THE MONITOR, 18TH OCTOBER 2002
From 7-hour search to seven-day closure
David Ouma Balikowa
dear coh,

I do not know how to begin this letter. Strange things have been happening in the beloved land of Uganda in the last seven days.
October 10 was black Thursday for all those who cherish freedom of expression, rule of law and democratic governance.
About 30 plain clothed security operatives raided our offices as we prepared to go to press that evening. Another 30, armed with AK-47 assault rifles, surrounded our premises, sealing off the offices from the outside world.
This was the beginning of a cordon and search operation. No one was allowed to leave for the seven hours the search lasted in the night.
We tried to protest because the men did not carry a search warrant as the practice is in civilised societies. But they told us they were security agents and did not need one.
I called our lawyer who concurred with me that even security required a search warrant. But even the lawyer�s protest could not deter them. They were already taking positions all over the place.
We were outnumbered.
There were more security operatives in the offices than staff, a ratio of about 1:4.
I was later told that if we had tried to insist on a search warrant, only a few of us would have been lucky to walk out alive -- and with broken limbs. The state agents had come ready to inflict injury on whoever dared stand in their way.
So we quicckly gave in to spare our limbs from being crashed to pieces.
Only a few weeks ago the life of a simple lad had been ended just next to our gate. This innocent youth was on his way to report to his new employer when gun-totting security men opened fire indiscriminately. The young man was hit by a stray shot. His killers simply drove away and left the Police to recover his body. This sad matter seems to have ended there.
In this land violence by the state against citizens has become as routine as a bug-infested rag in poor hovel.
We were well aware of this fact as the operatives ransacked our drawers and cupboards looking f or God-knows-what.
At the end of the seven-hour search, the operatives carried away piles of papers, much of it unrelated to security. They also carried away many computers, servers, floppy diskettes and heaps of very old audio tapes.
During the search, some operatives, especially those who judging from their looks and attitude could have been soldiers from Military Intelligence, kept on taunting us, calling us all sorts of names.
Others lectured us on how to write news stories.
However, I must say the Police among them were disciplined and went about their work in a professional manner.
After the search, we were asked to vacate the premises. We were also asked to surrender all the keys to security before being herded out. We were informed the search would continue the next day.
The next day�s issue of the publication had been stopped.
We went away feeling sad. Friends and journalists, who had kept vigil at a distance, outside our offices as the security carried out their search, swarmed us.
The next day we could not access the building. The siege was to last a week without The Monitor appearing on the streets.
On the third day (Saturday) of the siege, the security officials called us for another round of searching. Never mind that the premises and keys had been with them for over 36 hours.
They could look around, pick an envelope you probably don�t remember seeing, open it and ask you to sign for the documents.
The day after the closure of The Monitor, we operated on the streets, meeting here and there, then dispersing. Some intelligence operatives kept following some of our staff all over the place.
The public has been very sympathetic. The whole saga has re-ignited debate around the issue of how un-free Uganda is.
The first person I met said: �Welcome to Robert Mugabe�s Zimbabwe. While Mugabe is snatching farms, Museveni is doing it to the media. Now you know why Museveni supported Mugabe at the Commonwealth [Heads of Government Meeting]".
He was not a politician, just some ordinary Ugandan. I just smiled at him and walked on.
The next person I met was even more blunt in his remarks: �You people in The Monitor must now wake up and realise that you are operating in a dictatorship. A regime that bans political opposition and parties will not fall short of banning anything. The government would have banned you long ago, but you were the only thing left to remind the world that there is some freedom and democracy in Uganda. Some of us gave up hope for this country long ago.�
These remarks reminded me of another one I have often made myself - that the current regime allows some level of press freedom, not out of conviction, but as a tactic to win approval from the international community.
It also reminded me of popular belief that freedom of speech and media can only be guaranteed by political pluralism. Monolithic and autocratic regimes are a danger not only to democracy but the critical independent media as well.
There were those who were even scared of being seen talking to us. All they could say was sorry and then quickly take off, scared that they could be persecuted by the state as well.
But an old friend I went to school with took some time to talk about the state�s action against The Monitor. He reminded me of Arthur Koestler�s Darkness at Noon. He closed his eyes and tried to recall a few things in the book:
�My brother, the state is never wrong. Even when it is, it is your duty as a citizen to say; I believe and project only what the state says. Independence of belief or the media is a danger to the state. What individuals know or believe does not matter. You must always be ready to sacrifice all that to what the state wants.�
�It does not matter what you people in The Monitor believe. Being right in what you report is not what matters. It is what the state wants you to write that matters. So if they tell you to retract your stories and apologise, go ahead. It is your last duty to the state to deny even what is right. The public is not silly, th ey will know that you did that to please the state and gain your freedom.�
Coh, since the computers were returned, some have strange software on them.
We are trying to put together the broken pieces and try to walk again. But the air has been poisoned. The closure of The Monitor for a week sends signals that all is not well in the beloved land.


October 18, 2002 03:05:42



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