Worthless pieces of paper
Apr 12, 2008
ALMOST exactly 70 years ago, British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain went to Germany to see Adolf Hitler, who needs no introduction. Imminent war was in the very nostrils, and Chamberlain was eager to dispel it.
By John Nagenda
ALMOST exactly 70 years ago, British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain went to Germany to see Adolf Hitler, who needs no introduction. Imminent war was in the very nostrils, and Chamberlain was eager to dispel it. (Not unlike an English king of an earlier date who once ordered the sea waves to back off and got a resounding No!)
Chamberlain arrived back from the Fuehrer and from his pocket with a flourish extracted a piece of paper, announcing with misplaced pride that in the paper lay the assurance from Hitler that there would be no war. “Peace in our time,†announced the hapless Premier.
But war there most certainly was (and what a war): the aptly named Second World War. And Chamberlain, forever after called the Great Appeaser, was very soon banished, a disgraced and broken man to the end of his days.
Sound drums and trumpets and usher in Winston Churchill! (Belonging to that line of scribblers who tie themselves shamelessly into the great events of the day, your columnist pauses to observe that far away in the lushly mountainous land of Ruanda Burundi, a boy child was being born, now the self same provider of this column.) Years later he was in the conference room, in which one Paul Ssemogerere, leader of Uganda’s ill-fated Democratic Party, held up a hand-written piece of paper, waved it about, grinned, and announced: “I have here this message from my brother, none other than Paulo Muwanga, which guarantees everything our great Party has demanded for the coming elections.â€
Some of us groaned in the ensuing cheers from that crowded room, with renderings of the Party Song as demanded by Ssemogerere for Muwanga. Needless to add that as for Hitler, so for Muwanga: not a single promise was kept. Instead Uganda was willy-nilly plunged into a darkness which took years to disappear.
So much for rubbishy bits of paper! (In fact, two alternative headings considered for today’s column were: Does Anything Matter? and, Theatre of the Absurd.) But, as is often said, History is fond of repeating itself. Here in April-showers rain London, for news from home I have been engrossed, if that’s the word, by the turns taken by the Juba Farce.
Earlier in the week an amiable young man called Mzee came to interview me for a specialised TV programme. His main interest was in Uganda’s current Land Amendment Bill. I enjoyed the chance to set him straight.
“Cowboys†was among the names I used to describe the views he gave me of the diehard, and to me ill-informed, opponents of the Bill. How we roared with laughter, he, his photographer and I, as I dissected these people! Then he cut to the Juba Talks and said, “I suppose you’d like to hear what they see as the next step there…†I did not let him finish.
“You mean they still see a continuation?†“Yes,†he said. “That if Uganda is serious they should take the signature papers to where Kony is; he signs, then they bring them back to Juba for the Uganda government side to sign.â€
Reader, I looked at Mzee as if he was stark, staring bonkers. A few days later, of course, in this matter I had to acknowledge to myself that his cowboys were more perceptive than I, of the Uganda government line! But even then basic questions remained. What possible advantage could Uganda gain in this persistent turning of the other cheek (to put it at its mildest) to Kony and his monster organisation?
What were we trying to prove, and to whom? Even if Kony signed, which on past form he probably would not, what would be the value of these pieces of paper? On the absurdist principle of Julius Caesar without the Emperor, or Othello without the Moor, or Hamlet without the Prince (in other words Theatres of the Absurd) without Kony and his main gang to hand, but safely ensconced in the Central African Republic, what possible value could be placed on their signed documents?
Or could it be the hope that once he had signed, all of his terrorist accomplices would take this as a signal to forsake him and make a beeline for Uganda?
What seems clear is that by our inaction we have succeeded in making Kony believe that our teeth are made of, ahem, paper, or pieces thereof! At least when Chamberlain waved his, Germany held the upper hand over Britain by being the far more prepared for war. And certainly Muwanga held sway over Sssemogerere by virtue of his state machinery. But Kony and Uganda?! The mind reels.
*************
To end on a note of unremitting despair: as widely expected the poor near-corpse which is Zimbabwe reels by the hour towards total catastrophe. Its tormentor (once, long ago, its acknowledged saviour) continues to employ the obscene tactic of, “If I am not going to be here then I’ll pull the plug and take you with me.â€
As if the country were a mere soiled handkerchief in his trouser pocket! Ultimately it won’t work of course, it never does – as a study of even the most hideously inhuman dictatorships shows - but the bruises and scars will long remain even after bleeding Zimbabwe has heaved itself to its feet again.
Not for the first time you wonder how the grandly named African Union (let alone the regional SADC) can sleep at night without a meaningful cautionary word to this once foremost brother on the hard road to Independence. How the mighty are fallen!
ALMOST exactly 70 years ago, British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain went to Germany to see Adolf Hitler, who needs no introduction. Imminent war was in the very nostrils, and Chamberlain was eager to dispel it. (Not unlike an English king of an earlier date who once ordered the sea waves to back off and got a resounding No!)
Chamberlain arrived back from the Fuehrer and from his pocket with a flourish extracted a piece of paper, announcing with misplaced pride that in the paper lay the assurance from Hitler that there would be no war. “Peace in our time,†announced the hapless Premier.
But war there most certainly was (and what a war): the aptly named Second World War. And Chamberlain, forever after called the Great Appeaser, was very soon banished, a disgraced and broken man to the end of his days.
Sound drums and trumpets and usher in Winston Churchill! (Belonging to that line of scribblers who tie themselves shamelessly into the great events of the day, your columnist pauses to observe that far away in the lushly mountainous land of Ruanda Burundi, a boy child was being born, now the self same provider of this column.) Years later he was in the conference room, in which one Paul Ssemogerere, leader of Uganda’s ill-fated Democratic Party, held up a hand-written piece of paper, waved it about, grinned, and announced: “I have here this message from my brother, none other than Paulo Muwanga, which guarantees everything our great Party has demanded for the coming elections.â€
Some of us groaned in the ensuing cheers from that crowded room, with renderings of the Party Song as demanded by Ssemogerere for Muwanga. Needless to add that as for Hitler, so for Muwanga: not a single promise was kept. Instead Uganda was willy-nilly plunged into a darkness which took years to disappear.
So much for rubbishy bits of paper! (In fact, two alternative headings considered for today’s column were: Does Anything Matter? and, Theatre of the Absurd.) But, as is often said, History is fond of repeating itself. Here in April-showers rain London, for news from home I have been engrossed, if that’s the word, by the turns taken by the Juba Farce.
Earlier in the week an amiable young man called Mzee came to interview me for a specialised TV programme. His main interest was in Uganda’s current Land Amendment Bill. I enjoyed the chance to set him straight.
“Cowboys†was among the names I used to describe the views he gave me of the diehard, and to me ill-informed, opponents of the Bill. How we roared with laughter, he, his photographer and I, as I dissected these people! Then he cut to the Juba Talks and said, “I suppose you’d like to hear what they see as the next step there…†I did not let him finish.
“You mean they still see a continuation?†“Yes,†he said. “That if Uganda is serious they should take the signature papers to where Kony is; he signs, then they bring them back to Juba for the Uganda government side to sign.â€
Reader, I looked at Mzee as if he was stark, staring bonkers. A few days later, of course, in this matter I had to acknowledge to myself that his cowboys were more perceptive than I, of the Uganda government line! But even then basic questions remained. What possible advantage could Uganda gain in this persistent turning of the other cheek (to put it at its mildest) to Kony and his monster organisation?
What were we trying to prove, and to whom? Even if Kony signed, which on past form he probably would not, what would be the value of these pieces of paper? On the absurdist principle of Julius Caesar without the Emperor, or Othello without the Moor, or Hamlet without the Prince (in other words Theatres of the Absurd) without Kony and his main gang to hand, but safely ensconced in the Central African Republic, what possible value could be placed on their signed documents?
Or could it be the hope that once he had signed, all of his terrorist accomplices would take this as a signal to forsake him and make a beeline for Uganda?
What seems clear is that by our inaction we have succeeded in making Kony believe that our teeth are made of, ahem, paper, or pieces thereof! At least when Chamberlain waved his, Germany held the upper hand over Britain by being the far more prepared for war. And certainly Muwanga held sway over Sssemogerere by virtue of his state machinery. But Kony and Uganda?! The mind reels.
*************
To end on a note of unremitting despair: as widely expected the poor near-corpse which is Zimbabwe reels by the hour towards total catastrophe. Its tormentor (once, long ago, its acknowledged saviour) continues to employ the obscene tactic of, “If I am not going to be here then I’ll pull the plug and take you with me.â€
As if the country were a mere soiled handkerchief in his trouser pocket! Ultimately it won’t work of course, it never does – as a study of even the most hideously inhuman dictatorships shows - but the bruises and scars will long remain even after bleeding Zimbabwe has heaved itself to its feet again.
Not for the first time you wonder how the grandly named African Union (let alone the regional SADC) can sleep at night without a meaningful cautionary word to this once foremost brother on the hard road to Independence. How the mighty are fallen!