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OPINION
By Crispin Kaheru
Every election season tells a story about who we are as a people. In the past, Uganda’s story was loud rallies that ended in scuffles, sirens, and teargas.
Today, the story sounds different. The air feels lighter. Campaigns are spirited but calm. Some have described the Presidential campaign season as “boring” so far.
There are sharp words, yes, some laced with exaggeration or misinformation, but not fists, not chaos, not bloodshed. Something has quietly changed in the country’s political bloodstream.
That change has a name. It is Operation Harmony. It is not an event. It is a transformation, steady, deliberate, and deeply human. It has taken about five years.
Operation Harmony has taught Ugandans that peace is not the absence of conflict but the ability to disagree without destruction. It has been shown that politics matures not through noise, but through nuance.
Across the nation, citizens who once shouted past each other now find ways to speak to one another. The Inter-Party Organisation for Dialogue (IPOD) summit at Kololo last month saw leaders across political divides jointly call for peace and unity.
The Uganda Human Rights Commission’s National Dialogue on Elections, a couple of months back, gathered political actors and civil groups to deliberate, not to compete, but to understand.
In Acholi, Lango, West Nile, Karamoja, and Rwenzori, peace dialogues are slowly replacing accusations with conversations. Some of these peace dialogues have had tangible results, regional development plans. In markets and trading centres, women and youth who were once dismissed as “the noisy ones” are now sitting on local security committees.
Even outside the Kampala–Wakiso–Mukono triangle that often shapes national politics, sworn rivals are now meeting, talking, and re-imagining cooperation. It may not be a smooth sail, but people are talking to each other than they did in previous election cycles. And when leaders unite, the nation breathes as one.
And from this very Operation Harmony, hope is beginning to grow. It is visible, measurable, and tangible. In Kapeeka, for instance, the once stretch of bush is now home to more than two dozen factories making all sorts of things. In Mbale, sixteen new factories opened last year alone. “Buy Uganda, Build Uganda” is no longer a slogan. It is a system that connects the farmer in Mityana or Gulu to the factory that processes her maize into flour.
The hope I am talking about has also endured storms. Through the COVID pandemic, inflation, and regional instability, Uganda’s economy bent but did not break. The shilling held firm. Coffee earnings climbed beyond US$870 million, the highest in decades.
But hope must also humanise. Progress loses its meaning if it does not uplift people. The Parish Development Model, mocked at its birth, is now transferring real funds into parish accounts. Local cooperatives are managing them, and lives are slowly shifting from dependence to enterprise. Meanwhile, digital reforms in land, procurement, and health systems are trimming queues, reducing bribery, and restoring dignity.
Yet progress without heritage is memory lost. When we build schools, bridges, and markets, we do more than construct; we restore memories, we restore legacies. For instance, the bridge over Katonga carries more than cargo; it carries the memory of a liberation victory and the continuity of a people determined to endure. It reminds us that development is not just an economic journey but a moral one. It is discipline, purpose, and identity.
So, ladies and gentlemen, you may not find Uganda’s quiet revolution written in manifestos. Why? Because it is being lived every day. Lived in the discipline of security officers who have kept this campaign season peaceful so far, lived in the resilience of the factories that are creating jobs, and lived in the quiet pride of citizens who, despite the disagreements, are now seeking to talk to each other and see the value in work.
Now, that is the fragrance of a quiet renewal happening. That is harmony that listens. That is hope that builds. Those are systems that humanise. And that is a heritage that endures.
The writer is a Member of Uganda Human Rights Commission (UHRC)