Uganda’s Transition Question: What Comes After Museveni?

Last year, Agora began asking a question that had lingered quietly beneath Uganda’s political surface: what does transition actually look like?

Through the Uganda Transition Question Series, Agora invited politicians, scholars, activists and public thinkers to imagine the country beyond President Yoweri Museveni’s long rule. It was an exercise in political curiosity, but also political preparation. The conversations were not simply about succession. They were about institutions, power, identity and the difficult art of moving from one political era into another.

Those conversations eventually became a book. But politics has a strange habit of turning yesterday’s speculation into today’s reality. Many of the questions explored in that book about the location of power, the strength of institutions and the shape of Uganda’s future now appear to have escaped the pages and entered the streets. What was once an intellectual conversation about tomorrow has become an increasingly urgent debate about today.

So here we are. Uganda has reached one of those strange historical moments where everyone seems to sense that something has shifted, but nobody can quite agree on what to call it. And perhaps that uncertainty is the most revealing thing of all. Because transitions are usually imagined as grand events. A resignation. An election. A ceremonial handover. A moment when history announces itself with trumpets and official photographs.

But real transitions are often much messier. They happen quietly, through changing alliances, altered loyalties and the gradual movement of influence from one set of hands to another.

In recent months, Uganda has witnessed a remarkable sequence of events. Anita Among, until recently one of the most powerful figures in the country, found herself politically weakened and placed under extraordinary pressure. Former Kampala mayor Erias Lukwago was abducted and subjected to abuse, with images later shared publicly by Gen Muhoozi Kainerugaba, the President’s son and Chief of Defence Forces. The Nation Media Group, Uganda’s largest independent media organisation, was taken off air following threats linked to Muhoozi. Veteran politician Miria Matembe who was one of the politicians we interviewed was arrested after criticising the direction of the country. Journalist Timothy Kaligyera was also detained.

The striking feature was not only what happened. It was where the centre of gravity appeared to be. For much of Uganda’s modern political history, power has been understood through one central figure: President Museveni. The state, the ruling party and the security establishment have all revolved around his authority.

But every long political era eventually confronts the same uncomfortable question: what happens when the person who built the system begins to move away from its centre? And that is where Uganda’s transition question becomes more complicated. The question is no longer simply who succeeds Museveni. It is whether the transition has already started and whether it is happening through institutions or around them.

Muhoozi’s rise has been unfolding for years. His appointment as Chief of Defence Forces transformed him from a powerful member of the first family into a central actor within the state’s security architecture. His political movement, the Patriotic League Uganda, began presenting itself as a vehicle for renewal, sometimes as an extension of the ruling establishment and sometimes as something larger than it.

For a while, it appeared that this new political force would have to negotiate patiently with the old networks of influence. Uganda’s politics has always been a careful choreography between competing centres of power.

Then Anita Among fell. Her removal was significant not merely because of who she was, but because of what it appeared to demonstrate. A figure who had accumulated enormous political influence could suddenly find that influence disappearing with astonishing speed.

The official language was corruption. The wider political interpretation was about control. And perhaps that is why the episode mattered so much. It suggested that power in Uganda was not only about occupying institutions. It was about controlling the forces that determine who enters and leaves those institutions.

The appointment of a new Speaker after Muhoozi’s public endorsement reinforced that impression. The symbolism was difficult to ignore: formal offices remained, but the question of where decisions were actually being made had become harder to answer.

This is the strange paradox of personalised political systems. They are often incredibly strong because power is concentrated. But that same concentration creates uncertainty when the question of succession arrives. The system becomes both stable and fragile at the same time.

And then came the wider wave of events. For years, Uganda’s political repression was often viewed through a familiar lens. Opposition supporters, activists and civil society actors were the usual targets. The boundaries of vulnerability were relatively clear. What has changed is the feeling that those boundaries are becoming less certain. When a former mayor, a veteran politician, a major media organisation and public commentators all find themselves caught in the same atmosphere of anxiety, the message becomes broader. It is no longer only about who is against the government. It becomes a question of who might become inconvenient.
Fear works best when it does not need to explain itself. The most powerful warning is often not the punishment itself, but the uncertainty surrounding it.

And perhaps this is where Uganda’s transition debate becomes most uncomfortable. Countries are often described as being governed by constitutions, institutions and laws. But they are also governed by perception. Politics is partly about who has authority, but also about who people believe has authority.

In past few months, many Ugandans have been asking a question that would once have seemed almost impossible to ask openly: Who actually governs Uganda? The answer, officially, remains clear. President Museveni remains Head of State. The constitutional order remains intact. But political reality has always contained something beyond constitutional language. It contains influence, fear, loyalty and expectation.
And those things appear to be shifting.

Perhaps the most fascinating part of this moment has been the silence. Institutions that would normally be expected to respond have appeared cautious. Public figures have chosen their words carefully. The political environment has acquired a new sense of restraint. Even within the broader ruling establishment, voices of concern have emerged, suggesting anxiety about the direction of travel.

That is often what happens during uncertain transitions. The loudest conversations are not always the most important ones. Sometimes the most revealing signs are the pauses, the hesitations and the people choosing not to speak.

When Agora began its Transition Question Series, the aim was to explore Uganda’s future before it arrived. But history rarely announces its arrival politely. Sometimes it enters through unexpected doors. The book asked what Uganda’s transition might look like. The events of recent months have provided a possible answer not a final one, but a glimpse. A transition is not always a clean break. Sometimes it is a long, confusing overlap between what was and what is coming. Old institutions remain. New forces emerge. Everyone tries to understand the new rules while pretending the old ones still apply.

Uganda may not yet have completed its transition. But the country is clearly living through the argument about it. And perhaps the biggest question is no longer whether change is coming. It is whether the institutions of the country will shape that change or whether change will reshape the institutions.

Featured Photo: Agora CFR Creative Team