Uganda’s decision to commit the Uganda People’s Defence Forces (UPDF) to a proposed international force in Gaza—and Parliament’s hurried approval of that deployment—represents a grave miscalculation in foreign policy and a troubling failure of parliamentary oversight.

No reasonable Ugandan should object to helping protect civilians, facilitate humanitarian access, or contribute to genuine international efforts to end conflict. Uganda has a proud record in international peace-support operations. But sending Ugandan soldiers into Gaza is not simply another peacekeeping assignment. It is a deployment into one of the world’s most politically charged and militarily volatile theatres, under a mission whose precise mandate, command structure, rules of engagement, funding arrangements and legal protections were not disclosed to Parliament prior to approval.

Reporting on the parliamentary debate reveals the extraordinary haste with which the decision was taken. Defence Minister Kiryowa Kiwanuka informed MPs that President Yoweri Museveni had, through emissaries, received a request from President Donald Trump for Uganda’s participation. Yet troop numbers and deployment dates had not been determined, and the Minister indicated that the Status of Forces Agreement (SOFA) would be concluded after Parliament approved the deployment.

That sequence should concern every citizen: Parliament was asked to sign the contract first and learn its terms later.

A Constitutional Duty Abandoned

The deployment of armed forces outside Uganda is not an ordinary executive transaction. Article 210 of the Constitution assigns Parliament the explicit duty to regulate troop deployments outside our borders, backed by the statutory framework of the UPDF Act.

During the debate, Opposition MPs complained that they had been blindsided and that the motion was not subjected to the Defence and Internal Affairs Committee. Deputy Speaker Thomas Tayebwa ruled that the motion did not require committee referral and proceeded to dispose of it.

Even if procedurally defensible, constitutional responsibility is larger than procedural minimums. Where Ugandan soldiers are to be placed in a combat zone thousands of kilometres away, Parliament must know what they are being sent to do, under whose command, under what law, with what rules of engagement, at whose cost and under what conditions they can be withdrawn.

Worse still are signals from the Executive framing the UPDF’s objective as “dismantling terrorist cells”. This language betrays a hawkish misreading of the conflict. Reducing a decades-long struggle over national liberation, occupation and self-determination purely to a counter-terrorism operation risks reproducing the logic of colonial enforcement.

The framework established under UN Security Council Resolution 2803 requires the permanent decommissioning of weapons from “non-state armed groups”. This creates a profound asymmetry: Israeli forces remain the military forces of a recognised state, while Palestinian armed groups are treated within the International Stabilization Force (ISF) mandate as non-state armed groups whose weapons must be permanently decommissioned.

If UPDF troops enter Gaza to forcibly disarm these groups without their consent, they will not simply be keeping peace. They could find themselves acting as combatants in an asymmetric counter-insurgency.

Who Commands the “Board of Peace”?

There is a fundamental distinction that was obscured from Parliament: the International Stabilization Force is UN-authorised, but it is not a conventional UN-commanded peacekeeping force.

Resolution 2803 places the ISF under a unified command acceptable to the “Board of Peace”—a US-sponsored transitional body created around Donald Trump’s Gaza plan and chaired by Trump himself, with Secretary of State Marco Rubio and Jared Kushner among its senior figures.

The UN Security Council authorised this arrangement but did not transform the Board into a UN institution. The subsequent implementation architecture has made the distinction even clearer: the ISF is operating under United States unified command through Major General Jasper Jeffers, in consultation with Egypt and Israel.

The political architecture should give Uganda pause. Israel is represented on the Board, but the State of Palestine is not. Palestinians are to have a peripheral role in the technocratic administration of Gaza, but they are not part of the sovereign political authority supervising the international security architecture.

Constructing a Palestinian political future through an externally designed security structure in which Palestinians do not exercise primary political authority is reproducing the logic of colonial tutelage. Security imposed from outside cannot substitute for the political agency of the people whose territory is being governed.

For Uganda—and especially for Uganda as Chair of the Non-Aligned Movement (NAM)—joining the military arm of a US-designed transitional architecture without a clear Palestinian political mandate or conventional UN command represents a tragic recapitulation to imperialist preferences. It is a fundamental betrayal of Pan-African anti-colonial doctrine.

Africa’s historic liberation movements, including South Africa’s ANC and Algeria’s FLN, have consistently maintained a principled distance from externally imposed guardianship plans. They understand that security cannot be built by subordinating an occupied people’s right to self-determination.

Uganda risks transforming the UPDF into an auxiliary police force for a foreign imperial project.

The Danger of Mission Drift and Permanent Deployment

By failing to define a clear political destination, Uganda risks entangling its military in an open-ended quagmire. As strategic analysts have pointed out, there is a fundamental difference between state-collapse problems and sovereignty problems.

In Somalia, where the UPDF has been deployed since 2007, the challenge was state collapse—using military force to help build institutions. Gaza, by contrast, is fundamentally a sovereignty problem. Military force cannot resolve contested claims to identity, statehood and self-determination.

The history of international intervention offers sobering warnings. The Kosovo model: Military intervention can end open warfare while leaving the core question of state sovereignty frozen and unresolved indefinitely.

The Southern Lebanon model: Peacekeepers can spend decades containing surface instability without ever resolving the strategic conflict beneath it.Gaza risks becoming Kosovo without agreement on sovereignty, and Southern Lebanon without agreement on security.

The danger for the UPDF is not merely immediate tactical failure, but mission drift: troops arrive, mandates are repeatedly renewed, deadlines slip, and a “temporary” deployment acquires a permanent logic.

Having maintained a military presence in Somalia for nearly two decades, Uganda should know that entering a conflict without a clear political exit strategy can lead to indefinite commitment.

 Neutrality and NAM Commitments Compromised

Uganda’s credibility as an impartial actor has also been severely eroded. While President Museveni has historically advocated diplomacy and a two-State solution, recent military posture projects an increasingly unambiguous bias. CDF Gen. Muhoozi Kainerugaba publicly offered military assistance to Israel during its recent confrontation with Iran.

Then, days before Parliament approved the Gaza deployment, the military unveiled a monument at Entebbe honouring Lt. Col. Yonatan Netanyahu, commander of the 1976 Israeli raid on Ugandan soil.

Commemorating an operation that violated Ugandan sovereignty, immediately before Parliament authorised Uganda’s participation in the Gaza force, creates a profound credibility problem for Uganda’s claim to neutrality in the eyes of Palestinians.

This posture is difficult to reconcile with Uganda’s duties as NAM Chair for 2024–2027. The Kampala Declaration reaffirmed support for ending the Israeli occupation and securing an independent, sovereign Palestinian State based on pre-1967 borders with East Jerusalem as its capital.

Sending troops to enforce stabilisation without a binding political pathway to Palestinian statehood risks turning Uganda into an instrument of conflict management rather than liberation.

Furthermore, the framework envisages a newly trained Palestinian police force working with the ISF. But policing Gaza cannot substitute for Palestinian statehood. An externally supervised security administration risks becoming an instrument for managing the conflict rather than building the institutions of a sovereign state.

Without political reunification between Gaza and the West Bank and a credible pathway to Palestinian sovereignty, security arrangements risk merely managing the occupation rather than ending it.

The Unavoidable ICC Contradiction

The legal risks are equally acute. Uganda is a State Party to the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court (ICC), which issued arrest warrants in November 2024 for Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and former Defence Minister Yoav Gallant in connection with the situation in Palestine.

Uganda is now proposing to send its armed forces into the very conflict theatre that remains before the ICC, while the principal Israeli leadership implicated in the Court’s proceedings faces arrest warrants.

The contradiction is sharpened by US sanctions imposed in June 2025 against four ICC judges, including Ugandan Judge Solomy Balungi Bossa, in response to the Court’s actions concerning Israel.

Participating in a security architecture designed by an administration that has actively penalised a Ugandan jurist serving on the ICC bench creates an uncomfortable legal and diplomatic contradiction for Uganda.

This does not mean that Uganda cannot participate in any international effort involving Israel or Palestine. It means that any participation must be consistent with Uganda’s international legal obligations and its longstanding commitment to an independent international justice system.

Conclusion: Demand Accountability Before Deployment

A Status of Forces Agreement and Rules of Engagement cannot be negotiated as afterthoughts. They determine legal immunities, criminal jurisdiction, rules on lethal force, responsibility for casualties, medical evacuation and the circumstances under which Ugandan soldiers may use force.

Ugandans are entitled to know whether their soldiers will use force only in self-defence or whether they may be ordered to forcibly disarm Palestinian armed groups.

Uganda already carries substantial military commitments in Somalia, the Democratic Republic of Congo and South Sudan. International flattery or diplomatic goodwill is not a sufficient reason to risk Ugandan lives.

Parliament must reopen this question, demand the missing legal instruments, scrutinise the SOFA and Rules of Engagement, and insist that any military contribution be explicitly tied to an undeniable roadmap towards a sovereign, independent Palestinian State alongside Israel.

Our soldiers deserve to know what they are being sent to do, under whose command, under what law, at whose expense and to what political end.

Security in Palestine must ultimately serve freedom and self-determination—not merely a better-policed occupation.

The writer is a senior advocate, former Member of Parliament, and former State Minister for Foreign Affairs.

The United Nations Security Council is composed of fifteen member states, but authority within the chamber is divided into a rigid, two tiered hierarchy. Ten seats are reserved for non permanent members elected for rotating two year terms by the UN General Assembly. The remaining five seats belong permanently to the victors of World War II: China, France, Russia, the United Kingdom, and the United States, collectively known as the P5. The veto power is an exclusive privilege granted solely to these five permanent members. In the context of executive decision-making, a veto means that if a single P5 country casts a negative ballot on a substantive matter, the initiative is killed instantly. When applied to the selection of the Secretary General, one nation’s opposition can unilaterally overrule the collective preference of the remaining 192 sovereign states, reducing global consensus to a nullity.

Under Article 97 of the UN Charter, the General Assembly, which represents all 193 member states, does not hold an open, democratic election for the top diplomat of the world. Instead, the General Assembly acts as a passive ratifying body, forced to wait until the Security Council agrees on a single candidate to recommend. During the Council’s informal straw polls, diplomats mark secret ballots for each candidate as encouraged, discouraged, or no opinion expressed. In the initial non-binding tallies of yesterday, Costa Rica’s Rebeca Grynspan led the field with 10 encourage votes, 1 discourage, and 4 no opinions. She was followed by Guyana’s Carolyn Rodrigues Birkett with 9 encourage votes, 2 discourages, and 4 no opinions, and Argentina’s Rafael Grossi with 7 encourage votes, 2 discourages, and 6 no opinions.

Meanwhile, Africa’s candidates met immediate structural resistance. Senegal’s former President Macky Sall received 6 encourage, 7 discourage, and 2 no opinion votes, while Uganda’s Olara Otunnu, a seasoned diplomat and former UN Under Secretary General, garnered 2 encourage, 5 discourage, and 8 no opinion votes. While these initial rounds utilized uniform ballots to obscure which votes came from permanent members, upcoming voting rounds will introduce color coded ballots. The moment a P5 member casts a red ballot, it signals a definitive veto that immediately eliminates a candidate, regardless of how many non permanent members or General Assembly delegates support them.

This system exposes a profound structural prejudice against the African continent. Africa consists of 54 sovereign nations, forming the largest single regional voting bloc in the UN General Assembly, and is home to over 1.4 billion people. Yet, Africa holds zero permanent seats and zero veto power on the Security Council. An entire continent representing nearly twenty percent of humanity is effectively stripped of direct structural leverage over global security decisions and executive appointments. Statesmen with world class executive credentials, such as Macky Sall and Olara Otunnu, find their candidacies judged not on their leadership, moral integrity, or continental backing, but on whether their independence aligns with the geopolitical interests of the five ruling powers.

Scholars, international legal experts, and reform advocates have long condemned this arrangement, routinely describing the selection process as a farce, a waste of time, and a hollow illusion of multilateralism Analysts point out that despite public town halls and General Assembly dialogues, the actual decision remains an exercise in backroom bargaining among the permanent five. P5 members routinely prioritize geopolitical predictability and compliance over independent merit, ensuring that no leader who challenges imperial interests can survive the selection.

This institutional bias has drawn sharp condemnation from prominent African leaders. Kenyan President William Ruto forcefully challenged the composition of the Security Council directly before the United Nations General Assembly, declaring the complete exclusion of Africa from permanent membership to be inherently unfair, outdated, and unacceptable. Ruto warned world leaders that the current structure of the Security Council is anachronistic relic of 1945 that disregards the legitimate rights of 54 nations, emphasizing that granting Africa permanent seats with veto rights is not a favor, but an urgent requirement for the credibility of global governance.

Ultimately, the straw poll yesterday demonstrates the persistent gap between the founding ideals of the United Nations and its operational realities. When a single nation can veto the candidate preferred by the international majority, the selection of global leadership ceases to be a democratic process and reverts to power politics. For Africa and the wider Global South, these dynamics underscore the urgent necessity to reevaluate strategic multilateral relationships and demand structural equity rather than settling for minor procedural adjustments within a rigged system.

ByTwiine Mansio Charles (TCM)

Geopolitical Analyst | Security Strategist | CEO, The ThirdEye Security Consults (U) Ltd | Doctoral Scholar, Stellenbosch University.

A constitution derives its authority not simply from its enactment, but from the continuing willingness of those who exercise state power to remain bound by it. It is, at its core, a political covenant—a social contract through which citizens surrender part of their natural liberty in exchange for security, justice, accountable government, and the impartial protection of their rights.

This principle lies at the heart of modern constitutionalism. John Locke argued that free people consent to establish governments to protect life, liberty, and property. Jean-Jacques Rousseau maintained that sovereignty ultimately resides in the people, who delegate authority to institutions created to serve the common good. Modern constitutions therefore perform two reciprocal functions: they empower governments to govern, but they also restrain governments from abusing that power.

Citizens obey the law because they trust that those entrusted with public authority will themselves obey the Constitution. Every constitutional democracy experiences occasional violations of law, which functioning institutions can correct. A true crisis begins, however, when violations become systematic, when oversight institutions become unable or unwilling to correct them, and when constitutional guarantees exist only on paper while executive discretion becomes the principal regulator of political life.

That, increasingly, is the constitutional question confronting Uganda.

Thirty years ago, Uganda appeared to have broken decisively with its history of constitutional instability. The 1995 Constitution emerged from one of the most extensive consultative processes on the African continent. The Odoki Constitutional Commission gathered submissions from ordinary citizens, religious leaders, cultural institutions, and political organisations. Ugandans overwhelmingly expressed a desire for accountable government, judicial independence, respect for fundamental rights, civilian supremacy over the military, and safeguards against a return to authoritarian rule.

The resulting charter was celebrated as one of Africa’s most progressive constitutional settlements. It contained an extensive Bill of Rights, entrenched judicial review, recognised decentralisation, restored traditional cultural institutions, and sought to permanently remove the armed forces from partisan politics.

Three decades later, however, an uncomfortable question now lingers: Has the constitutional settlement negotiated in 1995 progressively lost the legitimacy upon which it was founded?

This question does not arise because particular political actors have become unpopular. It arises because Uganda increasingly exhibits a pattern in which the Constitution’s most fundamental guarantees are repeatedly challenged without effective institutional correction. When this occurs over a prolonged period, it becomes a question of whether the underlying social contract itself requires peaceful renegotiation.

The Constitution Under Strain

Perhaps nowhere is this tension more visible than in Article 208 of the Constitution. The framers understood Uganda’s painful history of military intervention. Article 208 was drafted in unequivocal language, requiring the Uganda People’s Defence Forces (UPDF) to be non-partisan, national in character, patriotic, professional, disciplined, and subordinate to civilian authority.

Recent developments have inevitably raised questions about whether that constitutional firewall remains intact. The emergence and rapid expansion of the Patriotic League of Uganda (PLU), publicly championed by General Muhoozi Kainerugaba while serving as Chief of Defence Forces, has generated significant constitutional debate.

The issue is not whether General Muhoozi enjoys political rights as a citizen. The narrower institutional question is whether the serving commander of the national armed forces can simultaneously remain constitutionally non-partisan while leading sustained political mobilisation connected to future presidential succession.

The concern arises from the constitutional danger created when the distinction between military command and partisan political organisation becomes blurred while an officer remains in active command. Article 208 exists precisely to ensure that the armed forces belong equally to every Ugandan citizen, regardless of political affiliation.

This issue assumes greater significance when viewed alongside the Supreme Court’s landmark decision in Attorney General v Hon. Michael Kabaziguruka, which held that military courts lack constitutional jurisdiction to try civilians because they do not possess the institutional independence required of courts exercising judicial power over ordinary citizens.

Yet constitutional legitimacy depends upon faithful implementation. When authoritative judgments encounter hesitation, delay, or selective application, public confidence shifts from faith in institutions to uncertainty about whether constitutional guarantees remain practically enforceable.

The same concern arises regarding personal liberty. Article 23 guarantees that no person shall be deprived of liberty except according to law, requiring detainees to be brought before a court within forty-eight hours. Article 24 absolutely prohibits torture and cruel, inhuman, or degrading treatment.

Nevertheless, persistent reports of arrests by unidentified security operatives travelling in unmarked vehicles—popularly known as “drones”—together with reports of prolonged incommunicado detention, have generated increasing public anxiety.

Specific incidents involving prominent Ugandans have brought these questions into national focus.

The reported abduction and detention of former Kampala Lord Mayor Erias Lukwago illustrates why these issues extend beyond individual fortunes. Seized while engaged in legal work and held incommunicado, Lukwago was produced before court in visibly poor health. The controversy deepened following public statements attributed to General Muhoozi Kainerugaba on his verified X account acknowledging that Lukwago had been tortured.

Such an acknowledgment by the CDF raises an extraordinary constitutional question: How can a constitutional democracy reconcile the acknowledged torture of a citizen with Article 24’s absolute prohibition?

Similarly, the public abduction of Hon. Muhammad Muwanga Kivumbi, captured on camera by NBS Television as he was taken away by security operatives, has intensified concern. His whereabouts remain unknown after more than 10 days of incommunicado detention, raising urgent questions regarding compliance with Article 23.

An individual’s constitutional rights cannot depend upon political popularity or acceptability. The essence of constitutionalism is that even critics of government remain entitled to the protection of the law. When access to family, legal representation, personal doctor, and judicial supervision becomes uncertain in politically sensitive cases, confidence in constitutional guarantees diminishes for everyone.

Uganda’s Recurrent History of Broken Compacts.

Uganda’s present predicament forms part of a longer historical pattern where successive constitutional settlements have struggled to survive when political competition became dominated by the concentration of power and the control of coercive institutions.

The 1962 Independence Constitution represented Uganda’s first attempt to reconcile a modern nation-state with historical kingdoms and identities. It was a negotiated political settlement that recognised regional autonomy, but it was severely tested when national political competition intensified.

The 1966 constitutional crisis and the 1967 Constitution marked a major rupture. The conflict between the central government and the Buganda Kingdom escalated into the suspension of the constitutional order and the military attack on the Lubiri. This established a dangerous precedent: that constitutional disputes could be resolved through state coercive power rather than negotiation.

The subsequent 1967 Constitution entrenched a highly centralised model that concentrated authority within the executive, ultimately creating conditions for the military takeover of 1971.

The 1985 Nairobi Peace Agreement sought to establish a framework for transition and reconciliation between the military government and the National Resistance Army (NRA). However, before the agreed arrangements could mature, military victory displaced political compromise when the NRA captured Kampala in January 1986.

The 1995 Constitution was designed to break this historical cycle by replacing the politics of force with the politics of law. As legal scholars Professors Frederick Jjuuko and Sam Tindifa observe in their analysis of Ugandan political settlements, these historical milestones have often functioned as elite-driven accommodations rather than enduring social contracts.

Because these frameworks were frequently transactional pacts constructed to preserve immediate political interests, they remained inherently fragile.

Consequently, over the years, several constitutional amendments have fundamentally altered the architecture of 1995, including the removal of presidential term limits in 2005 and age limits in 2017. While undertaken through legally established parliamentary procedures, the deeper question is whether repeated alterations to foundational safeguards have weakened public confidence in the settlement itself.

As Jjuuko and Tindifa’s critique suggests, a constitution can be legally amended while its underlying social contract becomes progressively hollowed out and fragile.

Why Buganda and Busoga Should Convene a Sovereign National Conference

History demonstrates that national dialogues rarely emerge spontaneously. They usually begin through a coalition of institutions or communities possessing sufficient legitimacy and organisational capacity to create a platform for wider national participation.

Benin’s historic 1990 Sovereign National Conference emerged from an alliance of civic and religious institutions, while Kenya’s constitutional reform process developed through sustained engagement among political actors and civil society before culminating in the 2010 Constitution.

Uganda’s own constitutional history demonstrates that when the political settlement becomes contested, the answer cannot always be found within the ordinary mechanisms created by that same settlement. At such moments, the people—the ultimate source of constitutional authority—must have an opportunity to deliberate on the future direction of the state.

In my considered view, the most credible constitutional nucleus to initiate such a process in Uganda lies in a partnership between Buganda and Busoga—not because these regions possess a superior claim over Uganda’s future, but because they combine historical legitimacy, economic influence, demographic significance, and strategic national assets capable of providing a platform for a broader national conversation.

Their role would be fundamentally different: to convene, not to control; to open the door, not to occupy the room.

Buganda remains Uganda’s principal economic engine. The Greater Kampala Metropolitan Area contains the largest concentration of national economic activity, hosting Parliament, the central bank, manufacturing industries, major universities, and Entebbe International Airport. Buganda’s contribution would arise from this present-day institutional capacity and economic significance.

Busoga represents one of the country’s most important strategic resource frontiers. It hosts critical energy infrastructure along the Nile corridor—including the Nalubaale, Kiira, Bujagali, and Isimba hydroelectric stations—which form the foundation of Uganda’s energy security.

Furthermore, the emerging Makuutu Rare Earth Project in Mayuge and Iganga positions Busoga as a region of global strategic importance. The governance of rare earth elements raises fundamental constitutional questions concerning national sovereignty, resource ownership, revenue sharing, and distributive justice.

However, the purpose of involving Buganda and Busoga is not to elevate two regions above others. On the contrary, it is precisely to demonstrate that every constituent community of Uganda brings immense value to the national table.

The outdated assumption that some regions are permanently resource-poor and therefore dependent on central government control has been challenged by Uganda’s evolving resource map.

Bunyoro and Acholi possess significant oil resources. Karamoja has substantial mineral wealth, including gold and marble deposits. Buganda and surrounding regions remain central to Uganda’s agricultural economy through coffee—our enduring “black gold.” Busoga possesses strategic energy and mineral resources, including uranium potential that places it at the centre of future energy discussions.

Tooro contributes extraordinary environmental, tourism and cultural assets. Ankole contributes agricultural and livestock strength. Acholi offers invaluable experience in peacebuilding and post-conflict recovery. Lango, Teso, Bugisu, Bukedi, Sebei and West Nile each possess distinct economic, cultural and strategic capabilities.

The myth of the “impoverished region” has therefore been permanently challenged by geography. Uganda is not a country lacking resources; it is a country whose governance arrangements have struggled to ensure that national wealth is translated into equitable development.

This widespread and decentralised wealth provides the material foundation for a more equitable system of governance, whether through meaningful devolution or a federal arrangement negotiated through national consensus.

A Sovereign National Conference is therefore not a luxury. It is an urgent mechanism through which Uganda can determine how its collective wealth, diversity and aspirations can be organised into a more legitimate political order.

A Sovereign National Conference also differs fundamentally from an ordinary parliamentary process. Parliament derives its authority from the existing Constitution; it exercises constituted power. The people, however, possess the original democratic authority from which constitutions derive their legitimacy; they exercise constituent power.

When the foundational constitutional settlement itself becomes the subject of national concern, legitimacy must ultimately return to the people.This does not mean rejecting Parliament or abolishing constitutional institutions. Rather, it recognises that there are moments in a nation’s history when ordinary institutions may lack the political capacity to resolve fundamental structural questions.

A Parliament whose members are products of the existing political settlement may find it difficult to undertake reforms that fundamentally alter the very structures within which they operate. Expecting a highly partisan legislative body to voluntarily limit executive dominance, enforce absolute military neutrality, or redesign the distribution of national resources presents an inherent institutional challenge.

A Sovereign National Conference would therefore serve as an inclusive vehicle of citizen participation, operating alongside existing institutions to address unresolved national questions. It would not claim authority above the Constitution; rather, it would seek to renew the constitutional covenant upon which state legitimacy depends.

Its mandate would include addressing questions such as land justice, regional equity, federalism or meaningful devolution, military neutrality, judicial independence, corruption, and fair governance of national resources.Professor Wangoola-Wangoola Ndawula has described one of the enduring dilemmas of post-colonial states as the tension between constitutional government and “Gun Power”—the reality that coercive authority too often becomes the ultimate guarantor of political power.

A Sovereign National Conference offers Uganda a peaceful constitutional response to that dilemma. It seeks to ensure that political authority derives from consent rather than coercion, from institutions rather than personalities, and from law rather than force.It is constitutional renewal, not constitutional destruction.

Conclusion: Refounding Uganda Through Consent

A constitution survives not because it is written, but because those who exercise power accept that they, too, are bound by it.

The choice before Uganda is not between preserving the 1995 Constitution and abandoning constitutionalism. The real choice is whether to allow the gap between constitutional promise and constitutional practice to continue widening, or to create a peaceful national mechanism to renew the political covenant upon which the Republic rests.

Properly constituted, a Sovereign National Conference would bring together government, opposition, traditional institutions, religious leaders, civil society, the private sector and citizens from every region as equal partners.

Its purpose would not be to assign victory to one political faction or region. Its purpose would be to restore the principle upon which every genuine democracy rests: that sovereignty ultimately belongs to the people.

Thirty years after the adoption of the 1995 Constitution, Uganda has reached a moment of constitutional reflection. The country must decide whether its future will continue to be shaped by recurring cycles of political contestation and institutional strain, or whether it can peacefully renew its national compact through dialogue, consent and inclusion.

The ultimate question is not whether Uganda needs another Constitution merely for the sake of changing text. The deeper question is whether Ugandans can rebuild the trust between the governed and those who govern.

A Sovereign National Conference provides an opportunity to do precisely that: to transform constitutional frustration into constructive national renewal.

That is the conversation Uganda can no longer postpone.

The writer is a senior advocate, former Member of Parliament and former Minister.

Among those who sounded the alarm was Morrison Rwakakamba. He argued that removing these constitutional safeguards amounted to a fundamental compromise of the spirit of the Constitution and created the conditions for a life presidency with potentially grave consequences for political stability.

Today, with the emergence of the Patriotic League of Uganda (PLU) under the Chief of Defence Forces (CDF), General Muhoozi Kainerugaba, and the apparent disregard for Article 208 of the Constitution, which requires the Uganda People’s Defence Forces to remain non-partisan, professional and subordinate to civilian authority, many of those warnings appear strikingly prescient.

Indeed, Morrison Rwakakamba deserves recognition for articulating, with remarkable clarity, the constitutional risks that lay ahead. To understand how Uganda’s current institutional crisis was engineered, it is worth revisiting his observations in an interview published by The Observer on 25 September 2017, at the height of the national debate over the proposed removal of Article 102(b).

On governance being subordinated to personal political survival, Rwakakamba observed:

“There is need for more imagination. I think the President is more concerned with maintaining a hold onto power. For example, you have a Parliament spending so many hours trying to diminish the Constitution by removing Article 102(b) instead of concentrating on those things in the 2016 manifesto… the entire Cabinet and Parliament are busy weakening the Constitution in order to perpetuate a life presidency.”

On the illusion of economic transformation while constitutional politics consumed the State, he added:

“To say you want Uganda to move to a middle-income status yet you are presiding over an economy that is growing at 3.8 per cent per annum… you need an economy that is consistently growing at 10 per cent per annum for ten years. If your population is growing at three per cent and that population is jobless… Deploying money on buying a machine to detect pornography and not in the productive sectors of the economy shows that your agenda is not transformative.”

His most powerful warning, however, concerned what he described as the dismantling of the Constitution’s final institutional safeguards.

On the constitutional “firewalls” against instability, he warned:

“We are concerned with the age limit removal. That is our last firewall… If you don’t have institutions that can deliver, then you have term limits. If the term limits were removed through political manoeuvring, then at least have other caps… If it passes, it portends trouble for the country and pushes Uganda’s risk profile through the roof.”

He continued: “You are faced with a life presidency and opening this window is allowing Museveni to be here not only beyond 2021, but 2026, or even 2031. In my view, President Museveni has done his part. He should be retiring. If he doesn’t, he is pushing us to the Zimbabwe corridor.”

Perhaps his most profound constitutional insight came in challenging the long-standing official argument that Uganda’s problems lay with “the what” rather than “the who.”

On the relationship between constitutional succession and political stability, he concluded:

“The President has been saying that the problems of Uganda are ‘the what’ not ‘the who.’ ‘The what’ has been here: it is the lack of jobs, health care and education. If ‘the what’ is not changing, then the problem is ‘the who.’ Year 2021 is the opportunity to re-imagine ‘the who’ to solve ‘the what.’… If the Constitution is removed, then people lose hope and you cannot comfortably say that people will not try to look for other means that are violent in nature.”

Looking back today, these observations read less like political commentary than constitutional prophecy.

The removal of presidential term limits in 2005—procured through the transactional distribution of five million shillings to Members of Parliament—fundamentally commercialised the legislative arena, signalling that even the supreme law of the land could be bartered for regime survival.

By the time the age limit was targeted in 2017, the trajectory had evolved from mere financial inducement to naked coercion. Even though there were attempts to maintain a transactional veneer by paying 29 million shillings to each legislator – officially billed as facilitation to consult with their constituents – the institutional environment had fundamentally shifted. The majority of Opposition MPs recognized the disbursement as a political bribe and publicly returned the funds. Ultimately the amendment was not secured through constitutional consensus but under the shadow of force, punctuated by the unprecedented invasion of Parliament by the Special Forces Command (SFC), which violently assaulted and removed dissenting Members of Parliament from the Chamber.

Yet the most consequential institutional failure lay not in Parliament but in the courts.

When the amendment was challenged, the Constitutional Court acknowledged the military’s unlawful intrusion into Parliament but nevertheless upheld (4 -1) the constitutional amendment. On appeal the Supreme Court confirmed the decision (4-3). In doing so, the highest courts of the land effectively legitimised a constitutional change enacted under the shadow of military coercion. The final institutional firewall—the judiciary—thus yielded where it was expected to stand firm.

Once constitutional restraints are dismantled, or their violation judicially excused, in order to preserve an individual in power rather than the integrity of the constitutional order, the erosion of every subsequent institutional safeguard becomes progressively inevitable.

The increasing political role of the military, the rise of the PLU under a serving Chief of Defence Forces, and growing concerns over compliance with Article 208 should therefore not be viewed as isolated or contemporary aberrations. They are the logical culmination of a constitutional trajectory that began by commercialising constitutional amendment in 2005, escalated into military intimidation in 2017, and was ultimately normalised through judicial validation.

The question confronting Uganda today is therefore no longer whether the removal of presidential term and age limits mattered. The more profound question is whether those amendments became the constitutional gateway through which the Republic entered its present constitutional crisis.

Measured against the warnings issued by Mr. Morrison Rwakakamba in 2017 and the events that have since unfolded, the evidence points overwhelmingly in one direction: they did.

By Asuman Kiyingi

The writer is a senior advocate, former Member of Parliament and former Minister.

His mandate includes a rigorous oversight of the revolving funds disbursed to various groups, and whispers of accountability are sending jitters through members who have allegedly dipped into these funds for personal use.

Sources close to the new presidential appointee indicate that a comprehensive audit is imminent, with a particular focus on SACCOs that have shown poor repayment rates or irregular fund utilization. Gumisiriza Jeremiah is reportedly keen on ensuring that the revolving funds, intended to empower small businesses and entrepreneurs, are channeled effectively and sustainably.

In 2022 we broke a story on how President Museveni had personally blown the cover of his informant during a meeting to streamline the administration of public markets in Kampala Metropolitan Area. Gumisiriza singlehandedly convinced the President to direct government to repossess markets which had been leased to private businessmen in order to protect the vendors from exploitation.

Our source informed us that Gumisiriza is the author of numerous revolving funds that were dished out by the President before and during the campaign much as he remained in the shadows having fallen out with some powerful women in the administration of State House which led to his resignation from the National Secretariat for Patriotism Corps.

The looming crackdown comes at a time when President Yoweri Kaguta Museveni has repeatedly stressed the importance of financial discipline among beneficiaries of government programs. In a September 2025 address to Boda Boda riders in Kampala Metropolitan Area while handing over a cheque of 10.2 billion shillings to the Saccos, the President issued a stern warning: “Whoever misuses this SACCO money, I will go after them. I also want accountability for the 2011 Boda Boda SACCO funds because I want to know what happened.”

President Museveni directed the SACCO members not to use the funds to repay debts from money lenders but rather purchase new motorcycles for their fresh start, a directive we have learnt it was since ignored.

On 16th December 2025, the President also pledged to give SACCOs of salon operators across the country 85 billion as a revolving fund. However, the number of salon operators we spoke to said they have never received any money and they have no hope of ever receiving it as they allege it has been beaten by the leaders of the Federation who are NRM Cadres.

Other Presidential revolving funds include 7 billion shillings to Mechanics SACCOs in Kampala Metropolitan Area, 5 billion shillings to Tiktokers, 7 billion shillings to music promoters, over 1 billion to journalists in Sub-regions given during the PDM Tour, 1.8 billion to MCs in 18 Zonal regions, 8.8 billion to Presidential hubs bringing the total close to 126 billion shillings.

The President’s firm stance, coupled with Mr. Gumisiriza Jeremiah’s focused mandate, has led many SACCO members, particularly those in the informal sector, to review their financial dealings. The fear of potential sanctions, including arrests and recovery efforts, is palpable.

Many are reportedly rushing to regularize their accounts and ensure all outstanding loans are settled before the impending audits begin. The coming weeks are expected to be Kisanja No More Sleep.

Opinion: Nations are not undone in a single dramatic moment. They are gradually weakened when their moral foundations are treated as instruments of convenience. Uganda today stands at such a crossroads. The recent controversy surrounding a postponed Mass offered for political detainees, including Dr. Kizza Besigye, has once again exposed an unsettling fragility in our civic culture, we oscillate between demanding prophetic courage from the Church and condemning it whenever its discernment fails to align with our partisan appetites.

The public theatre that followed was telling. Accusations of capitulation competed with allegations of state overreach. Yet, beneath the surface lay, a deeper and more strategic question arises. What is the rightful place of moral institutions in the architecture of a modern state? And perhaps more importantly, what kind of nation are we constructing when we alternately weaponise and vilify those institutions?

The Strategic Value of Moral Institutions 

Uganda’s formation was neither purely political nor purely territorial. It was civilisational. Institutions such as the Catholic Church, the Church of Uganda, and traditional polities like the Buganda Kingdom were not peripheral actors. They were incubators of literacy, conscience, diplomacy, and leadership formation. They shaped the moral grammar of the state long before constitutions were drafted. To reduce such institutions to mere registrable entities before the Uganda Registration Services Bureau is legally defensible, yet symbolically profound. It signals a shift from reverence to routine administration. There is nothing unlawful about regulation.

However, when moral institutions lose their gravitas and are treated as ordinary interest groups, the state inadvertently impoverishes its own ethical compass. The strategic direction of any country depends not merely on economic growth or security apparatuses, but on the vitality of its moral intermediaries. Those entities capable of speaking uncomfortable truths to both rulers and crowds.

The Peril of Precedent and the Tyranny of Selective Outrage 

It is intellectually insufficient to lament perceived state pressure upon the Church while ignoring previous episodes where public agitation coerced ecclesiastical decisions. When Mathias Mpuuga prepared for a thanksgiving service amid intense political turbulence, sections of society mounted a vociferous campaign against the Church’s involvement.

The pressure was not subtle. It was orchestrated, emotional, and unrelenting. Representation was delegated. The precedent was set. We must be candid.  Societies that legitimise mob interference cannot credibly protest institutional interference. The logic is identical; only the source of pressure differs. Edmund Burke once warned thus; “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” Yet, he might well have added that the triumph of disorder requires good men to act without principle. Selective outrage corrodes legitimacy. If we defend autonomy only when it favours our cause, we are not defending principle. We are defending preference.

The Instrumentalisation of Faith 

There is also a sobering spiritual dimension. In moments of national distress, prayer services become symbolic rallying points. But faith must never be reduced to political theatre. It is neither a tactical lever, nor a revolutionary shortcut. The great civil rights leader Martin Luther King Jr. understood this delicate balance. He mobilised the Church not as a partisan weapon, but as a moral conscience.

Luther`s words resonate across continents. “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” Crucially, he did not ask the Church to echo every political slogan. He asked it to illuminate the moral law above politics. Similarly, Desmond Tutu reminded the world thus; “If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.”

Yet, Archbishop Tutu’s courage was rooted in spiritual integrity, not populist impulse. He defended the autonomy of the pulpit precisely because its credibility depended upon independence from factional manipulation. Uganda must ask herself; Are we strengthening that independence, or are we eroding it through relentless politicisation?

Religion and Power: A Necessary Tension 

It is tempting to declare, cynically, that religion ultimately bows to politics. History offers examples where this appears true. Yet, history also shows that when politics becomes unmoored from moral restraint, its excesses multiply. Consider the quiet influence of faith communities in transitional societies, how they mediate, reconcile, and humanise.

Even where they lack coercive authority, they possess moral capital. And moral capital, once squandered, is not easily replenished. A state confident in its legitimacy does not fear prayer. A Church confident in its mission does not fear scrutiny. The tension between altar and statehouse is not inherently destructive. It becomes destructive only when one seeks to dominate or instrumentalise the other.

The Strategic Imperative for Uganda 

If Uganda is to chart a stable and dignified future, three strategic recalibrations are imperative. One, Institutional Respect Over Political Expediency: Religious and cultural institutions must not be reduced to platforms for temporary political mobilisation. Their long-term credibility is a national asset. Two, Consistency in Civic Engagement: Citizens must resist the temptation to pressure institutions today and demand their protection tomorrow. Ethical consistency is the bedrock of mature democracies.

And three, Reaffirmation of Moral Leadership: The Church must guard its prophetic voice with prudence and courage, speaking truth to power without succumbing to partisan choreography. As Nelson Mandela wisely observed, “A nation should not be judged by how it treats its highest citizens, but its lowest ones.” How we treat detainees, dissenters, and even institutions with which we disagree reveals the calibre of our democracy.

A Call to National Maturity 

Uganda’s destiny cannot be secured through outrage cycles. It requires moral steadiness, institutional dignity, and leadership capable of transcending factional impulses. Let us therefore elevate the discourse. Let us resist the seduction of mob energy masquerading as civic engagement. Let us protect the sanctity of institutions even when their decisions unsettle us.

For tomorrow, when we seek the Church’s mediation in moments of national fracture, its authority must remain intact. When we seek moral clarity in turbulent times, its voice must not be compromised by memories of having been bullied into submission. The strategic direction of this country will not be determined solely by elections, security deployments, or economic metrics. It will be determined by whether we preserve the moral ecosystems that sustain justice, dignity, and restraint.

Lest I Forget

If Uganda is to rise into a future worthy of its history, then the altar must neither be commandeered by the crowd nor intimidated by the throne. It must stand—calm, principled, and resolute—reminding both citizen and ruler alike that power without conscience is perilous, and that nations endure only when their moral foundations remain unshaken.

Today, this lesson is not just historical; it is commercial and strategic. In recent days, escalating conflict in the Middle East has caused Iran‑linked drone strikes to damage key cloud computing infrastructure operated by Amazon Web Services in the United Arab Emirates and Bahrain, disrupting data centre operations relied upon by businesses and financial services across the wider region.

Data centres are the backbone of the digital economy, the physical heart of global cloud computing where, data is stored, applications are run, and financial transactions are processed. When two AWS facilities in the UAE were struck directly, and a third in Bahrain sustained damage, the physical vulnerability of our digital systems was laid bare.

The immediate effects were tangible: intermittent outages on banking apps and disruption of cloud services used by regional lenders and commercial platforms, reflecting a ripple effect from geopolitical risk into financial‑services reliability.
For business leaders, this incident is more than a headline. It is a strategic wake‑up call. It underscores a critical reality:

Geopolitical instability can no longer be treated as a peripheral risk. Digital infrastructure like physical borders, must be evaluated for resilience, sovereignty, and risk exposure. As an entrepreneur and innovator, I recognise that organisations, whether nations or companies, must balance engagement with global partners against the potential vulnerability that comes with outsourced infrastructure and foreign strategic entanglements.

This is where the leadership of Ugandan President Yoweri Kaguta Museveni resonates beyond borders.President Museveni has explained that when asked to host deeper foreign military presence, particularly from the United States and the United Kingdom, Uganda deliberately declined, choosing instead to retain full jurisdiction over security and legal matters on its soil.

He stated plainly thus; “Foreign armies for what? We can defend ourselves; we don’t need anything from anybody.” Uganda also did not sign a Status of Forces Agreement (SOFA) that could cede legal control over foreign troops, firmly anchoring sovereign authority locally.

From a business perspective, this mirrors sound risk management and sovereign control, similar to a company deciding whether to keep critical operations in‑house or outsource to an external partner in a volatile region. The AWS data centre damage illustrates what happens when critical infrastructure sits in areas that are not fully under local control or risk‑mitigated.

Strategic restraint, in this context, is not weakness. It is discipline. It is the choice to prioritise long‑term resilience over short‑term gains, sovereignty over dependency, and preparedness over exposure. Just as Arkhipov’s calm decision under pressure helped avert catastrophic escalation, President Museveni’s principled approach reflects a leadership mindset that values stability and protection over geopolitical positioning.

In an era where cloud infrastructure, financial services, and global commerce are so tightly linked, the world desperately needs leaders who understand that resilience, whether in foreign policy or business strategy, is an essential foundation for peace and prosperity. For these reasons, I urge the international community and the Norwegian Nobel Committee to consider President Museveni’s long‑standing commitment to sovereign stability, risk‑aware engagement, and peaceful statecraft as exemplary contributions to global peace.

Richard Rays Kyorakunde is an Innovator | Entrepreneur | Design Thinker | Founder of THIRDSPACE, PRK Brand & Communication, and Kechi Bee Source Farm | Building Ventures that Drive Growth and Meaningful Impac

Are you faint-heartened? Business requires that brilliant founder, the lightning-

bolt idea, and sometimes mythical overnight success. Yet anyone who has

actually, built a business knows the truth is far less glamorous and far more

demanding. Real success is forged through grit with focus: inner strength, guts,

innovation, tenacity, and that unteachable fire within. As the saying goes, “Talent

may start the race, but grit is what drags you across the finish line.” In business,

brilliance opens doors, but endurance keeps them open.

Grit itself is silent and deeply unfashionable. It doesn’t announce itself on TikTok

or wear expensive suits. It only shows up, every day, especially when things are

not working. Many ventures collapse not because the idea was weak, but

because persistence ran out. This is why it is often said, “Success in business is

less about having the right answers and more about refusing to stop asking the

questions.” Grit is the habit of standing back up, repeatedly, without giving up.

Focus is what gives grit direction. Without focus, effort becomes noise; with

focus, it becomes force. Businesses rarely fail from a lack of ideas, they fail from

too many distractions. Leaders who chase every opportunity end up mastering

none. As one sharp insight puts it, “Focus is not about doing more things; it is

about doing fewer things exceptionally well.” Focus allows grit to work like a laser

instead of a floodlight.

Inner strength is what sustains leaders during the tough seasons of business:

delayed payments, regulatory pressure, staff turnover, and quiet self-doubt at 2

a.m. Inner strength is choosing composure over complaint and progress over

panic. When external conditions destabilize, inner strength steadies the ship. After

all, “Markets test strategy, but pressure tests character.” In business, character

outlives any business plan.

Then comes guts, the willingness to act without guarantees. Every meaningful

business decision involves risk, and waiting for certainty is often just fear. Guts is

launching before you feel ready, backing your judgment, and taking responsibility

for outcomes. As the saying goes, “Courage in business is not knowing

everything will work; it is moving forward even when it might not.” Without guts,

ideas remain permanently trapped in notebooks.

Innovation is often misunderstood as technology or big budgets, yet it usually

begins with discomfort. When survival is at stake, creativity wakes up.

Public – Centenary Bank

The most innovative solutions emerge when resources are scarce and pressure is

high. This is why it’s true that “Innovation is rarely born from comfort; it is forged

in constraint.” Businesses that innovate consistently do not wait for perfect

conditions, they respond intelligently to imperfect ones.

Tenacity is what turns innovation into results. Ideas are plentiful; follow-through is

rare. Tenacity means staying with a strategy long enough for it to mature, refining

it when it stumbles, and resisting the urge to abandon ship at the first sign of

turbulence. As one blunt truth reminds us, “Most people don’t fail, they quit just

before things start working.” Tenacity is the patience to let effort compound.

At the core of it all burns the fire within. This fire is not hype or temporary

motivation, it is purpose anchored in responsibility. It is the internal voice that

says failure is not fatal, but giving up is unacceptable. This fire fuels learning,

resilience, and long-term vision. In fact, “When motivation fades, purpose is what

keeps the engine running.” Businesses led by people with inner fire do not

merely survive, they evolve.

Ultimately, business success is not a straight climb; it is a stubborn series of

recoveries. Grit sharpens focus, focus strengthens courage, courage drives

innovation, innovation demands tenacity, and tenacity feeds the fire within.

Remove one, and momentum weakens. Combine them, and even ordinary ideas

can build extraordinary enterprises. As experience repeatedly shows, “The real

competitive advantage in business is not intelligence, it is endurance.”

In conclusion, if business feels hard, you are not failing, you are forging and

learning. Difficulty is not a signal to stop; it is an invitation to grow stronger. Stay

focused. Act bravely. Innovate relentlessly. Persist stubbornly. Feed the fire.

Because in the end, those who win in business are rarely the most gifted. They

are simply the ones who decided, again and again, not to quit.

The writer is the General Manager Commercial Banking at Centenary Bank

In today’s business world, digital transformation is no longer a buzzword thrown around in boardrooms, it’s the air we breathe. The question is not if disruption will come knocking, but when it will crash through your front door. The real test for any organization is: how do you respond when the inevitable happens?

Some leaders still hope disruption is like a Ugandan taxi conductor, you can ignore him if you avoid eye contact. Sadly, it’s not. Whether it’s fintech shaking up banking, e-commerce unsettling retail, or AI reimagining customer service, disruption is universal. What matters most is whether you react smartly or simply panic.

The strategic playbook offers several options of response and management of the digital transformation trajectory. The choice rests on the business leader. Each has its own charm, risks, and punchlines. Choosing the wrong one is like bringing a panga to a chess match: tough, but not very effective.

Option One: Double Down. This is when you tell yourself, “We shall not be moved.” You invest heavily in your current business model, hoping that throwing more fuel on the fire will keep it alive. Sometimes it works, think of Netflix doubling down on streaming before anyone else. But it can also end like Kodak clinging to film while the world went digital. As Warren Buffett once stated, “The rearview mirror is always clearer than the windshield.”

Option Two: Fight Back. Here, the organization acknowledges disruption but chooses to fight with its own tools. It’s a bit like Arsenal deciding to outplay Manchester City at their own passing game, it’s brave, sometimes brilliant, but often exhausting. Traditional banks offering mobile wallets to counter fintech apps is a good example. They may not invent the wheel, but they make sure it spins in their favor.

Option Three: Retrench. This is corporate code for “panic politely.” Companies cut costs, close branches, and shrink operations to survive. It may save cash in the short run but risks starving the future. As Peter Drucker famously said, “The best way to predict the future is to create it.” Retrenchment, without reinvention is just slow-motion surrender.

Option Four: Migrate Away. Sometimes the smartest thing to do is admit the old model is dead and pivot completely. Remember Nokia’s glory days with phones? They could have migrated into smartphones earlier instead of sticking with the snake game. Migration means embracing new markets, products, or even entirely new industries. It’s bold, terrifying, and often the only way to stay alive.

Now, let’s add some light. Doubling down is like insisting on eating Rolex every day, it’s comforting until cholesterol sends you a warning. Fighting back is like trying to out-dance the youth at a Ugandan wedding, you may win applause for effort, but your knees will file a complaint. Retrenchment is the corporate equivalent of going on a diet by locking the fridge, it works until hunger gets creative. Migration? That’s moving houses because the landlord is raising rent every year, it hurts, but your budget will thank you.

The smartest organizations don’t pick one option blindly. They weigh them, test them, and sometimes combine them. A company might retrench to save resources, then migrate to a new product line, all while fighting back with its existing brand. Agility is no longer optional, it’s the default survival kit.

Digital transformation doesn’t reward the biggest, but the smartest. Just ask taxi drivers who ignored Uber, or small shops that embraced Jumia and kept their shelves moving. The lesson is clear: disruption punishes arrogance but rewards adaptability.

One of the smartest things leaders can do is to reframe disruption as opportunity. Instead of asking, “How do we protect what we have?” ask, “What new value can we create?” After all, nobody clapped for Nokia when they launched another keypad phone, but the world cheered when Apple reinvented the smartphone.

That aside, thriving in the digital age is about mindset. Leaders who view disruption as the enemy end up in endless battles. Those who see it as a teacher build stronger, future-proof organizations. As the African proverb goes, “When the music changes, so must the dance.”

In conclusion, whether you double down, fight back, retrench, or migrate away, the key is to be intentional and data-driven. Don’t react emotionally, react strategically. Remember: technology doesn’t disrupt businesses; leaders who ignore it do. Are you playing it safe and hoping for the best? Or will you be smart and choose the option that sets you ahead? Because in the digital age, it’s simple: you’re either smart, or you’re sorry.

The writer is the General Manager Commercial banking at Centenary Bank

Opinion: Too often, organizations equate strategy with documentation, a written plan that sits stored away in a computer folder or in the CEO’s book shelf. True strategy, however, is dynamic. It lives in decisions, guides culture, and informs how institutions adapt and grow. It helps organizations balance short-term pressures with long-term purpose, ensuring sustainability beyond immediate results.

In today’s competitive world, success is no longer determined by ambition alone but by the strength of one’s strategy. Across Africa, organizations and governments are setting ambitious targets, embracing innovation, and driving meaningful change. Yet, too often, good intentions fall short because they are not anchored in a clear, coherent strategy that guides every decision, resource, and action.

One may put in the effort, however, the difference between progress and stagnation lies in direction, and I believe that strategy gives that direction. It is what turns ideas into outcomes, plans into impact, and ambition into measurable success.

At the International Association for Strategy Professionals (IASP) Uganda Chapter, we believe that strategy must sit at the heart of every institution’s culture. Whether in business, government, education, or civil society, strategic thinking helps organizations define their purpose, align their resources, and stay focused in the face of uncertainty. That is why we are intentional with preaching the gospel through annual strategy leadership conferences like the one scheduled for 30-31^st October 2025.

Uganda’s economic growth and development vision under initiatives like the National Development Plan (NDP IV) present immense opportunities. But opportunity alone is not enough. For these ambitions to be realized, they must be backed by thoughtful planning, disciplined execution, and continuous evaluation which are ideally the symbols of effective strategy, hence a mindset shift.

Also, as institutions embark on digital transformation, financial management, human capital development, and sustainability, there is need guidance from a strategic framework. Technology, for instance, is only as powerful as the strategy that governs its use. Without clear priorities, even the most advanced tools risk becoming expensive distractions rather than enablers of progress.

Africa is undergoing significant transitions in its economic, social, and technological landscapes, which require deliberate and collaborative strategic approaches to ensure sustainable growth. The continent is not short of talent, ambition, and ideas to lead in innovation and growth. The missing link are deliberate innovative strategies and partnerships to turn potential into measurable impact.

As the continent advances, our ability to anticipate change will define our competitiveness. Strategic foresight, which is the discipline of preparing for multiple futures, allows organizations to remain agile in uncertain environments. It helps leaders recognize patterns, manage risk, and respond proactively rather than reactively.

Sustainability must also be embedded into every strategy. Aligning institutional goals with the UN Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) ensures that growth benefits people and the planet. Whether addressing climate resilience, gender equality, or decent work, strategy remains the link between aspiration and achievement.

To move from potential to progress, every leader must embrace strategy as a mindset. Leaders must seek out avenues committed to empowering professionals and institutions to develop, implement, and sustain effective strategies. We must envision a future where strategy is not confined to the boardroom but becomes a national culture that influences how we plan, work, and lead. The time is ripe to explore cutting edge strategies that can accelerate progress towards the African Union’s Agenda 2063 and enhance regional economic integration.

For Uganda and Africa at large, the next decade must be defined by strategic leadership that plans with clarity, acts with purpose, and delivers with consistency.

Our continent has everything it needs to succeed. What remains is to think strategically and act deliberately toward a shared future of sustainable growth.

The writer is the President, International Association for Strategy Professionals (IASP) Uganda Chapter