Issue No. 112

The Costs of Perpetual Victory in Uganda

Today, millions of Ugandans from across the country will head to the polls, casting their ballot for one of 8 candidates vying for the presidency. But —as all are acutely aware—this is political theatre, and barring some extraordinary turn of events, it will be yet another coronation, handing the 81-year-old incumbent, Yoweri Museveni, his 7th term in office. Amid bubbling discontent at rising inequalities, corruption, and authoritarianism, opposition campaigns, particularly by musician-cum-politician Robert Kyagulanyi (Bobi Wine), have been marred by state-sponsored violence.

While the ruling National Resistance Movement (NRM) still holds considerable influence across the Ugandan countryside, recent weeks have seen urban youth in Kampala and the wider Buganda region again take to the streets in support of Wine. Images of the pop star adorn the city, who has promised a "complete reset" and rallied millions of disenchanted Ugandans to his cause. There are other candidates as well, including the lawyer Nandala Mafabi, who has campaigned on a manifesto of economic prudence. Recent data from the Uganda Bureau of Statistics revealed that nearly 50% of people aged 18 to 30 were unemployed, uneducated, or lacking training. The long-serving Museveni, on the other hand, has urged Ugandans to "protect the gains" and insisted that he must remain in power to preserve the years of peace and stability he has overseen, as well as economic progress.

Though roughly 21.6 million voters are registered, turnout is not expected to exceed 60%, reflecting broader disenchantment with the system. In particular, the Electoral Commission is widely considered to have been captured by the government and will rubber-stamp Museveni's re-election. That is not to cast the president as a figure without his supporters, however, and his party remains popular in his historical and ethnic base in Western Uganda. But few harbour any illusions that Museveni and his administration are willing to cede power at the ballot box today. 

In the weeks leading up to the election, police have repeatedly fired bullets and tear gas at demonstrators and campaign rallies, alongside arbitrarily detaining hundreds of journalists, opposition members and human rights defenders. Wine has taken to campaigning in a flak jacket, while referring to Museveni as a "military dictator." Indeed, Kampala's persistent persecution of the 43-year-old Wine and his supporters has shed light on the government's rising intolerance of political dissent-- and with good reason. Last time out in 2021, Wine received 34.83% of the ballots-- albeit in another election marred by reports of fraud-- with his National Unity Platform securing the second-largest seats in parliament. 

Today's election is another seismic test of the government's strained grip on power, though historically, the day of voting itself is restrained. Citizens are anxiously awaiting what comes next, with the internet severed on Tuesday across swathes of the country-- as it was during the elections in 2021 and ensuing protests. With political polarisation increasingly acute, whether the simmering frustrations spill over into mass demonstrations in the coming days will have to be seen as the results and Museveni's all-but-certain victories trickle in. And the government is also prepared, having deployed thousands of police and soldiers to the streets of Kampala.

After almost four decades in power, a listless young population is increasingly discontented with the authoritarian drift of Museveni, as well as the glaring socio-economic inequalities. While Museveni ushered in an era of relative democracy and economic growth, his government has since 2006 become increasingly personalised, shifting away from the broader constitutional mandate that defined his early years in office. In the past decade, Museveni's long rule has grown evermore patronage-based, drawing power and wealth into the hands of a few individuals and particularly the first family. And though Museveni's time in office has been broadly peaceful, cracks and fissures over land and resources continue to emerge, as do broader concerns regarding his transition. Debt, too, is piling on, with the stark inequalities of Uganda coming to the fore, with money funnelled into the patron-client networks sustaining the regime rather than the atrophying healthcare and education systems. Creeping repression may have broadly kept these under wraps, but the veneer may not last forever. 

Meanwhile, Museveni's bid for a seventh term is widely regarded — much like Ismail Omer Guelleh in Djibouti — as an attempt to pave the way for his successor, most likely a family member. But with the geriatric leader having turned 81 in September, concerns about a post-Museveni Uganda have long occupied the public consciousness. In 2005, the parliament amended the constitution to allow more than two 5-year terms, after serving as president unelected for a decade from 1986. Since the amended constitution, Museveni has competed—and won—in 2006, 2011, 2016, 2021, and now, most probably, today. 

The president's mercurial eldest son, Muhoozi Kainerugaba, appears to be the frontrunner for succession, serving as the commander of the Ugandan People's Defence Forces (UPDF). For several years, the groundwork has been steadily laid for Kainerugaba, who has nevertheless flirted with controversy on several occasions, including threatening to invade Kenya and routinely attacking his detractors on X. But Kainerugaba's deepening hold on the army has persisted, retiring thousands of older officers while promoting a young cadre and parallel security structures solely answerable to himself. And — crucially, in Uganda's increasingly patrimonial political system — Museveni's eldest son has revelled in the personalised nature of the political economy, carving out particular revenue streams by integrating the Ugandan military into the public sector. Even so, Kainerugaba does not yet command popular legitimacy, and the question of succession is far from settled.

A long, contorted transition, simmering discontent, a personalised military, and high levels of corruption could refer to any number of countries and regimes within the broader region. Today also represents the starting pistol for a slate of elections broadly regarded as dubious (at best) this year in the Greater Horn, with Djibouti, Ethiopia, Somalia, and even nominally South Sudan to follow. At the same time, the recent elections-- and subsequent brutality-- in Tanzania are not far from the minds of all, where hundreds of people were slain by the military protesting the rigging of the election by the incumbent president. Few expect such widespread violence as in Tanzania, where long-simmering discontent exploded into view. Still, this election is likely to accentuate political cleavages in Uganda and confirm to its young population that the incumbents cannot deliver what they seek. 

Repressive mimicry is hardly a new phenomenon, but the burgeoning alliances between the ruling elite in capitals across the Greater Horn of Africa and their implications for the democratic decline should be of immense concern in 2026. And much like Tanzania, there is broader tolerance among foreign powers for Kampala's repressive inclinations, with the administration regarded as a reliable political and security partner in an aflame region. The Ugandan military's role in Somalia helps to perpetuate this reputation, even while they are implicated in resource extraction in the Democratic Republic of Congo and South Sudan. But if Uganda's election confirms anything, it is that authoritarian stability is once again being normalised across the Greater Horn. And the question is perhaps not whether this model can endure in the short term, but how violently it will eventually be forced to adapt.

​The Horn Edition Team