorest groups are not taking part in the growth expansion, while those higher up in the income scale saw considerable improvement . . . It is thus obvious that the reduction in poverty in Uganda has been a result of rapid growth, not improved income distribution.58

In order to respond to the poverty in the country, the NRM government launched the Poverty Eradication Action Plan (PEAP) with the overall objective of guiding future public investment and integrating the poor into the growth curve by enhancing their income. PEAP priorities have included primary education, healthcare, agricultural extension services, and rural feeder roads. Of the various programs, free Universal Primary Education (UPE) has been the most prominent (with budgetary allocation from 1996 to 2001 averaging 16 percent) because of the political gains that the regime has made from it, especially in the rural areas.59 However, budgetary allocation for the health sector continued to be very low at an average of 5 percent and was still outpaced by expenditures on general public administration (23.9 percent), loan repayment (22 percent), defense (18 percent), and public order (7.2 percent).60

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Institutional innovations, such as PEAP notwithstanding, serious gaps persisted between social spending and service delivery, especially at the local levels. In their study on the question of budgeting and service delivery, Ablo and Reinikka (1998) concluded that budgetary allocations placate and pander to the donor community, but they do not guarantee the delivery of resources to the local populations. The two researchers confirm findings analyzed in chapter 4, namely, that Uganda’s biggest liability in processes of service delivery stems from weak institutions, especially in the rural areas. Yet, it is at the level of service delivery that regime legitimation is most visibly relevant. Given that most Ugandans live in rural areas, the failure to deliver social services outside major cities appears to pose a serious challenge for NRM legitimation in particular and for the efficacy of the state in general. Corruption, particularly in the police, civil service, customs, and judiciary is a drain on the economy and is the second major constraint to effective service delivery. This is despite the presence of the office of IGG, whose role it is to sanction corruption and deal with it effectively and expeditiously. There is clearly a disconnection between citizens and elites stemming from a deficiency in institutional maturity and lack of adequate capacity to promote the public good. To the extent that these institutions carry the NRM trademark, and given that most of the corruption is mostly carried on by high-level NRM government officials,61 weaknesses and failures may be an indicator (if not predictor) of declining levels of support for the NRM. Chapter 6 presents a deeper critique of the corruption and the cancer of rent-seeking behavior/ activity under NRM rule. Figure 5.3 shows that the NRM fares badly in citizens’ perception of the income gap, joblessness, and the fight against corruption. After the 1996 election, privatization (as part of economic reform) accelerated—with eighty companies up for sale. But, this was accompanied by high levels of corruption and cronyism involving top-level NRM elites. It was not until tremendous pressure was brought to bear from the press and parliament that institutional reform measures were taken to improve the privatization process. But, as Figure 5.3 shows, public opinion on the governments handling of corruption, along with job creation and reducing the income gap ranks low. Even more importantly, while the macrolevel economic numbers look good for Uganda, the overall effect of the economy on citizen support for the NRM is ambivalent at best. In a national survey, only 26 percent of those surveyed had ever heard of the government’s structural adjustment program; and of those who knew about the program, almost half (47 percent) were dissatisfied with it.62 Moreover, the 2000 Bratton Afrobarometer survey (Working Paper # 4) also revealed a general dislike among the citizens toward public sector privatization and retrenchment, both important pillars of NRM liberal economic and political reforms. Again, despite impressive national economic numbers, revealed the survey that “inadequate household income, the cost of education, unemployment and perceived over-taxation” were among their top ten personal concerns. In the Afrobarometer surveys of 2002 (Figure 5.2), the prevalence and persistence of poverty had become

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83

Education 79 75

Fighting Malaria Fighting AIDS

74

Health Services Fighting Crime

72 64

Resolving Conflict Managing the Economy

59

Relations w/Neighbors

57

Delivering Water

56

Keeping Prices Stable

56

Ensuring Enough to Eat

40

Fighting Corruption

31 29

Creating Jobs Reducing Income Gap

26 0

10

20 30 40 50 60 70 Percent ‘‘Fairly Well’’ or ‘‘Very Well’’

80

90

How well or badly would you say the current government is handling the following matters or haven't you heard enough about them to say?

Figure 5.3

Government Performance

Source: Carolyn Logan et al., “Insiders and Outsiders: Varying Perceptions of Democracy and Governance in Uganda,” Afrobarometer Working Paper No. 27, 2003.

the number one problem. This is clearly corelated with poor government performance in “creating jobs, reducing the income gap and fighting corruption,” as depicted in Figure 5.3. Finally, Figures 5.1 and 5.3 also show increasing perceptions of relative deprivation as indicated by concerns over income gaps and by comparative personal living standards.63 The even more intriguing finding was that 61 percent of those surveyed agreed with the statement that “the government should bear the main responsibility for ensuring the well-being of people.” This suggests that a statist culture is quite prevalent among Ugandans, at least in the area of social welfare, albeit, not necessarily in political competition and choice. Ipso facto, popular support and citizen consent become largely dependent on regime performance (rather than withdrawal) in several areas such as economic planning, education and health care, and service delivery. Persistent concerns over poverty, household incomes, unemployment, et cetera are indicators of limited levels of government efficacy, these concerns predictably had adverse effects on the support for the regime and by extension the state. For sure, the survey also reveals that the NRM is credited and viewed in a positive light for improving education, strengthening the national economy, reducing crime, and fighting AIDS, but these factors are seen mostly in contrast to the violence of past regimes, with the exception perhaps of education where UPE led to an increase in primary school enrollments from 40 percent at the beginning of the 1990s to 80 percent by 2000.64 However, when asked to

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project their future economic prospects, the people in the survey were not sure, thus, revealing less confidence in the government’s capacity to sustain economic progress and improve per capita income. Finally, according to the survey, multipartyists were less likely to associate the right to rule with the NRM; and among this group (and northern citizens) when poverty and deprivation are factored into the equation, regime support declines precipitously. Clearly, there is yet a long way to go before economic growth begins to compute into income redistribution and, thus, into an effective source for state, if not for regime legitimacy. In fact, while this was not so urgent in 2000, the 2002 survey results, shown in figures 5.2 and 5.3, and, in particular, figure 5.1, make it quite apparent that the NRM was losing efficacy stemming from an area (the economy) in which it had the strongest credentials.

VII. Conclusion Unlike the 1991–1996 period, during which the country held perhaps the greatest promise for a democratic transition in Uganda, the five years between 1996 and 2001 seemed to presage a step backward in a number of areas, albeit there were a few bright spots. For example, the transition was somewhat enhanced by the adherence to the constitutional requirement to hold elections after five years; the existence of sufficient space for the public debate of the issues; the fact that incumbent politicians faced real risks of losing and indeed a good number of them were not returned to parliament; the recourse to the courts in settling postelection disputes, and the restraints on the government not to arbitrarily nullify the election of the candidates it did not favor. However, the most troubling and consistent undercurrent in the politics of the 1996–2001 period was the steady centralization of power by the NRM and, consequently, the decline of legislative and civic efficacy. The 2000 referendum, the elections of 2001, and the Movement Act before them demonstrated in no uncertain terms that in abandoning guided democracy as a mode of transition, the NRM had adopted a co-opted form of political change in order to closely manage and monitor the activities taking place in existing political spaces. The resulting shrinkage in the political arena was exacerbated by the wholesale surrender of legislative power to the executive branch, despite early signs of parliamentary vigilance. It is not clear whether the demise of the legislature was in spite of or because of the overreaching effect of executive power. What is quite apparent is that presidential or executive power increased and became even more evident by the simple abdication of responsibility by the legislature that squirmed when the press began exerting pressure on it—a situation that was then exploited by the executive branch. Limitations in political space resulted from two other important developments. The first one was related to the decline in tolerance for dissenting views inside the NRM. Clearly, claims for political broad-basedness were no longer credible after Besigye’s candidacy was contested, disputed, and decampaigned by President Museveni. But, at the same time, alternative organs (e.g., political parties) for articulating views/interests opposed to the

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NRM remained closed. Why? Because the 1997 Movement Act (MA) had by legal fiat enrolled every citizen into the Movement. The MA also led to the second factor influencing the availability of political space. After 1997, a de jure one-party system was put in place, the tenure of which was strengthened by the 2000 referendum. At that point, the “party” (i.e., the Movement) was also the regime that in turn was superimposed on the state. This presaged the rise of something akin to a “party state.” At the apex of this triple pillar was the president and it goes without saying that he could now wield tremendous power—from commanding the military in the Congo and in the northern region to solving cab driver disputes—the clearest manifestation of presidentialism. Moreover, the superimposition of NRM political interests on the institutions of the state also made it harder for the latter to act as a neutral arena for the resolution of group interests, and this perhaps will have the most long-lasting effect on Uganda’s political development. Nonetheless, all this was happening at the same time that decentralization of power to local jurisdictions was also unfolding. The institutionalization of decentralized power through the LC system seems to have masked the growing tendency toward both centralization of power at the national level and institutionalized presidentialism. As such, support for the president remained strong, particularly in the rural areas. In fact, President Museveni received a 93 percent job performance rating from survey respondents in June 2000, at a time when 83 percent said they trusted the Movement.65 In 2002, the president’s approval ratings were still very high at 81 percent.66 Why, then, was the Movement compelled to employ political malpractices in both the presidential and, more notably, the parliamentary elections of 2001? It is because over time the NRM has created “insiders” and “outsiders,” with the numbers of the former shrinking in relation to the latter.67 Patronage to the “insiders” multiplied as this and other forms of neopatrimonialism began to take root. Secondly, the NRM no longer had the institutional dynamism or ideological coherence to “moderate levels of partisan battle” (Lipset 1987:67) by accommodating the interests of the “outsiders.” The latter include the northerners and opposition partisans, particularly the multipartyists. The emerging north-west axis and the frustrated efforts of those seeking alternative forms of associational interest articulation are partly to blame for an 18 percent drop (from 72 percent in 2000 to 54 percent in 2002) in citizen patience with the Movement-led government.68 Furthermore, with regard to the legitimacy project in Uganda, the outsider-insider dichotomy sheds light on the regime’s loss of support between 2000 and 2002. In 2000, 83 percent of those surveyed trusted the Movement. In 2002, this number had sharply dropped to 56 percent—only 36 percent “claimed to be close to the Movement.”69 As has been demonstrated above, citizen perceptions regarding the economy and how it was affecting them personally were changing and pointing in the negative direction. What was worrisome was that these perceptions had changed quite drastically in just two years between 2000 and 2002.

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The ideological and political split between north and west and the incessant rebel activities in the former, together with continued demands for political party activities, despite the NRM’s clear success in a number of areas, seemed to suggest that for a deeper level of legitimation to occur, the political system had to be opened up in order to promote competition. An environment for the free and unencumbered articulation and aggregation of alternative ideas and programs had to be created within which a more honest discourse concerning questions of the ideal political system could take place. Of greater urgency was the need for a national debate concerning the role, character, and institutional coherence of political parties. The old parties were without a doubt moribund and dysfunctional but it was becoming clear that in the long run a single organization such as the NRM could not adequately promote liberal democratic politics. The movement system had proven unworkable simply because competition and the free contestation of ideas in a single organization (no matter how well-intentioned) are difficult to maintain and definitely impossible to sustain over protracted periods of time. But, for the NRM in particular, the greatest weakness came from within, where, beginning with a purge of the moderates in the CA, tolerance for dissenting voices began a steady and precipitous decline that would lead to the demise of the Movement (no-party system) four years down the road. But, even in this instance, what appeared like liberalization was in fact motivated by expediency. The no-party system was no longer tenable or supportive of NRM interests. Thus, by 2001, levels of citizen control were showing serious decline when compared to those of 1996. Albeit, local level governance structures were quite responsive to citizen demands, ruling elites at the national level were increasingly ineffective in aggregating a large swath of citizen preferences. Rent-seeking behavior, as pervasive as corruption, inevitably seeped into the patron-clientelistic structure. This breakdown in the liberal dimension of democratic transformation was accompanied by the shift from guided to co-opted transition. The fact is that “regime change via multiparty elections” was still anathema to Movement elites70 These policies also led the NRM in the only direction that they could go in terms of resolving the aforementioned tensions that must be resolved or at least managed in a liberal, democratic political system. But, the regime clearly opted for consensus and governability while circumscribing the practical imperatives of representativeness, consent, and competition. Statist elements (partly encouraged by sections of the citizenry) were gaining precedence in the conduct of state affairs. State regime monopoly and concentration of power threatened to further diminish the governance realm, as legitimating norms such as trust, reciprocity, and accountability were deemphasized in pursuit of the political objectives de jour. Therefore, in 2001, the second phase of Pax Musevenica had taken on a new form that was characterized by several factors: liberal economic planning, popular democracy at the grassroots (but limited competition at the national level), increasing power in the chief executive vis-à-vis other branches of government, and further entrenchment of an increasingly hegemonic NRM.

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6

Convergence not F undamental Change

T

he five-year period from 2001 to 2006 provides an opportunity to take stock of the politics of Pax Musevenica as the movement system came to an end and the first multiparty general elections were held in February 2006. What at first appears like political progress is in reality a mirage—Uganda’s transition to democracy (if it can be called that) is in serious trouble. Notwithstanding the first multiparty general elections in twenty years, most political signals in Uganda suggest the possible emergence of a police state in which (a) regime hegemony is consolidated under the control of what is increasingly becoming an imperial presidency,1 and (b) the ruling NRM party is closely aligned to and civil society subsumed by the state apparatus. From the analysis in the outgoing chapter it is clear that between 1996 and 2001, there was a noticeable drift toward concentration of power in the presidency that had full control of the legislature by way of a huge NRM parliamentary majority. As a result, the debates preceding the 2006 general elections were focused on how to limit the scope of governmental authority, how to link representation to competitive elections, and how to restore social trust in the conduct of state affairs. The NRM’s response was paternalistic: it insisted on maintaining a coerced consensus, ensuring effective governance, and constraining options it considered dangerous to the nation. In so doing, the NRM government successfully organized a referendum that endorsed the reinstatement of multiparty politics. It also tabled a constitutional amendment to repeal term limits in order to secure a third and possibly a fourth term for President Museveni. Finally, in the run up to the February 23, 2006 polls, the apparatus of the state was used to create a political terrain that was so slanted in favor of the incumbents that it would have required a miracle for the opposition to win. These strategies frustrated the possibility of Uganda’s first constitutional handover of power from one set of political elites to another in the postcolonial era that would have been the clearest indication of the much touted NRM claim of having ushered in a “fundamental change.” But, the electoral victory of President Museveni and the huge majority of NRM MPs poised to take their seats in the eighth parliament presages more of the same: limited opposition in parliament and a presidential authority that is increasingly shaped by Museveni’s preferences and is less

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constrained by constitutional norms; the roots of statism and neopatrimonialism deepening and further attenuating the governance realm and legitimacy; the NRM’s penchant for zero-sum game, winner-take-all politics becoming more pronounced now that it is a full-fledged political party; and diminution of political space and perpetuation of patronage politics. This is what is meant by convergence—the current political system is becoming a throwback to the days of Obote II. Nonetheless, some democratic values seem to have seeped into Uganda’s political culture. This is exemplified by the incessant demand for political parties and pluralistic politics in general, the passion for decentralization and grassroot (or participatory) democracy, the use of the courts for the resolution of political conflict, investments in associational interest articulation, the frequency of peaceful public demonstrations, and the nonviolent acceptance of the recent (2006) electoral outcome (though it was partly induced by a huge show of force by the state). Thus, what is notable in Uganda is that the centralization of power at the national (i.e., regime) level has not prevented the emergence of some democratic values that would portend a growing legitimacy of key democratic institutions. There is, therefore, a tension borne out of, on the one hand, earlier democratic processes (1986 to 1996) that seem to have taken root and, on the other, the current efforts by Museveni to block these elements and establish a party/state hegemony. State hegemony is a particular power structure within a modus vivendi characterized by government and/or ruling power domination of society and its vectors. In state hegemony there is an implicit as well as explicit configuration of factors that make the state (government or ruling party) dominant in the political system.2 The analysis in this chapter examines NRM hegemony and convergence as functions of the deepening neopatrimonial institutional framework in Uganda’s political system. It also illuminates the dialectic that is likely to unfold as democratic elements/values established during the early Movement period (1986 to 1996) clash with the present trend toward extreme executive centralization.

I. The Ascendancy of Neopatrimonial Legitimacy To reiterate, neopatrimonial legitimacy refers to acceptance of a regime based on its capacity to distribute material or financial rewards to clients. It lacks democratic currency because it limits notions of social trust and accountability to the distribution of patronage and therefore to an exclusive patronclient network. Inevitably, this form of legitimacy limits representation. As demonstrated below the classic neopatrimonial institutions of presidentialism and clientelism have assumed a prominent position in Uganda’s political system. Chapter 5 sketches their early manifestations between 1996 and 2001. An analysis of these two institutions allows for a clearer assessment of the political pathology that is affecting the legitimacy project in Uganda and

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frustrating the political transition. But, this picture would be incomplete without adding a third dimension of neopatrimonial rule, namely, the use of state resources for legitimation. Both clientelism and presidentialism would be emptied of their potency as informal institutions of power if access and distribution of state resources was not a possibility. These three institutions of neopatrimonial rule have become the roots of a germinating police state in Uganda. Clientelism, Patronage, and Convergence Clientelism involves the award of personal favors (patronage) through informal channels to select groups of people (clients) in return for mobilization of political support and deference to key political elites or patrons on most political matters.3 Clientelism therefore breeds corruption and rent-seeking behavior, and in Africa this often takes place along ethnic lines. At the public level personal favors take the form of prebendal control of political offices and the award of public sector jobs in general. At the private (societal) level, clients are created when patrons issue patronage in the form of licenses, contracts, and other state-related projects.4 The top patron, that is, the president, gradually acquires extraordinary powers by asserting total personal control over political structures.5 Indeed, the consolidation and legitimation of power is rooted in the control that the president acquires over a labyrinth of informal patron-client networks. The recent metamorphosis into a political party notwithstanding, the NRM has steadily lost the coherence and unity of the pre-1996 decade because of the shrinkage in the patron-client network. As this process has unfolded, clear political fault lines dividing “insiders” from “outsiders” have emerged. The “insiders” comprise the inner core (mostly close family and friends of the president) of the patronage system and are responsible for promoting the stability and dominance of the regime. They use their access to the apparatus of the state (thus, state-regime conflation) to create clients who shore up the regime through various methods ranging from financing campaigns to spreading NRM propaganda at home and abroad. As opposition groups have stepped up pressure for competitive politics, clientelism has steadily emerged as the modus operandi of NRM governance. With this development democratic legitimacy appears to be declining as the right to govern becomes a function of loyalty and support from clientelist networks. This form of legitimation or neopatrimonial legitimacy is undoubtedly threatening to derail democratization in Uganda. It began with the privatization program discussed in chapter 3 and with the related political corruption and rent-seeking behavior.6 The period under study—2001–2006—involves three forms of clientelist-based corruption. First, the president’s friends and family members, together with high-ranking NRM government and military officials, have taken advantage of their positions to gain access to wealth, power, and influence outside of formal channels and without regard for state or constitutional restraints. A few high-profile cases illustrate this point.7

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The first case concerns the activities of the president’s brother, Lt. Gen. Salim Saleh, formerly an army representative in parliament and currently the Microfinance Minister. A report issued in June 2001 by the Commission of Enquiry headed by Judge Julia Sebutinde recommended the prosecution of Salim Saleh for the controversial purchase of four army helicopters from Belarus. According to the report, which also implicates the president, Salim Saleh accepted a US$800,000 bribe from the helicopter supplier to grant the contract. Worse still, the helicopters that were purchased to help fight the LRA in the north were mechanically inoperable and are estimated to have cost the government US$12.9 million.8 Salim Saleh has never been charged or tried for these illicit and illegal activities. The second case involves the illegal siphoning of minerals from the DRC. Two inquiries, one by the UN and the other (the Porter Commission) appointed by the Uganda government, name Lt. Gen. Salim Saleh as one among the “elite networks” of “top political, military and business people who cooperate to generate illegal revenue through their control of the security forces.”9 The UN panel of investigators also named Maj. Gen. James Kazini, then Ugandan army commander in the DRC, Col. Kahinda Otafiire, current minister of local government, Col. Peter Karim and Col. Noble Mayombo, the former chief of military intelligence as culprits in the illegal exploitation of minerals from the DRC. The report also mentioned the companies that act as fronts for illicit businesses, and prominent among them was Salim Saleh’s Victoria Group, which he co-owns with his wife, Jovia.10 According to the report, Victoria Group and other companies owned by high-profile military officers were involved in the illegal exploitation of gold and other minerals from the DRC. The Porter Commission and the UN reports were both handed over to Uganda’s Criminal Investigation Department (CID), the office of Inspector General of Government’s (IGG), and the Director of Public Prosecutions (DPP). But, this was in 2003 and, apart from relieving Kazini of his duties in the military, no civil or criminal charges have been filed and no trials executed. Otafiire, Mayombo, and others remain in high-profile public office. The only repercussion came from the United States when citing corrupt acts it rejected Jovia’s application for a visitor’s visa.11 Finally, the most explosive and damning scandal concerns the so called ghost soldiers (i.e., nonexistent soldiers whose pay is collected), a scandal that first came to light in 1990 and culminated in the arrest of sixty-eight officers in December 2003.12 At the center of this scandal were Maj. Gen. Kazini and Brig. Henry Tumukunde, both with close family ties to the president and first lady. The “ghost soldiers” scandal is estimated to have cost the country Ug. Shs. 600 billion,13 not to mention the political damage done to the credibility of the UPDF and President Museveni as commander in chief. When Tumukunde was finally placed under house arrest pending trial (in June 2005, fifteen years after the fact) and Kazini expelled from the military, what got them both in trouble was related more to their vocal and public opposition to President Museveni’s desire to run for a third term than their alleged

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illegal activities. Otherwise, it is difficult to explain why it took so long for punitive measures to be meted out. While Tumukunde has been acquitted of charges related to the creation of ghost soldiers, there is no doubt that the military has become an integral part of the clientelist system. In order to appease the officer corps, the military has been allowed not only representation in parliament, but also business opportunities as patronage for regime support. Because the premium on peace and stability is so high in a country with such a violent past and because the military has been instrumental in delivering this public good in most of Uganda, NRM legitimacy cannot be separated from the armed forces. Thus, similar to Obote’s experience, as President Museveni’s fortunes have remained tied to the military, corruption and intrigue within the army has also continued. The actions of government and army leaders in military affairs have rarely been subject to much public accountability and scrutiny. Thus incentives for military corruption have been big and military matters have been permeated by much fraud, abuse, and criminal behavior.14 Corruption by top government officials has trickled down into the lower echelons of the institutions of the state and has also become the normative basis for any transaction, be it official or private. Newspaper reports in Kampala are awash in stories about “ghost policemen,”15 “ghost teachers,” and “ghost students.” However, while some lower-level officers are charged and tried, high-profile officials seem to find ways of escaping the law. Tables 6.1 and 6.2 show Uganda’s corruption perception index ranking relative to other African states and more specifically to her East African neighbors.16 Uganda’s 2002 rankings of 93 worsens in 2003, a fact consistent with that year’s IGG report. Indeed, Uganda falls short of the continents not-so-flattering average score of 3.3. The 2003 IGG report on graft and abuse of office names Uganda’s police force as the most corrupt institution, followed by local governments, the judiciary, and public hospitals. The report was critical of local government officials who select citizens for employment on the basis of their political affiliations—a typical clientelist characteristic. It also highlights the practice by local government officials of appointing chairmen of tender boards on the basis of their political loyalty (to the NRM) rather than their merit.17 The second form of clientelism and one more related to the (mis)use of state resources has occurred through the administrative or executive back door. This is a process in which the president creates new districts on the eve of each general election, in order to patronize huge swaths of voters. In the latest round, fourteen new districts (and eleven just before the 2001 polls) were added to the fifty-six already in existence in the run up to the 2006 elections.18 To allay the fears of voters left out of the district inflation bonanza, eight more districts were created to bring the current total to seventyeight. The president insists that he is responding to the people’s wishes. But, clearly the timing of district creation casts doubt on this populist justification. The more plausible explanation is that the government has politicized the formation of districts by tying them to resource allocation. As a consequence,

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Botswana Namibia South Africa Mauritius Ghana Ethiopia Senegal Malawi Côte d’Ivoire Tanzania Zimbabwe Zambia Cameroon Uganda Kenya Angola Madagascar Nigeria African average

Ranking

Scorea

Earliest Scoreb

% Changec

24 28 36 40 50 59 66 68 71 71 71 77 89 93 96 98 98 101

6.4 5.7 4.8 4.5 3.8 3.5 3.1 2.9 2.7 2.7 2.7 2.6 2.2 2.1 1.9 1.7 1.7 1.6

6.1 5.3 5.6 5.0 3.3 3.2 3.3 4.1 3.1 1.9 4.2 3.5 2.5 2.7 2.2 — — 0.7

4.9 7.5 ⫺14.3 ⫺10.0 15.2 9.4 ⫺6.1 ⫺78.0 ⫺13.0 42.1 ⫺35.8 ⫺25.7 ⫺12.0 ⫺22.2 ⫺13.6 — — 128.6

—

3.3

3.7

—

a Zero indicates totally corrupt; 10 indicates totally clean. b Score when country first appeared in the index. c In score since country first appeared in the index. Source: Transparency International.

Table 6.2 Corruption Perception Index, 2003

Tanzania Uganda Kenya

2003 Ranking

2003 Scorea

Earliest Score

% Changeb

92 113 122

2.5 2.2 1.9

1.9 2.7 2.2

31.6 ⫺18.5 ⫺13.6

a Scores range from zero (highly corrupt) to ten (highly clean). b 2003 score/earliest score Source: Transparency International.

district level elites have been left with no choice but to clamor for districthood. Once districts are created, these same elites feel beholden to the president (and NRM), thus, becoming state extensions for the promotion of NRM interests at the district level. To Recall the discussion in chapter 3, the balkanization of Uganda and the divide-and-rule dictum are time-honored principles dating back to the colonial period. The NRM, like all the other postcolonial regimes, has not hesitated to revisit it in every election cycle— hardly a practice associated with “fundamental change.”

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Under NRM rule the districting policy has often gone hand in hand with the perennial negotiations between the government and the Baganda, who are the most populous (about 17 percent of the population) ethnic group in Uganda. On the eve of every general election, the NRM has acceded to one demand or another in order to turn the Baganda into pro-NRM voters or to buy goodwill or at the very least to win over a good number of clients. The latest examples of this involve the president’s appointment of Gilbert Bukenya as vice president (discussed in detail below) and the deal involving the regional tier system of governance, which falls short of Buganda’s ultimate demand, that is, full federal status. Nevertheless, the regional tier policy provides political rewards for the time being, with presumably more to come in the run up to the 2011 elections.19 The Buganda question is one component of a much more historically rooted form of clientelist politics, namely, the provision of patronage based on ethnic identity. The notion of “tribalism” has come out of hibernation in Uganda’s political system. Although President Museveni has touted nonsectarian politics as the hallmark of Pax Musevenica, an economic and political elite that is predominantly from western Uganda has steadily emerged. Political patronage is doled out to westerners in the form of political/military appointments, licenses, and contracts, thereby creating an “ethnic thickness” comprised of mostly Banyankore at all levels of official and unofficial life. The longer the tenure of the NRM, the deeper the feelings among large parts of the population who think of the government as “western” and consider it to favor the western region when it comes to allocating resources.20 Ethnic thickness is another long-standing dimension of clientelism and informalism employed by Uganda’s political elites to gain acceptance and, thus, political legitimation. Finally support via neopatrimonial legitimacy is gained through the use of patronage and state resources in the cabinet appointments process. The size of Uganda’s cabinet was almost doubled in 2001 when it jumped from twenty-one posts to forty. In 2003, it ballooned to a record sixty-seven ministers, but without any commensurate increase in governmental business. Today, the cabinet stands at seventy-eight ministers. The policy of growing the cabinet was initially justified by the NRM as a tool for constructing a politically broad-based government, but it has now turned into a strong pillar supporting regional/ethnic clientelism. This shift coincides with diminishing political space, marginalization of dissenting views inside the NRM, and heightened pressure from opposition groups. Cabinet members are, therefore, expected to promote NRM interests and mobilize political support in their constituencies by spreading the largesse that flows from their respective positions in government. As a sign of loyalty, cabinet members defer most decisions to the top, thus, routinizing and propping up the informal/personalized prerequisites of presidentialism as discussed below. As clientelism spreads its tentacles from top to bottom, the formal institutions of the state such as the courts, the police, parliament, government ministries (e.g., Ethics and Integrity), the IGG, the Leadership Code, et cetera

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are diminished. Instead, informal networks in which accountability is strictly between clients and their patrons have blossomed. Deficits in the routinization of institutional practice have deepened as democratic and state institutions have been deprived of their raison d’être. This, not surprisingly, leaves room only for neopatrimonial forms of legitimacy. The withdrawal of support, especially from the elites formerly aligned with the NRM and opposed to political corruption (e.g., Amanya Mushega, Bidandi Ssali, Mugisha Muntu, Winnie Byanyima, etc.), has forced the Movement to act in the only way possible for it to retain power—it has curtailed political competition by proscribing the entry of other actors into the political arena even while giving the nod to multipartyism. Presidentialism Presidentialism engenders values of a governance style in which leaders, the president in particular, personalize power, promote a cult of personality, cultivate paternalistic language and political behavior, encourage a nonbureaucratic but large state apparatus with outward trappings of a formal-legal order, and exercise various forms of absolute power.21 While the seeds of presidentialism in Uganda were planted in the 1991–2001 era, the bitter fruits thereof have become inescapable in the 2001–2006 period. Writing in 1999, political scientist Mette Kjaer asserted that presidentialism under Museveni was “milder” compared to the times of his predecessors.22 She made this observation based on the claim that “parliament had gained strength, decentralization was in process, the IGG and Public Accounts Committee (PAC) would check and balance executive power and finally that the press was free.” Today, however, the institution of presidentialism in Uganda has become stronger and has contributed to the imperial nature of the presidency and to state hegemony. This shift has occurred because of several factors. Intra-NRM cleavages sharpened markedly after the 2001 elections, as evidenced by the emergence of moderates represented by groups such as the Parliamentary Advocacy Forum (PAFO) that became the nucleus of the FDC party. Other moderates such as Bidandi Ssali became part of a de facto internal opposition hoping to change the Movement from within.23 All moderates, however, had one common concern, namely, that the NRM remain true to the broad base and that presidential term limits not be repealed. The radicals such as Kakoza Mutale wished to entrench the Movement even if it meant changing the constitution. These internal contradictions, coupled with pressures from traditional political parties (UPC, DP, and CP) and the international community,24 ultimately forced President Museveni to relax his strict adherence to consensus politics and embrace one-party and then grudgingly multiparty politics. A referendum held on July 28, 2005 overwhelmingly endorsed the return to multiparty politics, but this was not before Britain and Norway suspended aid worth US$9 million and US$2.4 million respectively. But, the president remained lukewarm about a competitive multiparty political process and did, in fact, support the restrictive measures

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imposed on opposition parties by the Political Parties Organizations Act (PPOA) of 2001. As Museveni has reluctantly conceded to the demands of multipartyism, the NRM has turned politics into a zero-sum game and elevated the institution of presidentialism by vesting supreme power in the executive office. Neopatrimonial systems by definition raise the profile of informal structures of power, thus, circumscribing the formal institutions of state. Museveni’s personalization of power has followed this pattern, but he has also manipulated state institutions (e.g., the constitution, LC system, government ministries, etc.) in order to increase his influence in the political process. For example, in submitting the eighty-eight articles and five schedules to the Constitutional Review Commission, the cabinet sought, inter alia, to amend the constitution in order to give the president more power in the following areas: (a) the constitutional right to serve as many terms in office as possible, (b) the power to dissolve Parliament and call elections in cases of disagreement between the two branches, and (c) the capacity to issue legally binding executive orders, thus, bypassing Parliament in areas related to investment, the environment, public health, and historical/archeological sites. This sort of manipulation of formal state institutions has increased and personalized presidential influence and opened the door to informalism and corruption in the conduct of state affairs. Presidentialism conflates regime and state institutions while expanding the power of the president vis-à-vis the more formal and elected institutions, particularly the Parliament. Two illustrative cases will suffice to demonstrate this claim. The first one involves the National Executive Committee (NEC) of the NRM and the Army Council (AC). When the most momentous decision of transitioning into multipartyism was made (March 2003), it was through the NEC. After a three-day closed session meeting, the NEC, with the explicit blessing of the president, made the following decisions—all of which were later given the “popular” and legal cover of the NRM dominated parliament: (a) a return to multiparty politics, (b) the holding of a national referendum to effect this change, and (c) the setting up of a committee inside the NRM for the purpose of examining the constitutional changes needed to allow for a switch to a new political system.25 Indeed, this committee proposed constitutional amendments to allow for multiparty politics and to scrap the presidential two-term-limit clause from the constitution—these proposals were also endorsed without much of a problem by Parliament. When one of the army representatives in parliament, Col. Fred Bogere, abstained in the first round of voting on the amendment to lift presidential term limits (which is his right under the constitution), the army commander threatened to punish him. Bogere was reminded that his role in parliament was to do as he was told by the AC26—in other words, he had no right of independent voting just as the members of parliament themselves were to make their decisions at the behest of the NEC and the president. Col. Bogere did not show up for the second round of voting! It is also worth recalling that it was the AC that made the decision back in April 1992 to begin negotiations over the return

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of confiscated traditional cultural sites to the kingdoms of Buganda, Bunyoro, Busoga, and Tooro. Given that neither the NEC nor the AC is an elected body, the powers they wield are clearly informal and meant to circumvent the constitutional logic of the Parliament. Along with the executive branch, the NEC and AC represented an iron triangle within which informal and extralegal power flowed to other areas of the public domain. The second case involves the enactment and content of the controversial PPOA. The latter, passed into law in May 2002 by the NRM dominated seventh Parliament, was fraught with restrictions against the activities of other political parties. It limited all political party activities to the city of Kampala— no meetings or canvassing for votes was allowed outside the capital where about 80 percent of the population lived. This was ostensibly to prevent political parties from reviving old ethnic and religious loyalties. However, the NRM continued to freely mobilize and canvass for support in preparation for its eventual mutation into a formal political party in 2003. But, since the NRM was not a party, it could continue to operate in rural areas. However, political parties defying this provision (art 18 and 19) of PPOA and opening offices away from Kampala or organizing meetings would be fined Ug. shs. 6 million (or US$3,400). Second, only one party conference a year was legally permissible. Third, PPOA barred the formation and registration of new parties until 2005 and the old political parties, such as DP and UPC, were required (by law) to register afresh within six months or face dissolution. Fourth, the PPOA (specifically Articles 18 and 19) categorized the NRM as a political system rather than as a political party, but in reality it turned Uganda into a one-party state. Clearly, the objective of the PPOA was to mitigate opposition and, thus, consolidate Museveni’s power.27 A total of sixty MPs walked out of parliament in protest when the PPOA was passed. Indeed, when challenged in the Constitutional Court (March 2003), the latter ruled articles 18 and 19 unconstitutional.28 Be that as it may, there is no mistaking the two cases above for anything else but the centralization of power in the executive branch, the very blatant policies of using the instruments and structures of the state to promote regime hegemony while marginalizing and sidelining the opposition. Another institution compromised by the logic of presidentialism is the cabinet. All cabinets serve the chief executive. However, President Museveni seems to prefer poodle ministers (or political eunuchs29) rather than legitimate advisors on matters of policy. This is especially so since policy matters became the charge of the NEC. In his May 2003 cabinet reshuffle, for example, Museveni got rid of ministers who were opposed to his plans to run for a third term. Some of ministers, such as Miria Matembe, Eriya Kategaya, and Bidandi Ssali, were long time political allies. It is not clear whether the then vice president, Specioza Kazibwe, was also against the third term, but she was also dropped and replaced by Gilbert Bukenya whose two most important credentials were that he was catholic and a Muganda. These criteria were pivotal to the fulfillment of the president’s political fortunes in the populous Buganda region. In a recent political spat, when Bukenya spoke to the press

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about being sidelined and investigated by so-called NRM insiders whom he described as the “mafia,” he was forced to quickly and publicly retract his story following a tongue lashing from the president who chastised the vice president for talking to the press before consulting him.30 This is clear indication that ministers in Uganda have no power except that granted them by the president. In fact, the endorsement by the president and the reciprocal loyalty of the minister-cum-client is so vital as to nullify any other considerations in the ministerial appointments process. For example, despite their public censure by parliament (see chapter 5) over ethical misconduct while in office, the following NRM loyalists were reappointed to the cabinet: Sam Kuteesa, Kahinda Otafiire, Jim Muhwezi, and Kirunda Kivejinja.31 Not only does this weaken the formal institutions guiding the appointments process, it also cripples the entire formal/legal substructure undergirding democratic politics. The institution of presidentialism also helps explain the president’s penchant for expanding his influence over other institutions, particularly the civil service and local government, the judiciary and parliament. In a speech to a Church of Uganda Bishop’s conference in September 2001, the president threatened to “fire any civil servants who were disloyal to the Movement or who sought to sabotage his plans.”32 Secondly, with regard to the most celebrated public policy initiative of the Museveni era, that is, decentralization,33 the NRM has not only tried to influence the process by which members get elected onto the local councils but has also made the latter answerable to political appointees such as resident district commissioners (RDC). This practically paralyzes the work of LC5s, which were not that democratic to begin with (see chapter 4). Thirdly, with regard the courts, President Museveni has seized upon corruption in the judiciary34 and used it as a pretext to politically intervene and influence the judicial process. For example, when the Constitutional Court declared the 1999 Referendum Act null and void35 because it was passed without parliamentary quorum, the president shot back warning that the government would “not allow any authority, including the courts to usurp the powers of the people.” The judges subsequently wrote a letter of complaint to the president, protesting his unsubstantiated accusations, but the government appealed the Constitutional Courts decision to the Supreme Court.36 As for the Parliament, the analysis in chapter 5 clearly indicates the subordination of the legislature to the executive. This has not been hard given that (a) the NRM holds a majority of seats in the legislature and that (b) important policy decisions are made by the NEC and AC. In the period under study, the courting of the Parliament has been even more blatant than before. In 2004, the president endorsed a plan to provide each NRM MP with Ug. shs. 5 million for ostensibly explaining the government’s programs and policies to the people. The source of these funds is unknown. The state minister for parliamentary affairs, Hope Mwesigye, in June 2005, revealed that more money had been distributed to Movement MPs for transporting registration cards and for opening up branch offices and party committees.37 Again, the source of this money was

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not revealed. In his 2005 State of the Union address, the president proposed a Constituency Development Fund (CDF) of Ug. shs. 10 million per constituency, per year to purportedly help MPs start development projects in their constituencies and “to save them from incessant fundraising pressures.”38 MPs would also receive the equivalent of US$6,060 each. The timing of these monetary giveaways, coming as it did on the heels of the debate regarding the lifting of presidential term limits (known locally as ekisanja) and the possibility of President Museveni’s third bid for the presidency, can be easily construed as a sweetener in what was expected to be a bitter debate on the floor of Parliament.39 In fact, so effective was this strategy that MPs overwhelmingly endorsed the lifting of term limits: 232 and 220 MPs in the first and second reading, respectively, voted in favor. The motion needed only 202 votes to pass. In this instance, presidentialism and state use of resources converged in legalizing the president’s political desires. But, the more insidious outcome of this form of politicking was that the parliament was rendered dysfunctional as a law-making body, and as a check on executive power. Conversely, the image of an imperial presidency gained prominence. A discussion about presidentialism and the marginalization of the formal institutions of state would be incomplete without addressing the role of the military. Since the NRM came to power as a military organization under the command of Museveni, it has remained under his tight control. Notwithstanding earlier attempts to build a national army, the primary goal of the Uganda Peoples Defense Forces (UPDF) is to serve and promote the interests and survival of the NRM and the political fortunes of President Museveni. One month before resigning from the army in January 2004, the president purged the army, sending over sixty-eight officers on forced leave. Most of these officers were, according to a UN report, involved in the exploitation of minerals from the Congo.40 But, as noted above, some of the most prominent officers such as Maj. Gen. Kazini and Brig. Henry Tumukunde had raised Museveni’s ire by publicly expressing objections to the kisanja project. Furthermore, the president also promoted new officers in a bid to consolidate his position prior to the resumption of multiparty politics, thus, ensuring that as an institutional structure the army would remain totally loyal to him.41 To boost his own safety and security, Museveni has transformed the Presidential Protection Unit into an elite military force—the Presidential Guard Brigade—of about 10,000 soldiers equipped with battle cars and, possibly, with tanks.42 The brigade, which has been described by some as a “Praetorian Guard,” is under the command of the president’s son, Maj. Muhoozi Kainerugaba, and exists not to defend Uganda’s borders, but to protect the incumbent.43 This has led opposition leader Kizza Besigye to speculate that Museveni was grooming Muhoozi for the position of army commander so as to bolster his (Museveni’s) position in the military.44 In the meantime, the reserve army made up of retired and retrenched army veterans is kept under the command of the president’s brother, Salim Saleh. In May 2004, a government white paper revealed plans to deploy the reserve army throughout the country as an overall security

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policy. The opposition was quick to point out that, historically, the NRM has deployed military forces around the country claiming to ensure law and order, when the real reason was to militarize the elections and intimidate opposition supporters and candidates in the run up to presidential and parliamentary polls. The role of the military became even more ominous when a special force (dubbed the black mambas), with the intent of intimidating the judges, surrounded the Supreme Court during the bail application hearing of opposition leader Kizza Besigye. There is no doubt, however, that this concentration of coercive power within the presidency, his close advisors, and next of kin represents perhaps the centerpiece of the institution of presidentialism because it is the crucible out of which flows absolute power. This expression of power forms the basis of a police state: it sustains autocracy, lifts the military above the law, and replaces formal and time-tested institutions with informal, arbitrary decision-making structures.

Political Effects of Neopatrimonial Legitimacy The personalization of politics by Uganda’s political elites has steadily eroded the legal and institutional basis for the authoritative exercise of power. As the rule of law dissipates under the assault of clientelist and presidentialist politics, the governance realm suffers irreparable damage owing to the arbitrariness of the political process. The Ugandan state now suffers a deficit in democratic legitimacy because fewer citizens associate it with values of a governance realm such as state-society reciprocity, trust, and accountability. Several developments have contributed to the weakening of the governance realm. First, although torture is not widespread in Uganda it has been used as a means of silencing and intimidating opposition groups (most notably multipartyists) and in combating the northern (LRA) insurgency. Human Rights Watch (HRW),45 Amnesty International (AI),46 and Uganda Human Rights Commission (UHRC) have reported frequent and increasing use of torture as a tool of interrogation since 2001. According to HRW, state-sanctioned campaigns of political suppression, official and ad hoc military, security and intelligence agencies of the Uganda government have proliferated, practicing illegal and arbitrary detention and unlawful killing/extrajudicial executions and using torture to force victims to confess to links to the governments political opponents or current rebel groups.47

These human rights groups have identified the Joint Anti-Terrorism Task Force (JATF) and the successor of Operation Wembley—Violent Crime Crack Unit (VCCU)—as the ad hoc agencies working together with members of the UPDF and its military intelligence wings—Chieftaincy of Military Intelligence (CMI) and ISO—to coerce confessions of criminal activity or so-called crimes against the state. Victims are reportedly confined, detained,

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and interrogated in ungazetted and, thus, illegal places including “safe houses” and army barracks, before being turned over to the police and the courts.48 Furthermore, it is not uncommon for ordinary citizens—vendors, waitresses, or cab drivers—to double up as spies for the state. The 2002 Anti-Terrorism law seems to have added a new legal instrument that could possibly be used to quell free speech or stifle legitimate opposition. In extreme cases, it provides for a possible death sentence for anyone publishing news that is “likely to promote terrorism.”49 Neopatrimonial legitimacy has also led to frequent government restraints on other forms of political contestation, such as political protests or rallies. For instance, a political rally by Makerere University students (in November 2003) to protest the restrictive provisions of the PPOA was dispersed by police as was a similar one in Mbarara a week later. The reason given in each case was that the police had not been notified prior to holding the rallies. In June 2005, plans by FDC MPs Reagan Okumu, Mike Ocula, and Odonga Otto to address a political rally in Gulu were scuttled by a heavy military response around the venue—Kaunda Ground. Okumu and Ocula were later charged and jailed for allegedly murdering a NRM chairman, Alfred Bongomin, in Pabo subcounty Gulu in February 2002. They were acquitted on January 9, 2006. Other signs of growing repression include the temporary closure of the Daily Monitor newspaper,50 the temporary suspension of the broadcasting license of K-FM radio, a subsidiary of Monitor Publications,51 the permanent closure of Radio Veritas Kyoga52 and government attempts to gag the voices of popular radio debates known as Ekimeeza, et cetera. As the country transitions into pluralist politics, NRM insecurity and penchant for hegemony has turned politics into a winner-take-all, zerosum game. Legitimate forms of opposition are being proscribed and political competition restricted. In order to balance the tension between competition and consensus, President Museveni has adopted the strategy of plebiscitary democracy, that is, the use of referenda to sidestep constitutional provisions even when the financial cost of such policies seriously undermines more important development projects.53 Initially, the NRM proposed amending the 1995 constitution so as to change the political system, and to lift the term limit provision (ekisanja)—Art.105 (2)—of the constitution. Although the CRC proposed that the change in political systems be settled in the Parliament, since there was a broad national consensus on it, and that ekisanja matter be settled by referendum, the NRM initially insisted on having both initiatives put to the people. In the end, the issue of lifting presidential term limits was left to the Parliament after sufficient measures were taken to ensure favorable results. With regard to a change in political systems, the Movementists argued (correctly) that the constitution clearly called for a referendum on the appropriate political system every five years, in the year before presidential and general elections. But, it is likely that if the constitution did not have this stipulation, the NRM would have proposed an amendment for a referendum because the NRM stood to gain politically. A referendum would have kept the restrictive

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lid on opposition parties such as the UPC, DP, and FDC for another year, thus, leaving the NRM alone in the business of mass mobilization and grassroot political recruitment. These strategies of regime and state conflation have had the effect of circumscribing the formal institutions necessary for upholding the rule of law. The hijacking of institutions such as the civil service, the judiciary, parliament, and the constitution has weakened the state’s capacity to rise above conflicting social interests and has further weakened its legitimacy. On the other hand, rising levels of political repression in Uganda suggest a decline in popular acceptance of the NRM vision and policies. Finally, the Movements prolonged incumbency and desire to fuse its political agenda with the raison d’être of the state have weakened the regimes early and successful efforts at balancing the tension between political competition and representation, on the one hand, and governability, on the other. Thus, neopatrimonial legitimacy has had a debilitating effect on the institutional maturity of the political system: the state has no meaning except that given by the NRM-O, political corruption has become culturally accepted, and state-society linkages (i.e., reciprocity) based on patronage have raised the stakes over who controls the state apparatus. This state of affairs was summarized by a Ugandan citizen on the eve of the 2006 elections: “Museveni cannot accept defeat, Dr Kizza Besigye wants power by hook or crook.”54

II. The 2006 General Elections On February 23, 2006, Ugandans went to the polls in the first multiparty elections since 1986. President and NRM candidate Yoweri Museveni won the elections with about 58 percent of the vote and the NRM won over 200 seats in the 289-seat Uganda parliament. What political meaning, if any, do these elections carry in terms of political legitimacy and the political transition in Uganda? Overall, the exercise means very little in the context of Uganda’s political process: (a) while the transition to multipartyism was celebrated, the dominance of the NRM will continue, having this time acquired a hegemonic status vis-à-vis other parties such as the FDC, DP, or UPC. The following prominent members of the UPC have already defected to the NRM-O: Jacob Oulanyah, Aggrey Awori, Stephen Malinga and Omara Atubo. The latter two have been appointed ministers for Health and Lands, respectively. In fact, this dominance extends to the state as the NRM will more than ever before be aligned with it, (b) the participatory element of NRM rule remained evident but the political system continues to be anchored in illiberal democracy, (c) the alienation of the destabilized north was further exposed by the poor showing of the NRM in that region. The country is deeply divided between the yellow (NRM)55 constituencies of the west, east, and south, and the orange (opposition FDC)56 constituencies of the north and northwest whose voting patterns have solidified since 2001, (d) not unlike the post-2001 elections, the main challenger in the 2006 elections—Kizza Besigye and his FDC—have filed a petition challenging the

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conduct and outcome of the elections and alleging electoral fraud, and not unlike 2001, the court challenge was defeated, (e) the NRM will continue to command a big enough majority in parliament (helped by defectors from other parties) to enact policy without significant opposition. A de facto parliamentary (not presidential) system of government will continue, albeit, without the necessary countervailing institutions (e.g., strong civil society and constitutional deference) to ensure accountability and responsiveness— the imperial presidency will simply grow stronger, (f) the skepticism of Museveni’s democratic credentials within the international community will continue given the political chicanery preceding the 2006 elections. The victory of the NRM in these latest elections represents the power of neopatrimonial legitimacy and of incumbency, and not necessarily of a consolidation of democracy. First, the institution of presidentialism (examined above) was critical in laying the legislative and judicial ground work for (a) limiting and restricting the activities of political parties while the NRM was busy campaigning—this was the objective, among other measures, of the PPOA, (b) project kisanja, in which term limits were scrapped from the constitution, (c) bringing charges and countercharges against the opposition, particularly in the bifurcated system of military and civilian courts through which FDC candidate Kizza Besigye was indicted on charges of rape, terrorism, and treason. He was imprisoned during November and December when he was supposed to be campaigning. Together with the institution of clientalism, the structures of presidentialism have also been used over the years to co-opt LCs and RDCs with the objective of using them as conduits for disseminating NRM propaganda and funneling patronage to would-be voters and supporters. The most potent and validating strategy of the NRM has been the propagation of the view that Museveni and only Museveni can maintain stability in Uganda. The ballots cast for the NRM, particularly in the rural areas, have essentially signified an implicit contract in which stability and continuity are guaranteed and rights and liberties deemphasized. This reality has not been lost on most Ugandans given the regime-party-military symbiotic relationship described above. Where this relationship has not delivered stability and peace, as in the north, not even neopatrimonial legitimacy could deliver the region to the NRM. While neopatrimonial legitimacy has assured a third term for Museveni and the NRM, political freedom in Uganda will require construction of institutions anchored in democratic legitimacy. This seems unlikely given the factors outlined above. Therefore, the latest NRM electoral victory carries with it some very serious long-term consequences. First, the rising hegemony of the party cum state leaves very little space or hope for opposition group interests (presumably 32 percent of the population who did not vote NRM) and the possibility of their gaining political power. This reality is likely to bring about anger, frustration, and aggression, all of which may take the form of anomic activities. This possibility is greatest among the orange constituencies of the north. Second, the decline of support from the international community is likely to restrict donor aid (almost three quarters of a billion U.S.

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dollars a year) that for a long time has performed two mutually inclusive vital functions: (a) provide the resources (both financial and material) for the lifeblood of neopatrimonial legitimacy, that is, patronage for assuaging the military and for lubricating the political machinery and (b) take care of over 50 percent of the country’s recurrent expenditures. Donor support coupled with international investments has enabled the NRM to claim legitimacy based on a relatively stable and functioning economy. Without these factors the structural integrity of the house that Museveni built will be significantly compromised, especially given the severity of crony capitalism inherent in the system. The real risk then is the return to (or convergence with) the challenges of the past, challenges such as queues for basic needs, high inflation and unemployment rates, and stagnant economic conditions. The political and social implications of these economic maladies include instability, violence, and deprivation. The silver lining, however, is that some democratic values may have seeped into the populace.

III. Democratic Values at the Microlevel? The formal institutions introduced in the early days of NRM rule (1986 to 1996) seem to have changed the informal rules of politics in a number of important ways. First, a broad spectrum of political groups from various interest groups (e.g., Uganda Law Society and Uganda Journalists Association), international actors (e.g., the United States, the United Kingdom, Human Rights Watch, etc.), and multipartyists have kept the pressure up on the NRM, forcing it to make political change. These concessions have included, inter alia, acknowledgment that the NRM was, in fact, a political party, lifting of the ban on multiparty politics, the nullification of the 2000 Referendum Act and parts of the PPOA, the reintroduction of traditional kingdoms, decentralization, et cetera. Initially, the political pressure for these changes came from traditional opposition parties and then from splinter groups within the NRM such as PAFO the Reform Agenda, the National Democratic Forum, et cetera. In August 2004, a merger of these three resulted in the formation of a new political party—the Forum for Democratic Change (FDC). FDC along with the traditional political parties such as the UPC and DP provided the main challenge to the NRM-O. The second agent of political change has been the Uganda mass media that has been relentless in exposing graft, corruption, and political misdeeds by all three branches of government. The church, youth, labor, and especially women’s organizations have also played an important role of articulating civil society interests and keeping the political space open. Unfortunately, with the exception of the press and lately the Uganda Law Society and the somewhat muted voices of the church, the rest of these groups (especially the women) have recently gone silent. The fourth and most persistent protest/opposition has come out of a spate of rebel groups ranging from the Allied Democratic Front (ADF) to the most formidable one—the Lords Resistance Army (LRA).57 The latter

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group has been a constant military challenge in Uganda, having begun its activities right after Museveni assumed power in 1986. The sporadic and anomic activities of the LRA tell us very little about the democratic values within the Ugandan electorate, but the activities of the political parties and interest groups mentioned above clearly indicate that some of the democratic values planted in the first ten years of NRM rule may have taken root. That these activities do take place and are reported in the very active Ugandan media58 indicates a rare bright spot in the bleak prospects for democracy in Uganda. Secondly, most of the concessions mentioned above were made through the judiciary that, despite pressure from the government and its own internal manifestations of corruption, has from time to time acted independently by adjudicating important political and constitutional matters brought before it by opposition parties, civil society groups, and the government. Some landmark court rulings have included decisions in the constitutional petitions contesting the PPOA and Referendum Acts mentioned above and in cases such as Obbo and Another versus Attorney General.59 Thirdly, the sheer number of civil society groups has risen in Uganda, which does not necessarily say much about their efficacy, but it does indicate a growing culture of associational political participation. Fourth, public sector reform, especially decentralization, has empowered sections of Uganda’s society and improved political recruitment, participation, and aggregation. Finally, despite limitations and restrictions imposed on political parties for the twenty years of Pax Musevenica, public opinion polls still show over half (56 percent) of Ugandans supporting a multiparty system of government.60 Thus, while the steady descent of the NRM into neopatrimonial rule may be detrimental to the formal institutions and ideological underpinnings of the state, some democratic values have been inculcated into the body politic. Whether they survive and inform the organization of power in the era of multiparty politics will depend on the intensity and duration of neopatrimonial rule, pressure from the international community, and the persistence of sections of civil society, particularly the urban elite in the press and other organizations such as the ULS. These observations point to a paradox (identified by Kjaer in 1999) that while the NRM has in some ways created unique conditions for constitutional rule, it has simultaneously undermined them. This means that at its core, the NRM objective has been to entrench and elevate the regime and only secondarily to liberalize the political system. The period from 1986 to 1996 of democratic reconstruction and power consolidation was the foundation upon which the current project of regime hegemony has been established and strengthened. The early period also put in place institutions such as LCs, RDCs, LDUs, et cetera that have provided structure and regularity to informal networks of NRM support. The patronage that runs through these networks has become the lifeblood of Museveni and the NRM. In some rural areas, for example, almost 70 percent of those surveyed favored the lifting of presidential term limits and wanted Museveni to run again.61 The NRM success regarding project kisanja has mostly been driven

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by these political attitudes. On the other hand, albeit, relatively in small numbers, elite elements in the press, opposition parties, and sections of civil society have continued to fight in order to keep political spaces open and civil liberties/rights respected, especially in the absence of a check by the legislature. The irony is that they are outnumbered by the rural population and have, therefore, limited electoral power.

IV. Conclusion “The constitution was used as a tool to further the political ends of the leader in power at the time, and in cases in which it was seen as an impediment, it was amended or suspended.”62 This assertion describes the lack of respect for the constitution during the Obote II regime and the preceding postcolonial period. Although the constitution has not been suspended, the quotation could as well be an observation of what has happened in Uganda since 1995. It is, therefore, difficult to miss the signs of convergence between Obote II (chapter 2) and the period described herein as Pax Musevenica. First, levels of corruption (for the maintenance of the regime) in Uganda have reached heights similar to those during the rule of Obote II. In Museveni’s Uganda, just as was the case from 1980 to 1984, corruption is in the form of prebendalism, patronage politics, informalism, and rent-seeking behavior. Tables 6.1 and 6.2 provide a good indication of the corruption problem in Uganda. But, corruption in Uganda begins from the top and trickles into every compartment of the public and private domains. Informal deals subvert formal institutions and in the process undermine mechanisms of accountability and checks on abuse of office. As a result we see collapsing, substandard buildings—symbolic of corruption at the private levels—and crony capitalism and suspension of vital programs such as the Global Fund to Fight AIDS, Malaria, and Tuberculosis63 in the public domain. As was the case during Obote II, corruption in contemporary Uganda has become a drain on the economy whose growth rate declined from 7.3 percent (1988 to 1995) to 5.8 percent (2001 to 2004). It has since remained almost flat moving between 5.8 and 6 percent. The recent proposals (February 2005) by Finance Minister Ezra Suruma advocating for greater state interventionism in the economy puts the NRM macroeconomic policy in line with that of Obote II and is likely to exacerbate the culture of corruption and act as a disincentive to investors. Secondly, the NRM government, like Obote’s in the early 1980s, has allocated inordinate financial resources to persistent insurgencies. Obote struggled against the NRA, and Museveni has struggled to put out the fires that fuel the LRA in the north. Like Obote, Museveni has sought a militarycum-political solution to the northern war, but with greater emphasis on the former. The atrocities of displacement, death, and violence in the north are an eerie reminder of the genocide-like killings in the Luwero Triangle during the Obote regime.

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Thirdly, conflation of the party (UPC) with the institutions of the state was a significant characteristic of Obote’s despotism. Correspondingly, the NRM has steadily circumscribed the civic realm by manipulating state institutions such as the legislature, civil service, and courts in order to serve its own political interests. Consequently, the presidency under Museveni has acquired the trappings of an imperial monarch, as was the case with Obote. The asphyxiation of state institutions has also stunted the growth of the rule of law and has led to the arbitrary dictates of NRM elite interests. Fourth a key outcome of “insider-outsider” politics is the emergence of elite intraparty conflicts that fragment and weaken party coherence. Again, we do not see fundamental changes here, we see convergence. The UPC of the 1980s was split along ideological and ethnic lines, just like the post-2001 NRM. Without the promise of patronage and prebendal rewards, the former was unable to effectively mobilize citizens and aggregate popular interests— which explains why the 1980 elections were characterized by manipulation and fraud. The NRM has experienced similar cleavages dating back to 1997 with the failure of the Movement-dominated parliament to muster legislative quorums for the Movement Act and the PPOA, and, most recently, over the issue of allowing a third term for President Museveni. The departure of veteran NRM elites such as Mugisha Muntu, Bidandi Ssali, Amanya Mushega, Winnie Byanyima, Kizza Besigye, et cetera has definitely weakened the NRM and provided a strong opposition. In reaction to these developments, the NRM seems to have dipped into the bag of tricks used during Obote II, namely, sporadic torture, extrajudicial/political detentions, marginalization of opposition parties, and restrictions in political competition. Obote was very dependent on the intelligence agencies, most notably, the General Service Unit, which played the same role as today’s ISO, ESO, VCCU, JATF, and their affiliated safe houses. In addition to these agencies, the NRM, like the UPC, has cast a wide network of spies, most of whom are incognito because they are also everyday civilians. Fifth, Obote II and Museveni II share another similarity—the co-optation of legislative power. In the Obote II era, the parliament almost always acceded to the decision of the executive committee of the UPC and different sections of the military: just as the NRM has raised the profile of the NEC and AC,64 both of which routinely handed down important matters of policy. The NRM-dominated parliament simply rubber stamps these decisions—a practice that is likely to become more prevalent, now that the NRM is a full-fledged party. Finally, the counterpart to the Presidential Guard Brigade under Museveni was the Special Forces Unit, an elite paramilitary force that was embedded in the police and army and was answerable only to Obote. Both leaders relied more and more on these praetorian guards as pressure from both domestic and international elements intensified, thus causing elite insecurity. Generally, however, the military is a prominent institution in both regimes, thus, indicating strains of a police state in both. The NRM has taken this a step forward by injecting the military into politics through a constitutional fiat.

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Army representatives in parliament have helped solidify the NRM voting bloc in parliament while giving the military a prominent role in politics. Hence, as in Obote II, there has been a militarization of politics and a politicization of the military. It is therefore hard to substantiate the NRM claim of having ushered fundamental change into Uganda’s political system. The convergence between the current NRM policies and those of Obote II is clearly evident. Having been at the helm of affairs for twenty and potentially twenty-five years as head of state, Museveni has been able to achieve what Obote’s interrupted stay in the State House could not, namely, the status of an imperial president. Fears of a return to violence and insecurity, a compromised system of checks and balances, fusion rather than separation of powers, a penchant for tampering and manipulating formal state institutions (particularly the constitution) to further political ends, and the sheer longevity of NRM rule are all factors that have contributed to an all-powerful president. Conversely, the persistence and opposition of democratic institutions and organizations (albeit circumscribed), and international players, have forced the regime to increasingly depend on the state instruments of coercion for maintaining order. These trends portend the specter of an emerging police state embedded in an illiberal democracy.

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7

Conclusion

Uganda is a study in the reconstruction of a collapsed state, the resuscitation

of measurable levels of legitimacy, and the costly political mistakes that empty political institutions of their capacity to make binding and authoritative decisions. The reconstruction of the state ontologically precedes considerations of power distribution and legitimacy (Ngethe 1995:253). It is a process that deals with rejuvenating institutional mechanisms that formerly gave consistency to state action, legitimized power, and established social trust, returning the state to the center of political life. In Uganda, when the new state managers began to restore statehood, they did so in a climate of diminished popular faith in the capacity of the state to provide security.1

In their assessment of the Ugandan state, Khadiagala et al. (1995) have argued that, by the early 1990s, Uganda’s previously collapsed state had been reconstructed. Uganda—along with Ethiopia, Chad, and Ghana—had collapsed and risen again (Ngethe 1995:259). The evidence collected in this study confirms these early assessments: ● By 1993, unlike armies in the previous regimes, the NRA had shown discipline and commitment, though not necessarily neutrality. Nonetheless, this improved the threadbare civil-military relations of the past and, thus, strengthened the state. ● The military complemented a weak police force in providing national security that for the most part was reestablished across the country except in the north where the Lords Resistance Army (LRA) insurgency seemed intractable. But, the policy of having local defense units (LDUs) in the countryside and training ordinary citizens in political and basic military skills (mchaka mchaka) was initially useful in empowering individuals to secure the defense of their local communities. With time, however, the propaganda dimension of these schools has helped consolidate and, in fact, elevate NRM hegemony. ● The period between 1991 and 1996 also witnessed a fairly effective process of state penetration into the countryside. By this time the Local Council (LC) system had taken root throughout the country. This allowed grassroot popular democracy and political empowerment to facilitate

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participation from below and political direction from above. LCs provided an effective link between state and society and in this way enabled the authoritative reach of the state. The tendency for LCs to become instruments for NRM hegemony became pronounced later, particularly as they were transformed from Resistance Councils (RCs) to LCs in 1995 and became subordinated by politically appointed resident district commissioners (RDCs) and most recently the regional tiers, local government system. ● As for civil society, Ng’ethe observes that although sedition laws had been used to muzzle some members of the press, “overall civil society is again vibrant . . . the print media, church groups, and NGOs are again active, although they are often reminded that they owe their existence to the NRA” (1995: 261). With creeping statism in Uganda today, the mass media remains the only effective government watchdog, the Uganda Law Society (ULS) and occasionally the church also perhaps playing a similar role. ● At the heart of state reconstruction is the restoration and reform of the civil service. In Uganda, this process involved retrenchment in order to have a smaller more professional and better-paid corp. Semiautonomous agencies (e.g., Uganda Revenue Authority (URA), Uganda Investment Authority (UIA), etc.) were created for better accountability and service delivery. Finally, official records had to be recreated and buildings either refurbished or new ones constructed. ● The institutionalization of the three branches of government was central to the reconstruction of the state. Of the three branches, the judiciary had acquired the highest levels of efficacy, having kept its independence from the executive branch and rendered justice in as impartial a manner as possible. Although hobbled with internal corruption, the judiciary has remained efficacious in its decisions regarding constitutional matters. The legislature was struggling through the challenges of its own inherent weaknesses and the strangling arm of an executive wishing to co-opt, disarm, and corrupt. Nonetheless, both branches were on the road toward institutional cogency. ● One of the more noticeable and notable change in Uganda (from 1991 to 1996) was the newly constructed road network. The attention paid to the physical infrastructure, including telecommunications, was perhaps the most discernible symbol of the return of the state to the center of social and economic organization. The deregulation of the telecommunication sector attracted companies such as Celtel and MTN into the country, thus, allowing easy wireless communication. This coupled with continuing road construction then became an important factor in economic development. ● State collapse and thus reconstruction both stem from factors concerning the economy. That the state was a viable institution again in Uganda was marked by the return of economic rationality by the mid-1990s. Radical liberal reforms led to liberalized exchange rates through forex bureaux, privatization of parastatals, a return of Asian capital, and a laissez faire, free market environment in general, which ended illicit practices such as magendo and kibanda. The state then embarked on a policy of aggressive revenue collection as part of the structural adjustment program dictated by the

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international financial institutions. The latter continued to direct aid while granting debt forgiveness. These policies in turn not only attracted investors and led to all the other reforms mentioned above, but also welcomed a throng of returning exiles. ● The writing and final promulgation of the 1995 constitution. Thus, by all measures the state in Uganda was back on its feet by the mid1990s. It was clearly the center of decision making, the symbol of identity, and, with a few exceptions, the sovereign over its territory, the authoritative political institution, and the system of socioeconomic organization (Zartman 1995:5). The restoration of order and centrally directed rule (in a society with a brutal and violent past) bestowed popular acceptance on the NRM government despite having come to power through force of arms. This acceptance was practically demonstrated in the 1996 elections in which Museveni and the NRM received overwhelming support in a landslide electoral victory. The general outlines of a governance realm had been laid, which meant that the norms of trust, accountability, and reciprocity between regime and society were beginning to take shape and that, with them, power was being transformed into authority. But, the reconstruction of the state is analytically and practically different from its legitimation. Indeed, the challenge of state legitimacy is a long-term project. In contrast, regime legitimacy is easier to attain and has been more the focus of NRM rule.

I. The Research Questions and the Dialectics of Legitimation The focal point of this study has been to closely examine the strategies adopted by the NRM in order to structure the normative basis for the exercise of authoritative power. The process was by no means linear or straightforward. On the one hand, the NRM made significant progress in winning regime legitimacy by promoting popular grassroot democracy, regular elections, political recruitment and mobilization. On the other hand, party politics (or the absence thereof) and limitations on political space continued to delegitimize the political process. In other words, the legitimation equation was not balanced as long as the NRM stuck to the gospel of illiberal democracy. For most African countries struggling to reestablish state authority (following collapse), legitimacy initially finds expression in two unconventional sources—and Uganda was no different. The first being the initial capacity to use organized force, for example, a guerilla army to capture political power, and the second is the ensuing nature and character of leadership. In Uganda, this prelegitimacy period (Ferrero 1942, Weber 1948) consisted of Museveni’s charisma, his history, social origin, and identity, these provided not only the raison d’être of governance, but also the digital server by which the web of authority could be understood. The key proposition borne out by research is simply that NRM/NRA early connections (i.e., during the guerilla war) with the peasant and working classes tended to dictate its initial

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reconstructive policies. These included initiatives such as the organization of Local Councils, mchaka mchaka, entandikwa, political recruitment of women, et cetera, which led to the expansion of political space through the delegation of power to civil society and the peripheral ends of the political system. The second source of legitimacy was the role of the NRA in the matrix of factors that defined the exercise of power. The army was a critical instrument in giving substance to claims over territory and in keeping the peace in the liberated areas. It was the only institutionalized and, in contrast to past armies, the most disciplined political structure. Thus, in the early days of state reconstruction, the authoritative exercise of power was rooted in the relationships that developed between the people and the NRA as the law-and-order arm of the NRM. There was, however, a third source of legitimacy for the NRM. Given the historical precedent set by the Movement’s ascendancy to power in 1986, the other source of validation can be explained using the “new broom” argument. Having swept away the vestiges of the Obote II regime in the final capture of Kampala, Museveni emerged as a new leader (broom) not beholden to the established intricate networks of patron-client relationships that underpin power structures in most African countries (Bienen and Herbst 1996:33). However, as the research has shown, a neopatrimonial class would emerge and old networks would later regroup, which is perhaps not surprising—given that new brooms cannot remain so for ever. This logic justifies the replacement of elites in regularly held elections and the rationale for presidential term limits. The latter point would become a hotly debated issue in the run up to the 2006 elections, but in the early days of NRM rule, significant reforms were put in place without major resistance from long-established elite groups. These reforms were not only long overdue, but they were necessary for legitimating the new regime and enabling it to consolidate power. The ideas underpinning these reforms were under the general rubric of The Ten Point Programme. They included, inter alia, further definition of movement democracy, the liberalization of the economy, and the consolidation of security. Thus, in 1991, the emerging new state (and its leadership) was justified on the basis of four important achievements: relative peace and order, empowerment of local authorities, emergence of effective civil society groups (e.g., women, youth, and the media), and a growing economy. These early strategies were particularly effective because they gave hope for a more illustrious tomorrow and substance to the realization of Museveni’s pledge to bring about “fundamental change.” But, if this was the thesis in the legitimation dialectic, the antithesis remained rooted in the limitations placed on party politics and in the absence of a more open/liberal environment in which competitive politics was nurtured. For example, the normative basis, nature, and character of leadership was still contested, albeit, softly and subliminally. In particular, the voices of pluralist politics were still subsumed in the immediate post-1986 pact with the NRM, a pact that mandated a politically broad-based coalition as the only way to restore peace and stability. This consensus had been predicated on the notion that

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political parties had traditionally promoted divisive and sectarian politics. The expectation was that the no-party movement system would produce a more desirable synthesis, that is, democratic transition and consolidation. Demands for further political reforms were also driven by the disappearing lines distinguishing the regime (NRM) from the state. In response to these emerging trends, a constitutional process that had been set in motion in 1988 culminated in the enactment of a new constitution in 1995. It answered some questions, raised new ones, and left others untouched. While the 1995 constitution was wide ranging in its consultation with the people, there was no mistaking the guided-democracy model and the stagemanaging influence of the NRM, which pervaded the entire process from beginning to end. If constitution making was the primer in state reconstruction and the cornerstone for the normative and legal limits of the state, the salience of the movement system in the 1995 constitution defined in no uncertain terms the political order that would ensue. Conversely, the prescriptive limits put on political parties exposed the paucity of competitive politics and placed a stumbling block in the path to democracy. As a result, so-called no-party democracy, besides federalism and the LRA insurgency in the north, would become the central issue in future political battles. Nonetheless, the constitution marked a significant milestone on the path toward the reconstruction, institutionalization, and legitimation of the Ugandan state. Despite its weaknesses, it was popularly accepted as a document that could withstand the test of time—subject to some important amendments being made, which explains the appointment of a constitutional review commission in 2000. Also, state-society relations from 1991 to 1996 had improved markedly owing to government policies of decentralization, economic, and administrative reform, restoration of political kingdoms, and the very effective recruitment of women into the political process—not to mention the liberalization of the mass media. But, the dialectical tension between the no-party system and pro-party opposition continued. Doubts concerning the legality and normative basis for state/regime authority persisted even in the minds of NRM elites, but more so among those (e.g., multipartyists and rebel groups) who sought pluralistic forms of political participation and had a markedly different vision for the country. NRM legitimacy was heavily contested among these groups despite the effectiveness of the policies outlined above. Moreover, the regime’s chosen path of elite-driven, guided (later co-opted) democracy symbolized for the pluralists a growing restriction of political space and, thus, a diminution of autonomous political organization. In response, the NRM traded in the only chip left in its campaign for legitimacy. It invoked the constitutional mandate and formally sought the consent of the people through the electoral process. A new dialectic was born out of what would become the first free and fair general election since 1980. For President Museveni there was very little to fear at this point. In fact, his 1996 campaign slogan of “no change,” unorthodox as it sounds, had its roots in the relative satisfactory conditions prevailing in the country at this

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time. The president won by a landslide in elections that were, relative to those in 2001, much more binding. The parliamentary polls were also conducted in an environment of relative calm and order. This, then, put an exclamation point on a process of civilianization, consolidation, and institutionalization of NRM power and provided the raison d’être of movement democracy. In this high watermark moment, the state had become the locus of political life and the NRM had shed its military/guerilla skin by seeking and acquiring popular validation. Had an armed guerilla movement that had risen to power somewhat succeeded in turning swords into ploughshares? Would the military become professionalized enough to reflect national loyalties rather than those of the founding father—Museveni—and would it resist being sucked into the politics of Uganda’s reconstruction process? Would or would not government antirebel policies alienate sections of society and, thus, weaken the basis for the rightful exercise of authority? To what extent would the new state institutions, such as the parliament, LCs, and other government agencies, withstand neopatrimonial politicization? Would the NRM remain politically broad-based and accommodating to internal dissent? How would the contradictions inherent in political and economic liberalization impact the consolidation of a governance realm? In other words, would the dialectic between the no-party advocates and the multipartyists yield a democratic synthesis? For sure, the state had been reconstructed, the critical challenge now was to institutionalize (legitimize) it. The elections, following the enactment of a new constitution, marked only the beginning of this process. It was imperative for continued state legitimation that the NRM keep its political interests separate from those of the state. The fundamental question for continued legitimation of both the regime and the state was whether the Movement would (a) allow the latter to develop institutions by which all contenders would have equal opportunity and access to political power and (b) whether these rules/laws would be respected over time as the framework within which resources would be authoritatively allocated.2 The NRM also used guided democracy to legitimize itself rather than the state. For example, while structural decentralization appeared empowering in the beginning, along the way it consolidated central power, specifically the NRM government. This seeming contradiction can be explained by, to take three examples, the intricate link between LCs, resident district commissioners (RDCs), and the NRM. Over time these structures became extensions of the NRM—this change too marked their decreasing “autonomy.” The representative nature of the LCs had been subsumed by the regimes greater emphasis on governabiltiy. The second emerging trend was the perception that the constitution, the military, local government, and the state itself were NRM structures rather than institutions for and in the national interest. Evidence of this included the passing of the Movement Act (MA), the Political Parties Organizations Act (PPOA), and the 1999/2000 Referendum Acts by the Parliament. The latter were challenged in the courts that struck down some

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of their provisions. Both the MA and the 1999 Referendum Act were passed without the necessary quorum in Parliament. Later, the Parliament acquiesced with the political desires of the president and the NRM in repealing the term limits provision—Art.105 (2) of the constitution. The more apparent these trends became, the less likely was the possibility that political institutions would act as neutral arbiters in the resolution of the key social/political contradictions of the day. Consequently, identification with the state for sizeable sections of the citizenry would remain vague and ambivalent—the regime (instead of the state) became the locus of politics. This development provided the foundation for a shift from democratic legitimacy that stems from formal institutional (or rational/legal) authority to neopatrimonial legitimacy, a product of informal/personalized power. The NRM was, therefore, increasingly viewed not as a custodian but as a state owner determined to entrench itself in power. Indeed, the government was fast assuming the mantle of the sovereign over the people rather than that of a minister to them.3 The subsequent emergence of a statist regime type was undoubtedly detrimental to the democratic legitimacy project. The heightened levels of intimidation and violence accompanying the 2001 elections, along with the emergence of repressive extrajudicial agencies such as JATF, VCCU, safe houses, et cetera, provide proof of a decline in the popular acceptance of NRM especially in the urban centers. Such was the dialectic of legitimacy that by 1998 while the state was front and center of politics in Uganda, the legislature was being slowly subsumed and co-opted by the executive branch. In its place emerged the NEC, AC, and the president’s office as the more influential policymaking organs. This expanded the institution of presidentialism. Indeed, the assault on parliamentary independence uprooted the checks-and-balances doctrine, overshadowed the popular content of law and policy, and gave institutional support to a burgeoning imperial presidency. One notable proof of parliamentary paralysis presented itself during the parliamentary debate on the Domestic Relations Bill and the legislation that flowed out of it. In their struggle to amend undesirable provisions of the act, women’s groups sought relief not from the legislature but from the courts—a practice that had been routinized by opposition groups for the same reasons. The project of regime hegemony and survival also extended into the domain of the LCs. The latter no longer fostered the much taunted grassroot democracy of the late 1980s and early 1990s. This was especially so at LC3 levels and above. They had been absorbed and now lay in the underbelly of the NRM, and because the latter was firmly superimposed on the state, the popular content of these structures continued to diminish as they morphed into instruments for regime maintenance. Conversely, LCs would begin to serve the purpose of mobilizing support for and at the behest of the NRM. The authority of the NRM was also propped up by the now-prominent and “ubiquitous,” Internal Security Organization (ISO), External Security Organization (ESO), Chieftaincy of Military Intelligence (CMI), and the military-led police. State agencies such as the Uganda Revenue Authority (URA)

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and Uganda Investment Authority (UIA) acted as the conduits of power because through them patronage could be dished out to regime supporters. Corruption and cronyism became routine practice in the struggle for patronage. This happened most notably among those who had contacts with the upper echelons of the regime but could not get jobs in the state bureaucracy. As for the military, the DRC became a reliable source of illicit gain. The notso-well connected were now more than ever vulnerable to the vagaries of structural adjustment, that is, unemployment, expensive and limited access to health care, and poor living conditions. In addition to the multiparty movement, opposition also took the form of heightened rebel activities in the north and west—which, purportedly, led the NRM into the DRC. The conflict in the DRC served to pinpoint the close and symbiotic relationship between the UPDF and the NRM. The former’s desire to gain illicit wealth coincided with the latter’s need to demonstrate a resolve in restoring security and establishing hegemony in the Great Lakes region. In the end, regional supremacy remained illusive, but booty from the DRC was used to appease key factions in the UPDF; and even though the ADF was finally vanquished, largely owing to the vigilantism of the locals in western Uganda, the NRM claimed a partial victory in its war against the rebels. The political fallout of this conflict, however, was damaging both at home and abroad. Revelations regarding the illegal exploitation of gold and other minerals from the DRC by Uganda’s military brass punctured Museveni’s reputation at home and abroad, fractured military cohesion, and deepened cleavages within the NRM itself. Rebel opposition in the north, however, continued unabated—the classic sign of a long-running legitimacy crisis in that part of the country since the rise of the NRM in 1986. The most obvious sign of this crisis in the north was the dismal showing of the NRM among the northerners in the 2000 referendum and in the 2001 and 2006 general elections. However, the NRM won both the Referendum and the 2001 elections. Surveys taken before the 2000 referendum suggest that the NRM and President Museveni, in particular, still had a sizeable reservoir of support, albeit, some of it was due to the absence of real and meaningful alternatives— after all, the Movement had undermined the maturation of an effective opposition. But, this support had two characteristics: (a) it translated into neopatrimonial and not democratic legitimacy owing to the increasing co-optation, arm twisting, and patronage tendencies of NRM politics and (b) it had declined relative to the 1996 levels. Which raises the following inevitable questions: at this moment in time could the Movement be expected to act in the public interest if and when the latter did not coincide with regime objectives of maintaining control and political hegemony? When state institutions become instruments for mobilizing regime support and survival, what are the long-term consequences for democracy? By 2003, the developments outlined above had further intensified political partisanship, which now comprised of disparate groups such as the New Movement, Young Parliamentarians Association, Young Democrats, Reform

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Agenda, National Democratic Forum (NDF), and PAFO. When these last three groups coalesced into a political party—the Forum for Democratic Change (FDC)—the latter joined the multipartyists, think tanks, and academicians in exerting intense pressure on the NRM in order to pry open the political system and to allow for competitive contestation of power. The magnitude of opposition exacerbated splits within the rank and file of the NRM and precipitated the formal abandonment of no-party democracy. But, the Movement was still averse to competition and sought to limit and circumscribe it through a coerced consensus. Insistence on having a national referendum on the transition, endorsement of legislation restricting party activity, such as the PPOA, and the lifting of presidential term limits were all part of an orchestrated plan to make way for Museveni’s continued tenure as president beyond 2006. But, it was also a design to give the NRM an advantage over the other parties as the system was opened up for “competition.” The NRM was now in a position not different from that in which the UPC was in the 1980s. The NRM/UPC convergence removed the remaining vestiges of “fundamental change.” The dialectic of political legitimacy had taken a turn toward convergence— certainly not the ideal synthesis for Uganda’s democratic movement. Uganda had indeed experienced change, but by 2005 it had lost the “fundamental” dimension as NRM policies began to look eerily like those seen previously during Obote II. Similarities included a narrow governance realm, a coopted transition giving way to a growing statist regime and a neopatrimonial basis for legitimacy and governance. The final question, then, is why? Why did the NRM leadership change course after 1996? What institutional and political factors contributed to the centripetal forces of convergence? First, the revolutionary character of the NRM seemed to diminish as the regime drifted away from state institutional reconstruction to consolidation. The latter led to entrenchment and hegemony. The confidence and perhaps arrogance born out of regime consolidation emptied NRM power of its instrumentalist and authoritative element. Power gradually became an end rather than a means—instead of being used to bring about fundamental change it became an end in itself. Several political and ideological shifts evolved from this mutation of the character of power. The first one involved the marginalization (and in some cases, purge of the reformists inside the NRM). Left with only the right wing conservative movementists, Museveni lost the benefit of discordant or revolutionary ideas and views. The loss of a change-oriented element has left the NRM with nothing new to offer—the earlier innovations of the regime are now lethargic, tired, and inert. Museveni’s leadership itself has gradually taken on the classic characteristics of “princely” rule, that is, governance by co-optation and private agreement (Jackson and Rosberg: 1982). This “princely” element now sits in juxtaposition to the imperial nature of Museveni’s presidency: co-optation and private agreement take place in an environment devoid of checks or balances and often in contravention of constitutional limits. Indeed, Museveni has proved to be a capable ruler (65 percent of urban Ugandans rated him as a good

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leader),4 but not one who can institutionalize leadership. In the same survey, 54 percent of those polled did not favor a third term for Museveni. The modern prince governs through informal/personal power structures and appeals to the rational/legal only as a formality. But, it behooves us not to ask the following question: what happened to the “peasant/warrior,” war hero, champion of popular democracy, antisectarian crusader, and democratic populist described in chapter 3? Simply put, he stayed too long! This seemingly simple explanation finds its cultural roots in the luganda proverb, naazina obulungi ava mu diiro. Literally translated this means that even the best dancer leaves the floor. In overstaying his welcome, Museveni has lost his “new broom” credentials, diminished his reserves of charismatic legitimacy, and turned democratic populism into a primitive paternalism. Museveni’s deep-felt belief that Uganda would fall apart without him is based on his long-standing notion that the vast majority of Ugandans (especially the peasants) espouse precapitalist values and are superstitious and backward. Thus, following regime consolidation, his approach has favored the reconstruction of the formal/legal structures of the state, but only with an equal application of precolonial patrimonial institutions. Secondly, the NRM dropped its commitment to the political and embraced the regional/ethnic broad-basedness instead. The cause of this mistake may have been two-fold—on the one hand, Museveni felt politically insecure inside the NRM itself and this may have caused him to resort to a welltrodden course, that is, kowtow to a populace accustomed to patronage and personalized forms of power in order to maintain popular support and ward off “wayward” party insiders. On the other hand, the departure from political inclusiveness was a symptom of a fundamental shift in the institutional substructure of the NRM that was changing into a “party of integration.” Parties of integration (see chapter 5) do not see themselves as contestants in a give-and-take game of pressure politics, but as partisans in a mighty struggle between divine or historic truth and fundamental error (Neumann: 1956). This explains Museveni’s paternalism and the winner-take-all, zero-sum game politics of the post-2001 era. Thirdly, the decline of political broad-basedness was both cause and consequence of elite collusion and willingness to engage in the “politics of the belly”—the willingness to be bought off in the intense struggle for scarce resources (Bayart: 1993). Vocal members of civil society and opposition party members buckled into the NRM co-optation strategies of job offers, districthood, and coercion. Thus, despite the loud noises from the opposition, when demonstrators staged an anti-kisanja protest through Kampala during the parliamentary debates regarding Article 105(2) of the constitution, only two opposition leaders joined in the march. Indeed, opposition parties such as the DP and UPC have shown no leadership vision or internal coherence. Restricted political space notwithstanding, party elites suffer from political myopia and waste much time in leadership squabbles. They have, therefore, not offered a real alternative to the NRM. As for elected representatives, the use of patronage (and its acceptance) in whatever form

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began during the Constituent Assembly (CA) debates5 and continued unabated through the seventh Parliament. Fourth, major groups in civil society, with the exception perhaps of the press, the lawyers, and the muted tones of the church, have felt beholden to the president and the NRM for “giving” them their freedom of political participation. This has increased the power of the president vis-à-vis civil society, bolstered his influence by disarming and disabling organized social opposition, and raised his profile as an imperial executive. Fifth, the donor community has been late in checking the rising tide of presidentialism and clientelism for fear of “tarnishing” the image of their star pupil—Uganda. International financial institutions initially played a critical role in forcing the new NRM government into democratization mode. Ironically, the conditions tied to foreign aid were partly to blame for changes in the social character of the NRM regime—forcing it to shift from the broader social base of support that comprised of workers and peasants to a narrower neopatrimonial, clientelist class. International condemnation has also been muted because of Uganda’s position on the front line of the regional war on terrorism. Although this may now be changing, it may be too little too late. Finally, NRM policy and ideological changes cannot be understood without considering the overall political impact of the LRA insurgency on national politics. The failure to quell this twenty-year-old insurgency exposed weaknesses in NRM leadership.6 These include the failure to extend regime or state legitimacy, security, and statehood to the twelve districts directly affected. The northern insurgency can also be linked to the UPDF invasion of the eastern Congo, the ghost soldiers scandal, and the subsequent ruling by the International Court of Justice (ICJ) in December 2005 that Uganda had committed human rights abuses and plundered the country’s natural resources.7 Clearly, these pressures form part of the matrix of factors influencing the changes in NRM governance since 1996 (particularly after 2001) because of their impact on NRM legitimacy at home and abroad. To summarize Uganda’s current state of affairs, it is instructive to borrow from Lipset’s (1984: 91) fourfold model (Table 7.1) that establishes the relationship between degrees of legitimacy and effectiveness and their impact on political system stability. Uganda fits in box C with acceptable, albeit, declining levels of effectiveness, but with questionable reserves of democratic legitimacy. Although the NRM is credited for moving Uganda from D to C, its violation of the integrity of the constitution, the strengthening of the twin institutions of presidentialism and clientelism, and the hegemonic suppression of state institutions (e.g., the legislature, judiciary, etc.) puts Uganda in the category of Germany, Spain, and Austria prior to World War II. Despite high levels of effectiveness, these three European countries eventually broke down or slid from C to D and were so unstable that they could only be held together by dictatorships that eventually collapsed. Thus, highly effective governments with legitimacy deficits tend to be unstable because of severe shrinkage in the governance realm.

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R egime H egemony in M useveni’ s U ganda Table 7.1 Legitimacy/Effectiveness Effectiveness ⫹ ⫺ Legitimacy

⫹

A

B

⫺

C

D

States that can maintain a high level of effectiveness over a long period of time can indeed gain legitimacy, that is, shift from C to A. But, the shift from C to A requires constant economic development as the key variable. Yet, given the forces of globalization, the dependent economies of Africa, and the corruption endemic to neopatrimonial governance, elites are unlikely to enact polices conducive to sustainable economic development. In Uganda’s case, donor fatigue and frustration may lead to a steady evaporation of the financial resources for over 50 percent of recurrent expenditures. This is likely to be exacerbated by regular power shortages and skyrocketing gas prices. These factors clearly risk denying the regime of a critical vector of legitimacy— economic growth/stability. Lipset maintains that a country can slip from A to B and still be democratic, but a shift from C to D—which is the risk facing Uganda—portends political instability and possibly state collapse. In other words, as regimes and/or states lose popular acceptance, the effectiveness variable may not be sufficient to save them from breaking down.

II. Uganda’s Future Uganda is at risk of sliding into full-fledged despotism if it continues along the current political trajectory. Several factors have converged to make this a likely future scenario. First, the amendments to the constitution, most notably Article 105(2) that allows for limitless presidential terms. This inordinately raises the premium on incumbency and makes it very hard for any opposition group to win power through the ballot box. Therefore, the transition to multiparty politics may result in no major change in the power structure. The history of Uganda (outlined in chapter 2) as played out by the NRM more prominently since 2001 suggests that ruling elites (and the president in particular) will not hesitate to change the rules of politics in order to ensure their own propagation and survival. As long as there are no constitutional limits to incumbency, which is what Article 105(2) was meant to allow, and as long as the risks of losing power via the ballot can be lessened through manipulation, the possibilities for democratic politics will be very limited. Secondly, the victory of NRM in the 2006 elections and the political machinations preceding it denied Uganda a historic opportunity: its first ever constitutional transfer of power from one government to another. Even more importantly, the 2006 polls exposed more than ever before the determination by the NRM-O to exploit neopatrimonial legitimacy for the purposes of

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using the state to ensure regime continuation and to establish hegemony. Unfortunately, this political reality blocks the entry points through which the opposition, particularly marginalized groups such as those in the north, might articulate and aggregate their interests. This raises the specter of anomic activity as the modus operandi of last resort. The likely contradiction between such activities and the regime’s determination to ensure its hegemony presages a violent future. Thirdly, Museveni has subverted the popular will by co-opting the legislature and asserting executive supremacy. The executive branch has as a result been able to centralize power, direct policymaking and lawmaking, and manipulate the electoral process in order to guarantee victory in elections. This manifestation of presidentialism (and clientelism) has reified the informal rules of politics, thus, detracting from institutional practice. The resulting arbitrariness of political action and the decline in the rule of law have poisoned the atmosphere for democratic legitimacy. Thus, neopatrimonial legitimacy has emerged as a fertile ground for despotism. Fourth, as neopatrimonialism spread through the corridors of the NRM government, the principles of trust, reciprocity, accountability, and authority (or the governance realm) have been inexorably devalued. In practical terms, this means that state institutions such as the civil service, judiciary, and legislature will be turned into organs of presidential and informal prerogatives. The analysis in chapter 6 suggests that state institutions such as police, CID and the courts that are authorized to interrogate, prosecute, and incarcerate have been subordinated by the government through extrajudicial organs such as VCCU, JATF, CMI, et cetera. The classic example of this was the deployment of armed military men known as “black mambas” who surrounded the High Court during a bail hearing for opposition leader Kizza Besigye’s fourteen coaccused in November 2005. Chief High Court judge James Ogoola described the incident as “a despicable act” and a “rape of the judiciary” meant to intimidate and unduly influence the hearing. When the constitutional avenues to power are blocked for a protracted period of time, the onus of political change rests on two possible options. First, is civil society. The dramatic changes in Eastern Europe after the end of the cold war have illustrated that civil society can be a potent force for popular revolution. However, such democratic transformations assume the disintegration of a hegemonic state and the existence of sufficient political space coupled with a political elite capable of providing effective leadership within civil society. The outgoing discussion regarding the weaknesses intrinsic to civil society would seem to suggest a hopeless scenario for Uganda. However, chapter 6 provides evidence that some democratic values may have taken root in Ugandan society, partly due to the politics of the early years of NRM rule. This could serve as a foundation for a more stable political future for Uganda—but it does not in and of itself guarantee that a leadership cadre capable of mobilizing “people power” will emerge. Nor is it the case that democratic consciousness will translate into democratic politics and praxis, especially in the rural areas where owing to abject poverty the politics of patronage and clientelism may be more culturally acceptable. In an

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Afrobarometer survey conducted from early April to May 4, 2005, 51 percent of urban dwellers were against lifting of presidential term limits while a majority in rural areas wanted limits removed and President Museveni to run for a third term.8 This dissonance in Uganda’s political culture frustrates the construction of vital institutions for the ideological foundations of the state and delays (sometimes blocks) the maturation of democratic movements. The second and only other option engenders resorting to arms. Although the most formidable opposition party, the FDC, has ruled out military intervention, it (and other opposition groups) may be forced to break this promise in the face of zero-sum, winner-takes-all politics and a possible life presidency for Museveni.

III. What Lessons for Africa? The most important lesson for Africa out of this case study is that, no matter how novel and innovative the political system (e.g., the movement system) may be, it is impossible to facilitate a free market of ideas in a restricted (i.e., noncompetitive) political environment. The NRM’s depiction of political parties as inimical to political stability in Uganda is historically accurate. However, in politics, organizational, programmatic, and ideological objectives can be achieved only through elite consensus—and consensus has to be sustained through transparent debate over a reasonable period of time and within legitimate institutional guidelines. Failure to allow time and space for consensus inevitably leads to the alienation of some groups. Not surprisingly, in Uganda’s case, the NRM agenda proved unacceptable to a broad section of its own members and to various opposition groups. Yet, the growing hegemony of the NRM in the absence of viable alternative political organization has left very limited hope that an alternative set of elites could gain constitutional access to the reigns of power and implement alternative programs. Thus, by inference, the only way of fostering a broad spectrum of political programs and of creating a dynamic leadership is by allowing competition of ideas, which in turn calls for the existence of contending political organizations and strong formal institutions. The reintroduction of party politics notwithstanding, a Movement-imposed or coerced consensus has become the central feature of Pax Musevenica. This phenomenon has stunted the growth of alternative conflict-mitigating institutions. As the no-party system became more and more exclusive, its political agenda got increasingly associated with the fortunes of a specific group and perhaps of a specific individual. The resulting alienation, especially of opposition groups, has exposed in no uncertain terms the political poverty of the latter phase of Pax Musevenica. Indeed, this illiberalism9 has cultivated modes of political participation that are inimical to stability and consolidation of the rule of law, protection of basic liberties, and a government of checks and balances. Illiberal politics in Uganda today has also given rise to a statist regime type that is by definition nondemocratic. Thus, the first lesson sheds light on the failure by Africa’s elites to recognize the situation and find practical solution to the paradox of enabling

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competition while building consensus. What is more, failure to balance conflict with consensus exacerbates another one of democracy’s tensions, namely, governability versus representation. Popular representation prevents concentration of power in the hands of a few, it is the antidote to presidentialism. But, devolution also demands a strong state capable of governing effectively, that is, of rising above and managing competing interests. In Uganda, governability has been priority number one, corroding ever so slowly the foundation for representation. Once again, the inevitable conclusion is that despite the effectiveness of an elected NRM regime, disrespect for constitutional limits constrains liberal politics and circumscribes the governance realm—the basis for political legitimacy. For instance, although political parties have rightfully been vilified by the Movement, without legitimate and alternative forms of representation and participation, democracy acquires a hollow center. Therefore, the second lesson is that African political elites and civil society must find an acceptable medium between these tensions if liberal democracy is to take root. Elites in developed democracies are unique in their institutional capacity for accommodating these contradictions. African leaders, however, continue to tap into informal webs of patron-client relationships in order to support the chief patron—the strong man. Such change must also engage civil society in a campaign to reverse political attitudes among the citizenry that seem to favor statism as shown in surveys done by Bratton et al. before the 2000 referendum.10 The third lesson highlights a tension, a catch twenty-two faced by most African states. In the contemporary orthodoxy of liberal economic reforms and globalization, African leaders cannot spur development without international aid and investment. The conditions attached to aid are such that governing elites find themselves appealing to a narrower, more technocratically and financially savvy class for support. This conundrum tends to encourage neopatrimonial political behavior such as the distribution of tribute and patronage, rent-seeking behavior, and prebendalism. These behavior patterns that have historically been embedded in African culture are often exacerbated by neoliberalism. They undermine the establishment of a governance realm while the accompanying informality of state business produces a reactionary and often corrupt ruling class. Therefore, the severity of the conditions attached to aid further alienates the regime from its popular bases. The resulting transformation of the social character of the state, despite the effectiveness of aid programs, diminishes legitimacy and leads to political instability. The paradox, then, is this: the economic conditions imposed by the IFIs are destructive to liberal politics, yet, an open polity creates the political conditions necessary for successful market reforms. In managing the third tension inherent in democratic forms of government, that is, the contradictions between popular consent and effectiveness, the NRM has opted (partly at the behest of the IFIs) for the latter while restricting the dynamic of the former. This has inevitably shifted the basis for authoritative governance from democratic to neopatrimonial legitimacy.

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Be that as it may, the Uganda case proves that economic growth/ development is absolutely essential for any regime seeking legitimacy. For African states, politics is still about provisions of very basic needs—roads, sugar, salt, soap, individual security, primary education, and health care. Effectiveness in providing these needs is critical to winning the consent of the res publica. This inquiry has plotted the transformation of the Ugandan economy from the tatters of 1986 to a more robust and institutionalized entity in the twenty-first century. Together with the legal infrastrucure, the economic dimension of legitimation stands out as uniquely critical in providing at least one important dimension of legitimacy, namely, the capacity to provide material welfare. Fourthly, Uganda provides Africa with some answers to the following question: when a violent authoritarian state (e.g., Obote II) makes constitutional power transition impossible and extraconstitutional means are used to get rid of it, how should the new regime go about authenticating its right to govern? First, the reconstruction of the state (from virtual collapse) is imperative, if societal needs (e.g., law and order, security, economic growth, etc.) and ideals (e.g., democracy and individual liberties) are to be satisfied in an organized and institutionalized fashion. The NRM’s return of the state to the center of social action (not unlike Ghana’s National Democratic Congress (NOC) in the 1980s) was one vitally important phase in the process of legitimation that other African states must emulate. The next step, which the NRM has been less able to take, is to distance itself as the ruling “party” from the state. Failure to do this threatens to reverse the achievements of state reconstruction because the latter is then weakened and limited to the function of mobilizing support for regime control and survival, instead of providing an administrative framework for responding to popular demands. It is worth noting that unstable African states (e.g., Kenya under Moi, Zimbabwe under Mugabe, Zaire under Mobutu, Sudan under Nimieri, etc.) have historically superimposed regime imperatives on the state’s institutional logic. Finally, Uganda provides a perfect case for testing the following hypothesis: the nature and character of power consolidation has implications for democratic transition and stability. As argued in chapter 3, the most important difference between the NRM and previous ruling coalitions was rooted in the strategies adopted for consolidating power. These policies helped reestablish the state as a tangible organization of decision making and as an intangible symbol of identity.11 By 1996, the NRM had gained levels of legitimacy that were sufficient enough to enable trust, accountability, reciprocity, and authority (a governance realm) in the political system. All this, of course, was a function of a president who (though tolerant of political corruption) remained personally removed from the disease of self-aggrandizement that afflicts most African elites. Nevertheless, this case study has endeavored to expose the political mistakes that African leaders make while in transition to democracy. Political weaknesses that include the proclivity toward closing political space, attenuating individual and constitutional rights, circumventing

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governmental checks and balances, and arbitrary rule inevitably shift the democratic bandwagon into reverse gear leaving skid marks of illiberal democracy and institutional malaise in its wake. Perhaps the most significant lesson for Africa, from the Uganda case, is that reducing the legitimacy deficit and the crisis thereof requires a combination of two factors, which the NRM has yet to appreciate, namely, democratization and political liberalization.

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Time Line of K ey Historical E vents*

January 1986

The National Resistance Army rebel group overruns Kampala after a heavy battle with government troops. Tito Okello’s government falls. Yoweri Museveni is sworn in as president of the Republic of Uganda for a four-year interim term.

March 1986

Party activities are suspended in Uganda; but Uganda People’s Democratic Movement (UPDM) is formed to challenge Museveni’s leadership. Other rebel groups, the Holy Spirit Movement of Alice Lakwena and Lord’s Resistance Army of Joseph Kony, are also formed.

May 1986

A bill to create the Uganda Human Rights Commission is proposed to investigate human rights abuses since 1962 when Uganda got independence.

August 1986

Prince Mutebi arrives in Uganda from Kenya via Busia on his first visit to a liberated Uganda. Former soldiers regrouped under the Uganda People’s Democratic Army (UPDA) launch an attack on NRA. NRA Battalion No. 58 at Bibia repulses the attack. Yoweri Museveni denounces Sudan for assisting 3,000 army rebels to attack Uganda. Budget day, the exchange rate is set at Ug. shs. 1,400 per U.S. dollar.

October 1986

Three ministers, Dr. Andrew Kayiira, Dr. David Lwanga, and Mr. Evaristo Nyanzi, and former vice president, Paulo Muwanga, are arrested on treason charges.

November 1986 Uganda National Rescue Front (UNRF) hands over its flag to the NRM at Karila Airstrip in Arua. Brig. Moses Ali announces the absorption of 2,000 UNRF soldiers in the NRA. Alice Lakwena’s Holy Spirit Movement and Peter * The following were used as sources for part of this timeline: Mugaju (1999), Kaiser and Okumu (2004), and www.IRINnews.org (2006).

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Otai’s Uganda People’s Army (UPA) terrorize people in north and northeastern Uganda. December 1986

The Human Rights Commission is set up under Legal Notice No. 5 of 1986 to investigate human rights abuses from 1962 to January 25, 1986.

January 1987

The remains of former President Yusuf Lule arrive in Uganda from London for reburial.

May 1987

A new currency, with a 30 percent tax charge is introduced into circulation. IMF shock treatment applied to Ugandan economy as Economic Recovery Program (ERP) begins.

August 1987

Two hundred rebels of Alice Lakwena’s Holy Spirit mobile force killed by NRA in a battle at Soroti Flying School. Four hundred Holy Spirit forces killed by NRA at Aloet Railway Station in Soroti District.

October 1987

Alice Lakwena’s mobile force is repulsed when attempting to overrun Magamaga barracks.

March 1988

The National Resistance Army and the rebel Uganda People’s Democratic Army begin cease-fire discussions in Gulu. The NRM government and a leading rebel group since 1986, the Uganda People’s Democratic Army, agree to a cease-fire and sign a formal peace agreement. The human rights group Amnesty International criticizes the army’s conduct in its counterinsurgency operations in northern and northeastern Uganda. Amnesty International criticizes the Uganda government over NRA’s tactics in fighting rebels in the north and northeast of the country. The NRA and UPDA reach an agreement and announce a cease-fire.

May 1988

NRC passes legislation that prohibits the practice and promotion of sectarianism and introduces press censorship.

September 1988

IMF, World Bank, and Western donors make an Enhanced Structural Adjustment Facility (ESAF) available to Uganda.

October 1988

A Uganda Airlines Boeing 707 jetliner crashes on the runway as it lands at Rome Airport in Italy. Thirty people on board die in the accident. A bill establishing a constitutional commission is passed by the country’s parliament, The National Resistance Council.

February 1989

Elections to expand the National Resistance Council are held.

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October 1989

The National Resistance Council votes to extend the interim rule of the National Resistance Movement Government for five more years until 1994.

December 1989

An attack is launched from Sudan by ex–Uganda soldiers assisted by Sudanese troops.

February 1990

The Spanish Government announces a US$40 million loan to Uganda for the rehabilitation of Entebbe Airport, the development of central storage, construction of cold stores, and for rolling stock to the Uganda Railways Corporation. NRA in collaboration with civilians starts an offensive against UPA of Otai.

April 1990

Brig. Moses Ali, minister of youth, culture, and sports, is arrested and charged with plotting a coup.

July 1990

Otema Allimadi, leader of UPDM, signs a peace accord with government.

January 1991

President Museveni announces a cabinet reshuffle. George Cosmas Adyebo becomes prime minister while Dr. Samson Kisekka is elevated to vice president.

February 1991

Uganda hosts the joint ACP/EEC Assembly in Kampala. The World Bank approves a US$40 million loan for the reconstruction of northern and northeastern Uganda.

April 1991

The army begins a major four-month operation, commanded by Minister of state for Defence Maj. Gen. David Tinyefuza against rebels in Northern Uganda.

May 1991

Museveni formally invites all émigré Ugandan Asians, who had been expelled by Amin, to return.

June 1991

A major conference is organized by the Constitutional Commission for leaders of political parties to discuss constitutional proposals to be included in the draft constitution.

July 1991

Another cabinet reshuffle takes place cutting the cabinet by about 50 percent. The total number of ministers drops from 72 to 42.

December 1991

Government announces its intention to liberalize the cotton industry thus ending the Lint Marketing Board monopoly. The National Resistance Council passes the Leadership Code Bill.

February 1992

Nationwide elections for officials at the lower local to district level councils are held. Countrywide RC 1-5 elections begin.

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April 1992

The Army Council announces negotiations over the return of confiscated traditional cultural sites to the kingdoms of Ankole, Buganda, Bunyoro, Busoga, and Tooro. Uganda and China sign an agreement on the construction of a new Chinese-funded national stadium at Namboole outside Kampala.

May 1992

Paris Club Consultative Group meeting of donors commits US$800 million to Uganda.

June 1992

The Uganda High Court acquits Moses Ali of treason charges.

July 1992

The government launches a US$93.6 million reconstruction program for northern Uganda, sponsored by the World Bank, donor countries, and aid agencies aimed mainly at the repair of roads and extension of electricity.

August 1992

Political party activities are formally suspended by the NRC. The suspension follows a three-day closed session.

October 1992

The army bows to pressure from international donors and begins a demobilization of up to 40,000 soldiers. Uganda launches a far-reaching political decentralization program whose objective is to increase citizen participation and political empowerment.

November 1992

Formal negotiations between the National Resistance Army (NRA) and Buganda, about the return of cultural sites occupied by the army, are inaugurated by President Museveni.

December 1992

Constitutional Commission presents draft constitution to government. Negotiations between government and Sabataka of Buganda on the return of traditional sites taken over by government in 1967 open. The demobilization exercise of the NRA begins at First Division Headquarters, Lubiri barracks.

February 1993

Pope John Paul II arrives in Uganda on a five-day visit.

March 1993

A draft constitution prescribing party political activities for seven years is published. The NRC orders immediate suspension of negotiations on sales of public enterprises by the Public Enterprises Reform and Divestiture until relevant law is enacted.

April 1993

The Constitution Assembly Bill is passed. The NRC agrees, in principle, to return cultural sites known as ebyaffe to the Baganda.

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July 1993

Ronald Muwenda Mutebi II is enthroned as the thirtysixth king of Buganda Kingdom. NRC passes legislation approving restoration of traditional monarchies, which are given cultural but not political powers. The NRC passes the Constitution Amendment Bill, 1993 (Ebyaffe Bill) to restore the traditional rulers who were abolished under the 1967 Constitution.

August 1993

The AIDS Control Programme announces that one out of every eight Ugandans is infected with HIV virus that causes AIDS. The government requests foreign donors for US$550 million to fund a five-year plan to slow the spread of the epidemic. President Museveni opens the Buganda Lukiiko (Parliament) at Bulange, Mengo. The commissioner for the Constituent Assembly announces the demarcation of the country into 214 electoral districts.

November 1993 Prince John Patrick Barigye is enthroned as thirty-third King of Ankole Kingdom. The government, however, refuses to recognize his coronation. Former head of state, General Tito Okello, returns to Uganda after nearly eight years in exile. January 1994

Uganda Democratic Alliance (UDA) and Uganda Federal Army (UFA) suspend guerilla activities. NRA soldiers head for Liberia on a peace keeping mission. The nomination of candidates for the Constituent Assembly takes place.

March 1994

Nationwide elections are held to select delegates to the Constituent Assembly (CA), which will debate Uganda’s new Constitution.

May 1994

Members of the Constituent Assembly (CA) are sworn in. CA begins debate on draft Constitution.

June 1994

Solomon Gafabusa Iguru I is enthroned as the twentyseventh king of Bunyoro-Kitara Kingdom.

November 1994 President Yoweri Museveni reshuffles the cabinet naming Dr. Specioza Kazibwe as Uganda’s first ever woman vice president. December 1994

The NRM interim period extended until after the general elections to be held under the new Constitution.

February 1995

IMF and World Bank establish the Ugandan Multilateral Debt Fund (UMDF).

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A group of about 30 people attack Buwambo police post in Mpigi district. The group claims to be fighting for federalism. Cabinet extends the term of office for the incumbent resistance council committees until after the new constitution is in force. The NRA attacks rebels based in Buseruka, Hoima, and kills sixty-three. March 1995

After a crucial and much publicized debate, the CA delegates vote to reject a proposed amendment to Article 201 of the draft constitution that would create a Federal system of government based on regions. A group, led by Maj. Robert Itongwa, an NRA deserter, claiming to be a Federo Army fighting the NRM government, kidnaps the Minister of Health Dr. James Makumbi.

April 1995

Kony’s Lord’s Resistance (LRA) massacre at least 150 people at Atiak in Gulu district. Uganda severs diplomatic relations with Sudan.

June 1995

The CA rejects a motion for a return to multiparty political system. Multiparty advocates walk out of CA. Dr. Paul Kawanga Semogerere resigns from the NRM government.

September 1995

The CA enacts the new constitution.

October 1995

The CA promulgates the new constitution of Uganda.

December 1995

The presidential and parliamentary elections (interim provisions) bill (1995) is tabled before NRC.

January 1996

The interim Electoral Commission, under the chairmanship of Stephen Akabway, the former commissioner for the CA, is sworn in.

February 1996

Henry Waako Muloki is enthroned as king (Kyabazinga) of Busoga Kingdom.

May 1996

The incumbent president, Yoweri Kaguta Museveni, wins Uganda’s first ever direct presidential elections, defeating challenger Paul Kawanga Ssemogerere and Mohammed Kibirige Mayanja. Yoweri Museveni sworn in as the country’s first directly elected president.

June 1996

Local and national legislative “no-party” elections are held. Local councils replace Resistance Committees, and a 276-member Parliament replaces the NRC.

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October 1996

207

Traders and other businessmen in Kampala begin six-day closedown strike in protest over the introduction of a new tax, the Value Added Tax. It is the most widespread strike of its kind in Uganda since independence, reaching most other towns in the country. IMF and World Bank launch the Highly Indebted Poor Countries (HIPC) program.

January 1997

Universal Primary Education (UPE) was launched. Enrollment shoots up from 2.5 million to 5.6 million children. The Leadership Code meant to curb corruption and abuse of office among political and public figures takes effect.

March 1997

Local Governments Act is established to guide “Local Councils.” The council system encourages extensive civilian participation in the areas of local government. The Resistance Council (RC) system ends.

April 1997

World Bank designates Uganda as the first country to receive HIPC debt relief.

May 1997

Government bans examination fees in Primary 1 through 6 under the Universal Primary Education.

July 1997

Movement Bill is passed by Parliament. The Movement Act requires all Ugandan adults to become members of the Movement system.

September 1997

Ministry of Planning and Economic Development sets the implementation of the Poverty Eradication Action Plan (PEAP), a twenty-year development framework to reduce poverty to 10 percent by 2017.

November 1997 Nationwide local elections are held. December 1997

Parliament finally passes amendment licencing a Second National Operator (SNO) before the Uganda Telecommunications Limited, a new company to be created from the Uganda Posts and Telecommunications Corporation (UP&TC).

January 1998

Government awards South African telecommunications giant, Mobile Telephone Networks (MTN), the tender to establish another telecommunication network in Uganda, breaking the monopoly enjoyed by the UP&TC.

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March 1998

Uganda becomes the first country to benefit from a new World Bank grant-credit initiative by receiving US$185 million to improve education. President Bill Clinton visits Uganda.

April 1998

IMF certifies Uganda’s HIPC qualification.

June 1998

Ministry of Internal Affairs purchases Kireka barracks.

August 1998

President Museveni orders the Ugandan army to intervene in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) to combat rebel insurgencies. The army occupies the northwest DRC for the next three years.

November 1998 The Ministry of Works announces the completion of rehabilitation work on 60 percent of the total trunk road network in Uganda. January 1999

President Yoweri Museveni begins a 200km walk to trace NRA guerilla bases in Luweero triangle and find ways to improve household incomes. The 40,202-seat Mandela National Stadium is opened at a colorful ceremony witnessed by thousands of Ugandans and foreign guests.

February 1999

Winnie Byanyima, Mbarara Municipality MP, sacked as the Movement secretariat director of information.

March 1999

Renegade Rwanda Army militia (Interahamwe) attacks Bwindi Impenetrable National Park in Western Uganda, killing the warden for Community Conservation, John Ross Wagaba, and abducting 32 tourists. Seventeen tourists later escaped. Government starts peace talks with Uganda National Rescue Front II rebels.

April 1999

President Museveni calls for a major constitutional review. Investments in Uganda reach US$1.43 billion mark. Government lifts the nationwide ban on the sale of fish.

May 1999

Museveni offers Kony a carrot, appointment to the cabinet, if he is democratically elected. IMF suspends US$18 million loan to protest Uganda’s military involvement in the DRC.

June 1999

DRC president, Laurent Kabila, brings charges at the International Criminal Court of Justice (ICJ) against Uganda for territorial aggression.

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July 1999

Parliament passes the Referendum and Other Provisions Act #2.

September 1999

President Museveni confirms Uganda’s withdrawal from the DRC.

December 1999

Parliament passes bill granting general amnesty to all rebels.

January 2000

Ugandan government presents a Poverty Reduction Strategy Paper in qualifying for the Enhanced HIPC initiative.

February 2000

IMF and IDA agree to increase Uganda’s HIPC relief; bringing the total to US$2 billion.

March 2000

Uganda’s economic reform progresses and reaches the completion point of the “enhanced HIPC framework.”

June 2000

Five UPDF battalions pull out of the DRC, in addition to the two that withdrew in April. A referendum is held to decide the future of Uganda’s political system. The movement system receives 4,322,901 (90.7%) votes, while the multiparty side gains 442,823 (9.7%), 51.1% of registered voters cast their votes in a poll boycotted by mainstream political parties. The movement system is extended for another five years.

July 2000

Parliament passes the Political Parties and Organizations (PPOA) Bill into law.

August 2000

The Constitutional Court declares the Referendum Act of 1999 null and void. The court cites violations of parliamentary procedure and lack of quorum (articles 88 and 89) for its ruling. Parliament passes (in one day) the Constitution (Amendment) Act 13, which amended the process (procedures) by which a bill could become law. This was to overcome the objections of the Constitutional Court in its ruling against the 1999 Referendum Act. The amendment gave retrospective effect to the 2000 Referendum Act and thus enabled the June referendum. President Bill Clinton visits Uganda.

September 2000

“Paris Club” cancels US$145 million of Uganda’s debt under the HIPC initiative. President Museveni carries out a minor cabinet reshuffle with the most important change being that of Moses Ali who was relieved of the Trade, Tourism and Industry portfolio and appointed minister of internal affairs. Edward

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Rugumayo was moved from the Ministry of Internal Affairs to Ali’s former ministry. Parliament turns down President Museveni’s request to revisit the National Security Council (NSC) Bill that had already become law. The president wanted the punishment for an NSC member who released information without authorization to be changed from a 14-year jail sentence to death penalty or imprisonment for life. October 2000

Kizza Besigye announces his plans to enter the 2001 presidential race as a Movement candidate.

December 2000

Vice President Dr. Specioza Kazibwe launches the Plan for Modernisation of Agriculture (PMA) with a call on local leaders to embrace it “for maximum achievement in agriculture in the country.”

January 2001

President Museveni launches his reelection campaign with a promise of free secondary education. Uganda Telecom Limited launches its mobile phone facility in Kampala.

February 2001

The government abolishes cost sharing in all its health centers.

March 2001

Ugandans vote in the second presidential elections since the enactment of the 1995 constitution. The contestants included the incumbent Yoweri Museveni, Kizza Besigye, Aggrey Awori, Francis Bwengye, Chappa Karuhanga, and Kibirige Mayanja. Yoweri Kaguta Museveni is declared winner of the 2001 general elections. He is to serve another five-year term. Besigye files a petition with the Uganda Supreme Court asking it to overturn the 2001 presidential election results, alleging widespread fraud, violence, and intimidation.

May 2001

Yoweri Kaguta Museveni swears in as president of the Republic of Uganda.

June 2001

Ugandans vote in a legislative election to fill all 282 seats in Parliament. The Julia Sebutinde Commission submits its report concerning the scandal over the purchase of obsolete helicopters from Belarus. The report recommends prosecution of Museveni’s brother Salim Saleh for accepting a US$ 800,000 bribe. The report also implicates President Museveni as the authorizing government official.

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July 2001

President Museveni sets up a judicial commission of inquiry under British judge David Porter to probe allegations by the UN that the UPDF and the presidents close family members were involved in looting natural resources from the DRC.

August 2001

Kiiza Besigye, Museveni’s main presidential challenger, flees to the United States on account of claims about government harassment.

September 2001

President Yoweri Museveni receives an award for his exemplary leadership in the fight against HIV/AIDS. Government avails drug for the Prevention of Mother-toChild HIV transmission (PMCTC) free of charge to all pregnant women who test HIV positive. Uganda reopens embassy in Khartoum as part of the peace overtures to restore diplomatic relations broken in 1995. Heritage Oil and Gas deposit a cash bond of Ug. shs. 875 million with government as a guarantee that they will drill oil near Lake Albert.

October 2001

World Bank hails Uganda Investment Authority (UIA) as one of the best promotion agencies in Africa.

November 2001 Deputy Chief Justice Laetitia Kikonyogo launches the National Community Service program in Mukono district, with three petty offenders sentenced to 100 hours of community work. East African Legislative Assembly and Court of Justice are inaugurated at Sheikh Amri Abeid stadium, Arusha, in Tanzania. December 2001

The Uganda Road Safety Initiative is launched at the Sheraton Hotel following the death of four sports journalists in August 2001.

January 2002

Ugandans go to the polls to elect the chairpersons and councilors for the subcounties, town councils, and municipal divisions. The second volume of the Primary school curriculum is launched. Agriculture, Religious Education, Performing Arts, and Physical Education (PAPE) to be taught and examined as separate subjects. Construction of the 250MW US$550 million Hydroelectric power plant at Bujagali on the River Nile is launched. A US$23 million (Ug. shs. 34.5 billion) water project to benefit 163,000 people in four Central Uganda districts is

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commissioned. The project is a joint partnerhip between Uganda and Japan through the Japan International Cooperation Agency (JICA). February 2002

The UPDF launches a new project to construct low-cost houses for needy people of Luweero triangle who contributed to the NRA liberation struggle twenty-one years ago. Ugandans go to the polls for the LC5 chairpersons. Uganda announces the first ever export agreement of instant coffee to China and the United States under the Africa Growth and Opportunities Act (AGOA).

March 2002

Government launches a twenty-five-year strategy worth US$108 million to improve agricultural extension services in the country. Government wins a crucial parliamentary vote allowing it to lease more than 1,000 hectares of Butamira forest reserve to the Madhvani group of companies. Two UPDF soldiers are executed by a firing squad after being found guilty of killing an Irish priest and two office workers on the Kotido—Moroto road.

April 2002

The Privatisation Unit (PU) completes the sale of 108 public enterprises (PEs) with only thirty-eight remaining for sale. Rebel leader, Maj. Gen. Ali Bamuze of the Uganda National Rescue Front II, renounces rebellion and returns home with 1,350 fighters.

May 2002

The UPDF armored battalion launches an operation in Kotido district to recover illegal guns from the Jie warriors who have been raiding cattle from their neighbors. (The U.S. government extends a US$290 million aid package toward poverty eradication in Uganda.) Parliament passes the Political Organisations Act (POA) 2002 amid acrimony and a walkout by multipartyists and moderate movementists. The movement voted by 148 against one to restrict activities of political parties and organizations at the national level. Sixty MPs mainly multipartyists, reformists, and moderate movementists walked out. The Sudan government extends up to June the period for UPDF’s operation “Iron Fist” against Kony rebels in the Sudan.

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Uganda’s antiterrorism law take effect. Museveni’s opponents say the law will be used to curb domestic political reforms and constrain legitimate political opposition. June 2002

Malaria campaign is launched. The World Bank board of executive directors approves the Inspection Panels report on Bujagali and other power projects in Uganda.

July 2002

The European Union gives a grant of 4.5 million euros (Ug. shs. 8 billion) to support Uganda’s program for trade opportunities and policy (UPTOP). Government secures US$375 million (Ug. shs. 676 billion) for rural electrification.

August 2002

Government names team for peace talks with Joseph Kony’s LRA rebels.

September 2002

Ugandans stay at home to be counted in the ninth census since the first one in 1911. The Danish Government boosts Uganda’s prevention of mother-to-child transmission of HIV/AIDS program (PMTCT) with a US$400,000 (over Ug. shs. 645 million) grant.

October 2002

Preliminary results of the 2002 National Population and Housing Census reveal that Uganda has a population of 24.6 million people. Drilling of oil in Uganda’s western rift valley starts. Police raid the offices of the Kampala daily The Monitor and close it down for a week. Two editors and one reporter are arrested and charged for endangering national security by publishing a story claiming that a UPDF helicopter had crashed while engaging the LRA.

November 2002

The Porter Commission presents its final report regarding UN allegations that the UPDF had looted natural resources from the DRC. The report singled out Salim Saleh and his wife, and Maj. Gen. James Kazini as key actors.

December 2002

President Yoweri Museveni flags off 164,000 pairs of men’s shorts to America, the first textile export under the AGOA initiative.

January 2003

The multimillion state-of-the-art Apparels Tri-Star Uganda limited plant at Bugolobi is launched. Baganda present their documented views, proposals, and aspirations to the Constitutional Review Commission (CRC).

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February 2003

Church of Uganda House project for the construction of a sixteen-story complex on plot 34, Kampala Road, is commissioned.

March 2003

Uganda was leading its two neighbors, Kenya and Tanzania, in attracting foreign direct investment inflows (FDI). President Yoweri Museveni asks the National Executive Committee (NEC), the Movement’s highest decisionmaking organ, to free political parties. However, the return to multipartyism would be subjected to a referendum. He also recommends a review of the presidential two-term limit, Art. 105(2) of the 1995 Constitution. Constitutional Court rules that the Movement was a political organization. The return to a multiparty system of government is endorsed by the Ugandan people in a referendum. This ends the Movement political system. The Uganda Constitutional Court strikes down articles 18 and 19 of the Political Parties and Organizations Act (PPOA) that aimed t suppressing the activities of opposition political parties. The Court also rules that the Movement was not a political “system” but a political organization.

April 2003

Batch of 1,500 UPDF soldiers leave Bunia, Congo, destined for Uganda.

May 2003

Donors hail Uganda’s economic performance as exemplary and announce that they would ensure that their markets remain open to Ugandan exports. Withdrawal of UPDF troops from the DRC is completed. President Museveni reshuffles his cabinet and drops longtime NRM backers, Eriya Kategaya, Jaberi Bidandi Ssali, and Miria Matembe. Vice President Specioza Kazibwe resigns and is replaced by Gilbert Bukenya. The cabinet is expanded from 41 to 67 ministers.

June 2003

GDP grows by 4.9 percent, the lowest rate in sixteen years.

July 2003

President George W. Bush visits Uganda.

July 2003

Radio Veritas Kyoga is closed down by the government for purportedly broadcasting information helpful to rebels.

August 2003

Former military dictator and President of Uganda Idi Amin dies.

September 2003

Movement (Amendment) Bill is passed into law to prepare the way for a change in political systems.

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Museveni’s brother Salim Saleh resigns his seat in Parliament which he held as one of the army’s nominations. October 2003

The Uganda Investment Authority (UIA) licenses 49 projects worth US$178,646,826. Launch of measles immunization campaign. Inter-Governmental Authority on Development (IGAD) summit opens in Kampala. Uganda takes the chair. National Political Commissar Crispus Kiyonga is appointed to head talks with the opposition regarding the transition to a multiparty system.

November 2003 Assets and liabilities, declared to the Inspector General of Government (IGG) by the forty-four ministers of state, are published for public scrutiny. Multipartyists announce they are ready for talks with the Movement leadership on the country’s transition to pluralism, ahead of the 2006 general elections. Currency note of Ug. shs. 50,000 denomination goes into circulation. December 2003

The CRC hands over its report to the minister of justice and constitutional affairs. The report findings are made public in March recommending a national referendum to decide the “third term” issue. Five Uganda members of Parliament (MPs) are elected to the African Union Parliament. President Museveni carries out a major purge of the army leadership. A total of 60 officers are sent on forced leave pending investigations and possible court martials. Highranking officers forced out include, Brig. Nakibus Lakara, Col. Fred Tolit, Maj Gen. James Kazini, Brig. Henry Tumukunde, and Brig. Stephen Kashaka. President Museveni writes to the Army Promotions and Commissions Board asking for permission to retire from the UPDF. He declares his intention to devote his efforts to developing the NRM-O upon retirement from the UPDF. The UPDF High Command allows Lt. Gen. Yoweri Museveni to retire from the armed forces. Vice President Gilbert Bukenya and Prime Minister Nsibambi submit proposals to the Constitutional Review Commission, seeking amendments to 88 articles of the 1995 constitution. Among them was the repeal of article 105(2) so as to remove presidential term limits. Also

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included in the proposals are amendments to articles 69, 70, 71, and 72 so as to allow multiparty politics and the introduction of a federal element into the political structure of Uganda. January 2004

A group of MPs launch a campaign against the two-term presidential limit at a funds-drive in Rushenyi archdeaconry in Ntungamo. The first face-to-face meeting between the multiparty and the Movement leaders kicks off. The supreme court rules that the Constitutional (Amendment) Act 13 of 2000 was null and void because the procedure for amending the constitution had not been followed.

February 2004

The Uganda Supreme Court rules in the case of Obbo and Another versus Attorney General that the offence under section 50 of the penal code was too vague and conjectural to provide the necessary certainty required to impose an acceptable limitation on freedom of expression.

March 2004

The presidents of Kenya, Uganda, and Tanzania sign a protocol to set up a Customs Union at a stadium in the northern town of Arusha.

April 2004

Renegade UPDF officer, Maj. Herbert Itongwa, is charged with war crimes in Denmark. Former Speaker of Parliament and NRM Political Commisar James Wapakhabulo dies. President Yoweri Museveni is promoted to the rank of general and retired from the army. But, he says as Commander in Chief he will continue fighting terrorists such as Joseph Kony.

May 2004

Government sells Uganda Electricity Distribution Company Limited (UEDCL) to a UK-South African group in a deal that promises at least US$65 million (Ug. shs. 125 billion) invested over the next five years. Government pledges to increase electricity access in rural areas from just 1 percent in 2003 to up to 10 percent by 2012.

June 2004

Uganda hosts the ninth Common Market for East and Southern Africa (COMESA) business summit in Kampala at the International Conference Centre. President Museveni takes the chair from Omar el Bashir of Sudan.

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The Constitutional Court declares the Referendum Act 2000 unconstitutional. The court rules that it was not passed in conformity with the procedures set out by the constitution and therefore that the 2000 referendum was null and void. The NRM government appeals this decision to the supreme court. The latter upheld the ruling of the Constitutional Court but ruled the results of the Referendum valid. July 2004

Uganda’s political roadmap to 2006 is released. Presidential and parliamentary elections to be held between February and March, 2006. Brigadier Kenneth Banya, a Kony planner is captured by the UPDF at Atiak 60km north of Gulu town. A US$150 million BIDCO oil palm project is commissioned at Bwendero on Kalangala Island. Government secures US$164 million credit from the World Bank to finance the ten-year Rural Electrification Programme.

August 2004

National HIV/AIDS sero prevalence survey launched. President Yoweri Museveni is elected chair of the interim executive council of the National Resistance Movement (NRM). Launch of the construction of the 21 km-long Ug. shs. 105 billion Kampala Northern Bypass. Three opposition groups—Refrom Agenda (RA), The Parliamentary Advocacy Reform (Pafo) and the National Democratic Forum (NDF) merge and form a new party called the Forum for Democratic Change (FDC).

September 2004

The supreme court rules that the results of the 2000 referendum on political systems was valid although the 2000 Referendum Act under which it was held was null and void. Government sets aside Ug. shs. 270 billion for entandikwa (start up) loans for low-income earners and the unemployed. Government white paper on constitutional review process is presented to Parliament.

October 2004

Interim leadership of the National Resistance Movement Organisation (NRM-O) party is named.

November 2004 Bidandi Ssali resigns as 2nd Vice chair of the NRM-O. He cites unhappiness over the Shs 5 million given to Movement MPS for drumming up support in their constituencies for a third term for President Museveni.

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The FDCS application for political party status is gazetted—government spokesman Nsaba Buturvo says that FDC’s registration would be completed by December. December 2004

Acholi religious and civic leaders and United Nations officials meet LRA rebel commanders in a bush in Kitgum.

January 2005

President Yoweri Museveni ordered the army to resume attacks against the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) rebels after last minute hitches scuttled a truce agreement. Government negotiators hand over an improved version of a proposed cease-fire agreement to the LRA leader, Joseph Kony. The chief mediator, Betty Bigombe, delivers the memorandum. Sudan’s first vice president, Col. Dr. John Garang, vows to flush LRA rebel leader Joseph Kony out of Southern Sudan if he does not accept negotiations to end the northern war. Museveni reshuffles his cabinet, a move observers say will strengthen his hold on power and minimize disagreements in government ahead of a crucial national debate over the lifting of presidential term limits. The government warns of serious food shortages in the northeastern Karamoja region, where 70 percent of some 700,000 pastoralists are estimated to be in need of food. The United Nations World Food Program announces that it has already started feeding 60,000 children under the school-feeding program and will feed up to 500,000 people in the region by June. The Ugandan Health Ministry warns that children in northern districts could face the risk of contracting polio, following a reported outbreak of the disease in neighboring Sudan. The ministry announces a plan to conduct two rounds of supplementary polio vaccinations, targeting children up to five years, in the districts bordering Sudan. Three people are killed and 30,000 left homeless following a wave of fires that strikes a number of camps for the Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs) in the north. The camps are home to more than 1.6 million people displaced by the war.

February 2005

Uganda denies allegations in a UN report that it had continued to violate a UN-imposed arms embargo in eastern DRC. President Yoweri Museveni offers the LRA rebels an eighteen-day truce from February 4, 2005 to pave way for

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talks to end the war that has destabilized northern Uganda since 1987. FDC party is launched in Kampala and it immediately kicks off its election campaign with Rizza Besigye as its candidate for president in the 2006 elections. Besigye is to be endorsed by a delegates conference in May. The Buganda Lukiiko (Parliament) endorses the federo proposals agreed between Mengo and the government. The long-awaited Omnibus Constitution (Amendment) Bill is presented to Parliament. It seeks to amend 120 articles of the 1995 constitution. LRA Chief Spokesman, Brig. Sam Kolo Otto, surrenders to UPDF in Gulu. A policy paper drafted by Finance Minister Dr. Ezra Suruma is published in the press (The New Vision) outlining a radical shift in Uganda’s economic philosophy. The policy paper proposes a move to interventionist model of macroeconomic management away from the neoliberal, laissez-faire approach. A revised political roadmap is released, stating that the general elections for the president, MPs, and LC5 chiefs is to take place between February 12, 2006 and March 12, 2006. Prime Minister Apolo Nsibambi launches the first ever national policy to improve the lives of Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs) at Speke Resort, Munyonyo. The fortypage document is the first of its kind in Africa. Butebo County MP, Dr. Stephen Malinga, crosses from the UPC party to the Movement at a rally addressed by President Museveni at Budaka subcounty headquarters. March 2005

The NRM acquires a prime land—plot 38, Harrington Road—in Kampala City, where it plans to build its headquarters. President Museveni says the political crusade that he described as Ekisanja (third term) was intended to safeguard the achievements of the Movement from opposition. Three MPs instruct their lawyers to file a case in the Constitutional Court challenging the legality of the Omnibus Constitutional Amendment Bill before the Parliament. MPs Abdu Katuntu (Bugweri), Ben Wacha (Oyam North), and Miria Matembe (Mbarara Women Representative) argue that it is unconstitutional for the

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executive to bring one bill seeking to amend 120 articles of the 1995 Constitution. Bob Geldof, Irish rock star and developing world campaigner, in an impassioned speech at the launch of Tony Blair’s Commission for Africa report in London, says President Yoweri Museveni should not stand for a third term. Cabinet agrees to revise the controversial Omnibus Constitutional Amendment Bill after MPs and the Judiciary questioned its legality and the way it was presented. The cabinet agrees to separate the parts that had been lumped together in the original bill. President Yoweri Museveni tells members of the NRM parliamentary group that he wants to remain active in national politics even when he retires. Army Commander Lt Gen. Aronda Nyakairima halts the operations of Access Finance Services (AFS) in Bombo barracks. The company was offering loans to soldiers at 54 percent interest. The 2002 Uganda Population and Housing Census reports that Uganda’s population has grown to about 26.8 million. The government directs district officials to let registered political parties operate normally and warns of punitive measures against those who ignore the directive. Chief peace negotiator Betty Bigombe returns to the country to restart efforts to broker peace for war-torn northern Uganda. Leaders from the north arrive in The Hague to ask the International Criminal Court (ICC) to refrain from issuing arrest warrants against LRA leaders. In 2004, the ICC initiated investigations into northern Uganda and then announced plans to issue arrest warrants for the top leadership of the LRA, including Kony. Local leaders fear the warrants would jeopardize the peace process. New York–based lobby group Human Rights Watch criticizes Uganda’s policy shift toward “abstinence-only programmes” to curb the spread of HIV/AIDS, saying it could reverse significant gains made in the fight against the pandemic. Uganda had been widely acclaimed for its success in the fight against HIV/AIDS, managing to bring prevalence rates down from more than 20 percent in the late 1980s to around 6 percent. Seventeen demonstrators, protesting proposals that would allow Museveni to seek a third tem in office, are arrested in the capital, Kampala.

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April 2005

Installation of a 50-megawatt (MW) thermal electricity generating plant to reduce the number of load-shedding days begins. Parliament rescinds its earlier rejection of a motion for a resolution to hold a referendum to change the political system, 189 voted in favor of the reversal while 24 voted against. The International Court of Justice (ICJ) at The Hague begins hearing a case brought by the DRC accusing Uganda of invading its territory and committing human rights violations. The DRC is seeking “compensation from Uganda in respect of all acts of looting, destruction, removal of property.” UNHCR says some 1,118 Rwandans have crossed into southwestern Uganda since April 1. They are thought to be fleeing arrest and prosecution by Rwanda’s traditional justice tribunals, or gacaca, which were set up to try suspects of the 1994 Rwandan genocide, in which an estimated 937,000 Tutsis and moderate Hutus were murdered. Over 1,100 of the asylum-seekers are later denied asylum by the Uganda government and advised to return home. Great Britain announces that it will withhold some 5 million pounds (US$9.6 million) in budgetary support for the Ugandan government over concerns about the pace of the country’s political transition. Ugandan opposition groups welcome the move, but the government insists the transition is being handled in a transparent manner.

May 2005

The National Resistance Movement (NRM) launches an ambitious mobilization program to recruit 8,000,000 voters out of the 12,000,000 eligible voters countrywide ahead of 2006 elections. Ugandan parliament votes in favor of holding a referendum in July in which Ugandans would decide on whether to return to a multiparty system of government. The World Bank gives Uganda $4.2 million to fund a project to resettle an estimated 11,000 former rebel fighters. In 2000, the Uganda government enacted an amnesty law that granted unconditional amnesty to any Ugandan engaged in armed rebellion who surrendered and denounced violence.

June 2005

Industrial nations agree to immediately write off US$40 billion of multilateral debt owed by eighteen of the world’s poorest countries, including Uganda.

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In the first round of voting Parliament shows overwhelming support for Constitutional Amendment No. 3 that lifts presidential term limits: 232 MPs voted for, 50 against and 1 abstention. Army representative Col. Fred Bogere abstained. President Museveni announces the abolition of graduated tax in the state of the nation address. A new tax would replace graduated tax. In the same speech Museveni announces that government would assume the responsibility of paying salaries of district chairpersons, district executive members, subcounty and town council chairpersons. Museveni also announces a Constituency Development Fund in which each constituency would receive Ug. shs. 10 million per year to fund development projects. MPs would also receive the equivalent of 6,060 dollars per year per person. Fundraising by MPs would be illegal following amendment of the leadership code. Museveni pledges to forgive Kony if he surrenders to government forces, assuring him that he will receive the same treatment and immunity from persecution as other former LRA commanders such as former rebel spokesman Kolo. UNHCR reports that at least 7,000 Sudanese refugees fleeing ethnic tension and food shortages have crossed into Uganda, joining some 160,000 Sudanese refugees already in the country. In Kampala, police use tear gas and water cannons to disperse dozens of demonstrators protesting a plan to amend the constitution to remove presidential term limits. July 2005

Sudan’s Vice President John Garang is killed in a helicopter crash as he returns home to Sudan after two days of talks with President Museveni in Uganda. Thirteen Ugandans also killed including President Museveni’s chief pilot Col. Nyakairu. Referendum on political systems is held, 92.5 percent of voters favor return to multiparty system but unofficial voter turnout is listed at 30 percent with the Electoral Commission putting it at 47 percent. Parliament approves the creation of 20 new districts, and proposals for two more are sent into committee. The Ugandan army reports that three weeks earlier it had killed Ali Kony, eldest son of LRA leader Joseph Kony, and rebel chief-of-staff Maj. Gen. Lakati Owor.

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Uganda achieves its targets for the number of HIV-positive people accessing antiretroviral (ARV) therapy six months earlier than anticipated. It had intended to have 60,000 people on the life-prolonging drugs by the end of 2005, but by July, over 65,000 were receiving the treatment. At least forty armed Uganda cattle rustlers are killed by Kenyan warriors and security forces when they cross into neighboring Kenya to raid cattle. The incident reinforces the need to disarm the Kenya-Uganda border communities, which are notorious for cattle rustling and violence. August 2005

K-FM radio, a subsidiary of Monitor Publications Ltd. is closed down and talk show host Andrew Mwenda is arrested and detained on sedition charges. The health ministry reports that a rare strain of cholera bacteria has claimed the lives of 56 people and infected 2,200 others in several areas of Uganda over the past four months. IDPs in the north are particularly susceptible, given that they live on less than three litres of water per day, far below the 15-litre-a-day international recommendation. First Deputy Prime Minister Lt. Gen. Moses Ali warns former fighters of Uganda National Rescue Front (UNRF) II against resuming armed rebellion. High court orders immediate release (on bail) of 12 treason suspects allegedly connected with the People Redemption Army (PRA) and detained for two years without trial. They were captured in Ituri Province of eastern DRC in 2003. Salva Kiir is sworn in as vice president of Sudan, replacing the late Col. John Garang. A new report by the Ugandan health ministry and its partners finds that an estimated 1,000 people displaced by the nineteen-year war in northern Uganda die every week from violence or disease, notably malaria and HIV/AIDS. The Global Fund to Fight AIDS, Tuberculosis, and Malaria temporarily suspends all of its grants to Uganda and asks the Ministry of Finance to put in place a mechanism for ensuring effective management.

September 2005

A major road linking northern Uganda and southern Sudanese garrison town of Juba is reopened after almost two decades of disuse and insecurity. The road is expected to improve commerce between the two countries. Hundreds of LRA soldiers—under the leadership of LRA deputy commander-in-chief Vincent Otti—flee Sudan for

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northeastern DRC. Uganda demands that the Congolese government disarm and extradite the insurgents and threatens to invade its western neighbor, should they fail to do so. Kinshasa vows to resist any invasion and later sends 2,000 troops to the northeastern town of Aba to attempt to disarm the rebels. The International Monetary Fund (IMF) announces cancellation of $3.7 billion of Uganda’s debt. The Parliamentary Committee on Legal and Parliamentary Affairs starts holding hearings on the Political Organizations Bill 2005 that would replace the Political Organizations Act 2002 and move Uganda into a multiparty system. Lords Resistance Army (LRA) leaders relocate to the Democratic Republic of Congo. Uganda seeks quick arrest warrants for them. Uganda pays Cable News Network (CNN) US$1million to promote the country as a tourist destination. British MPs, 119 in all, sign and forward a petition to Prime Minister Tony Blair in London calling for free and fair elections in Uganda. The petition is in support of a letter written by Sam Akaki the external coordinator and lobbyist for the Forum for Democratic Change (FDC). October 2005

The International Criminal Court (ICC) issues arrest warrants for five senior LRA members, including Kony and Otti. The move is met with mixed reactions—the EU praises the effort to end impunity, but local northern leaders say it is the final nail in the coffin of the fragile peace process. President Museveni shuffles army and promotes Lt. Gen. Aronda Nyakairima to chief of defense forces of the UPDF. Inspector General of Police Maj. Gen. Katumba Wamala is promoted to the post of lietenant general and named commander of the land forces. UPDF’s Chief Political Commissar Kale Kayihura is promoted to Major Gen. and appointed Inspector General of Police. Former President Milton Obote dies in a South African hospital and is buried in his home town of Akokoro, Apac district. Dr John Sentamu is confirmed pending enthronement as ninety-seventh archbishop of York at a ceremony at St. Mary-le-Bow, Cheapside, London.

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Col Kiiza Besigye, Uganda’s opposition leader, returns home after four years of self-imposed exile in South Africa. Besigye, who lost to Museveni in his presidential bid in 2001, is chosen as the candidate for the main opposition party FDC. LRA rebels in the north kill two humanitarian workers. The next day, relief agencies suspend all nonessential field missions as a precautionary measure until the situation is reviewed. Another aid worker is killed in early November, further threatening humanitarian activity in the north. November 2005 The Global Fund to Fight AIDS, Tuberculosis, and Malaria lifts its suspension of grants to Uganda, citing the country’s “intensive efforts” to rectify “serious mismanagement” of funding. NRM-O National Delegates Conference ends in Kampala after nominating president Museveni as party chair and presidential candidate for the 2006 general elections. Museveni threatens to suspend judges and magistrates who pass “biased” judgments over land issues. Kampala Mayor John Ssebaana Kizito is elected Democratic Party (DP) president general by the party’s delegates conference. Kizito is to top the DP presidential ticket. Police arrest Besigye on charges of treason and rape. He is accused of leading an armed, DRC-based insurgency, the People’s Redemption Army (PRA), and is also linked to the LRA. Besigye is denied bail and is also charged by a military court of terrorism and illegal possession of weapons. His arrest provokes violent riots across Kampala and leads to local and international criticism of the government’s handling of the case. Parliament votes to amend the constitution in order to repeal Art. 105(a) of the constitution and thus lift presidential term limits. Over 30 armed men from a new unit of the Military Intelligence, also known as the Black Mamba Urban Hit Squad, cordon off the premises of the high court during the hearing of the bail application for FDC presidential candidate Kizza Besigye and fourteen others accused of treason. Judge Edmund Sempa Lugayizi withdraws from the treason case, citing intimidation. The Uganda Law Society plans protest against government intimidation of the judiciary.

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The Commonwealth selects Uganda as the venue for its 2007 summit. December 2005

Great Britain cuts another 15 million pounds (US$26.4 million) in direct assistance to Uganda due to concerns about democracy. Similar measures had been taken throughout the year by Ireland, the Netherlands, Norway, and Sweden, with several of them questioning the government’s commitment to democratic reform. The International Court of Justice (ICJ) rules that Uganda violated the nonuse of force in international relations and of nonintervention when it invaded the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) in 2003. Uganda is ordered to pay US$10 billion in compensation. The ICJ also found the DRC in violation of obligations owed to Uganda under the Vienna Convention on Diplomatic Relations of 1961 when its armed forces attacked the Ugandan embassy in Kinshasa and maltreated Ugandan diplomats and other individuals on the embassy premises.

January 2006

Uganda introduces new regulations for foreign journalists and shifts accreditation from the legally mandated Media Council to the newly formed Media Center. All foreign journalists are forced to re-register and get clearance from the Media Center before traveling more than 100 km outside Kampala. Accreditation for a Canadian journalist is withheld and that of BBC reporter Will Ross cut from one year to four months. President Museveni launches the NRM-O manifesto for 2006 at the Kampala Sheraton Hotel. High Court Justice John Bosco Katutsi refuses to dismiss the rape case against FDC President Kizza Besigye saying that he has a case to answer. Opposition MPs Reagan Okumu and Michael Ocula are acquitted of murder. The two were accused of masterminding the death of Movement chairman, Alfred Bongomin of Pabo subcounty, Gulu.

February 2006

First multiparty presidential and parliamentary elections held in Uganda in over two decades. President Museveni wins a third term with 59 percent of the vote. FDC presidential candidate Kizza Besigye garnered 37 percent. First Lady Janet Museveni wins the Ruhaama parliamentary seat European Union (EU) observers endorse the February 23 general elections.

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The Buganda parliament (Lukiiko) rejects the regional tier system proposed under the Constitutional Amendment Act (CAA) that was enacted in 2005. The CAA provides for regional governments headed by a directly elected chief executive and calls for the Buganda Katikiro (prime minister) to be directly elected. High Court Justice John Bosco Katutsi withdraws from the Kizza Besigye treason case, citing health and conflict-ofinterest reasons, and claims by some government officials (e.g. Gen. David Tinyefuza) that he was biased in his rulings. President Museveni and the UPDF Army Council hold their last session in the life of the Movement government. March 2006

FDC presidential candidate Kizza Besigye files petition in supreme court challenging the results of the February 2006 polls and asking for a new election. Besigye accuses the NRM of intimidation, lack of freedom and transparency, unfairness, and violence. Government opens account at the Bank of Uganda for the deposit of refunds from those who misappropriated monies from the Global Fund to Fight AIDS, Tuberculosis, and Malaria. Parliament passes the Labor Disputes (arbitration and settlement) Bill 2005. It is announced that a Joint Country Coordination and Monitoring Committee (JCCMC) is to be launched for the recovery and development of northern Uganda. The JCCMC would include government officials and representatives from the United States, Norway, the United Kingdom, the Netherlands, Canada, South Africa, the World Bank, WFP, UNDP, and civil society groups such as Civil Society Organization for Peace in Northern Uganda and the Northern NGO Forum. The Electoral Commission (EC) officially releases results of 302 members of the eighth Parliament. NRM has 187 members, 37 are independents, FDC has 35, UPC 13, DP 9 and CP and Jeema have one each.

April 2006

Supreme Court rules 4–3 in favor of President Yoweri Museveni and the Electoral Commission in the election petition filed by the Forum for Democratic Change (FDC) that sought to nullify President Museveni’s victory in the February 23 poll.

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May 2006

Yoweri Museveni is sworn in for a third term as president at Kololo Ceremonial Grounds. Edward Ssekandi and Rebecca Kadaga are elected, unopposed, as speaker and deputy speaker respectively. Ssekandi presides over the first session of the eighth Parliament. Nasser Sebaggala is sworn in as LC5 chairman of Kampala at KCC gardens. LRA leader Joseph Kony is reportedly given at least US$20,000 by the southern Sudanese government to buy food.

June 2006

President Museveni announces his cabinet for the third term. Eriya Kategaya returns to the NRM government as first deputy prime minister and minister of East African affairs.

July 2006

President Museveni meets members of the opposition for the first time since the February general elections. Divestiture Reform and Implementation Committee approves the US$ 33.5 million sale of Kinyara Sugar Works to RAI of Kenya. Omoro County MP Jacob Oulanyah leaves UPC and joins the NRM-O after announcing his intention to run for a seat on the EA legislative assembly. LRA leader Joseph Kony agrees to hold pace talks with the NRM government in Juba Sudan. South Sudan government to mediate the talks.

August 2006

LRA announces withdrawal from peace talks with the Kampala government, citing loss of confidence in the government of Southern Sudan and mediator Riek Machar. LRA second in command Vincent Otti announces a unilateral cease fire against Uganda army. Sweden resumes aid in the form of budget support to Uganda albeit at half the level originally planned for the 2006 fiscal year. Budget support would amount to US$ 4.7 million for 2006. LRA third-in-command, Maj. Gen. Raska Lukwiya, is killed by the UPDF in Kitgum district. The international Criminal Court (ICC) that had indicted Lukwiya requests the Uganda government for access to his body for confirmation. American ambassador Steven Browning decries corruption in Uganda and its adverse effects on democratic

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institutions. He urges the judiciary to have the courage of protecting its independence. Government of Japan pledges US$ 3million to support resettlement of internally displaced persons in northern Uganda Judiciary introduces a public relations office and names Nakawa High Court Circuit Judge Eriasi Kisawuzi as its publicist. Regan Akena, former escort to LRA commander Tollbert Yadin Nyeko, is killed, west of Wiceri, Amum District, by UPDF forces. The Buganda government opens up parts of Bulange to investors. The government of Uganda signs an agreement with Joseph Kony and the LRA to cease hostilities on both sides. The agreement also calls for LRA rebels, including Kony and his three deputies, to assemble in designated areas. NRM-O candidates win a majority of elections in new district elections in the north. Cecelia Ogwal returns to Parliament as Dokolo woman MP.

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Notes

Chapter 1

Introduction

1. Zartman et al. (1995), Herbst (2000), Callaghy et al. (2001), Kaiser and Okumu (2004), Chabal (1999). 2. See for example, James Tindigarukayo (1990), J. J. Barya (1993), Gilbert Khadiagala (1995), Arne Bigsten and Steve Kayizzi-Mugerwa (1992), Kizito (1993), Joshua Mugyenyi (1993). 3. This term is used in the context of Uganda’s cultural milieu. It refers to what in Luganda might be referred to as “emirembe gya Museveni.” Literally translated it means the times of Museveni. I also use the term to refer to a political order ushered in and dominated by Museveni. Like other political dispensations (e.g., Pax Americana), Pax Musevenica is not used here to mean order, stability, and peace throughout Museveni’s time as president—the northern insurgency is a clear example of this. Nonetheless, the term denotes the last 20 years during which Museveni has been the imprimatur of politics in Uganda. 4. Until 1995 Local Councils (LCs) were called Resistance Councils (RCs). To avoid confusion they will be referred to as Local Councils in the rest of the book. 5. I credit Ron Kassimir for raising this point. 6. Naomi Chazan, Robert Mortimer, John Ravenhill, and Donald Rothchild, Politics and Society in Contemporary Africa (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1992), p. 41. 7. Otwin Marenin, “The Managerial State in Africa: A Conflict Coalition Perspective,” in Zaki Ergas (ed.), The African State in Transition (London: McMillan, 1987); Also see Joel Migdal, Strong Societies, Weak States: State-Society Relations and State Capabilities in the Third World (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1988). 8. Max Weber, Economy and Society (New York: Bedminster Press, 1968). 9. Quoted from Michael Bratton and Nicolas van de Walle, Democratic Experiments in Africa: Regime Transitions in Comparative Perspective (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), pp. 61–62. 10. See Patrick Chabal, Africa Works: Disorder as a Political Instrument (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1999). 11. Ibid., p. 39. 12. Bratton and van de Walle (1997), p. 61. 13. Patrick Chabal, “Violence, Politics and Rationality in Contemporary Africa,” Inaugural Lecture, Kings College, 1997. 14. Ibid., p. 5. 15. Goran Hyden and Michael Bratton (eds.), Governance and Politics in Africa (Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1992), pp. 12–14.

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N otes

16. Goran Hyden, “Governance and the Study of Politics,” in Goran Hyden and Michael Bratton (eds.), Governance and Politics in Africa (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1992), p. 6. 17. Robert Fishman, “Rethinking State and Regime: Southern Europe in Transition to Democracy,” in World Politics vol. 42, no. 3 (April 1): 428. 18. Hyden and Bratton (1992), pp. 19–20. 19. Seymour Martin Lipset, “Social Conflict, Legitimacy and Democracy,” in William Connolly (ed.), Legitimacy and the State (New York: New York University Press, 1984), p. 88. 20. Foster Byarugaba, “The Undemocratic Nature of the Western Model of Democracy: The View of the Third Universal Theory,” paper presented at the First Joint Uganda-Libya Seminar on the Green Book, held at Makerere University, Kampala, Uganda, March 2–4, 1990. 21. Robert Dahl’s definition, for example, includes the concept of the procedural minimum, that is, the procedures that must prevail in order for meaningful democracy to operate, and these are frequent and fair elections, the right to vote and the right to form relatively autonomous associations. 22. See Terry Lynn Karl’s “Imposing Consent? Electoralism vs. Democratization in El Salvador,” in Paul W. Drake and Eduardo Silva (eds.), Elections and Democratization in Latin America, 1980–85 (San Diego: Center for Iberian and Latin American Studies, UCSD, 1986). 23. Mahmood Monshipouri, Democratization, Liberalization & Human Rights in the Third World (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1995), pp. 15–16. 24. Larry Diamond, “Three Paradoxes of Democracy,” in Larry Diamond and Marc F. Plattner (eds.), The Global Resurgence of Democracy (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996), pp. 111–123. 25. Diamond (1996), p. 33. 26. Lipset (1984), p. 97. 27. See Nelson Kasfir, The Shrinking Political Arena: Participation and Ethnicity in African Politics with a Case Study of Uganda (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1976). 28. E. Khiddu Makubuya. “Transition to Democracy in Uganda: Legal and Organizational Changes in State Structure,” paper prepared under the auspices of The Project Entitled “Managing the Transition to Democracy in Uganda under the National Resistance Movement,” Kampala, Uganda, August 1994. 29. Joel D. Barkan, “The Rise and Fall of a Governance Realm in Kenya,” in Goran Hyden and Michael Bratton (eds.), Governance and Politics in Africa (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1992), p. 167. 30. Guy Martin, “Preface: Democratic Transition in Africa,” in Issue: A Journal of Opinion vol. XXI, no. 1–2 (1993): 6–7, African Studies Association (ASA). 31. Chabal (1999). 32. Alfred Stepan (1978), p. 53. 33. Lipset (1984), p. 88. 34. This claim assumes the legitimacy of the constitution itself but as shall be seen in the chapters to come, the Ugandan people have had to wrestle with the very notion of constitutionalism since political independence in 1962. For a detailed study of constitutionalism in Uganda since 1986 see Erica Bussey, “Constitutional Dialogue in Uganda,” in Journal of African Law vol. 49, no. 1 (2005): 1–23. 35. Lipset (1984), pp. 90–91.

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36. C. Friedrich, “Legitimacy and Political Obligations,” in From Man and His Government: An Empirical Theory of Politics (London: McGraw-Hill Book Company, Inc., 1963). 37. Lipset (1984), p. 88. 38. Nelson Kasfir, “ ‘Movement’ Democracy, Legitimacy and Power in Uganda,” in Justus Mugaju and J. Oloka Onyango (eds.), No-Party Democracy in Uganda: Myths and Realities (Kampala: Fountain Publishers, 2000), p. 65. 39. Nelson Kasfir, “The Uganda Elections of 1989: Power, Populism and Democratization,” in Hansen, H., and Michael Twaddle (eds.), Changing Uganda: The Dilemmas of Structural Adjustment and Revolutionary Change (London: James Currey, 1991a), pp. 149. 40. Staffan I. Lindberg, “The Democratic Qualities of Multiparty Elections: Participation, Competition and Legitimacy in Africa,” in Commonwealth & Comparative Politics vol. 42, no. 1 (March 2004): 66. 41. The International Court of Justice (ICJ) found that Uganda violated the principles of nonuse of force in international relations and of nonintervention; that it violated its obligations under international human rights law and international humanitarian law; and that it violated other obligations owed to the Democratic Republic of the Congo. See New Vision, www.newvision.co.ug, December 19, 2005. 42. The extent to which Uganda can be said to have overcome its ethnic, religious, and ideological differences is still questionable. 43. The only commodity that brought these different societies in commercial contact was salt. It became the one essential need around which barter trade was built in precolonial Uganda. See Samwiri Rubaraza Karugire, A Political History of Uganda (Nairobi: Heineman, 1980), pp. 26–29. 44. This term is borrowed from David Apter, “Democracy for Uganda: A Case for Comparison,” in Daedalus vol. 124, no. 3 (Summer 1995). 45. George Padmore, Africa: Britain’s Third Empire (London: Dennis Dobson, 1948), p. 113. 46. Ibid., p. 24. 47. Mahmood Mamdani, Citizen and Subject: Contemporary Africa and the Legacy of Late Colonialism (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996), p. 41. 48. Karugire (1980), p. 15. 49. Mamdani (1996), p. 42. 50. Ibid., p. 42. 51. Ibid., p. 43. 52. Karugire (1980), Chapter Two. 53. It is not clear, however, whether this form of political organization has effectively dissolved interethnic conflicts. Movement politics—the NRM in particular—has not, for instance, resolved the traditional North/South conflict that has been exacerbated by the LRA war in the north. The predominance of ethnic westerners in positions of political and economic power follows traditional patterns in which the ethnicity of the chief executive often determines the ethnic identity of the ruling/economic class. 54. Karugire (1980), pp. 49–97. 55. See Joshua B. Rubongoya, “Ethnicity and Class in Public Policy: A Synthetic Approach to the Study of Development in Kenya and Uganda,” Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University of Denver, Denver CO, 1991b, pp. 189–223. 56. See Samwiri Lwanga-Lunyiigo. “The Colonial Roots of Internal Conflict,” in Kumar Rupesinghe. Conflict Resolution in Uganda (London: James Currey, 1989), p. 28.

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57. Crawford Young, The African Colonial State in Comparative Perspective (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994). 58. Mamdani (1996), Chapter Two. 59. Young (1994), p. 3. 60. Khadiagala (1995), p. 66. 61. Max Weber, Economy and Society: An Outline of Interpretive Sociology, ed. Guenther Roth and Claus Wittich (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978), p. 215. 62. Johnnie Carson (former U.S. ambassador to Uganda), “A Legacy in Danger,” speech made at the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars, Africa Program, June 2, 2005. 63. See Stephen F. Burgesss, “Structural Adjustment and Economic Reform,” in Paul Kaiser and Wafula Okumu (eds.), Democratic Transitions in East Africa (Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Limited, 2004). 64. Bratton et al. (2001) and Therkildsen (2002).

Chapter 2 Continuities in Delegitimation—Postcolonial Tyranny and Anarchy (1962 to 1986) 1. 2. 3. 4.

5.

6. 7. 8.

9. 10. 11. 12.

13.

Karugire (1980), p. 190. Jorgensen (1981), p. 221. The Uganda Argus, May 21, 1962, p. 2; May 22, 1962, p. 1. For fear of socialist elements in the UPC, the Baganda (KY) made sure that the independence constitution guaranteed no change in Buganda’s land tenure system. The UPC also let be the privileges of the traditional hierarchy of Buganda. These included (a) control over Buganda’s representatives in the National Assembly through election by the Lukiiko, (b) control over local government, (c) control over administering customary law by the Buganda courts, (d) control over a new local constabulary and palace guard, and (e) guarantee of federal funds for the cost of services run by the Buganda government, initially set at a minimum of Ug. shs. 1.5 million per month. All these were constitutionally protected (Jorgensen 1981), pp. 217. Uganda, “The Uganda (Independence) Order in Council, 1962,” section 26 (1). Quoted in Jan Jelmert Jorgensen, Uganda: A Modern History (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1981), p. 219. Gukiina (1972), Jorgensen (1981), Kabwegyere (1995), Mugaju (1999). Mugaju (1999), p. 19. This constitution is popularly known as the “pigeonhole” constitution because Obote simply deposited it in MPs pigeon holes without any consultation whatsoever. Ibid., p. 23. Jorgensen (1980), p. 230. Khadiagala (1995), p. 36. The subordination of the legislature to the executive branch of government, itself a product of the colonial state, repeats itself in all of the postcolonial governments in Uganda. Chapter 6 probes the same patterns under the NRM government. One such example involved the arrest and detention of Abu Mayanja and the editor of Transition, Rajat Neogy, following the publishing of Mayanja’s letter

N otes

14. 15. 16. 17.

18. 19.

20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27.

28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43.

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complaining about the judiciary’s use of political ideology in deciding the outcome of cases. Obbo and Another v. Attorney General: Constitutional Appeal to the Supreme Court no. 2 of 2002. One illustrative example of this was the 1964 elections for the urban authorities of Kampala and Jinja. This policy/tactic was particularly common in Ankole where the DP was quite strong. A good example of this was the fraudulent resolution (August 1962) by the Busoga district council to contravene the Uganda-Order-in-Council regulations. When the Uganda High Court reversed the resolution, and thus the elections, the parliament of Uganda enacted a law that reversed the high court. Karugire (1980), p. 191. This is a weakness suffered by Museveni, especially in the latter part of NRM rule. Key allies and supporters of the NRM have been alienated and expelled or resigned from the Movement. Jorgensen (1981), p. 232. Gukiina (1972), Mamdani (1976), Kabwegyere (1995), Jorgensen (1981), Gershenberg (1972). Jorgensen (1981), p. 235. Kabwegyere (1995), pp. 211–217. Ibid., p. 215. Perlmutter (1981), p. 41. Mudoola (1988), p. 131. This point was made by Robin Luckham in his synthesis of the S. E. Finer and Janowitz schools of thought, both of which explain why the military intervenes so frequently in African states. See William Tordoff, Government and Politics in Africa (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1984). Jorgensen (1981), pp. 270–271. Khadiagala (1995), p. 37. Jorgensen (1981), p. 274. Okoth (1995), p. 183. Uganda, The Action Programme, 1977 to 1978 and 1979 to 1980 (Entebbe: Ministry of Planning and Economic Development, 1977), p. 46. Uganda, The Action Programme, 1977 to 1978 and 1979 to 1980 (Entebbe: Ministry of Planning and Economic Development, 1977), p. 46. Kasfir (1983), p. 90. See Jorgensen’s (1981), for a list of “High-ranking Pre-Coup Officers in Army after the Coup” and what happened to them, p. 270. Ali Mazrui, Soldiers and Kinsmen: The Making of a Military Ethnocracy in Uganda (New York: Sage Publications, 1975), p. 45. Khadiagala (1995), p. 35. Chabal and Daloz (1999), p. 106. Tindigarukayo (1988), Brett (1994). Kasfir (1983), p. 97. Ibid., p. 98. Ddungu (1994), p. 19. Ibid., p. 20.

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Chapter 3 Reconstructing the State: Challenges of Legitimacy and Power Consolidation 1. See Ali Mazrui, “The Social Origins of Ugandan Presidents: From King to Peasant Warrior,” in Canadian Journal of African Studies vol. 8, no. 1 (1974). 2. Quoted from, Ron Kassimir, “Reading Museveni: Structure, Agency and Pedagogy in Ugandan Politics,” in Canadian Journal of African Studies vol. 32, no. 2/3 (1999): 649–673. 3. Yoweri Museveni, What is Africa’s Problem? (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2000), p. 7. 4. Museveni abhors what he calls a “barbaric practice” among his people of using the skin of a dead calf to coax milk out of its mother. Quoted from Kassmir 1999, p. 656. 5. Mikeal Karlstrom “The Cultural Kingdom in Uganda: Popular Royalism and the Restoration of the Buganda Kingship,” Ph.D. Disssertation, University of Chicago, 1999, p. 28. 6. Ronald Kassimir (1999), pp. 649–673. 7. Oloka-Onyango (2000), John Jean Barya (2000), Jjuuko (1999). 8. For details of these activities, see Ondoga ori Amaza, Museveni’s Long March from Guerilla to Statesman (Kampala: Fountain Publishers, 1998) and Yoweri Museveni, Sowing the Mustard Seed: The Struggle for Freedom and Democracy in Uganda (London: Mcmillan Education Limited, 1997). 9. Karlstrom (1999), p. 28. 10. Ibid., p. 440. 11. Ibid., p. 447. 12. Ibid., p. 447. 13. Ondoga ari Amaza, Museveni’s Long March from Guerilla to Statesman (Kampala: Fountain Publishers, 1998), p. 29. 14. Mahmood Mamdani, Citizen and Subject: Contemporary Africa and the Legacy of Late Colonialism (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996). 15. The exception is Mozambique, where an administrative system was put in place during the liberation struggle against Portuguese oppression and later became integrated into the postcolonial state structure. In fact, Uganda’s LC system was modeled after Mozambique’s. 16. Yoweri Museveni, Sowing the Mustard Seed: The Struggle for Freedom and Democracy in Uganda (London: Macmillan Education Ltd., 1997), pp. 189–190. 17. See Ondoga ori Amaza (1998); Southall (1988). 18. See Goran Hyden, “Governance and the Study of Politics,” in Goran Hyden and Michael Bratton (eds.), Governance and Politics in Africa (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1992), pp. 17–19. 19. Nelson Kasfir, “ ‘Movement’ Democracy, Legitimacy and Power in Uganda,” in Justus Mugaju and Oloka Onyango (eds.), No-Party Democracy in Uganda: Myths and Realities (Kampala: Fountain Publishers, 2000), p. 65. 20. Kasfir (2000), p. 65. 21. Rosalind E. Boyd, “Empowerment of Women in Uganda: Real or Symbolic,” in The Review of Political Economy vol. 45/46 (1988): 106–116. 22. E. A. Brett, Providing for the Rural Poor: Institutional Decay and Transformation in Uganda (Kampala: Fountain Publishers Ltd., 1993), p. 39.

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23. Ibid., p. 39. 24. Apolo Nsibambi, “Resistance Councils and Committees: A Case Study from Makerere,” in Holger Bernt Hansen and Michael Twaddle (eds.), Changing Uganda: The Dilemmas of Structural Adjustment & Revolutionary Change (Kampala: Fountain Publishers Ltd., 1991b), p. 279. 25. In 1995, the government formally dropped the term “resistance,” acknowledging a return to normal conditions. Resistance Councils (RCs) thus became Local Councils (LCs). 26. Kasfir (2000), p. 60. 27. Ibid. 28. Kasfir (2000); John Jean-Barya (2000); J. Oloka Onyango (2000). 29. See Nelson Kasfir, “The Uganda Election of 1989: Power, Populism and Democratization,” in Holger Bernt Hansen and Michael Twaddle (eds.), Changing Uganda: The Dilemma of Structural Adjustment & Revolutionary Change (Kampala: Fountain Publishers Ltd., 1991a). 30. The few restrictions included postprimary educational qualifications or possession of a professional certificate; support of four members of the electoral college and filling out two simple forms (see Kasfir 1991a). 31. Reduced nomination requirements maximized the scope and breadth of candidates qualifying to run because they did not need a network or political organization in order to be effective. 32. Kasfir (2000), p. 67. 33. Kasfir (1991a), p. 261. 34. Government control of the LC system had been legalized by LC Statute no. 9 (1987). 35. Quoted from Kasfir (1991a), p. 247. 36. Benjamin J. Odoki, “The Challenge of Constitution-Making and Implementation in Uganda,” in J. Oloka Onyango (ed.), Constitutionalism in Africa: Creating Opportunities, Facing Challenges (Kampala: Fountain Publishers Ltd., 2001). 37. Quoted from Odoki (2001), p. 267. 38. Oliver Furley, “Democratisation in Uganda,” in Commonwealth and Comparative Politics, vol. 38, no. 3 (November 2000): 85. 39. According to Oliver Furley and James Katalikawe (1997), the idea of a democratically elected Constituent Assembly debating the draft constitution was a result of public pressure coming especially from proponents of political party politics. The NRM itself was initially reluctant to endorse the idea because it preferred the National Resistance Council (NRC) that was more favorable to its interests. 40. See Oliver Furley 1999; H. B. Hansen and M. Twaddle (eds.), 1995; Sabiti Makara et al. 1996; Oliver Furley and J. Katalikawe 1999. 41. See John-Jean B. Barya, Popular Democracy and the Legitimacy of the Constitution: Some Reflections on Uganda’s Constitution-Making Process (Kampala: Center for Basic Research, 1993), p. 30. 42. See A. G. G. Gingyera Pincycwa, “Constitutionalism in Uganda: The Necessity for Political Socialization,” paper prepared for a conference on the Dynamics of Political and Administrative Change in Uganda, Makerere University, Kampala, Uganda. 1992. 43. Arthur Bainomugisha, “The Empowerment of Women,” in Justus Mugaju (ed.), Uganda’s Age of Reforms: A Critical Overview (Kampala: Fountain Publishers Ltd., 1999).

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44. Aili Mari Tripp (2000); Sylvia Tamale (1999); Rosalind Boyd (1988); Anne Marie Goetz (2002), etc. 45. Uganda now has a total of six districts and women are guaranteed a seat from each in the national sixty seven legislature or parliament. 46. Sylvia Tamale, “Gender and Affirmative Action in Post-1995 Uganda: A New Dispensation, or Business as Usual?” in J. Oloka-Onyango (ed.), Constitutionalism in Africa: Creating Opportunities, Facing Challenges (Kampala: Fountain Publishers Ltd., 2001). 47. These are figures from the Academic Registrars office, Makerere University, Kampala, Uganda, quoted from S. Tamale (2001). 48. Lady Justice Kireju, Justice Constance Byamugisha, Justice Kikonyogo and Justice Alice Mpagi Bahigaine. 49. In 1988 alone Victoria Sekitooleko, Rhoda Kalema, Joyce Mpanga, Florence Nkurukenda, Betty Bigombe, and Gertrude Njuba were appointed ministers. 50. Ruth Mukama, Visible at Last (ACFODE: 1995). 51. Christine Obbo, “Women, Children and a ‘Living Wage,’ ” in Holger Bernt Hansen and Michael Twaddle (eds.), Changing Uganda: The Dilemma of Structural Adjustment and Revolutionary Change (Kampala: Fountain Publishing Ltd., 1991), p. 98. 52. Mary Mugyenyi, “The Impact of Structural Adjustment Programmes on Ugandan Rural Women” (mimeo), 1997. 53. Aili Mari Tripp, Women & Politics in Uganda (Madison: The University of Kampala Wisconsin Press, 2000), p. 113. 54. D. A. Low, “The Dislocated Polity,” in Holger Bernt Hansen and Michael Twaddle (eds.), Uganda Now: Between Decay and Development (Athens, OH: Ohio University Press, 1988), pp. 36–53. 55. Sallie Simba Kayunga, “The Impact of Armed Opposition on the Movement System,” in Justus Mugaju and J. Oloka-Onyango (eds.), No-Party Democracy in Uganda: Myths and Realities (Kampala: Fountain Publishers, 2000). 56. C. Asowa-Okwe, “Politics and the Crisis in the North,” paper presented at a Faculty of Law Symposium, Makerere University, Uganda, April 26, 1996. 57. Patrick Chabal and Jean-Pascal Daloz, Africa Works: Disorder as Political Instrument (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1999), p. 76. 58. Sallie Simba Kayunga in Mugaju and Oloka-Onyango (2000), p. 114. 59. The New Vision newspaper, April 16, 1992. 60. Asowa-Okwe (1996), p. 22. 61. See report by Richard Carver of Amnesty International entitled “Uganda’s Human Rights Record: 1986–88” (London, October 1988). 62. This admission was made in an interview between journalist Caroline Clara Lamwaka and Maj. Gen. Salim Saleh. See Caroline Clara H. Lamwaka, “The Civil War and Peace Process in Uganda,” unpublished MA thesis, University of Bradford, U.K., 1996. 63. The 1989 elections for Resistance Councils and National Resistance Council (NLC) were marred by insecurity stemming from rebel and civil war activity in Gulu, Apac, and Kumi districts, Usuk County, and Soroti district. 64. Asowa-Okwe (1996), p. V. 65. Ellen Hauser, “Ugandan Relations with Western Donors in the 1990s: What Impact on Democratisation?” in Journal of Modern African Studies vol. 37, no. 4 (1999): 621–641.

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66. Mugaju and Oloka-Onyango (2000), p. 110. Also Tedd Gurr, Minorities at Risk: A Global View of Ethnopolitical Conflicts (Washington DC: U.S. Institute of Peace Studies, 1993). 67. OECD, Geographical Distribution of Financial Flows to Aid Recipient: Disbursements, Commitments, Country Indicators 1990–1994 (Paris: OECD, 1996), quoted in Paul Kaiser and F.Wafula Okumu (eds.), Democratic Transitions in East Africa (Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Ltd., 2004), p. 156. 68. Joshua Mugyenyi, “IMF Conditionality and Structural Adjustment under the National Resistance Movement,” in Hansen and Twaddle (1991), p. 74. 69. K. Sawar Lateef, “Structural Adjustment in Uganda: The Initial Experience,” in Hansen and Twaddle (1991), p. 21. 70. Ibid. (1991), p. 25. 71. Ibid. (1991), p. 31. 72. Ibid. (1991), p. 69. 73. This is a reference to the 1991 U.S. Democratic Party presidential campaign slogan. Bill Clinton, then a candidate, used it to chastise his opponent (George W. Bush) and to keep the campaign focused on the economy, which was in recession. 74. Larry Diamond, Seymour Martin Lipset, and Juan Linz (eds.), “Building and Sustaining Democratic Government in Developing Countries: Some Tentative Findings,” in World Affairs vol. 150, no. 1 (Summer 1987): 5–19. 75. This is point no. 10 of the Ten Point Programme of the National Resistance Movement. See Museveni (1997), appendix. 76. Mugyenyi in Hansen and Twaddle (1991), p. 70. 77. E. O. Ochieng, “Economic Adjustment Programmes in Uganda, 1985–88,” in Hansen and Twaddle (1991), p. 56. 78. See Arne Bigsten and Steve Kayizzi-Mugerwa, “Is Uganda an Emerging Economy?” A report for the OECD project: Emerging Africa. Research report no. 118. Nordiska Afrikainstitutet (Uppsala 2001), pp. 21–22. 79. See the “Background to the Budget 1989–90,” Ministry of Planning and Economic Development, Kampala, July 1989, pp. 61–64. Economist E. O. Ochieng in Hansen and Twaddle (1991, 59) warns, however, that production data (contrary to monetary statistics) and especially agriculture, are highly suspect due to lack of census, for instance, for over twenty years. 80. See Justus Mugaju (ed.), Uganda’s Age of Reforms: A Critical Overview (Kampala: Fountain Publishers Ltd., 1999), p. 4. 81. Quoted in Pamela Mbabazi, Joshua Mugyenyi and Timothy Shaw, “Ugandan Elections 2001: Lessons for/from Democratic Governance,” paper presented at the African Studies Association Annual meeting in Houston TX, November 2001. 82. See Bruce Heilman and Laurean Ndumbaro, “International Context,” in Paul J. Kaiser and F. Wafula Okumu (eds.), Democratic Transitions in East Africa (Aldershot: Publishing Ltd., 2004). 83. Mette Kjaer, “Fundamental Change or no Change? The Process of Constitutionalizing Uganda,” in Democratization vol. 6, no. 4 (Winter 1999): 108. 84. The debate against “no-party democracy” has been sustained by scholars and politicians in both intellectual and popular media. These include Oloka-Onyango (2000), Mamdani (1980), Jjuuko (1999), Barya (2000), Mao (1999), Kjaer (1999). 85. The Courier (1993), no. 141, September 17–23. Quoted in Kjaer vol. 6, no. 4 (1999): 93–113.

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86. Early NRM rhetoric was chock full of references to “modernization” and “backwardness.” Museveni’s early speeches (see Museveni 2000) explain his bush war as intended to gain state power in order to promote the former and fight the latter. 87. Kasfir (1991a), p. 266. 88. Museveni (1997). 89. Also see chapter 6 for the role of political discourse in legitimizing NRM rule. 90. Kassimir (1999), p. 658. 91. See H. Bienen and J. Herbst, “The Relationship between Political and Economic Reform in Africa,” Comparative Politics vol. 29, no. 1(1996): 23–42.

Chapter 4 Institutional Change and Democratization 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16.

17. 18. 19. 20.

Khadiagala (1995), p. 35. The process itself started in 1988. See chapter 13. Furley and Katalikawe (1997); Furley (1999); Cullimore (1994); Kjaer (1994). Barya (1995); Gingyera-Pinycwa (1992); Kasfir (1991b); Sewanyana (1996); Waligo (1994a); Oloka-Onyango (1996); etc. Furley and Katalikawe (1997), p. 256. Barya (1995), pp. 10–12. Stephen Ndegwa and Ryan E. Letourneau, “Consitutional Reform,” in Paul Kaiser and F. Wafula Okumu (eds.), Democratic Transition in East Africa (Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Ltd., 2004), p. 89. J. Oloka-Onyango, Governance, Democracy and Development in Contemporary Uganda (Kampala: Center for Basic Research, 1998), p. 21. Article 269 limits the activities of political parties and, therefore, of political organization, generally. Bratton and Lambright (2001). There is a broad intersection between these two groups. Most federalists favor multipartyism and decentralization. In 2003, the NRM relented and acceded to full recognition of party politics in the 2006 general elections. This point is also strongly made by J. Oloka-Onyango (2000), p. 52. Stephen Ndegwa and Ryan E. Letourneau (2004). The Uganda Constitutional Review Commission has proposed and the NRM has agreed to this. Aaron Griffiths and James Katalikawe, “The Reformulation of Ugandan Democracy,” in Can Democracy be Designed: The Politics of Institutional Choice in Conflict-Torn Societies (London and New York: Zed Books, 2003), p. 106. Afrobarometer Briefing Paper no. 1: Key Findings about Public Opinion in Africa (April 2002), p. 2. See Roger Tangri and Andrew Mwenda (2001), “Corruption and Cronyism in Uganda’s Privatization in the 1990s,” in African Affairs vol. 100, no. 393: 117–133. Nsibambi (1998), p. 56. J. Oloka-Onyango, “Uganda’s ‘Benevolent’ Dictatorship,” in Current History: A Journal of Contemporary World Affairs vol. 96, no. 610 (May 1997). OlokaOnyango makes the claim that the reintroduction of traditional kingships was merely instigated by the NRM’s need for Baganda votes in the 1996 general election.

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21. Holger Bernt Hansen and Michael Twaddle (eds.), Developing Uganda (Oxford: James Currey, 1998). 22. Figures quoted from Jeni Klugman et al., Conflict and Growth in Africa vol. 2, Kenya, Tanzania, and Uganda (Development Centre of the Organization for Economic Co-Operation and Development, 1999), p. 36. 23. E. A. Brett, “Rebuilding Organization Capacity in Uganda under the NRM,” in Journal of Modern African Studies vol. 32, no. 1 (1994): 67. 24. Per Tidemand, “New Local State Forms and ‘Popular Participation,’ in Buganda, Uganda,” in The New Local Level Politics in East Africa: Studies on Uganda, Tanzania and Kenya, Research Report no. 95 (Nordiska Afrikainstitutet, 1994), pp. 35–37. 25. Per Tidemand (1994), pp. 37–38. 26. Lynn S. Khadiagala, “The Failure of Popular Justice in Uganda: Local Councils and Women’s Property Rights,” in Development and Change vol. 32 (2001): 55–76. 27. Khadiagala (2001), p. 72. 28. Per Tidemand (1994), p. 35. 29. Ibid., p. 33. 30. District Administrators were later renamed Resident District Commissioners or RDCs. 31. Per Tidemand (1994), p. 41. 32. Giovanni Andrea Cornia (2001), p. 80. 33. Per Tidemand (1994) found few instances such as the one in Mbale town where LC5s successfully forced corrupt civil servants out of office (1994:42). 34. Ibid., p. 40. 35. Ibid., p. 45. 36. Ibid., p. 48. 37. Ibid., p. 48. 38. This policy initiative followed recommendations made by the Commission of Inquiry into the Local Government System (June 1987) set up by President Museveni shortly after taking power. 39. See Brett (1994, p. 94). The issue of decentralization was also very contentious in the CA debates. 40. Bigsten and Kayizzi-Mugerwa (2001), p. 90. Financial decentralization was phased in beginning with thirteen districts in financial year 1993 to 1994 and finally covered the entire country in 1995 to 1996. 41. Bigsten and Kayizzi-Mugerwa (2001), p. 90. 42. The 1997 Act replaced the 1967 Local Administrations Act and the 1964 Urban Authorities Act both of which concentrated power in the office of the minister of local government. 43. In their paper presented to the annual African Studies Association (ASA) conference in Houston, Texas (2001), Pamela Mbabazi et al. report an incident in Kabale, where the RDC prevented a popular talk show host critical of Museveni from moderating Museveni’s appearance on Voice of Kigezi radio during the 2001 elections. See Mbabazi et al., Ugandan Elections 2001: Lessons for/from Democratic Governance. Unpublished. 44. See Anne Marie Goetz (2002); she notes the creation of six new districts just before the 1996 presidential elections and eleven new ones in 2000 just in time for the 2001 presidential polls.

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45. Geoffrey Tukahebwa, “The Role of District Councils in Decentralizatition,” in Apolo Nsibambi (ed.), Decentralization and Civil Society in Uganda: The Quest for Good Governance (Kampala: Fountain Publishers Ltd., 1998). 46. Ibid., p. 29. 47. Cornia (2002), p. 98. 48. Ole Therkildsen (2002), “Uganda’s Referendum 2000: The Silent Boycott: A Comment,” in African Affairs vol. 101, no. 98: 101, 238. 49. See Brett (1994), p. 67. 50. Ibid., pp. 68–69. 51. Michael Karlstrom (1999). Quoted from Ole Therkildsen (2002), p. 240. 52. See Makara Sabiiti, “Political and Administrative Relations in Decentralization,” in Apolo Nsibambi (ed.), Decentralization and Civil Society in Uganda: The Quest for Good Governance (Kampala: Fountain Publishers Ltd., 1998). 53. Anne Metter Kjaer, “ ‘Old Brooms Can Sweep Too!’: An Overview of Rulers and Public Sector Reforms in Uganda, Tanzania and Kenya,” in The Journal of Modern African Studies vol. 42, no. 3 (2004): 398, 407. 54. For details on Uganda’s civil service reforms see Peter Langseth, “Civil Service in Uganda: Objectives and Strategic Plans,” in P. Langseth, J. Katorobo, E. Brett, and J. Munene (eds.), Uganda: Landmarks in Rebuilding a Nation (Kampala: Fountain Publishers Ltd., 1995). 55. Langseth et al. (1995), p. 97. 56. Arne Bigsten and Steve Kayizzi-Mugerwa, “Is Uganda an Emerging Economy?” A Report for the OECD Project “Emerging Africa” Nordiska Afrikainstitutet. Research Report no. 118 (1991), p. 87. 57. World Bank presentation at the Donor Consultative Group Meeting in Paris, August 1994. Quoted in Langseth et al. (1995), pp. 112. 58. Bigsten and Kayizzi-Mugerwa (2001), p. 81. 59. Ibid., pp. 28–29. 60. The poor showing by the Democratic Party candidate Paulo Ssemwogerere was partly due to his alliance with the UPC party that was hugely unpopular in Buganda. 61. See John Jean Barya. 1997. “Democracy and the Issue of Culture in Uganda: Reflections on the (NON)Restoration of the Ankole Monarchy,” in East African Journal of Peace & Human Rights vol. 4, no. 1(1997): 556–569. 62. For a detailed account of the development and status of Buganda, see Pierre Englebert, “Born-Again Buganda or the Limits of Traditional Resurgence in Africa,” in Journal of Modern African Studies vol. 40, no. 3 (2002): 345–368. 63. Administrative structures include the recently reestablished traditional counties (amasaza), subcounties (gombolola), and parishes (miluka); and Kabakaappointed chiefs at each of these levels. 64. Englebert (2002), p. 349. 65. Ibid., p. 355. 66. Mikael Karlstrom, “The Cultural Kingdom in Uganda: Popular Royalism and the Restoration of the Buganda Kingship,” Ph.D. Thesis, University of Chicago, 1999. 67. See J. Oloka-Onyango, “Reflections on the Process of Constitutional Development in Uganda,” in a draft paper presented at the East African Law Society Conference on Constitutionalism, held in Mombasa, Kenya, August 15–16,

N otes

68. 69. 70. 71.

72. 73. 74. 75. 76. 77. 78. 79.

80. 81. 82. 83.

84. 85. 86.

87. 88. 89.

90. 91.

243

1996. Also see Doornbos and Mwesigye (1994), Mukyala-Makiika (1998), and J. Oloka-Onyango (1997). Karlstrom (1999), p. 27. Ekech (1975), quoted in Englebert (2002), p. 347. The Daily Monitor newspaper archives. Stephen F. Burgess, “Structural Adjustment and Economic Reform,” in Wafula Okumu and Paul Kaiser (eds.), Democratic Transitions in East Africa (Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Ltd., 2004). Franz Schurmann, “Africa is Saving Itself,” in Choices: The Human Development Magazine vol. 5, no. 1 (1996): 5. Roy Laishley, “Uganda: Turning Growth into Prosperity,” in Africa Recovery vol. 7, no. 2 (October 1993): 19. Franz Schurmann, “Africa is Saving Itself,” p. 7. Burgess (2004). E. A. Brett (1994), Justus Mugaju (1999), Apolo Nsibambi (1998), Geoffrey B. Tukahebwa (1998), Tangri and Mwenda (2001). For a thorough discussion of government corruption in Uganda’s privatization process, see Tangri and Mwenda (2001). Roy Laishley, “Uganda: Turning Growth into Prosperity,” p. 19. Statistical Sources: Uganda (1996), Background to the Budget 1996/97; IMF: International Financial Statistics; World Bank (1995); World Bank Development Data; Statistical Abstract 1998; Bank of Uganda, Monthly Economic Reports. Quoted from Bigsten and Kayizzi-Mugerwa (2001). World Bank, World Development Report (various editions); World Bank (1997); World Bank files. Roy Laishley, “Uganda: Turning Growth into Prosperity,” p. 18. Ibid., p. 19. David E. Sahn, Paul A. Dorosh, and Stephen D. Younger (eds.), Structural Adjustment Reconsidered: Economic Policy and Poverty in Africa (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), p. 12. See Oliver Furley, “Democratization in Uganda,” in Conflict Studies no. 317, Research Institute for the Study of Conflict and Terrorism, 1999. Furley (1999), p. 3. These observations complemented the criticisms against the NRM concerning the latter’s disproportionately longer period for campaigning compared to that of Museveni’s two opponents. Furthermore, Museveni used government sponsored political education classes (mchaka mchaka) to influence voters against his opponents who did not have equal access to the media to balance the NRM’s negative campaign. Finally, there were questions of incumbents misusing government cars and positions to boost their campaigns. Nelson Kasfir, “ ‘No-Party Democracy’ in Uganda,” Journal of Democracy vol. 9, no. 2 (1998): 50. Furley (1999), p. 6. Surveys showed that most voters considered the presidential election the most important and some claimed they were simply tired of the election process itself—a sign of voter fatigue (The Monitor, June 28–29, 1996, and The New Vision, June 28, 1996). The East African, August 19–25, 1996. Lipset (1984), p. 88.

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Chapter 5 Political Legitimacy Threatened: The Return of Presidentialism 1. Sallie Simba Kayunga, “The Impact of Armed Opposition on the Movement System in Uganda,” in Justus Mugaju and J. Oloka Onyango (eds.), No-Party Democracy in Uganda: Myths and Realities (Kampala: Fountain Publishers, 2000), p. 118. 2. See John Clark, “Explaining Ugandan Intervention in Congo: Evidence and Interpretations,” in Journal of Modern African Studies vol. 39, no. 2 (2001): 261–287. Also see Prunier G. (1999), “L’Ouganda et les Guerres Congolaises,” in Politiques Africaine vol. 75 (1999): 43–59. 3. Clark (2001), p. 270. 4. Withdrawal of Uganda forces was officially communicated to the president of the UN Security Council in a letter (S/2001/461) from First Deputy Prime Minister/Minister for Foreign Affairs Eriya Kategaya dated May 8, 2001. 5. Economic Intelligence Unit (EIU), Country Report: Uganda, 3rd Quarter 1999, London: EIU. Quoted in John Clark (2001). 6. See Oliver Furley, “Democratisation in Uganda,” in The Journal of Commonwealth and Comparative Politics, vol. 38 no. 3 (November 2000): 79–102. 7. Arne Bigsten and Steve Kayizzi-Mugerwa, “Is Uganda an Emerging Economy: A Report for the OECD Project ‘Emerging Africa.’ ” Uppsala: Nordiska Afrikainstitutet: Research Report no. 118, 2001, p. 34. 8. Bigsten and Kayizzi-Mugerwa (2001). 9. See Akiiki B. Mujaju (1997), pp. 29–37. 10. Uganda’s GDP growth dropped from 8.4 percent in 1995 to 4.7 percent in 1996—the first year of Uganda’s intervention. One year—1999—after the more protracted intervention in 1998, Uganda’s GDP growth was 5 percent down from 7.5 percent. Inflation in 1996 rose from 3 percent the previous year to 5 percent and in 1998 it reached 10 percent up from 4 percent in 1997 (See Bigsten and Kayizzi-Mugerwa (2001), p. 22. 11. A. G. G. Gingyera Pinycwa, “To Be or not to Be: The Precarious Status and Role of Parliaments in the ‘Transition to Democracy,’ in East Africa,” in The Uganda Journal vol. 44 (December 1997). Also see Oliver Furley (1997). 12. Ibid., p. 40. 13. Ibid., p. 41. 14. For details of the alleged offenses by ministers and members of Parliament see Oliver Furley (April 1999). 15. New Vision, November 18, 1997. 16. Scandal seems to have followed him into his second reappointment as the Ministry of Health was implicated in alleged mismanagement of funds provided by The Global Fund to Fight AIDS. Fund officials suspended its grants in 2005 until a better management mechanism was put in place. 17. Furley (April 1999), p. 8. 18. New Vision, October 30, 1997. 19. Furley (April 1999), p. 9. 20. The Monitor, November 27 and December 1, 1997 quoted in Furley (1999). 21. Kizza Besigye, “An Insider’s View of how NRM lost the ‘Broad-base’ ” in Sunday Monitor, November 5, 2000. 22. The Monitor, June 1, 1998.

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23. At this point the president had a 93 percent popularity rating while resident district commissioners and LC5s had 53 percent and 59 percent, respectively. In 2003, satisfaction with MP performance had improved to 64 percent, but was still the lowest among other representatives. See Bratton et al., “Democracy and Economy in Uganda: A Public Opinion Perspective,” in Afrobarometer Working Paper no. 4, 2000; and Carolyn Logan et al., “Insiders and Outsiders: Varying Perceptions of Democracy and Governance in Uganda,” Afrobarometer Working no. 27, 2003 (www.afrobarometer.org). 24. Furley (1999), p. 10. 25. Tripp (2000), p. 64. 26. Ibid., p. 64. 27. Anne Marie Goetz, “No Shortcuts to Power: Constraints on Women’s Political Effectiveness in Uganda,” in Journal of Modern African Studies vol. 40, no. 4 (2002): 554. 28. Goetz (2002), p. 555. 29. See Njuguna Ng’ethe, Strogmen, “State Formatiom, Collapse, and Reconstruction in Africa,” in I. William Zartman (ed.), Collapsed States: The Disintegration and Restoration of Legitimate Authority (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1995). 30. Sigmund Neumann (1932), quoted in Martin Seymour Lipset (1984), p. 95. 31. See Michael Bratton and Gina Lambright, “Uganda’s Referendum 2000: The Silent Boycott,” in African Affairs (2001), vol. 100, no. 380, 429–452. 32. Bratton et al., “Democracy and Economy in Uganda: A Public Opinion Perspective,” Afrobarometer Working Papers no. 4, 2000. 33. Bratton and Lambright (2001), p. 450. 34. Ibid., p. 451. 35. Ole Therkildsen, “Uganda’s Referendum 2000: The Silent Boycott: A Comment,” in African Affairs (2002), pp. 101, 231–241. 36. According to Afrobarometer Paper no. 27, The LC system is associated with the NRM’s policy of decentralization and devolution and to the degree that levels of LC efficacy are so high Ugandans’ attitudes toward democracy and the Movement are likely to be positive. 37. Lipset (1984), p. 93. 38. Ibid., p. 93. 39. New Vision, June 28, 2001. 40. When interviewed in August 2001, Professor Foster Byarugaba of Makerere University, a member of the Constitutional Review Commission, revealed that two of the burning issues before the Commission were the passing of the Political Organizations Bill that would pave the way for the legalization of political party politics and constitutional amendments that would prevent government interference in the election process. 41. A Constitutional Review Commission completed its work in December 2003 and recommended, among other things, that the Constitutional amendment to remove presidential term limits be put to a popular vote by referendum. 42. Kjaer Mette, “ ‘Old Brooms can Sweep Too!’ An Overview of Rulers and Public Sector Reforms in Uganda, Tanzania and Kenya,” in Journal of Modern African Studies vol. 42, no. 3 (September): 103. 43. Quoted from Pamela Mbabazi, Joshua Mugyenyi, and Timothy Shaw, “Ugandan Elections 2001: Lessons for/ from Democratic Governance,” paper presented at the African Studies Association (ASA) annual conference, December 2001, Houston, TX, USA.

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44. The New Vision newspaper, Monday, December 11, 2000. 45. See The Monitor newspaper, Tuesday, November 21, 2000. 46. A blatant example of this was the Mbarara Municipality race in which the president officially campaigned for Ngoma Ngime and decampaigned Winnie Byanyima, Besigye’s wife. The latter won, but not until she overcame a Supreme Court challenge following the elections, from the Ngime/NRM camp. 47. A more detailed study of irregularities in the 2001 election can be found in Andrew Kibaya, “The 2001 Presidential Elections: A Step Backwards in the Democratization Process in Uganda,” LL.B thesis, Makerere University Law School, Kampala, Uganda, July 2001. 48. According to The Monitor (Sunday, November 19, 2000), the then internal affairs minister, Moses Ali, stopped aspiring candidates from campaigning and, in effect, from visiting different parts of the country to hold what the PEA 2000 called consultative sessions. 49. This technique was a throw back to the days of Obote I and the “one plus three” election proposal. Candidates running for parliamentary seats were required to stand for election in three regional constituencies other than their own. The proposal was ostensibly put forth to diminish subregional ethnic rivalry. 50. Pamela Mbabazi et al. (2001), p. 6. 51. Pamela Mbabazi et al. (2001) assert that the other two strong pledges in Museveni’s manifesto included building a professional army in the next five years and ensuring a smooth transition by putting in place a mechanism for an orderly leadership succession, p. 9. 52. Aid as a percentage of GNP and gross domestic investment together with aid per capita have been calculated using World Bank (World Bank Development Data 1998) figures for the years 1991 through 1996. 53. World Bank Group, Uganda, http://www.World Bank.org/afr/Ug2.htm, 2000. 54. Quoted from Stephen F. Burgess, “Structural Adjustment and Economic Reform,” in Paul Kaiser and F. Wafula Okumu (eds.), Democratic Transitions in East Africa (Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Ltd., 2004), p. 126. 55. See Arne Bigsten and Steve Kayizzi-Mugerwa’s (2001) five sets of indicators for emerging African economies. 56. World Bank Group, Uganda. 57. Susan Dicklitch, “Between Stability and Anarchy: The Struggle for Democracy in Uganda,” American Political Science Association conference paper (August 1999), p. 12. 58. Bigsten and Kayizzi-Mugerwa (2001), p. 29. 59. The NRM, in collaboration with the World Bank has allotted US$ 75 million of IDA funding (part of HIPC debt relief) to the Universal Primary Education plan. 60. Figures are from Republic of Uganda, Ministry of Planning and Economic Development; Background to the Budget. They are averages of fiscal years 1991 to 1992 through 1997 to 1998. 61. See Roger Tangri and Andrew Mwenda, “Corruption and Cronyism in Uganda’s Privatization in the 1990s,” in African Affairs (2000), vol. 100, no. 393, 117–133. For perceptions of corruption in Uganda see Michael Bratton et al., “Democracy, Economy and Gender in Uganda: A Report of a National Sample Survey” (September 13, 2000). Survey was conducted by International Foundation for Election Systems (mimeo). 62. Bratton et al. (2000).

Notes 63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70.

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Carolyn Logan et al. Afrobarometer Working Paper no. 27, 2003. World Bank, Can Africa?, p. 76. Ibid., pp. 13–14. Carolyn Logan et al. (2003), p. 38. Ibid., p. 39. Ibid., p. 38. Ibid., p. 39. Guy Martin, “Preface: Democratic Transition in Africa,” in Issue: A Journal of Opinion vol. xxi, no. 1–2 (1993): 6–7, African Studies Association (ASA).

Chapter 6 Convergence not Fundamental Change 1. A presidency characterized by greater powers than the constitution allows. 2. Earl Conteh-Morgan, “The Crisis of Legitimacy, Representation, and State hegemony,” in Paul Kaiser and F. Wafula Okumu (eds.), Democratic Transitions in East Africa (Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Ltd., 2004), p. 165. 3. Michael Bratton and Nicolas van de Walle, Democratic Experiments in Africa: Regime Transitions in Comparative Perspective (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), pp. 55–66. 4. Ibid., pp. 65–66. 5. Ibid. (1997), p. 63. 6. See Tangri and Mwenda (2001). 7. For a detailed account of the networks of businesses and other deals involving the first family and friends see Joel D. Barkan, “An African ‘Success’ Past its Prime,” in Challenges and Change in Uganda. Presentation made at a Conference held on June 2, 2005, Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars: Africa Program, Washington, DC: USA. 8. Economic Intelligence Unit (EIU), Uganda: Country Report, April 2003 (www.eiu.com). 9. EIU. Uganda: Country Report, January 2003, p. 15. 10. The other companies included Trinity Investment, La Conmet, and Sagricof. See EIU Country Report, June 2003, p. 15. 11. See Barkan 2005. 12. EIU Uganda Country Report, April 2004. 13. The Observer newspaper quoted in The Daily Monitor, May 30, 2005. 14. Roger Tangri and Andrew Mwenda, “Military Corruption & Ugandan Politics Since the later 1990s,” in Review of African Political Economy vol. 30, no. 98, 2003, p. 549. 15. The New Vision newspaper (Internet edition), “Police Charged Over Ghosts,” July 6, 2005. 16. According to the Switzerland-based, World Economic Forum, Uganda is the seventh most corrupt country in Africa. The French ambassador to Uganda, Jean Pierre Thiant, is quoted in the October 2004 EIU Country Report (www.eiu.com) as expressing donors unhappiness about “luxurious investments from corruption-related practices sprouting up when the majority of Ugandans are poor.” 17. The highly respected IGG boss and author of this report, Jotham Tumwesigye’s, contract was not renewed—he has since been replaced. EIU, July 2005, p. 18.

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18. In his 2005 State of the Nation address, President Museveni announced the following new districts: Butarega, Karuhira, Kabingo, Ibanda, Koboko, Kaliro, and Kabongo (see The Daily Monitor June 14, 2005, Internet edition www.monitor.co.ug). 19. See chapter 4. The legalization of traditional kingdoms (an important issue to the Baganda) preceded the elections of the Constituent Assembly (CA) that would debate the draft constitution. The NRM needed the Buganda vote in order to win a majority in the CA, pass a NRM-friendly constitution and later win the 1996 general elections. In the run up to the 2006 elections Museveni has proposed the regional tier system to further the cause of Buganda’s federalist interests although he argued that the proposal was for all districts wishing to establish regional government. 20. Anne Mette Kjaer, “Fundamental Change or No Change? The Process of Constitutionalizing in Uganda,” in Democratization vol. 6, no. 4 (Winter 1999): 105. 21. Michael Bratton and Nicolas van de Walle (1997), pp. 63–65. 22. Ibid., p. 103. 23. Bidandi Ssali later left the NRM to form a new party. 24. Around this time of year Britain and Norway suspended aid worth US$9 million and 2.4 million, respectively. 25. See EIU, Uganda Country Report, April 2003. 26. The New Vision, Tuesday, July 5, 2005. 27. Kjaer (1999), p. 101. 28. Ssemwogerere and Others v. Attorney General (Constitutional Petition no. 5 of 2003). Decided, March 21, 2003. 29. The reference here is from Joel D. Barkan’s description of Moi’s governance style in “Governance in Kenya,” in Hyden and Bratton (1992), p. 175. 30. See The Monitor newspaper, “The VP Worried Under Probe,” May 26, 2005, The Red Pepper newspaper, “M7 Blasts Bukenya,” May 27, 2005 and The New Vision newspaper, “Bukenya Denies Tongue Lashing,” June 3, 2005. 31. With exception of Kirunda Kivejinja, who holds a prominent position in the Movement Secretariat, the rest are still in the cabinet. 32. The Economist Intelligence Unit (EIU) Limited: Uganda Country Report, October 2001. EIU also refers to shock expressed by Amnesty International over the tightened clampdown on the opposition and dissent generally, especially since the speech to the Bishops was preceded by MP Winnie Byanyima’s arrest and the harassment of her husband, Col. Kizza Besigye, who later fled Uganda into exile. 33. Anne Mette Kjaer, “ ‘Old Brooms Can Sweep Too!’: An Overview of Rulers and Public Sector Reforms in Uganda, Tanzania and Kenya,” Journal of Modern African Studies vol. 42, no. 3 (2004): 389–213. 34. The 1995 IGG report is quite critical of rampant corruption in the judiciary. 35. Ssemwogerere and Others v. Attorney General (Constitutional Appeal no. 1 of 2000), and Ssemwogerere and Olum v. Attorney General (Constitutional Appeal no. 3, 2000), decided June 25, 2004. 36. EIU: Uganda Country Report, October 2004. The Supreme Court upheld (September 2, 2004) the lower court’s ruling as to the unconstitutionality of the Referendum Act 2000, but declared the outcome of the 2000 Referendum, that is, the continuation of the movement system valid. 37. The Daily Monitor newspaper, June 21, 2005. 38. The New Vision newspaper, June 8, 2005 (Internet edition).

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39. In June, 2005 FDC Members of Parliament threatened to provide a list of those Movement MPs who received the Ug. shs. 5 million “bribe” to donor countries and to ask the latter to impose a travel ban on these MPs as a sign of disapproval for corruption. 40. Porter Report (see Economist Intelligence Unit Limited, Country Report on Uganda, April 2003). 41. EIU, Uganda Country Report, January 2004. 42. See speech by noted political scientist Joel D. Barkan at the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars (Africa Program) (www.wwics.si.edu) in Washington, DC, June 2, 2005. Also see Voice of America news, newsVOA.com Washington, DC, June 29, 2005. 43. Joel D. Barkan at the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars (Africa Program), June 29, 2005. 44. This claim was made by FDC leader Kizza Besigye in a letter to The Daily Monitor newspaper, July 11, 2005. 45. See Human Rights Watch, Hostile to Democracy: The Movement System and Political Repression in Uganda (1999) and U.S Department of State, 1999 Country reports on Human Rights Practices: Uganda (2000). 46. See Amnesty International Uganda: The Full Picture—Uncovering Human rights Violations by Government Forces in the Northern War, AI Index: AFR 59/05/99, March 17, 1999. 47. Human Rights Watch Report, April 2004. http://hrw.org/reports/2004/ uganda0404/3.htm and http://hrw.org/backgrounder/ africa/uganda0505/ 1.htm; Amnesty International Report 2004. http://www.Amnesty.org/report/ 2005/uga-summary-eng and http://www.Amnesty.org/report/2004/ugasummary-eng. Also see The Monitor newspaper (Internet edition), April 2, 2004. 48. Ibid. 49. The New Vision newspaper (Internet edition), May 25, 2005. 50. The Economist Intelligence Unit Limited: Country Report, January 2003, p. 12. On August 11, 2005, in a speech to remember the late Sudanese vice president, John Garang, President Museveni again threatened to close down The Monitor, Red Pepper, and other newspapers if they continued to broadcast news stories deemed to be in “violation of national security.” 51. One day after the August 11 speech mentioned above, K-FM radio station was closed and talk show host Andrew Mwenda was detained and charged for having violated the sedition clause of the Penal Code. The violation was allegedly committed in a program Mwenda hosted during which he criticized Museveni’s government for having indirectly caused the death of John Garang. See The New Vision newspaper (Internet edition), August 12, 2005 and The Monitor, August 13, 2005. 52. Radio Veritas Kyoga was closed down in July 2003 because according to the government it broadcast information helpful to the LRA rebels (Economic Intelligence, October 2003). 53. In May of 2004, donors refused to approve Uganda’s budget because it contained a proposal for Ug. shs. 30 billion (US$15 million) as the cost of the referendum. See EIU Uganda Country Report, July 2004. 54. Daudi La Guma quoted in the BBC News story “Ugandans Vote in Landmark Polls,” http://newsvote.bbc.co.uk, February 23, 2006. 55. Yellow is the NRM party color.

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56. Orange is the FDC party color. It is used here more as a symbol of the opposition, generally. 57. Since taking power in 1986 the NRM government has faced several rebel groups that include the following: Allied Democratic Front, Lakwena, West Nile. 58. See EIU Uganda Country Report, January 2003. The Paris-based journalists’ rights group, Reporters sans Frontiers ranked Uganda 52nd out of 139 countries in press freedom, although this was before the one-week government closure of The Daily Monitor newspaper in October of 2003. 59. Constitutional Petition no. 15 of 1997 was appealed to the Supreme Court in Constitutional Petition no. 2 of 2002. The Court decided the case, February 11, 2004, ruling that the managing editor of The Monitor newspaper, Charles Obbo, and reporter, Frank Nyakairu, had not committed a crime under Section 50 of the Penal Code. The two journalists were charged and the newspaper shut down for seven days allegedly because they printed an unfavorable story about the war in the north. The Supreme Court ruled further that the story and the government case was “too vague, wide and conjectural to provide the necessary certainty required to impose an acceptable limitation on freedom of expression.” See Erica Bussey, “Constitutional Dialogue in Uganda,” in Journal of African Law vol. 49, no. 1(2005), 1–23. 60. This is according to an Afro-barometer survey conducted by Kampala Wilsken Agencies Limited in April of 2005. 61. This survey was done by the Kenyan organization—Strategic Public relations and Research on behalf of the American-based International Republican Institute in 2003. Three thousand people (male and female) from 12 districts (rural and urban) were polled. 62. Bussey (2005), p. 1. 63. The Global Fund Against AIDS was temporarily suspended in August of 2005 for financial mismanagement (seewww.theglobalfund.org/en/media_center/ press/pr_050824.asp). A commission of inquiry set up by the Uganda government has exposed misallocations of monies from the fund (see “Mukula Hired Planes for Global Fund Country Trips,” www.allafrica.com/stories, March 3, 2006) recruitment of unqualified personnel due to political influence (see “Probe Grills Ministers Son,” in New Vision, March 11, 2006, www. newvision.co.ug and “IGG Probes Health Jobs,” in The Daily Monitor, October 10, 2003, www.monitor.co.ug). 64. This is a practice common to all postcolonial regimes in Uganda. Idi Amin also relied on the Defense Council as the supreme executive organ of state.

Chapter 7

Conclusion

1. Khadiagala (1998), p. 38. 2. David Easton, A Systems Analysis of Political Life (New York: John Wiley, 1965), p. 288. 3. This is J. J. Rousseau’s idea, quoted in James Miller (1994). 4. Sunday Vision newspaper January 23, 2004. Since Museveni is generally more popular in the rural areas, his job performance numbers are expected to be higher than 65 percent. 5. See Kiiza Besigye, “An Insiders View of How NRM Lost the ‘Broad-Base,’ ” in Sunday Monitor newspaper, Sunday, November 5, 2000. Besigye points out that the CA was negatively influenced by executive appointments including the

N otes

6.

7. 8. 9.

10.

11.

251

appointments of Specioza Kazibwe and Kintu Musoke to the vice presidency and premiership, respectively. This coupled with the appointment of other delegates to ministerial positions and directorships marked the beginning of the purge of moderate voices in the government and by implication the end of political broadbasedness. For a detailed exposition of the northern insurgency see Adam Branch, “Neither Peace nor Justice: Political Violence and the Peasantry in Northern Uganda, 1986–1998,” in the online journal African Studies Quarterly vol. 8, no. 2 (Spring 2005): 1–31. See Human Rights House Network, www.humanrightshouse.org/dllvis5.asp. Quoted from The Daily Monitor (Internet edition) June 9, 2005. This term is borrowed from Fareed Zakaria’s essay, “The Rise of Illiberal Democracy,” in Foreign Affairs vol. 76, no. 6, November/December, 1999. Zakaria argues that more and more countries are adopting illiberal democracies, that is, elected and reelected regimes that sidestep liberal democracy by “routinely ignoring constitutional limits on their power and depriving their citizens of basic rights and freedoms.” Michael Bratton et al., “Democracy, Economy and Gender in Uganda: Report of a National Survey,” survey conducted by International Foundation for Election Systems, September 13, 2000. I. William Zartman (1995), p. 5.

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Index

Ablo, 155 Abrahamsen, Rita, 89 Acana II, Rwot David Ocen, 115 Access Finance Services (AFS), 220 Acholi, 17, 51, 55, 61, 82–3, 126, 218 Adamolekun, Lupido, 104 Administration and Urban Authorities Decrees, 48 Adoko, Akena, 43 Adyebo, George Cosmas, 203 African Caribbean Pacific/ACP, 203 African Caribbean Pacific/EEC, 85, 89 African Growth and Opportunity (AGOA), 61, 212–13 African Union Parliament, 215 Afrobarometer, 147, 155–6, 196 Agreement-1900, 117 AIDS, see HIV/AIDS see Global Fund to Fight AIDS, Malaria and Tuberculosis AIDS Control Programme, 205 Akabway, Stephen, 206 Akaki, Sam, 224 Akena, Regan, 229 Ali, Moses, 91, 135–6, 201, 203–4, 209, 223 Allied Democratic Front (ADF), 84, 132–4, 177, 190 Allimadi, Otema, 203 Aloet Railway Station, 82, 202 American Civil War, 38, 72 Amin, Idi coup d,êtat, 45 economic instrumentalism, 47 economic nationalism, 49 economic productivity, 47 Economic War, 49–50 Kabaka Mutesa, 33 militarization of politics, 47

military regime, 23, 45–51, 56, 74, 86 post government, 53–4 Praetorian, 45, 48 religion, 46, 51 tyranny, 20, 45–6, 49, 91 Amnesty International (AI), 83, 173, 202 anarchy, 4, 11, 49, 65, 70, 101 Angola, 133, 166 Ankole, 17–18, 34, 115, 204–5 Anti-Terrorism law, 174 Apac, 83, 224 Apiliga, Moses, 86 Apparels Tri-Star Uganda, 213 Appointments Committee (Parliamentary), 135 Armed Forces Decree, 48 Army Council (AC), 169–71, 180, 189, 204, 227 Army Promotions and Commissions Board, 215 Arua, 142, 201 Arusha, 211, 216 Asians, 26, 49–50, 85, 88, 119, 123, 154, 184, 203 Atubo, Omara, 175 Auma, Alice (Lakwena), 82, 84, 201–2 Austria, 193 Awori, Aggrey, 150, 175, 210 Baganda, 17, 21, 37, 61, 64, 115–16, 118, 167, 204, 213 Bamuze, Ali, 212 Banage, William Bazeterra, 86 Bank of Uganda, 87, 120, 227 Banya, Kenneth, 217 Banyankore, 64, 71, 115, 167 Barclay’s Metals, 121 Barigye, John Patrick, 115, 205

272

I ndex

Barya, John Jean, 98 Bayart, Jean-Francois, 192 bayaye, 52 Belarus, 164, 210 Besigye, Kizza, 35, 84, 92, 100, 131, 145–6, 148–51, 157, 172–3, 175–6, 180, 195, 210–11, 219, 225–7 Bienen, Henry, 92, 186 Bigombe, Betty Acan, 84, 218, 220 Bigsten, Arne, 152–3 Bika, 117 Binaisa, Godfrey, 37, 42, 53 black mambas, 173, 195 Black Mamba Urban Hit Squad, 225 Blenders Uganda Limited, 119 Bogere, Fred, 169, 222 Bongomin, Alfred, 174, 226 Boyd, Rosalind E., 67, 71 Bratton, Michael, 12, 18, 141–4, 152, 155, 197 Brett, E. A., 67, 71, 104 British Crown, 20, 117 broad-based, 15, 20, 23, 46, 48, 70–1, 110, 148, 167, 186, 188 broad-basedness, 10, 12, 16, 70–2, 86, 91–2, 100, 103, 131, 135, 137, 139, 146, 148, 151, 157, 192 Browning, Steven, 228 Budaka, 219 Budget Speech (1987), 88 Buganda, 15–19, 21, 33–4, 36–41, 44, 46, 63–4, 70, 84, 105, 114–18, 124, 127, 167, 170, 204–5, 219, 227, 229 Buganda Civil Service Commission, 39–40 Buganda Crisis, see Milton Obote Buganda Cultural and Development Foundation (BUCADEF), 116–17 Buganda State of Emergency, 40–1 Bugangaizi, 36 Bugisu, 17 Bugolobi, 213 Buhekura, 36 Bujagali, 211, 213 Bukedi, 17 Bukenya, Gilbert, 167, 170, 214–15 Bulange, 116, 205, 229

Bunyoro, 17–18, 36, 115, 117, 170, 204–5 Bureau Pour la Recherché Geologique et Miniere (BRGM), 121 Buruli, 36 Bush, George W., 146, 214 Bushenyi, 74 Busoga, 18, 34, 36, 115, 117, 137, 170, 204, 206 Buturo, Nsaba, 218 Buwambo, 206 Buyaga, 36 Bwendero, 217 Bwengye, Francis, 210 Bwindi Impenetrable National Park, 208 Byanyima, Winnie, 35, 100, 123, 131, 137–8, 146, 151, 168, 180, 208 Cable News Network (CNN), 224 Catholic, 35, 41–2, 61, 170 caudillos, 38 Celtel, 184 Central Purchasing Agency, 88 Chad, 183 Chazan, Naomi, 5 Chief Administrative Officer (CAO), 4, 109 Chieftancy of Military Intelligence (CMI), 164, 173, 189, 195 China, 72, 204, 212 Church of Uganda, 171, 214 civil libertarians, 10 civil-military relations, 3, 24, 64, 93, 183 civil service bureaucracy, 113 civil service reform, 4, 61, 96, 104, 112–14 Civil Service Reform Program (CSRP), 113 Civil Society Organization for Peace, 227 Clark, John, 132 clientelism, 5, 7, 14, 16, 27, 72, 104, 131, 137, 162–3, 165, 167, 176, 193, 195 clientelist, 14, 26, 123, 163, 165, 167, 173, 193 Clinton, Bill, 208–9

I ndex Coffee Marketing Board (CMB), 103, 119 Commission for Africa, 220 Commission of Enquiry, 95, 164 Commission of Human Rights, 95 Common Man’s Charter, see Milton Obote Common Market for East and Southern Africa (COMESA), 216 Congo, see Democratic Republic of Congo consent/effectiveness, 10 Conservative Party (CP), 168, 227 Constituency Development Fund (CDF), 172, 222 Constituent Assembly (CA), 76–9, 83, 97, 99, 103, 115, 117, 125, 137, 159, 193, 205–6 Constituent Assembly Delegates (CADs), 206 Constituent Assembly election, 77–8, 83 Constituent Assembly Election Rules of Statute 6/1993, 77 Constituent Assembly Statute #5 of 1988, 76, 78 Constituent Assembly Statute #6 of 1993, 78, 97 Constitution, 98 Constitution (1962), 38, 40, 76 Constitution (1966), 39–40 Constitution (1967), 38, 40, 48, 76, 205 Constitution (1995), 98–101, 109, 115–17, 129, 136–7, 141, 145–6, 151, 174, 185, 187, 210, 214–15, 219–20 article 70, 100, 148 article 70a, 100 article 72, 100 article 74, 100 article 269, 99, 100–1 article 270, 100–1 article 271, 100, 141 article 274, 101 Constitution Amendment Bill (Ebyaffe), 114, 204–5 Constitutional Commission (Odoki Commission), 76–9, 95, 97–9, 109, 202–4

273

Constitutional Commission Report, 97 Constitutional Court, 136, 141, 170–1, 209, 214, 217, 219 Constitutional Review Commission (CRC), 79, 101, 169, 187, 213, 215 Consumption per capita, 122 convergence, 4, 29, 161–3, 177, 179–81, 191 co-opt, 13, 27–8, 37, 39, 42, 82, 104, 107–8, 115, 129, 131, 157, 159, 176, 180, 184, 187, 189–92, 195 Criminal Investigation Department (CID), 164, 195 Customs House, 136 Customs Union, 216 decentralization, 61, 96, 103–5, 107–14, 116, 118, 127, 158, 162, 168, 171, 177–8, 187–8, 204 decentralized, 6, 17, 19, 22, 65, 68, 109, 158 Decentralized despotism, 22, 65 Defense Council, 48 democracy guided, 13, 79, 107, 118, 126, 129, 131, 157, 187–8 liberal, 20, 89, 100, 110, 197 pluralist, 99, 101 popular, 11, 59–60, 66–7, 74, 84, 104, 159, 183, 192 representative, 11, 143 democratic elections, 75 Democratic Party (DP), 34–6, 41, 54, 74, 91–2, 108, 124–5, 141, 143, 168, 170, 175, 177, 192, 225, 227 Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), 16–17, 27, 84, 119, 132–4, 148, 158, 164, 172, 190, 193, 208–9, 211, 213–14, 218, 221, 223–6 democratization, 9, 64, 70, 75, 79, 81, 105, 107, 112, 124, 139, 141–2, 148–9, 152, 163, 193, 199 Denmark, 213, 216 Departed Asian Custodian Board, 49 Departed Asians’ Property, 88 departicipation, 13 Deputy Prime Minister and Minister of Disaster Preparedness & Refugees, 136

274

I ndex

Detention Act, 41 Devarajan, Shantayanan, 153 devolution, 4, 96, 104–5, 107, 109–13, 118, 127, 144, 197 Diamond, Larry, 87, 152 Director of Public Prosecution (DPP), 164 district administrators (DA), 73, 106 district chairpersons, 142, 222 district councils, 41, 107, 109, 118 district development committees, 106 district executive committees, 109, 139 district proliferation, 110 District Service Commission, 109 Divestiture Reform and Implementation Committee, 228 Dokolo, 229 Domestic Relations Bill, 189 draft constitution, 77–8, 97–9, 203–6 Dumba, Kasendwa, 86 East African Legislative Assembly and Court of Justice, 211 Ebuuru, 36 Ebyaffe, 114–15, 204–5 economic egalitarianism, 8 Economic Recovery Program (ERP), 24, 87, 202 economic reform, 25, 96, 103, 118, 120, 155, 197, 209 economic war, 49–50 Ekimeeza, 174 Ekisanja, 12, 172, 174, 219 el Bashir, Omar, 216 Electoral Commission (EC), 73, 75, 126, 129, 149, 206, 222, 227 Electoralism, 8 elitist, 135 Engola, Sam, 151 Enhanced Structural Adjustment Facility (ESAF), 202 entandikwa, 61, 121, 186, 217 Entebbe, 86, 121, 203 Entebbe Handling Services Ltd., 119 Ethiopia, 166, 183 ethnoregional dichotomy, 21 European Economic Commission (EEC), 88 European Union (EU), 213, 224, 226

External Security Organization (ESO), 189 federo, 21, 37, 117–18, 206, 219 Ferrero, Giuseppe, 185 Finance and Economic Planning Parliamentary Sessional Committee, 136 Finance Minister, 179, 219 Foreign Direct Investment (FDI), 214 Forum for Democratic Change (FDC), 168, 174–7, 191, 196, 217–19, 224–6, 227 Francis, Kizza, 151 Freedom House, 127 fundamental change, 4, 16–17, 61, 64, 72–3, 75, 87, 90, 93, 123, 134, 137, 161, 166, 180–1, 186, 191 Furley, Oliver, 99, 125 gacaca, 221 Gafabusa, Solomon Iguru, 115, 205 Garang, John, 218, 222–3 Geldof, Bob, 220 gender gap, 63 General Service Unit (GSU), see Milton Obote Germany, 193 Ghana, 166, 183 National Democratic Congress (NDC), 198 ghost policemen, 165 ghost soldiers, 164–5, 193 ghost students, 165 ghost teachers, 165 ghost worker, 114 Global Fund to Fight AIDS, Malaria and Tuberculosis, 179, 223, 225, 227 governability, 11, 13, 18, 22, 69, 107, 129, 140, 159, 175, 197 governance realm, 7–10 Gowon, Yusuf, 86 Great Lakes region, 190 Gulu, 83, 140, 174, 202, 206, 217, 219, 226 Gulu Delegates Conference, 35 haciendado, 38 Herbst, Jeffrey, 92, 186

I ndex Heritage Oil and Gas, 211 High Court, 40, 126, 195, 204, 223, 225–7, 229 Highly Indebted Poor Countries (HIPC), 119, 153, 207–9 historicals, 74 HIV/AIDS, 24, 86, 147, 156, 205, 211, 217, 220, 223 see also Global Funds to Fight AIDS, Malaria and Tuberculosis Holy Spirit Mobile Force (HSMF), 82, 201–2 horizontal accountability, 27 Human Rights Watch (HRW), 173, 177, 220 Hyden, Goran, 7 Ibingira, G. S. K., 34–5, 37–8 Iganga, 140 illiberal democracy, 29, 175, 181, 185, 199 illiberal politics, 196 imperial presidency, 12, 161, 172, 176, 189 informal-presidentialism-personalistic, 145 insider-outsider, 180 Inspector General of Government (IGG), 16, 95, 101, 128, 137, 155, 164–5, 167–8, 215 Inspector of Government (Ombudsman), 98 Institutional Investor, 153 interest aggregation, 55, 69 interest articulation, 101, 116, 158, 162 interest groups, 16, 72, 78, 126, 177–8 Inter-Governmental Authority on Development (IGAD), 215 Internal Security Organization (ISO), 28, 173, 180, 189 Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs), 218–19, 223 International Court of Justice (ICJ), 193, 208, 221, 226 International Criminal Court (ICC), 220, 224, 228 International Development Agency (IDA), 88, 209

275

International Financial Institutions (IFI), 24, 60, 89, 120, 185, 193, 197 International Monetary Fund (IMF), 24–6, 80, 87–9, 102–3, 118, 120, 135, 202, 205, 207–9, 224 Inter-Party Co-operative, 124, 126 Investment Code, 121 Islam, see Muslim Iteso, 51 Itesot, 83 Itongwa, Herbert, 206, 216 Ituri Province, 223 Jackson, Robert, 191 Japan, 212, 229 Japan National Cooperation Agency (JICA), 212 Jeema, 227 Joint Anti-Terrorism Task Force (JATF), 173, 180, 189, 195 Joint Country Coordination and Monitoring Committee (JCCMC), 227 Jorgensen, Jan Jelmert, 36–7 Juba, 223, 228 Kabaka, 18, 34, 36–8, 40, 46, 114–16, 118 Kabaka Foundation, 117 Kabaka Yekka (KY), 34–7 Kabale, 74, 121, 150 Kabamba Military Training Wing, 63 Kabarole, 140 Kabila, Laurent, 133, 148, 208 Kabwegyere, Tarsis, 44 Kadaga, Rebecca, 228 Kainerugaba, Muhoozi, 172 Kakonge, John, 35, 37 Kakwa, 46, 49, 51–52 Kalangala, 217 Kamira, 105–7 Kampala Northern Bypass, 217 Kampala Sheraton, 119, 211, 226 Kampala Stock Exchange (KSE), 121 Karamoja, 17, 218 Karim, Peter, 164 Karlstrom, Mikeal, 116 Karugire, Samwiri, 19, 40 Karuhanga, Chappa, 210

276

I ndex

Kasese, 140 Kasfir, Nelson, 54, 61, 67, 70, 90 Kashaka, Stephen, 215 Katalikawe, James, 99 Kategaya, Eriya, 35, 100, 170, 214, 228 Katikkiro, 116 Katuntu, Abdu, 219 Katutsi, John Bosco, 226–7 Kaunda Ground, 174 Kayihura, Kale, 224 Kayiira, Andrew, 201 Kayizzi-Mugerwa, Steve, 152–3 Kayunga, Sallie Simba, 133 Kazibwe, Specioza, 135–7, 170, 205, 210, 214 Kazini, James, 134, 164, 172, 213, 215 Kenya, 33, 51, 120–1, 125, 166, 198, 201, 214, 216, 223, 228 Kenyatta, Jomo, 23, 33 Khadiagala, Gilbert, 48, 53, 55, 183 Khadiagala, Lynn S., 106 kibanda, 54, 86, 89, 120, 184 Kicwamba Teacher Training College, 133 Kigezi, 150 Kiir, Salva, 223 Kikonyogo, Laetitia, 211 Kilembe, 121 Kinyara Sugar Works, 228 Kirya, B. K., 34, 38 kisanja, 28, 172, 176, 178, 192 Kisawuzi, Eriasi, 229 Kisekka, Samson, 203 Kitara Kingdom, 205 Kitgum, 83, 218, 228 Kivejinja, Kirunda, 135–6, 171 Kiwanuka, Ben, 36 Kiwanuka, Joseph, 36 Kiyonga, Crispus, 215 Kizito, John Ssebaana, 225 Kjaer, Anne Meete, 112, 168, 178 kleptocracy, 45 Kolo, see Sam Kolo Otto Kololo Ceremonial Grounds, 228 Kony, Joseph, 82, 84, 201, 206, 208, 212–13, 216–18, 220, 222, 224, 228–9 Kotido district, 212 Krennerich, Michael, 125 kulembeka, 60

Kuteesa, Sam, 171 Kuya, Masette, 86 Kyabazinga, 34, 206 Labor Disputes Bill, 227 Lakara, Nakibus, 215 Lakwena, see Alice Auma Lambright, Gina, 141–4, 152 Land Bill (1998), 81, 137 Langi, 43, 51, 55 LC committees, 62, 79 LC system, 60, 63–5, 67–9, 73, 93, 96, 100, 104–5, 107–8, 111, 158, 169, 183 Leadership Code, 137, 167, 207, 222 Bill, 203 Committee, 98 legal bureaucratic, 14 legitimacy authority, 3, 5, 8, 15, 17, 22–4 crisis, 3–4, 15, 19–20, 23, 190 deficit, 14, 24, 55–6, 85, 150–1, 193, 199 democratic, 5, 7–8, 12–17, 23, 26–9, 44, 52–3, 56, 62, 99, 127, 131, 137, 151, 163, 173, 176, 189–90, 193, 195 governance realm, 7, 12–13, 15 NRM, 4, 13, 16, 23, 25–7, 68, 72–3, 78. 83–4, 90, 93, 101, 112, 116, 123, 131–2, 151, 155, 165, 187, 193 patrimonial, 14, 18, 24, 43, 45, 55 political, 3, 5, 9, 13–14, 22–3, 36, 46–8, 51–2, 56, 71, 79, 87, 89, 93, 99, 139, 144, 152, 167, 175, 191, 197 regime, 14, 43, 47, 64, 70, 72, 91, 93, 96, 102, 108, 110, 114–16, 119, 124, 155, 157, 185 state, 10, 14, 16, 27, 73, 75, 80, 93, 102–3, 144, 152, 185, 188, 193 state effectiveness, 53 legitimacy project, 4, 16, 28, 84, 93, 112, 116, 118, 158, 162, 189 Liberia, 205 Lint Marketing Board (LMB), 119, 203 Lipset, Seymour, 3, 15, 23, 151, 158, 193–4 Lira, 83, 121, 151

I ndex Local Councils (LCs), 4, 19, 23, 60 Local Defense Units (LDUs), 62, 84, 111, 178, 183 Local Government Bill, 135, 149 Local Government Commission (LGC), 109 Local Government Finance Commission (LGFC), 109 Local Government Tender Boards, 110 Local Governments Act (1997), 109–11, 207 Local Governments (Resistance Councils) Statute (1993), 109 Logan, Carolyn, 147, 156 Lords Resistance Army (LRA), 11, 81–3, 132, 151, 164, 173, 177–9, 183, 187, 193, 206, 213, 218–20, 222–5, 228–9 lost counties, see Milton Obote Low Income Sub-Saharan Africa (LISSA), 86 Lubiri, 38, 40, 204 Luganda, 60, 89, 192 Lugayizi, Edmund Sempa, 225 Lukiiko, 36–8, 115, 205, 219, 227 Lukwiya, Raska, 228 Lukyamuzi, Ken, 151 Lule, Yusuf, 53, 64, 202 lumpen militariat, 52 Lumu, E. B. S., 38 Luwero Triangle, 56, 63–4, 84, 115, 121, 179, 208, 212 Lwanga, David, 201 Machar, Riek, 228 Madhvani Group, 212 mafuta mingi, 50–2, 54 Magamaga, 202 magendo, 50–3, 86, 89, 184 magendoism, 52 Magezi, George, 35, 38 mailo (freehold) estates, 40 Makau wa Mutua, 6 Makerere University, 68, 79, 150, 174 Makindye, 48 Makumbi, James, 206 malaria, 156, 213, 223 see also Global Fund to Fight AIDS, Malaria and Tuberculosis Malinga, Stephen, 175, 219

277

Mamdani, Mahmood, 18, 22, 44 Martin, Guy, 13 Masaka, 121, 140, 151 Matembe, Miria, 35, 100, 170, 214, 219 Mayanja, Muhammed, 125, 150, 206, 210 Mayombo, Noble, 164 Mazrui, Ali, 51 Mbabazi, Pamela, 150, 152 Mbarara, 74, 121, 140, 142, 174, 208, 219 Mbikke, Michael, 151 Media Bill, 10 Media Center, 226 Media Council, 226 Members of Parliament (MPs), 36, 54, 74, 90, 126, 135, 137–9, 141, 145, 149, 161, 169, 170–2, 174, 212, 215–17, 219–20, 222, 224, 226 Mengo, 38, 116, 205, 219 Mexico, 72 Military Intelligence, 225 Military Police, (MP), 48 miluka, 46 Minister for Parliamentary Affairs, 171 Minister of Constitutional Affairs, 99 Minister of State for Education, 136 Minister of Water, Lands and Environment, 136 Minister of Wildlife and Tourism, 136 Minister of Works, Transport & Communication, 135 Ministries of Finance and Economic Planning, 87 Ministry of Ethics and Integrity, 95, 167 Ministry of Gender and Community Development, 79 Ministry of Planning and Economic Development, 207 Ministry of Women in Development, 79 Mobile Telephone Networks (MTN), 184, 207 Monitor, The, 41, 174, 213 Monitor Publications, 174, 223 Monshipouri, Mahmood, 8 Move to the Left, see Milton Obote Movement (NRM), 3 nationalist doctrine, 66

278

I ndex

Movement Act (MA), 11, 27, 101, 103, 138–41, 146, 148, 151, 157–8, 180, 188–90, 207 Movement Bill, 11, 139, 207, 214 movement democracy, 60, 69–72, 74, 90–1, 93, 99–100, 146, 186, 188 Movement Secretariat, 139, 208 movement system, 11–12, 25, 70, 73, 75, 81, 97, 99, 103, 111, 131–2, 138, 141, 143–4, 146, 148–9, 159, 161, 187, 196, 207, 209 Movement’s social philosophy, 65 movementists, 10, 12, 28, 90–1, 98, 136–7, 139, 148–9, 174, 191, 212 Mpigi, 121, 140, 206 Mubende, 140 Mugabe, Robert, 198 Mugaju, Justus, 41, 201 Muganda, 170 Muhwezi, Jim, 135–6, 171 Mukama, Ruth, 80 Muloki, Henry Waako, 206 multiparty, 11, 78, 83, 91, 97, 99, 125, 141–4, 206, 209, 216 democracy, 61, 69, 148 elections, 13, 151, 159, 161, 175, 226 movement, 190 structure, 141 political system, 206 politics, 10–11, 17, 25, 28, 61, 70, 90–2, 100, 103, 125, 131, 138, 161, 168–9, 172, 177–8, 194, 216 system, 11, 27–8, 90, 178, 214–15, 221–2, 224 multipartyism, 16, 28, 77, 118, 168–9, 175, 214 multipartyists, 10, 12, 28, 90, 97–8, 100–1, 103, 132, 138, 143–4, 151, 157–8, 173, 177, 187–8, 191, 212, 215 Muntu, Mugisha, 100, 168, 180 Munyonyo, 219 Musazi, I. K., 36 Museveni, Janet, 226 Museveni, Yoweri, Buganda Kingdom, 115 culture and ideology, 64 liberal ideology, 60

mchaka mchaka, 24, 63–4, 66, 103, 183, 186 Minister of Defense, 53 paternalism, 64, 192 peasant/warrior, 60, 192 Resistance Councils, 64 Revolution, 62–4 Sowing the Mustard Seed, 92 special elections, 72, 77 Mushega, Amanya, 168, 180 Muslims, 19, 42, 46, 51, 53, 84 Mutale, Kakoza, 168 Mutebi, Ronald Muwenda, 114–15, 201, 205 Mutesa II, Edward, 33–4, 36, 38, 46 Mutumba, Sebuliba, 151 muyaye, 52 Mwenda, Andrew, 223 Mwesigye, Hope, 171 Nadiope, William, 34, 36, 38 Naguru, 48 Namasujju, 105–7 National Assembly, 16, 39–40, 43 National Association for the Advancement of Muslims (NAAM), 42 National Conference, 139 National Democratic Forum (NDF), 177, 191, 217 National Executive Committee (NEC), 28, 169–71, 180, 189, 214 National Population and Housing Census (2002), 213, 220 National Resistance Army (NRA), 55–6, 59, 64, 66, 77, 79, 82–4, 86, 92, 99, 146, 179, 183–6, 201–6, 208, 212 National Resistance Council (NRC), 24, 73–5, 97, 101, 114, 119, 202–6 National Resistance Movement (NRM), 3 National Resistance Movement–Organization (NRMO), 175, 177, 194, 215, 217, 225, 228–9 National Resistance News, 76 National Security Council (NSC) Bill, 210

I ndex National Union of Youth Organization (NUYO), 42 Nebbi, 83 Nekyon, Adoko, 42 neopatrimonial, 4, 7–10, 12–13, 23, 28–9, 39–41, 43, 46, 55, 72, 92, 104, 107, 131, 158, 162, 188, 190, 193, 195, 197 class, 26–7, 102, 105, 120, 122, 127, 186 governance, 5–8, 12, 14, 21–3, 63, 106, 191, 194 legitimacy, 4, 7–8, 14–15, 17, 26–7, 29, 131, 137, 142, 162–3, 167–8, 173–7, 189, 191, 194–5, 197 rule 15, 27, 47, 163, 178 state, 6–7, 9, 13–14, 40, 55 system, 12, 53, 169 Neumann, Sigmund, 140, 192 new broom, 92, 186, 192 New Movement, 190 New Vision, The, 150, 219 Ng’ethe, Njuguna, 183–4 Ngime, Ngoma, 146, 151 Ngobi, Mathias Mbalule, 38 Nile Hotel, 136 Nimieri, Jaffer El, 198 njua kali, 80 Njuba, Gertrude, 116–17 Nkangi, Mayanja, 135–6 Nohlen, Dieter, 125 nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), 79, 85, 116–18, 184 no-party democracy, 5, 11, 13, 61, 69, 71, 74–5, 90–1, 93, 100, 111, 125, 131, 187, 191 Northern NGO Forum, 227 Norway, 168, 226–7 NRA/M, 3, 53 NRM/A, 64, 79, 84–5 NRM Secretariat, 73, 107, 136 Nsibambi, Apolo, 68, 71, 215, 219 Ntungamo District, 112, 216 Nubi, 51 Nyakairima, Aronda, 220, 224 Nyanzi, Evaristo, 201 Nyeko, Tollbert Yadin, 229

279

O’Donnell, Guillermo, 75 Obasanjo, Olusegun, 148 Obbo and another vs. Attorney General, 178, 216 Obote II, 4, 29, 39, 53, 56, 91, 150, 152, 162, 179–81, 186, 191, 198 Obote, Milton, 1966 Constitution, 39–40 Buganda Crisis, 37–9 Common Man’s Charter, 43–4, 56 General Service Unit, 42, 51, 55, 180 lost counties, 36–7, 39 Move to the Left, 43–4 Obote, Miria, 63 Obwangor, C. J., 34 Ochieng, E. O, 37 Ocula, Mike, 174, 226 Odaka, Sam, 37 Odoki, Benjamin, 97 Odoki Commission, see Constitutional Commission Odur, Thomas, 86 Ogoola, James, 195 Ogwal, Cecelia, 90, 229 Ojok, David Oyite, 51 Okello, Tito, 51, 81, 86, 92, 201, 205 Okumu, Reagan, 174, 201, 226 Olanya, Tony, 86 Olowu, Dele, 104 Omara, Joel Aliro, 86 Omaria, William, 86 Ombudsman, 95 see also Inspector of Government Omnibus Constitution (Amendment) Bill, 219–20 Omugabe, 115 omujwara nkondo, 115 Omukama, 19, 115 Onama, Felix, 37, 42 Open General Licensing (OGL), 88 Operation Wembley, 28, 173 Order in Council, 36 Otafire, Kahinda, 135–6, 164, 171 Otai, Peter, 202–3 Otim, J. J., 86 Otiti, Paul Amule, 86 Otti, Vincent, 223–4, 228 Otto, Odonga, 174 Otto, Sam Kolo, 219, 222

280

I ndex

Oulanyah, Jacob, 175, 228 Owor, Lakati, 222 Pabo subcounty, 174, 226 Paimol, 17 parastatals, 10, 16, 21, 43, 48–9, 51, 103, 119, 123, 184 Paris Club Consultation Group, 88, 119, 204, 209 Parish Resistance Council, 65 Parliament Buildings, 61 Parliamentary Advocacy Forum (PAFO), 168, 177, 191, 217 Parliamentary Committee on Legal and Parliamentary Affairs, 224 party of integration, 140, 192 party state, 140, 158 patrimonial(ism), 4, 21, 29, 34, 47, 49, 61, 192 patron-client network, 14, 131, 163 patron-clientelist, 49, 159 Pax Musevenica, 4, 29, 39, 60, 62, 67, 71, 81, 85, 92–3, 99, 102, 105, 108, 113, 120, 126, 132, 159, 161, 167, 178–9, 196 People’s Redemption Army (PRA), 223, 225 Pepsi Cola, 119 pigeonhole constitution, 76, 78 Plan for Modernisation of Agriculture (PMA), 210 Police Ordinance, 41 Police Ordinance (Amendment) Act, 41 political culture, 18, 53, 61, 64, 90, 98, 162, 196 political liberalization, 79, 199 Political Organisastions Act (POA), 212 Political Organizations Bill, 224 Political Parties Organizations Act (PPOA), 10–11, 169–70, 174, 176–8, 180, 188, 191, 209, 214 politics of the belly, 192 Popular Resistance Army (PRA), 64, 66 Porter Commission, 164, 213 Porter, David, 211 Poverty Eradication Action Plan (PEAP), 154–5, 207 poverty ratio, 122 Poverty Reduction Strategy Paper, 209

power consolidation, 15, 29, 37, 39, 45–6, 56, 64, 67–8, 70, 72–3, 75, 79, 91, 95, 112, 178, 198 Praetorian Guard, 172, 180 Praetorian Rule, 45 precolonial, 4, 6, 17, 19, 21, 34, 66, 115, 192 prebends, 4, 12, 42 prebendal, 15, 21, 40, 113, 163, 180 prebendalism, 70, 179, 197 predatory individualism, 52 Presidential Election Act (PEA), 43, 146, 149 presidential election results, 125, 210 Presidential Guard Brigade, 172, 180 Presidential Protection Unit (PPU), 172 presidentialism, 7, 12, 27, 45, 56, 72, 76, 104, 131, 137, 139, 145, 150, 152, 158, 162–3, 167–73, 176, 189, 193, 195, 197 Prevention of Mother-to-Child HIV Transmission (PMCTC), 211, 213 princely rule, 191 Privatisation Unit (PU), 212 privatization, 10, 25–7, 61, 103, 119–20, 123, 152, 155, 163, 184 procedural democracy, 8 Produce Marketing Board (PMB), 119 Program for the Alleviation of Poverty and the Social Costs of Adjustment (PAPSCA), 88 Progressive Party (PP), 34 protected villages, 83 Protestants, 42, 61 Public Accounts Committee (PAC), 168 Public Civil Service Commission, 40 public enterprises (PE), 119, 121, 204, 212 Public Enterprises Reform and Divestiture (PERD), 119, 204 Public Safety Unit (PSU), 48 Public Service Revenue and Reorganization Commission (PSRRC), 113 Puritanism, 61 Quebec, 37 Rabwoni, Okwir, 150–1 Radio Veritas Kyoga, 174, 214

I ndex rational/legal authority, 9, 189 RC Statute No. 9, 70–1 reciprocity, 6–7, 20, 24, 45, 48, 55, 64, 93, 95, 128, 152, 159, 173, 175, 185, 195, 198 Referendum (Political Systems) Act (1999), 11, 141, 171, 188–9, 209 Referendum (Political Systems) Act (2000), 11, 140–4, 146, 151–2, 157–8, 177, 188, 190, 197, 209, 217 Referendum Bill, 141 Reform Agenda (RA), 177, 190–1 regime hegemony, 27, 131, 161, 170, 178, 189 regime-party-military, 176 regime validation, 8, 72, 128 regional tiers, 4, 112, 118, 167, 184, 227 Reinikka, Ritva, 155 religioethnic cleavages, 22 Renegade Rwandan Army (Interahamwe), 208 rent-seeking, 7, 50 behavior, 7, 9, 12, 43, 155, 159, 163, 179, 197 representation/governability, 18 Republic House, 61 resident district commissioners (RDCs), 4, 103, 110, 113, 129, 139, 142, 150, 171, 176, 178, 184, 188 Resistance Committees and Councils (RCs), 64–5, 67–8, 74, 104, 107–8, 184, 203, 206–7 res publica, 9, 14, 68, 95, 198 results oriented management (ROM), 113 Rosberg, Carl, 191 Rugumayo, Edward, 86, 210 Ruhaama, 226 Rural Electrification Programme, 217 Rwakitura, 135 Rwanda, 132–4, 221 Sabataka, 204 Saleh, Jovia, 164 Saleh, Salim, 83, 134, 164, 172, 210, 213, 215 sang froid, 61 Schmidt, Siegmar, 125

281

Sebagala, Latif, 151 Sebaggala, Nasser, 228 Sebei, 17 Sebuliba, Nsubuga, 151 Sebutinde, Julia, 164, 210 Second Five-Year Plan, 43 Second National Operator (SNO), 207 sectarianism, 5, 20, 25, 61, 91–2, 96, 202 Seko, Mobutu Sese, 132–3 Sentamu, John, 224 silent boycott, 143–4 Smith, B. C., 104 social capital, 7, 51, 93, 99 social development, 123 social trust, 14, 93, 101, 104, 123, 127, 131, 152, 161–2, 183 Soroti, 83, 140 Soroti District, 82, 202 Soroti Flying School, 82, 202 South Africa, 35, 120, 154, 166, 207, 216, 224–5, 227 Spain, 193, 203 Special Forces, 51, 180 special interest groups, 72, 126 Speke Island, 219 Ssali, Jaberi Bidandi, 35, 110, 168, 170, 180, 214, 217 Ssekandi, Edward, 228 Ssemogerere, Paul, 84, 91, 103, 124–5, 140, 206 state hegemony, 64, 162, 168 State House, 181 State Research Bureau (SRB), 48 states penetrative capacity, 15, 52, 67, 127 statism, 8, 28, 102–4, 118, 162, 184, 197 statist regime/statist regime type, 7–8, 12–14, 22, 39, 42, 45, 55–6, 66, 102, 129, 131, 189, 191, 196 Structural Adjustment Programs (SAPs), 26, 80, 87, 89, 92, 132, 155, 184 structural monopoly, 7, 12 substantive democracy, 8–9 Sudan, 83, 132, 198, 201, 203, 206, 212, 216, 218, 222–3, 228 Supreme Court, 11, 41, 141, 146, 149, 171, 173, 210, 216–17, 227 Suruma, Ezra, 179, 219

282

I ndex

Tabliq, 84 Tanzania, 35, 51, 62, 119, 139, 166, 211, 214, 216 Tanzania African National Union (TANU), 139 Ten Point Programme, The, 23, 66–7, 87, 109, 186 Teso, 17, 34 Therkildsen, Ole, 144 Tidemand, Per, 105–6 Tinyefuza, David, 203, 227 Toko, Wilson, 86 Tolit, Fred, 215 Tooro, 115, 117, 170, 204 Trade, Tourism and Industry, 209 transparency, 25–6, 68, 75, 137, 166, 227 Tripp, Aili Marie, 140 tuberculosis, see Global Fund to Fight AIDS, Tuberculosis and Malaria Tumukunde, Henry, 164–5, 172, 215 Tunisia, 136 Twaddle, Michael, 61 Uganda Bureau of Statistics, 153 Uganda Commercial Bank (UCB), 119, 121 Uganda Democratic Alliance (UDA), 205 Uganda Development Corporation (UDC), 49 Uganda Electricity Distribution Company Limited (UEDCL), 216 Uganda Federal Army (UFA), 205 Uganda Freedom Fighters (UFF), 64, 66 Uganda Grain Milling Corporation, 119 Uganda Hotels, 119 Uganda Human Rights Commission (UHRC), 98, 150, 173, 201 Uganda Investment Authority (UIA), 16, 121, 184, 190, 211, 215 Uganda Journalists Association (UJA), 177 Uganda Law Society (ULS), 177, 184, 225 Uganda Muslim Community (UMC), 42 Uganda National Congress (UNC), 34

Uganda National Liberation Army (UNLA), 55 Uganda National Liberation Front (UNLF), 55 Uganda National Rescue Front (UNRF), 201, 208, 212, 223 Uganda Penal Code, 41 Uganda People’s Army (UPA), 202–3 Uganda People’s Congress (UPC), 34–7, 39, 41–2, 44, 53–5, 74, 90–2, 108, 124–5, 141, 143, 168, 170, 175, 177, 180, 191–2, 219, 227–8 Uganda People’s Congress/Kabaka Yekka (UPC/KY) Coalition, 35–6 Uganda People’s Congress Youth League (UPCYL), 37, 42 Uganda People’s Defense Forces (UPDF), 150, 164, 172–3, 190, 193, 209, 211–17, 219, 224, 227–9 Uganda People’s Democratic Army (UPDA), 82, 201–2 Uganda People’s Democratic Movement/Army (UPDM/A), 81–2, 201–3 Uganda People’s Union (UPU), 34 Uganda Posts and Telecommunications Corporation (UP & TC), 207 Uganda Protectorate, 20, 22 Uganda Railways Corporation (URC), 135, 203 Uganda Revenue Authority (URA), 12, 16, 184, 189 Uganda Road Safety Initiative, 211 Uganda Telecommunications Limited, 207, 210 Uganda Wildlife Authority (UWA), 136 Ugandan Health Ministry, 218, 223 Ugandan Multilateral Debt Fund (UMDF), 205 Ugandan Multiple Debt Fund (UMDF), 119 Uganda’s Program for Trade and Opportunities and Policy (UPTOP), 213 United Nations Development Program (UNDP), 121, 123, 227 United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), 221–2

I ndex United Nations World Food Program (WFP), 218, 227 United States, 24, 35, 61, 72, 133, 137, 164, 177, 211–12, 227 United States Agency for Development (USAID), 116 Universal Primary Education (UPE), 103, 154, 156, 207 University of Dar es Salaam, 61 value added tax (VAT), 134–6, 207 van de Walle, Nicholas, 12, 18 Victoria Group, 164 Vienna Convetion of Diplomatic Relations, 226 Violent Crime Crack Unit (VCCU), 173, 180, 189, 195 Wacha, Ben, 219 Wagaba, Ross, 208 Wamala, Katumba, 224 Wapakhabulo, James, 216 Weber, Max, 185

283

Weberian, 23 Weltanschauung, 61 Whitehall, 19, 22 white paper, 172, 217 Wi Tong, 83 World Bank, 24, 26, 87–9, 102–3, 109, 116, 118–20, 123, 135, 152–3, 202–5, 207–8, 211, 213, 217, 221, 227 World Bank Group, 154 World Trade Organization (WTO), 152 World War II, 193 Wunsch, J. S., 104 Young, Crawford, 20, 22 Young Democrats, 190 Young Parliamentarians Association, 190 Yumbe County, 142 Zaire, 198 Zartman, I. William, 185 Zimbabwe, 133, 166, 198