Author:
B FRANCO BALYA
Uganda enters the 2026 election season with a tension that is nearly biblical in its clarity. The story that comes to mind—perhaps too easily, yet too accurately—is that of David and Goliath. For generations, that ancient battle has symbolised the struggle between raw power and defiant hope, between a giant comfortable in his dominance and a young challenger refusing to be intimidated. Today, that story feels less like scripture and more like the country’s unfolding political reality.
The “Goliath” in our national drama is unmistakable: a political establishment that has held power for close to 40 years, supported by vast state machinery and insulated by the privileges of incumbency. Its armour is extensive—security organs, administrative influence, financial muscle, and a political culture that has learned to survive by bending to the will of those who have been in command for decades. It is a giant that has forgotten what it is like to be challenged.
Opposing this is “David”—not a single figure, but a restless demographic force. A generation that has grown up in the shadow of one government, now with fewer illusions and more grievances. Their frustration is not theoretical; it is economic, social, and deeply personal. They face unemployment despite qualifications, inequality despite effort, and institutions that feel distant unless one knows the right people. To them, the biblical shepherd boy is not merely a symbol; he is their reflection.
But unlike in scripture, this David is not approaching the battlefield with equal footing. The coming elections reveal a contest shaped by glaring imbalances: opposition rallies disrupted or blocked, candidates restricted in movement, supporters detained, and a media environment in which access is often tilted by proximity to power. Officials insist such measures are necessary for stability. Yet stability that relies on inhibiting political competition often masks insecurity rather than preventing it.
We must ask the harder question: what does it mean for a democracy when its electoral contest more closely resembles a foregone conclusion than a genuine choice?
The David and Goliath situation forces us to confront this uncomfortable reality. A giant, no matter how powerful, is sustained not only by strength but by fear—fear from the public, fear from its opponents, and fear even within its own ranks. And fear, as history teaches, corrodes legitimacy faster than dissent ever could.
At the same time, the underdog’s rise can be romanticised to a fault. The opposition, particularly the younger and more charismatic wing represented by Bobi Wine, faces its own tests of preparedness, organisational discipline, and policy clarity. Passion is not a substitute for structure. And courage, though inspiring, is only one ingredient of national leadership. A David who defeats a giant must also be ready to govern the kingdom that follows.
Still, these critiques do not erase the deeper truth: Uganda’s political playing field remains troublingly uneven. And elections conducted on such terrain risk becoming rituals rather than contests—ceremonies of legitimacy rather than exercises of sovereignty.
This election is therefore not simply about who wins. It is about whether the country can reclaim the spirit of democratic competition. Whether it can move past a culture in which citizens participate out of habit rather than hope. Whether the voices of young Ugandans—those who feel that their country is slipping away from them—can still shape the nation’s direction.
The biblical David triumphed not because he was stronger, but because he dared to challenge the giant’s claim to invincibility. The giant, for all his size, had grown complacent. He assumed the battle was already won. Uganda’s story is yet to reach that moment of confrontation, but the tension is unmistakable.
As the 2026 elections approach, the question before us is not whether a David will defeat a Goliath. It is whether Ugandans will still believe the slingshot matters.