In a development so preposterous it could have been scribbled on a napkin by a soused colonial administrator, a British lawyer has been charged with treason in Uganda. Yes, treason. The charge reserved for plotting to overthrow Her Majesty's representative or, in this case, allegedly having a chat about ousting a president whose idea of democracy is a sort of one-man musical chairs where he always ends up with the throne.
The accused, a barrister no less, now languishes in a Kampala cell, presumably wondering if he accidentally used the wrong fork at the British High Commissioner's dinner party. Meanwhile, the Foreign Office is being urged to intervene, which in diplomatic terms means they'll send a sternly worded email and perhaps ask if he'd like a subscription to the Economist.
Let us parse this treason business. In England, treason is generally reserved for chaps who swap sides at Waterloo or try to blow up Parliament. In Uganda, it seems treason is what happens when you represent a client the president doesn't fancy. The charges, as far as one can decipher through the fog of legal jargon and African power politics, involve the lawyer communicating with someone who might have said something about someone who wasn't entirely satisfied with the current regime. That's not treason, that's Tuesday in a democracy.
But here's the rub: this man is British. He carries a passport that once meant something, a document that could get you out of a scrape in most places. Yet now he's a pawn in a political game as subtle as a brass band at a funeral. The UK Foreign Office, that great blancmange of indecision, is being asked to act. But will they? Or will they send a man in a pinstripe suit to sit in the back of a Ugandan courtroom, taking notes, then go home for a gin and tonic and a good whinge about the state of the world?
The whole affair reeks of colonial hangover mixed with modern political cynicism. A British lawyer, perhaps a bit too enthusiastic about the rule of law, now faces the sharp end of a system where the law is whatever the president says it is. And the president, Yoweri Museveni, a man who has been in power so long he probably has a pet dinosaur, has no intention of letting a few legal niceties get in the way of his continued reign.
What we have here is a perfect storm. A British citizen, a charge of treason, a country with a shaky grasp of due process, and a Foreign Office that moves with the speed of a glacier on sedatives. This is not just a legal issue. This is a test of whether Britain has any balls left in its foreign policy. Or whether we've become a nation of apologetic hand-wringers who send strongly worded memos while our citizens rot in foreign jails.
So, here's the story: a lawyer, a charge, a country, and a crisis. The outcome is uncertain. But one thing is guaranteed. The gin consumption in the British expat community will spike. And the Foreign Office will issue a statement. Probably. Eventually.
This is Biff Thistlethwaite, asking: where's our empire when we need it?
