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Those immortal words, borrowed by Chinua Achebe from W.B. Yeats and woven into the fabric of African literature through Things Fall Apart, remain among the most profound observations ever made about power, society, and political order. They remind us that every system, regardless of its strength, depends upon a centre—a source of gravity that binds institutions, commands loyalty, and maintains equilibrium.
For nearly four decades, President Yoweri Museveni has been that centre in Uganda.
Whether one admires or criticizes him, few can dispute that Museveni has been the principal political force around which Uganda's contemporary state has revolved. Since 1986, he has shaped the country's security architecture, political direction, economic reforms, and diplomatic posture. The Uganda that exists today is, in many respects, inseparable from the man who has led it for most of its post-independence history.
Yet history teaches a lesson that power often refuses to learn: no individual is immortal, and no political order can indefinitely depend upon the vitality of one man.
The challenge confronting Uganda today is not merely that its long-serving leader is aging. The challenge is that as the centre ages, institutions that should have gradually acquired independent strength appear increasingly overshadowed by personalized authority, family influence, military prominence, and informal networks of power.
A decade ago, many actions that now pass with little institutional resistance would have been politically unthinkable. During the earlier and more energetic phases of Museveni's rule, authority was often exercised firmly, but it was also carefully calibrated to preserve the image of institutional coherence. Today, however, growing signs of strain are becoming difficult to ignore.
The most significant turning point may have been the increasing militarization of political affairs following the constitutional changes and political realignments that accelerated after 2005. Since then, military influence has steadily expanded beyond its traditional constitutional role of defending national sovereignty and territorial integrity.
Political contests increasingly carry military overtones. Opposition figures frequently find themselves confronting security agencies rather than political competitors. Public discourse is increasingly shaped by statements from military actors. Matters that should ordinarily be resolved through courts, parliament, or civilian institutions often appear to be approached through security lenses.
The result is a dangerous blurring of boundaries between civilian governance and military authority.
A constitutional state survives because institutions know their limits. Parliament legislates. Courts interpret the law. The executive administers. Security agencies protect the nation. When those distinctions become indistinct, uncertainty begins to replace predictability.
Uganda today appears caught within several interconnected political quagmires.
One concerns the persistent tension between constitutional guarantees and security considerations. The Constitution guarantees fundamental rights, due process, and equal protection before the law. Yet public debates increasingly revolve around questions of arrests, detentions, military involvement in civilian affairs, and the practical limits of constitutional protections when security interests are invoked.
Another quagmire concerns succession.
For years, discussion regarding political transition has remained unresolved. Institutions that should naturally facilitate orderly succession remain overshadowed by the continuing dominance of a single political centre. Consequently, uncertainty surrounding the future of leadership inevitably becomes uncertainty surrounding the future of the state itself.
A third quagmire concerns the relationship between legality and power.
In healthy constitutional systems, power derives legitimacy from law. In fragile systems, law derives effectiveness from power. The distinction is crucial.
When citizens increasingly perceive that outcomes are determined not by legal principles but by proximity to authority, confidence in institutions begins to erode. Courts may continue sitting. Parliament may continue debating. Statutes may continue being enacted. Yet the public gradually ceases to view these institutions as the ultimate arbiters of national affairs.
The greatest danger is not necessarily authoritarianism itself. History shows that many governments have survived periods of centralized authority. The greater danger emerges when institutions become too weak to function independently of the individuals who control them.
This is where Achebe's warning becomes relevant.
The centre is not merely a president. It is not merely a ruling party. It is not merely an army.
The true centre of a republic is the legitimacy of its institutions.
A president may age. Generals may retire. Political alliances may shift. Families may rise and fall. Yet institutions endure only if they are allowed to develop strength independent of personalities.
Unfortunately, Uganda increasingly appears to be witnessing the opposite phenomenon. As political authority becomes more personalized, institutional autonomy appears increasingly constrained. As military voices become more prominent, civilian institutions appear less decisive. As informal power grows, formal procedures appear less consequential.
This creates a paradox.
The very instruments deployed to preserve stability may gradually weaken the foundations upon which long-term stability depends.
History offers many examples. States rarely collapse because they lack strong men. They collapse because strong men become substitutes for strong institutions. Once those individuals weaken, age, or depart the political stage, the institutions beneath them prove incapable of carrying the weight they were never allowed to bear.
The lesson of Achebe's narrative is therefore not merely literary; it is political and philosophical.
Things do not fall apart simply because a leader grows old.
Things fall apart when societies fail to prepare for the inevitable reality that every leader, however powerful, is mortal, while institutions alone possess the potential for permanence.
Uganda stands at such a crossroads.
The question confronting the nation is no longer whether power can maintain control today. The more profound question is whether the institutions of the republic are being strengthened sufficiently to maintain legitimacy tomorrow.
For when the centre ceases to hold, history shows that it is not only governments that suffer. Entire nations are forced to confront the consequences of having mistaken individuals for institutions and permanence for power.
And by then, the harvest is merely the fruit of seeds long sown.
About the Author
Evan Sande Ndahura is a Ugandan political and legal commentator, columnist, poet, and social justice advocate whose writings focus on governance, constitutionalism, democracy, and the political economy of power in Africa. He is widely published on issues of judicial accountability, electoral justice, human rights, and institutional reform, with a particular emphasis on Uganda's political and legal systems.
Writing from a Pan-African critical perspective, Ndahura interrogates the failures of state institutions and the lived realities of ordinary citizens under entrenched systems of power. His work explores the intersection between law, politics, history, and philosophy, challenging both leaders and citizens to confront uncomfortable truths about governance and justice in contemporary Africa.
He believes that the liberation of Africa will occur through a mighty pen, not the gun.
