A few years ago in Kigali, while I was having a drink and
chatting with a veteran of the war that propelled the Rwandan Patriotic
Front to power, he mentioned a phenomenon I had hitherto not heard
about.
After exploring several topics, we came to what
he saw as the growing expectations of young Rwandans and how they were
gradually translating into a certain outspokenness which, among people
of his generation, was quite alien.
People like him
had either grown up in exile where, as refugees, they had no right to
make demands on the governments of the countries that hosted them, or on
the humanitarian organisations that did this or that for some, from
time to time.
If anything, it was the constant feeling
of having no rights that fed their desire and determination to return
home one day, to a country many knew nothing about, but about which
their parents and elders told them with much longing.
Eventually
they returned home and took charge. At long last they now had a country
of their own. But the country was so damaged physically and
psychologically that agitating for rights was not the first thing that
came to mind. Rather, foremost in their thinking was the great
obligation of building something new in place of the ruins they had
inherited.
Some had returned with young children and
relatives. Others had theirs subsequently. And in Rwanda they found
others, of course. These, together with theirs, had grown up in a
rapidly transforming country, in which they were learning to assert
themselves and make demands, perhaps a little too much, he believed.
These, he said, were the “merci Kagame” (thank you Kagame) generation.
It
was Kagame, after all, who had led the creation of a society in which
the burden of history did not weigh as heavily on them as it did on
their parents and elders, and in which they could look to the future
with ample confidence that there would be no return to the bad old days.
Careful observation of and interaction with this
segment of Rwandan society, whatever their individual peculiarities,
reveals a group that to a large extent exudes confidence and optimism
that theirs is a country destined for a future that can only be better
than the past.
Especially remarkable is the collective belief that their country’s leadership is driven by noble aspirations.
Museveni generation
Meanwhile
across the border in Uganda there is also a “Museveni generation.” They
are the 30-something age group who were just about to be born,
toddlers, or about to enter primary school.
Collectively,
they recall very little or nothing about the turmoil that preceded the
National Resistance Movement’s ascent to power. Their early years were,
however, a period of national renewal. Ethnic and religious sectarianism
were banished from politics. In place of the political exclusion and
witch-hunts of the past came inclusion and consensus building.
In Museveni, Uganda seemed to have acquired its own “mwalimu”
(teacher) who, chalk in hand before a blackboard, lectured about the
evils of obscurantism, political manipulation of the masses by
unprincipled leaders, the bankruptcy of leaders who sat on imported
furniture and ate on and drank in imported plates and cups; and flew
around in presidential jets while the people they led walked around on
jigger-infested feet without shoes.
No-party ideology
The
Museveni generation grew up hating political parties because they
divided the people. They embraced the no-party ideology and its seeming
potential to unite society rather than tear it apart.
In
recent years, however, something has happened to growing numbers of
this generation. Disillusionment has set in where before there was
optimism.
Today they are more likely to be heard
criticising or attacking the country’s leadership for what they see as
the multitude of failures associated with their long tenure in office.
They
are more likely to be heard lamenting the self-enrichment of a few at
the expense of the majority than about equity and social inclusion. The
one thing many share, whatever the degree of their disillusionment, is
the view that those in positions of power and authority are in it for
themselves, not for the people whose interests they purport to
represent.
No group opens a window into the thinking
of this generation than the younger members of what has come to be known
as the “Red Ribbon Movement.”
The Movement, if indeed
that is what it is, derives its name from the visibly small but loud
and determined grouping in parliament that is dead-set against moves by
elements of the ruling party to “engineer” the lifting of the
presidential age limit from Uganda’s constitution.
And
nothing captures their feelings better than two letters written
recently, one to young Ugandans by musician-turned Member of Parliament,
Robert Kyagulanyi aka Bobi Wine, and another to “Grandpa Museveni” by
intrepid lawyer, Andrew Karamagi.
One is a plea to
young Ugandans to emulate the Museveni generation who in their youth
refused to fold their hands and do nothing in the face of misrule. The
other is a bold rebuke of what one could term “the Museveni system” for,
above all, dreams deferred.
For future historians
studying the evolution of the two contexts and their respective
liberation movements, these two generations will be indispensable
lenses.
Frederick Golooba-Mutebi is a Kampala- and Kigali-based researcher and writer on politics and public affairs. E-mail: fgmutebi@yahoo.com
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