In a move that reeks of stale banana republic cliché and cheap cologne, General Muhoozi Kainerugaba, Uganda’s military commander and all-round strongman-in-training, has ordered a media blackout. His reasoning? Something about 'national security' and 'protecting the integrity of the state'. Translation: he doesn’t like being photographed picking his nose while wearing epaulettes. The UK Foreign Office, in a fit of moral outrage that might actually curdle the milk in their Darjeeling, has issued a stern condemnation. They've demanded an immediate reversal of the shutdown, citing 'fundamental freedoms' and 'the bedrock of democracy'. But let's be real: this is the same Foreign Office that sells arms to Saudi Arabia and has a handshake deal with the devil on trade. The hypocrisy is so thick you could spread it on a crumpet.
Meanwhile, the journalists in Kampala are now twiddling their thumbs, or worse, rewriting press releases from the state-run news agency. One brave editor, who shall remain nameless for fear of a midnight knock on his door from a man with a machete and a grudge, told me: 'We're used to this. It's like the dry season. You just wait for the rains to come, and you know they won't.' That's the spirit of African journalism: a stoic fatalism that would make a Buddhist monk weep with envy.
And where does this leave the Commonwealth? A club that increasingly resembles a retirement home for ex-colonies, where the tea is weak and the arguments about who nicked whose flag are endless. The UK's condemnation is a bit like a drunk uncle at a wedding lecturing the groom on fidelity while eyeing up the bridesmaid. Sure, the sentiment is correct, but the credibility is shot.
I suppose I should mention the army chief's father, President Yoweri Museveni, who has been in power for so long that he probably remembers when the telegraph was cutting edge. He's watched his son's rise with the kind of paternal pride that usually precedes a coup or a very awkward family dinner. The father-son dynamic here is a Shakespearean tragedy, but with more ak-47s.
In the grand tradition of satirical journalism, I propose a solution: a Commonwealth media blackout. Let's just turn off the news for a week and see how the dictators cope without their favourite punching bags. But wait, I'm being told by my editor (who is currently hiding under his desk) that this is not constructive. Fine. Let's settle for the usual: a strongly worded letter and a donation to the Press Freedom Index. That should fix everything.
As I file this dispatch from a gin-soaked booth in a pub that smells of vomit and despair, I raise a glass to the journalists of Uganda. May your bylines return soon, and may your editors grow a spine. In the meantime, keep your heads down and your notebooks hidden. The truth will out, even if it's smuggling itself out in a diplomatic pouch.
