By Col. John Ogole

28^th January 2013:

On the 25^th January 1971, the black cloud that had been hanging over Uganda from independence finally came down with devastating effects – effects that will haunt our country and its people for generations to come.

On this date, a fraction of disgruntled citizens in collaboration with some foreign exploiters toppled the democratic UPC government led by President Apollo Milton Obote.

It was a bloody coup that left horrors of utter destruction in its wake – horrors that the nascent spirit of patriotism and nationalism never survived.

The epicentre of these dastardly acts was where I worked as a soldier, namely – the notorious Malire Mechanised Specialist Reconnaissance Regiment (MMSRR) situated at the former King of Buganda’s palace – Lubiri.

Although the brains behind the coup plot were drawn from officers who came from Amin’s tribe spread across the country and their masters abroad, the foot soldiers that did the execution of the coup were mostly from Lubiri, Makindye, Mbuya and Bombo.

It all started on Saturday 23^rd January 1971.  On this day, we had a regimental dance in Malire. This was an occasion which happened in every unit once every 2-3 months to bring officers and men of the unit together with their spouses, friends and other civilians to an evening of enjoyment and merry-making.

I was on a 24 hour regimental duty as the ‘Battalion Orderly Sergeant’. The day started very well although there was generally some persistent feeling of unexplained anxiety and silent fear in the air fuelled by wild rumours and gossips arising from an attempt on the President’s life and the subsequent assassination of Brig Perino Okoya in the previous year.

The President was in Singapore making some very exciting noises against Britain, South Africa and other countries that perpetuated apartheid and colonialism.

In the Mess where we watched Obote’s presentation live on television, there were signs of suppressed anger and antipathy on the faces of some Non Commissioned Officers (NCOs).  This happened every time Obote scored a hard political point against Britian’s then Prime Minister Edward Heath and his allies.  The Mess would explode into applause.

The dance was very well attended – even the Commanding Officer Lt Col Akwangu was there.  Other officers and men of the Regiment and surrounding units were also there, as were civilians from around Kampala.

At around 01.00am – which was the climax of the joyful day, the best song (Anjulina) was being played by the Army and Air force band.  The crowd was thrown into ecstatic stupor of enjoyment and excitement.

All of a sudden, the lights went off.  The dance-hall and the entire barracks was plunged into pitch darkness. The battalion Orderly Officer and I had to quickly make sure law and order was maintained.

In that split second, I thought of the electricity main switch, which was located at the Central Cook house nearby.  I dashed there, checked and found the switch had been put off.  I put it back on and the lights flooded everywhere.

When I came back to the dance-hall, there were a small group of unruly drunks. They disappeared as soon as they saw me. Thereafter, everything returned to normal until 06.00am when the dance closed.

On Sunday 24^th January 1971, I decided to go out in the afternoon.  On my way, I decided to drop-by and say hello to Mrs Beatrace Ogwal whose house was near my office on the way out of the barracks.

Other people found us there and we continued chatting until around 7.30pm when we heard some gun shots coming from the direction of the Regimental Armoury stores.  I decided to pop out and check.

The moment I opened the door and stepped out, a volley of gun shots rained in my direction and I ran as fast as I could towards Sgts Mess. On arrival, I found only three senior Non-Commissioned Officers plus few mess attendants. The gun shots increased intensely across the whole barracks and soon after across Makindye, Mbuya and Bulange.

After a short time, a contingent of armed soldiers from West Nile arrived and ordered us out at gun point.  They started beating us violently with rifle butts, bayonets, machetes, iron bars, and kicking us with heavy military boots.

As they frog-marched us towards the Quarter Guard, I passed out. On the morning of 25^th January 1971 when I regained consciousness, I found myself lumped with other prisoners – most of whom had horrific injuries and wounds. We were crammed in a small room where there was no adequate ventilation and no toilet facilities.

What followed was of such magnitude that it cannot be understood by any sane person.  Further details of our incarceration will be in my autobiography that is due to be published – look out for it!

Otherwise the gist of this episode is that in one day, the misguided action of a fraction of disgruntled Ugandans caused the country to loose what had taken so many years to achieve.  From then on, the country watched helplessly as Amin destroyed every value that defined our existence, our independence, and the institutions that were the core of our nation.

A strong, united, and democratic nation was ripped apart and it quickly degenerated to regional, tribal, religious and other groupings – each fighting to devour the flesh of our beloved motherland for selfish interests. The civilised methods of leadership were crashed.

A new culture of rule by the barrel of the gun and wealth for the powerful was born. These despicable implants still run our country up to now.

In 1971, the main players were Britain and its allies.  Their internal executioners were drawn from various groups – such as the monarchies, political parties, tribal entities, religious groups and their lineages, western capitalist agents, and the military clique that executed the coup.

When the coup was announced, Kampala was ablaze with joy. There were deafening ululations and beating of drums.  Throngs of ordinary Baganda lined the streets of Kampala to have a glimpse of the marauding coup leaders to offer their appreciation and praises.

Various religious, traditional, and political party leaders moved closer to the coup leaders in order to get their share of the carcass of the fallen country. Some tribes in the country felt victorious while the Acholi and Langi bore the blunt of Amin’s wrath of retaliation.

More guns poured in, but no signs of a cohesive and progressive move towards nationhood revival efforts.

On the contrary, the hidden fact was that when Idi Amin brutalised the country, killing, looting, raping and committing heinous crimes against humanity, he was in fact (without knowing) creating a colossal monster that goes by the names Yoweri Kaguta Museveni.

Under Idi Amin, individuals and cliques rapidly acquired huge amounts of wealth.  However, underneath their feet, and around their gates and the high-walled fences, a stench of rotting bodies evaporated into the atmosphere.  The great socio-political and economic degeneration that we are wallowing in today had began!

The country’s infrastructure collapsed, and public services became a thing of the past.  Respect for human rights and cultural values were quickly eroded and replaced by arrogance, impunity, selfishness and greed that surpassed any human imagination under Museveni’s 27 year rule.

Amin therefore opened a dangerous short-cut to power – namely, by the barrel of the gun.

Forty two years down the line, the country is still being run by a tyrant who, by any measure, is worse than Idi Amin.  He has confessed to killing his opponents in order to usurp and retain power.  He has raped our motherland in the most heinous way imaginable.

The question is: Have we (as a nation) learnt anything that can spur us to rise up and reclaim our country from Museveni’s blood-drenched claws?

I think we haven’t – and that should be serious food for thought for our young men and women who have a much bigger stake in the future of Uganda.  END: Login to www.ugandacorrespondent.com every Monday to read our top stories mid-week for our updates

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