The relationship between politicians and journalists has always been a complicated one. For decades, it has simmered with tension, occasionally boiling over into confrontations, walkouts, bans, and even violence.
At the heart of this friction lies a fundamental contradiction: journalists aim to serve the public by exposing truth and holding power to account; politicians, on the other hand, often seek favorable coverage, loyalty, and silence on uncomfortable truths.
But recent events involving Uganda’s leading opposition party, the National Unity Platform (NUP), have brought a new dimension to the discussion—one that should concern anyone who cares about press freedom.
This time, it isn’t the regime muzzling the press, but those who claim to champion freedom and justice.
Let’s be honest: journalists are not saints. Some become too cozy with their sources. Political reporters sometimes take sides.
Crime reporters may act more like members of the police force than watchdogs. Others willingly, or for perks, become publicists for politicians.
In extreme cases, they act more like personal aides than members of the Fourth Estate.
But politicians are equally culpable. They exploit these blurred lines, cozying up to journalists when it serves them—offering transport, per diems, or exclusives—and turning against them when the coverage shifts.
Worse still, some weaponize their supporters, especially online, to harass and intimidate journalists into silence.
The recent backlash against journalists in Masaka offers a troubling example. It stems from the fallout between NUP party leader Robert Kyagulanyi (Bobi Wine) and his former deputy, Mathias Mpuuga.
Since that rupture, journalists perceived as sympathetic to Mpuuga have faced a barrage of harassment—primarily from NUP-aligned social media accounts.
Two names stand out: Farish Magembe and Gertrude Mutyaba, journalists from Greater Masaka. I considered withholding their names, but the damage is already done—their ordeal is public knowledge.
Magembe and Mutyaba have been vilified online, especially by NUP supporters in Buganda. The abuse escalated in May 2024 during the burial of UK-based businessman Pascal Ssekasamba in Lwengo District.
A scuffle reportedly broke out between Kyagulanyi’s private security and journalists, who were allegedly viewed as pro-Mpuuga. Among those affected were Zainabu Namusaazi (Next Media), who reported damage to her equipment, and Margaret Kayondo (Radio Simba), whose phone was destroyed.
Although the incident did happen, several eyewitnesses believe it was exaggerated by both sides seeking moral high ground.
Nonetheless, it’s Magembe and Mutyaba who continue to face the harshest backlash. Their phone numbers have been circulated, and they receive threatening calls from so-called NUP “foot soldiers,” accusing them of being government-sponsored operatives working to arrest NUP supporters. Ironically, neither was directly involved in the Lwengo incident.
Magembe, in his role as president of the journalists’ association in the region, issued a statement condemning the fracas—just as he would have if the perpetrators had been from the police, UPDF, or ruling NRM. But neutrality, it seems, is no longer acceptable to some in the opposition.
Whenever NUP loyalists feel threatened or criticized, their response isn’t debate—it’s the keyboard. Online harassment, coordinated trolling, and character assassination have become common tools to silence dissent or punish perceived betrayal. Reputations are destroyed, not through fact, but through viral fiction.
This mob mentality, masquerading as political loyalty, undermines NUP’s democratic credibility. If the party claims to stand for justice and rule of law, why is it acceptable for its supporters to bully and threaten journalists who speak uncomfortable truths?
Adding complexity to this saga is the state’s opportunistic response. Several members of Kyagulanyi’s private security team have been allegedly abducted, tortured, and later brought before court under the pretense of the Lwengo incident.
Let’s not kid ourselves—these charges have little to do with what happened at the burial and everything to do with weakening the opposition.
In this scenario, the state wins twice: it clamps down on opposition actors while stoking internal divisions between the Kyagulanyi and Mpuuga factions, further fragmenting resistance to the status quo.
So what needs to change?
First, NUP must take responsibility for its online base. Passion is not a license for abuse. Political activism can and should coexist with respect for others—especially those doing their jobs with integrity.
Second, journalists must reflect on their ethics. Access to power, whether in government or opposition, must never compromise objectivity. Journalists are not cheerleaders; they are watchdogs, duty-bound to hold all sides accountable.
Finally, Uganda must protect independent journalism—not just from the state, but from political parties, online mobs, and even corrupt newsrooms. Today it’s NUP loyalists targeting reporters in Masaka. Tomorrow it could be another party, another region, another voice silenced.
If we don’t defend press freedom now, we may soon have nothing left to defend.
Editorial-Insight Post
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