Spire Ssentongo and the difficult life of an activist

In the past one month, my friend Dr Jimmy Spire Ssentongo’s calm activism—as columnist, cartoonist, stand-up comic, academic—reached some immense heights when he took on the role of social media mobiliser.

Perhaps the most creative to ever use these social media platforms in recent history after the Arab Spring over 10 years ago, Spire has been turning necks, inviting responses from often indifferent fellas who ironically feed off the taxpayers’ purse.

From the speakers of parliament to Mr Museveni himself, all of them felt the urge to either join in or simply respond to the mess they have so indifferently presided over.

While their responses do not mean much, the fact that Ugandans learned that, with a simple Chinese-made smartphone, and a little data, they are able to vividly exhibit their pain, and dismiss the grand deception of public servants, is something the country is indebted to Dr Ssentongo.

But as the #UgandaHealthExhibition picked steam, government hacks started asking the almost strange question: who was funding Spire? I know, with his tight schedule, Spire surprised us with his commitment to this new self-assignment. He was so committed—remains committed— that folks across the political isle started thinking it was a paid gig. It was not.

The view that for anyone who has love for country and embarks on doing something about it can only do so with funding from somewhere else remains mindboggling. When did it become the accepted position that no one fights for country out of sheer love, anger and conviction?

This question hasn’t left me. As I thought about the persistence of this question (of being funded by an outside or inside saboteur source), I recalled my friend, Dr Kagoro, asking a more puzzling, more existential question some years back: why do supposedly radical folks, the avowed critics of government keen on keeping close friendships with folks in the same government that they so radically oppose—wish it would collapse?

They will phone-call people in government—those clearly with power—often when they want easy access to some public good or service (say, at the passports office) or when they have had a run-in with law enforcement (say during the Covid-19 lockdown or when having troubles with traffic police).

Sometimes, government critics phone-call the same folks they so rabidly oppose for financial help in moments of hardship. So, the question pops: is it not contradictory to turn around and seek quick fixes from the same people that you so radically oppose?

I also recall an almost grotesque thread where retired police officer, Afande Asan Kasingye (I hope those are his real names) had to remind a social media activist that they were either friendly or not. If you criticise him and his work (former and present), he noted, do not send him direct messages asking for help.

This is the difficult life of an activist: they are expected to be funded by some external or internal master. If they aren’t funded, they are not expected to turn to their oppressors for assistance, which is the ugly life of anyone living under a personalised autocracy. Let me come back to this point later.

WHEN THE MESS EQUALS OPPORTUNITY

At a personal level (and I guess, for Spire Ssentongo), most of my friends are mid-level folks in Museveni’s government. Their powers aren’t much: they might get you off a traffic police offense but are unable to phone-call you into access to fast service at Mulago hospital or get you a Covid-19 exemption pass during the inexplicable lockdown.

But I have to tell you, dear reader, not once or twice, have I not wished I knew more people with actual powers inside the bowels of the establishment. How and why would a person—as proud as myself, uninterested in cutting corners—find myself in that position where the only logical thing to do is call an officer, and a powerful person and beg for help on the sidelines?

There are two reasons for me: firstly, the life of an activist is the same life of any Ugandan living under a condition where power—that is access to public goods and services, the independence of the judiciary— have all been personalised.

To either access a public good or service, where the system is itself designed to make life difficult, or by-pass the silliness of a great deal of Museveni’s legislation, one has to go through some powerful hand inside the bowels of the monster machine itself.

This means, we will be critical to these folks presiding over this silliness and dysfunction, we will reach out in moments of vulnerability. This is the dilemma of the activist under an autocracy. Because, sadly those who preside over the dysfunction make it work on their own terms.

Secondly, while folks such Jimmy Spire Ssentongo, Imam Idi Kasozi, Isaac Ssemakadde, Baker Batte Lule, myself or the more junior firebrand, Godwin Toko, and several others tend to mention names when calling out the dysfunction, this criticism ought to be understood as a critique of power that is de-personified.

This means, we shall be critical of anyone holding power. This is especially because power—especially state power—is inherently selfish and violent. (And Bwana Museveni’s hold onto power has so vividly demonstrated the ways in which, unrestrained, men with power can be mindboggling selfish and violent).

And ought to be endlessly checked and held accountable—even when things start to glow like in Switzerland or Norway. This explains the establishment of mainstream opposition units, whose main assignment is to constantly check the excesses of those with power.

Now that these two have often aligned their interests with each other, Jimmy Spire Ssentongo emerges to fill this core side of governance.

yusufkajura@gmail.com

The author is a political theorist based at Makerere University