Why do we purport to be a democracy when we don’t believe in its ideals?

I have been following the US elections with keen interest—not because I was invested in either candidate, nor because it’s any of my business. 

But like many others, I am drawn by a curiosity to understand the ideals of democracy that they preach across the world. 

For a country as polarised as the US is today, this election season has felt like a test of the very values it claims to uphold. 

And as I watched, I was struck by something undeniable: democracy, even in the face of discord, can survive without violence. 

The US elections have shown me what a true democracy looks like—an unbroken spirit of peaceful transition, where no one is tear-gassed, no drones hover ominously, and no blood is spilled in the name of politics. 

This therefore raises a fundamental but painful question: Why do we purport to be a democracy in Uganda when we don’t seem to believe in the very ideals it holds?

Contrast this with Uganda, where the democratic narrative is tainted by what can only be described as a ritual of fear. 

Our democracy, it seems, is democracy in name only, a ceremonial procedure enacted every few years, upheld by force rather than faith. 

And so I ask: why do we persist in calling ourselves a democracy when the reality tells a very different story?

If we’re honest, our electoral process functions as little more than a formality—a means of rubber-stamping an established hierarchy that is fiercely defended.

For years, we’ve known that election season brings not just candidates but also the inevitable presence of armed forces, patrolling streets with a heavy-handed message: dissent will not be tolerated. The very institutions tasked with protecting our democratic freedoms seem instead to reinforce the limits of those freedoms. 

Even the quiet anticipation of change is stifled under a cloud of intimidation, leaving many Ugandans to wonder if they are merely players in an elaborate political theatre.

As an observer of both Ugandan and US politics, I find myself asking: what kind of democracy must wield fear to sustain itself? 

What kind of people’s choice requires soldiers and armoured vehicles as its shield? The stark truth is that a government that trusts its people should not need to suppress them.

While we may scoff at the traditions of monarchy, we must acknowledge the truth: a hereditary monarch, at least, makes no pretence of people’s choice. It is clear, predictable, and straightforward. 

But what we have here is neither monarchy nor democracy—it is a hybrid that demands the expense of an election but lacks the spirit of one. It is democracy without conviction.

If we cannot bring ourselves to uphold the core principles of democracy—free speech, fair elections, a genuine transfer of power—then why do we persist in the charade? Why do we pour millions into organising elections that the public views with cynicism and suspicion? 

And if we are unwilling to let go of power, perhaps it is time we questioned the purpose of our electoral system. 

Instead of pouring resources into a process that leads only to disappointment and division, we might be better served by directing those funds towards tangible improvements in service delivery, healthcare, and infrastructure. These are the areas that hold real significance for our people—areas where the true measure of leadership lies.

If in truth we are to claim our place as a true democracy, we must adopt not just the outward form but the internal spirit of democracy. 

This means more than allowing elections; it means embracing the outcomes, even when they deviate from expectations. 

It means creating an environment where dissent is seen as a form of patriotism, not betrayal. And it means building a political culture that trusts the people to choose wisely, rather than assuming that only those in power know what’s best.

The upcoming 2026 elections will be a test of our resolve. If we cannot guarantee freedom from fear, freedom to vote without reprisal, then we cannot claim to be a democracy. We must decide whether we are content to let democracy remain an illusion or whether we are willing to do the hard work of making it a reality.

Ugandans deserve more than an imitation of democracy; they deserve the real thing. And to those in power: Trust your people, or history will not trust you. For it is only when we place our faith in the people that we can hope to build a nation that truly represents them. 

Onyang Opio, [email protected]