By the time the ballot boxes arrived for Uganda’s general election two weeks ago, I already knew who had won. Not because I have some special political insight, but because I have seen this movie before. In the days leading up to the vote, conversations in my home were not about who might win, but about whether voting would change anything at all. Spoiler alert: no one was particularly optimistic. This is not cynicism picked up online or a sudden case of political fatigue, it is simply experience. When one leader has ruled for four decades and keeps winning elections under the same system, voting stops feeling like a choice and starts feeling like a routine. Show up, tick a box, go home.
A multigenerational term
My parents have lived their entire lives knowing one president. I have too. Let that sink in. Sometimes I ask myself how that’s even possible. Are presidential terms decades long in Uganda? Is the presidency a lifetime appointment that no one bothered to announce? After forty years of Yoweri Kaguta Museveni in power, I have grown up understanding elections not as moments of suspense, but as events that politely confirm what everyone already expects.
On the 15th of January, Uganda “voted” to elect Museveni to his seventh term. His campaign slogan was about “protecting the grains”, a poetic way of saying that he, once again, knows what is best for the country. What stood out to me during this election was the same as in 2021: the presence of the opposition candidate Robert Kyagulanyi, better known as Bobi Wine. A musician turned politician, Bobi Wine campaigns the way he knows best — with music, catchy slogans, and energy that actually feels alive. Watching his rallies, I understood why so many young people were drawn to him. For once, politics didn’t feel like it was stuck in the 1980s.
Hope, however, has its limits, especially when it’s up against a forty-year-old system that has perfected the art of staying in power. On paper, Museveni secured 71.6 per cent of the vote. I do not remember anyone around me being shocked by that number. Disappointed, yes. But not surprised.
This predictability shapes how I, and many people my age, relate to politics. Voting does not feel pointless, exactly, it just does not feel powerful. Uganda has one of the youngest populations in the world, which sounds like it would be an impressive political force until you realise how disconnected many young people feel from the electoral process. For my generation, elections do not feel like moments of decision. They feel like formalities. A box to tick so we can all say we participated.
From the outside, international media coverage often misses this nuance. Wine is frequently portrayed as a revolutionary figure who could single-handedly transform Uganda overnight. That makes for a great headline, but it is not the full story. His appeal is real — especially among young people — but it is complicated. Many of us support what he represents: youth, visibility, frustration, whilst still quietly wondering whether representation alone is enough.
What tends to get lost in these narratives is how power actually works in Uganda. Elections do not exist in a vacuum. The executive, judiciary, and parliament are hardly independent, and the security forces answer to the presidency rather than the public. Within that kind of structure, elections are allowed, but only so long as they do not disrupt.
Voting is just a ritual
That is why I find it strange when elections are treated as magical moments where everything could suddenly change. The obstacles are in place long before anyone lines up to vote. Many young people with political ambitions learn quickly that survival is easiest inside the ruling party, the National Resistance Movement. Going against the system often comes with delays, intimidation, and financial pressure, none of which encourage idealism.
This reality teaches an early lesson: conform first, reform later, if ever. Political talent is redirected from challenging the system to learning how to live comfortably within it. This does not mean people that do not care. If anything, it means they care enough to protect themselves. What’s missing is certainty. Certainty that engagement will lead to something new, that institutions will act independently, and that dissent will not come at a personal cost.
Personally, I do not believe Ugandan democracy will be restored through elections alone. Voting, as it stands, feels more like a performance than a turning point. Until institutions are genuinely independent and political competition is more than symbolic, elections will continue to feel like rituals rather than real choices. For me, and many people my age, change remains something we talk about, hope for, and wait on, but rarely expect. And that, more than low voter turnout or political apathy, is the real problem.
