VotedThe one thing that the majority of Ugandans are agreed upon, even across the political divide, is that the February 18th presidential election was fundamentally flawed, yea, rigged. During my Makerere University days, the word on the street would have been that the election was won “scientifically.” The glaring inconsistencies are there for all to see: voting materials being delivered 6 hours into the 9 hour polling day. A last minute text message from the EC misleading voters on polling station locations. Curtailing mobile money transfers to ensure that the opposition’s monitoring teams in the countryside were not facilitated. A virtual black-out of social media, the information age equivalent of using the dark cover of night to “tally” votes. And then announcing results in percentages. Never mind that the total sum went above the conventional 100 mark. And the list goes on and on.

But the dilemma, my personal dilemma, goes way beyond that. Now that I know, what must I do? Should I join in the chorus of those singing “Peace, peace” when there is no peace? Should I go the delusional way and bury my head in the sand, and pretend nothing happened? Or should I throw in my lot with those hellbent on making sure “these people,” yes, these people, the ones with the bitter gall and gravel now swishing in their mouths, fail to savor their assumed victory? After all, the precedent for defiance (in the extreme) was set after the 1980 presidential elections by the candidate who came in a distant third.

What should I do?

Lately, I have been studying 1st century history. A cursory glance at the books detailing the history of this period points one to two pivotal personalities; one an Empire and the other an individual, little known in his lifetime: Rome and Jesus of Nazareth.

Indulge me here.

At the height of its dominance in 120 AD, the Roman Empire extended from England to modern day Iraq with an expanse of 3.5 million square kilometers. Jesus? The farthest he traveled outside his hometown was not more than 500km. And that is a generous measure. On all counts, he was a country bumpkin whose sphere of influence could not remotely start to compare to even the Roman outpost honcho of Galilee, Herod Antipas, son to the Roman client king of Judah, Herod the Great. For all Jesus was, the two men were wary of him. Herod the Great even went as far as ordering the massacre of every male infant in Bethlehem in a last ditch attempt to kill Jesus. The same Herod who, five days before his death, ordered the arrest of several citizens and decreed that they be executed the day he died, in order to guarantee a proper “atmosphere” of mourning in the country. Coming from a 400 year hiatus when God was “silent,” Jesus was perceived as Messiah by a cross-section of his people; the promised redeemer who would free them from Rome’s oppressive rule.

If one was to sum up Roman occupation and rule, one word would do: BRUTAL. The Emperor and his cohorts ruthlessly governed the empire. Because of its expanse, even the smallest of riots was quashed with such a show of force and finality as to act as a deterrent and example to any would-be mutineers. The different territories had tax quotas that had to be met without excuse. To their credit, fine roads ran from one end of the empire to another. Cities emerged. Aqueducts that supplied municipalities with water became commonplace. Trade flourished. I’ve visited a couple of these ancient Roman cities and even in their current state, they are quite a sight to behold. That they are still standing to this day is testimony enough. Still, the highhandedness of Rome was legendary. Public executions were run of the mill, an everyday occurrence. And into this charged environment enters the Nazarene, Jesus. The much awaited Messiah. The one who would free his people from the tyranny of Roman rule. Oh, what a disappointment He was in his time! Short of calling Herod a Fox, and using a few other choice words to describe the religious rulers of his day, he was mostly silent about the Roman oppressive occupation. When he spoke, he said unpalatable things like, “if a soldier (Roman) demands that you carry his gear for a mile, carry it two miles.” And then went on to tell his followers not to hit back at all. That if someone strikes you, “just stand there and take it.” Whoa! Messiah. Really? And as if to drive the point home, he died on a Roman cross, leaving His followers grief-ravaged and distraught. What an anti-climax. Or so it seemed.

Nonviolent resistance in the 1st Century?! Jesus understood something we would, in our Ugandan situation, do well to understand. Jesus didn’t openly advocate for violence to change the social order; he understood that you don’t usher in change by running amok in the streets with the certainty of shedding blood. His peers, who had made resistance to the Roman occupation a sacred duty incumbent on all Jews, considered him a sell-out. And yet within 100 years of his execution, people throughout the Roman empire became his followers. In 325 AD, Christianity became the official religion of the empire after Emperor Constantine’s conversion. Within 500 years, even temples of Greek gods were being turned into churches.

What led to the collapse of the indomitable Roman Empire 15 centuries ago? This question has never been exhaustively answered. But the knowledge that even the mightiest of empires ultimately comes to ruin will forever haunt despots and rulers who have taken to personalizing entire nations. Rulers who have become so brazen in their proclamations as to think their people owe them a lifetime of servitude. You see, when the final sum is tallied, virtue stands tall. And good always triumphs over evil.

And why the mention of yellow shoes, you ask. Am glad you remembered. I bought these shoes off a street hawker. I wore them every time my anti-establishment friends visited. Why? To irritate them. Just that. But now these shoes have become for me a tangible symbol of oppression. I will not wear them again. No. And I will not give them away. They are undeserving of anyone. They will take their place in the corner. They will serve as a cautionary tale. The half has not been told. Not yet.