When Yusuf Nsibambi crossed from the opposition to the ruling National Resistance Movement (NRM) earlier this week, the outrage was swift. Betrayal. Opportunism. Moral collapse. Yet perhaps the more honest question is this: why are we still surprised?
We cling to a consoling fiction, that politicians are primarily in public life for the public good. In Uganda’s political economy, politics is often closer to capital investment. Campaigns require money, logistics, networks. Office delivers income, access, influence. Remove the office, and the investment sours.
Nsibambi’s earlier episode laid this bare. After losing his re-election bid, he reportedly disconnected his constituency from the electric power grid—a connection he had personally bankrolled in the hope it would convert into votes. The signal was unmistakable: if loyalty ends, so does the benefit.
And this is not an isolated case. We have seen MPs retrieve ambulances they donated once the electorate turned against them. Scholarships once paraded before cameras quietly evaporate when the benefactor is voted out. Public goods become private campaign assets—withdrawable upon defeat.
Outrage is justified. Astonishment is not.
Viewed through Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, the behaviour becomes less mysterious. Political office here is not self-actualisation; it is security. It provides economic stability and social standing in a scarcity environment. When security disappears, sunk costs loom large. Why are we shocked when politicians behave like investors defending capital?
The uncomfortable truth is that our leaders reflect us. A society negotiating material poverty often produces moral compromises. Patronage becomes rational. Defection becomes strategic. Scarcity breeds scarcity instincts.
Nsibambi’s defection is less scandal than mirror.
But the mirror reflects beyond personal ambition—it reveals structural weaknesses in Uganda’s opposition politics.
For years, the opposition’s reflex has been to appeal outward—Washington, Brussels, London hoping international pressure will reshape domestic power. Yet regime change engineered or heavily influenced abroad has rarely delivered stability. Libya’s fragmentation after Gaddafi. Iraq’s prolonged instability post-Saddam. Syria’s catastrophic entanglement. External actors pursue interests. The social cost is borne locally.
Legitimacy cannot be airlifted in.
History offers another lesson. Ruhollah Khomeini
did not unseat the Shah by lobbying Western governments. From exile, he built domestic networks, distributing cassette tapes until his message saturated Iran’s political bloodstream. Whatever one’s view of the outcome, the strategy is instructive: build local infrastructure before claiming national authority.
In Uganda, distribution networks remain uneven.
Urban centres consistently reject the NRM. Taxpayers in Kampala and other towns feel the state monthly—PAYE, VAT, fuel taxes. When infrastructure fails or services falter, the arithmetic between contribution and return feels immediate. Dissatisfaction sharpens where taxation is visible.
Rural Uganda experiences the state differently. Direct income taxation is less palpable. Government often appears as provider—roads, agricultural inputs, cash programmes. Cultural restraint tempers demands. The political thresholds differ.
This divergence shapes election results.
Robert Kyagulanyi aka Bobi Wine and the National Unity Platform (NUP) transformed parliamentary opposition politics, emerging as the largest opposition bloc by number of MPs. Yet geographically, NUP’s strength is heavily concentrated in Buganda and urban centres. Beyond those zones, its representation thins dramatically.
In fact, NUP reportedly failed to nominate candidates in roughly 190 constituencies. That absence is structural. It is difficult to claim national majority while absent across large stretches of the map.
This creates another uncomfortable perception: the party that accuses the NRM of concentrating power in western Uganda risks appearing more geographically confined itself. While critics portray the NRM as regionally anchored, it has registered electoral victories across vast parts of the country—north, east, west—losing decisively mainly in NUP’s Buganda stronghold. In raw geographic spread, the ruling party appears more nationally distributed than its chief challenger.
NRM planners would be clever to keep it that way—to preserve a broad coalition that transcends regional perception. A geographically diversified mandate provides resilience.
None of this dismisses valid grievances. The electoral process has been marred by rights abuses and uneven enforcement. The terrain is imperfect. But here lies the strategic pivot: a level playing field will not materialise through shaming power. Power rarely concedes because it is embarrassed. It concedes when compelled—through sustained organisation, leverage, and negotiation—to adjust.
Compelling power demands numbers. It demands presence in every constituency, not only in sympathetic strongholds. It demands coalition-building that transcends regional identity. It demands transforming indignation into structure.
Nsibambi’s crossing underscores incentive logic. Politicians migrate toward perceived durability. They hedge against uncertainty. Floor-crossing is an assessment of longevity as much as loyalty.
Meanwhile, the ruling party should not interpret rural arithmetic as permanent immunity. Urban rejection remains consistent. Cities are engines of growth, taxation, and narrative. Persistent service delivery gaps accumulate political cost over time.
Uganda’s politics therefore balances on dual illusions. The opposition’s illusion is that international endorsement equates to domestic power. The ruling party’s illusion is that rural breadth guarantees eternal stability.
Beneath both lies a deeper reality: our politics mirrors our society. If ambulances can be retrieved and power lines disconnected when votes disappoint, institutions are weak and incentives skewed. If parties struggle to build national footprint beyond regional bases, identity remains potent.
A level field will not descend from moral outrage. It will be constructed patiently, arithmetically, constituency by constituency.
Until then, defections will continue. Outrage will spike and fade. And the mirror will remain, reflecting not just Nsibambi or the NRM or NUP—but Uganda itself.
