Why Uganda will choose peace

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OPINION

By Crispin Kaheru

When I was growing up, our parents didn’t just tell bedtime stories.

They whispered memories, so we’d never forget. They told us how they slept in cassava gardens, not for adventure, but for safety. How a full day could pass with no food, not from fasting, but fear. How going to the market meant risking your life.

We heard of roadblocks; dozens of them. Where a wrong look could cost you everything. Where “panda gari!” meant disappearance, not a ride. Where classrooms stayed locked not for holidays, but for war.

We learned that thunder wasn’t always weather. Sometimes, it was gunfire. And somehow, we learned to sleep through it. Our mothers made miracles from nothing. They washed our clothes with pawpaw leaves — yes, that was soap. Our fathers were taken without charge. Our parents went into exile, hearts heavy, hope burning. We stitched life from scraps and silence. Still, we lived, we loved, we rose.

That is the Uganda we inherited. Not a perfect land. But a resilient one. A land soaked in sorrow, but rooted in survival.

So, when I hear the question — Will Uganda have a peaceful election in 2026? I answer, without flinching: Yes. Not because we’re naïve. But because we remember too much. We remember the blood soaked pages of our past. We have felt history’s heavy hand. We crawled through fire and did not burn. We wept but did not drown. We were broken but not beaten.

Today, I walk through our cities. Our towns. Bodas dance through traffic. In universities, students code, dream, laugh. Vendors shout. Teachers teach. Suits rush by. Each one surviving. Together. The night hums. Neon, music, life. This is peace. Not silence. Not stillness. Not perfection. But presence. Motion. Us.

Peace is knowing you’ll safely make it back home in the wee hours after a long night out. Peace is setting up your stall in the market, not wondering if you’ll pack up early because of gunfire. Peace is being able to protest and still return home. To vote and wake up whole.

We’ve made mistakes. We’ve had dark days. But we’ve not given up on tomorrow. Yes, we still struggle. Inequality. Corruption. Injustice. Unemployment. Too many unheard. Too many scarred. But we are not who we were. Our institutions, though imperfect, are standing. Some of our people stagger, but still believe. Look at some of our elders. They survived over five coups.

Look at our mothers. They birthed hope in the shadows of guns. Look at our youth who’ve never seen war, only heard it in whispers.

Once, northern Uganda echoed with gunfire. The shadows of the Lord’s Resistance Army loomed over every village. Mourning filled the air. Now? Now, you hear music. Where children once fled, they dance. Where fear once ruled, joy fights its way back. Yes, the Aguu boys may still rattle Gulu with occasional disturbance. But the streets are no longer silenced by terror. Healing is happening. From scorched earth, hope rises.

This is the spirit we carry forward, bold, unbroken into 2026. Let’s argue. Let’s campaign. But let us never forget, after the shouting ends, we are still Ugandans. We still eat from the same soil. We still bury our dead in the same soil. We still rise under the same sun.

Our strength isn’t in parties. It isn’t in politicians. Not religions or even regions. It’s in people. Our hospitable, loud, stubborn, dancing people. We sing in sorrow. We forgive when it hurts. We choose peace again, and again. So, to the youth: Don’t give up. Speak up, but don’t burn down your home.

To the leaders: Lead. Don’t rule.

To the security forces: Protect. Don’t provoke.

To the elders: Guide us. Don’t misguide us.

To the media: Inform. Don’t inflame.

And to the world: Watch us. Walk with us. But don’t write our obituary, we are still alive. Still writing.

Uganda is not a ticking bomb. Uganda is a survivor, stitching peace from past broken dreams. The road is long. The potholes are deep. But we are walking it, together.

In 2026, we will vote. Some will cheer. Some will cry. But we will all wake up the next day and continue. We have lost too much to throw peace away. Uganda will choose peace. Not because we must. But because we know the cost of instability.

Even the storm bows to dawn. Uganda will continue to rise, peacefully.

The writer is a commissioner with Uganda Human Rights Commission