Ugandans have an unfortunate superpower: we remember history only after it has repeated itself.
As the 2026 General Election approaches, the country is gripped not by excitement but by déjà vu—the kind that makes your stomach tighten. The parallels with the 1980 General Election are no longer whispered in university cafeterias or boda stages; they are now discussed openly, half-jokingly, half-fearfully.
“Don’t worry,” we are told. “This time is different.”
That sentence, incidentally, was also said in 1980.
The Incumbent, the State, and the Ballot Paper
In 1980, Milton Obote did not just contest an election—he returned to power through it. The UPC had the army, the state, and the referee. The Democratic Party may have had votes, but votes alone, as Ugandans later learned, are a weak currency.
In 2026, the script is cleaner, more professional, and better funded. The incumbent does not need crude ballot-snatching; institutions now do the heavy lifting. The opposition campaigns. The state governs. The Electoral Commission announces.
As one cynical observer puts it:
“In Uganda, elections don’t choose leaders. They introduce them formally.”
The Referee Who Also Owns the Stadium
The 1980 election collapsed public trust in electoral institutions. Results were announced that even their authors struggled to explain. The country responded with disbelief, then bullets.
Today’s Electoral Commission insists it is independent—appointed, funded, and supervised by the same system it is meant to police. Ugandans are asked to trust the process while being warned not to question it too loudly.
“If you doubt the referee,” a government loyalist might say, “you are doubting peace.”This is the same logic that turned 1980 into a ticking time bomb.
Guns, Uniforms, and Campaign Posters
In 1980, the military was not in the background; it was the background. Politics was conducted with an awareness that power ultimately rested with men who did not campaign.
Uganda today is more sophisticated—but the muscle memory remains. Security forces attend rallies like guests who were not invited but brought chairs anyway. Politics is permitted, supervised, and occasionally punished.
“We are free to campaign,” an opposition supporter jokes darkly, “as long as we don’t convince anyone.”
The Youth: Angry, Unemployed, and Watching
The post-1980 bush war was fought largely by young people who believed the ballot had failed them. Today, Uganda’s youth are poorer, more educated, more connected—and more impatient.
They are told to wait.
They are told to respect elders.
They are told that change must be “orderly.”
“We are the future,” a young Ugandan might say, “but the future keeps being postponed.”
History suggests this is a dangerous demographic to ignore.
Stability: The Oldest Political Threat
In 1980, Obote’s return was sold as “necessary stability” after Amin. In 2026, continuity is again marketed as a public good—change is portrayed as reckless, disruptive, even unpatriotic.
Ugandans are reminded that:
“Better the devil you know.”
But history adds the footnote:
“That devil eventually sends others to the bush.”
What 1980 Really Teaches Us
The real lesson of 1980 is not that elections fail—it is that when elections lose legitimacy, they stop being the final argument.
Uganda does not need a bush war to prove this again. It only needs to remember.
If 2026 becomes another exercise in managing outcomes rather than respecting choices, the country may once again “win” an election and lose the peace.
And years later, someone will write:
“We didn’t see it coming.”
Except—we did.
MinBane 