Africa Spectrum Is An Open Access Publication
Africa Spectrum Is An Open Access Publication
Africa Spectrum Is An Open Access Publication
Spectrum
The online version of this and the other articles can be found at:
<www.africa-spectrum.org>
Published by
GIGA German Institute of Global and Area Studies, Institute of African Affairs
in co-operation with the Dag Hammarskjld Foundation Uppsala and Hamburg
University Press.
1 The authors thank Anna Baral, Elsio Macamo, Mats Utas, Sverker Finnstrm,
Anders Sjgren, and the lively and critical voices at the Nordic Africa Institute
in Uppsala (where the paper was first presented) for their valuable input. Many
thanks also go to the two anonymous reviewers at Africa Spectrum.
6 Joschka Philipps and Jude Kagoro
Moreover, since even the core of police is fraught with uncertainty and
instability, the police are evidently part of what we call the metastable
city and to police it, they need to remain flexible and fluid while also
creating or maintaining the impression of being a bounded state institu-
tion. Politics, from this perspective, is only secondarily about the conflict
between a government and an opposition. Prior to this, and more fun-
damentally, it is about crafting concrete realities, groups, and movements
that gather momentum and followers in a context of contingency and
uncertainty (see Philipps 2016; Simone 2001; Utas 2012).
This idea draws heavily on the philosophy of Gilbert Simondon
(1958, 1989, 1995; see also Combes 2013), currently gaining popularity as
a strong inspiration for the work of Gilles Deleuze.2 Simondons primary
concern is to understand how phenomena emerge as distinguishable and
tangible, a process he calls individuation. This process, he argues, is
best understood as an interplay of innumerable factors that are intangible
in their diversity and heterogeneity, but gradually develop into definite
forms. Specific ideas, for example, emerge from relations between our
subconscious and our consciousness that cannot be clearly defined
(Lakoff and Johnson 2003); artefacts emerge from a variety of contexts
(cultural, material, historical, technological, etc.) that are never conceiv-
able in their entirety (Burke 2002); and, to reiterate Simondons (1995:
31) key metaphor, solid crystals emerge from a metastable solution that
is initially fluid and intangible. African cities have widely been described
in terms of similarly intangible relations by authors like Diouf (1996, 2003),
Mbembe and Nuttall (2004), Pieterse (2011), and especially AbdouMaliq
Simone (1998, 2001, 2003, 2004a, 2004b, 2008). Simone gives a captivat-
ing depiction of what one may call the metastable city: a space of poten-
tiality and spontaneous formations where economic pressures require
that large numbers of individuals eking out a living take chances and
spontaneously follow cues, intuitions, social ties, and dynamics without
knowing where these dynamics may take them. In this context, uncer-
tainty is ubiquitous as a constraint but also as a resource. As Simone
(2008: 22) describes in the case of Bepanda Market in Douala, Came-
roon, uncertainty provides
much room for dissimulation[,] much room for making things
seem as if they are real when they are not, or making them real
simply through the sheer mobilizing of money, interest, or sup-
port on the part of those schemed or part of making a scheme.
3 As a theoretical side note, this inverts how we tend to think about hybridity (see
Albrecht and Moe 2015): while hybridisation implies, quite controversially, that
previously bounded entities turn into a less distinct mix, the idea of crystallisation
sees the indistinct mix as a universal primary condition from which intelligible
entities, i.e. realities, unfold in indeterminate ways.
4 On the riots in Kampala and the institutionalisation of noise in Ugandas urban
politics, see Goodfellow (2013).
8 Joschka Philipps and Jude Kagoro
2014) although, to reiterate, these riots were only a tiny fraction of what
was going on at Kisekka Market, only a snippet of its diverse incidents,
coincidences, and potentials.5
Kisekka Markets metastable character also bespeaks the ways in
which the past routinely resurfaces in the present. Nowadays centrally
located in downtown Kampala, the area of Kisekka Market used to be a
swamp in the Kingdom of Buganda. As all land in Buganda, it was the
king, the kabaka, who owned the land; still today, he is widely considered
the Bagandas landlord, an issue that we shall return to below. The mar-
ket emerged in the late 1980s as an informal trading spot for spare car
parts, many of them stolen, exchanged, and sold through opaque net-
works associated with Ugandas magendo underground economy (see
Prunier 1983). In the early 1990s, 26 row houses were built to accommo-
date the ever-increasing workforce, estimated to be at least 10,000 peo-
ple in 2014 (Mukisa 2014), in a narrow space between Nakivubo Chan-
nel and Nakivubo Road. Since this space was inaccessible by car, the
trades at Kisekka Market relied on middlemen. Hundreds, some say
thousands, of brokers would intercept customers arriving by car at
Nakivubo Road. They would negotiate a price and get the demanded
spare part from inside the market, keeping the difference between the
price they charged the customer and what they paid the shop owner.
These could be substantial sums, given the high value of the traded
goods and the ambiguity of prices. Customers, too, could profit from
good deals if they had the right connections and a working knowledge of
how Kisekka Market functioned. Much depended on being in the right
networks, on being at the right place at the right time, and on being
cunning enough to tilt the trades to ones advantage. Such an aura of
potentiality was not restricted to the hawkers, brokers, shopkeepers,
dealers, mechanics, flows of customers, and hundreds of food vendors:
many youth from the citys outskirts would roam the market in search of
random possibilities, action, and income, and interlocutors repeatedly
emphasised that Kisekka Market attracted Kampalas sharpest and
toughest hustlers, widely known as bayaye (see Frankland 2007), looking
not only for individual deals but for projects, ideas, and formations that
could yield something.6 As one informant vaguely put it, I wont be
5 Anna Barals insights from her ethnographic fieldwork at Kisekka Market have
been helpful in this regard, all the more as she problematises rather than re-
traces the emergence of the markets stigma as a hotbed of rioters.
6 Interviews with Julius, 5 April 2014, Wabigalo, Kampala; Marc, 9 March 2014,
Kazo, Kampala. The same goes for other markets and similar public spaces (see
Protesting and Policing in Kampala 9
Frankland 2007). The names of all of Joschka Philippss interviewees and in-
formants have been anonymised.
7 The incident happened not at Kisekka Market, however, but at the Mulago Hos-
pital roundabout.
10 Joschka Philipps and Jude Kagoro
restricted to the claim that the opposition had regularly given out money
to spark riots, and that the government had paid money to impede them.
Some argued that a clique in Kisekka Markets Block A was in touch
with the opposition; others hinted that the Bangawa group, a Baganda
youth organisation based in and around Kisekka, were behind the large
majority of riots happening at Kisekka. Most said the middlemen started
the riots, but many others argued that rioters were mobilised from else-
where and had no relation to Kisekka Market. Several interviewees ar-
gued that the driving force behind the riots was Ganda ethnicity, while
others emphasised urban youth unemployment and outrage against gov-
ernment impunity. Throughout the research, several of these claims
could be partly verified, while none of them could be decisively refuted.
Ambiguity persisted, and started at the individual level of who is who,
and who is for whom at Kisekka. According to an anonymous police
officer, there were between 500 and 1,000 police spies among the 10,000
workers at Kisekka Market, and this was widely acknowledged by the
dealers and brokers themselves.8 Government spies are there, one
shopkeeper at Kisekka said. He went on:
The people who came to work focused on getting money are there,
everybody is there, [but] we dont see you dont see where is which
one or what.9
Relationships between shopkeepers and middlemen also oscillated be-
tween trust and mistrust. They are all about survival, one shopkeeper
argued of the middlemen, they work for you but they can also destroy
you, citing examples where looting and rioting middlemen had stolen
from shopkeepers they had just dealt with hours before.10 In short,
appearances could rarely be taken at face value, and the crucial concern
in interactions was not necessarily what was real, but what could crystal-
lise into some beneficial reality to pursue.
Ambiguity also pertained to the one thing that seemed beyond
doubt at Kisekka Market: allegiance to the kabaka. Though almost every
interviewee at Kisekka Market was quick to emphasise that love for the
kabaka is strongest here in Kisekka, that you can be killed for saying
anything even slightly degrading about the king here because we see
him as superior in all aspects,11 the kabaka also remained, as an inform-
16 For the overall theoretical argument on social movements, protests, and riots in
African Studies, see Philipps (2016).
17 In this regard and many others, the crystallisation approach decidedly runs
counter to Robert Kaplans The Coming Anarchy (1994). Though Kaplan uses a
similar sort of crystallisation imagery (he likens West African young men to
loose molecules in a very unstable social fluid, a fluid that was clearly on the
verge of igniting), his perspective discards human agency as much as the
open-endedness of history. Mainly intent on creating an apocalyptic image of
the global future, Kaplan abuses the experience of a number of African coun-
tries [as] merely a dress rehearsal for an ecological fate towards which humanity
is ineluctably moving (Mkandawire 2002: 183).
14 Joschka Philipps and Jude Kagoro
cant influence over the presence, absence, form, loci, and intensity
of collective violence. (Tilly 2003: 34)
Sam, who owned a shop at Kisekka Market, was a paradigmatic political
entrepreneur from the opposition who tried to turn fluid dynamics into
tangible events and political camps.18 An ambitious young politician who
stood for a parliamentary seat, he had built diverse networks within three
different opposition parties of which he was a member. Much of his
political clout came from commanding a so-called youth brigade with a
branch in Kisekka Market that could spread rumors, execute protests,
blackmail political rivals, or confront police in favour of any politician
who gets a problem and is willing to pay for its solution. He recounted
stories of how he organised 30 of his Kisekka Market members into
command, information, and implementation sections during the
Kayunga riots, and mobilised urban Baganda youth by emphasising that
the government doesnt like your king! Another time, they staged a
violent attack on an opposition politician, to then publicly allege that the
perpetrators were government thugs. Once, they destroyed a public toilet
to tell bystanders and residents that the government was going to tear
down the informal settlements and build new houses in the area, spark-
ing protests against the Kampala Capital City Authority (KCCA). Once
the information was out, it crystallised into a phenomenon, and had
already gathered momentum by the time the KCCA dismissed the alle-
gations and rumours as false and fabricated.
Media coverage was central in these schemes; the goal was to
throw information at the public eye,19 possibly even vis--vis interna-
tional audiences and donors that both the regime and civil society heavily
depended on (see Tangri and Mwenda 2006, 2010; Tripp 2010; Kagoro
2015a).20 Both police and activists therefore informed and paid journal-
ists to report about the spectacle from a specific angle.21 A former
opposition activist elaborated,
And, the good thing, how all this [protest mobilisation] is
achieved, is media. Cause we buy media. Guys buy the media, []
and the media reach the scene, very early enough and keep wait-
ing. Then they start filming. Police will start beating the [journal-
ists], h? Not to cover the event. They are calling the radio station.
Ahhh, police are running, roughing up, they are taking my cam-
era, directly reporting [live], you get? So those on radio also tell
others []. By evening, the whole city is on fire.22
External observation and media coverage was crucial in particular be-
cause of the observers partial knowledge of what was taking place
partial in terms of both its incompleteness and the political biases that
would guide the observers interpretations of what they saw. Police and
protesters actively appealed to that partiality: protesters would place
women activists close to cameras to visualise their vulnerability;23 in
front of other cameras, police commanders would explain the need to
protect law-abiding citizens from irresponsible rabble-rousers. Journalists
gravitated towards these different versions as avenues for advancement.
Everything is politicised, said Daily Monitor journalist John Njoroge:
You cannot get by, in Uganda, just by simply being the average per-
son. If you want to get ahead, you must affiliate yourself with some
form of political persuasion.24
These affiliations were neither long-term nor clear-cut, however, as many
journalists took sides as those sides emerged, or, more precisely, as the
journalists helped those sides emerge. After all, opposition and police
emerged as two sides to a considerable degree through journalistic
observation, through being seen and talked about as bounded groups
from the outside. Just like during the 2009 Kayunga riots, where Ganda
ethnicity was an attribute ascribed to the rioters rather than one the riot-
ers experienced, there are good reasons to believe that the groupness of
government and opposition forces is at least as much a matter of outside
attribution as of internal experience.
Political entrepreneurs, who actively constructed what emerged as
political realities, would accord rather little credibility to these construc-
tions themselves. Even when asked about his own youth brigade, Sam, the
above-mentioned political entrepreneur, said dryly: We use these youths.
You know, we want power, we want to get legislative seats. Many political
entrepreneurs had worked for both the opposition and the NRM; some
had switched sides multiple times during their career and some were
working for both simultaneously. Although senior politicians shifted po-
litical sides as well ex-PM Amama Mbabazi, who ran for president
thing and we survive. Yeah, this is (pauses), basically, this is how our
government has survived. For all these years!27
In sum, uncertainty and ambiguity constituted a productive resource
for political entrepreneurs (Cooper and Pratten 2015: 3), even vis--vis
their bosses, as it allowed them to invent schemes and create realities,
which they hoped would gather momentum. Such momentum depended
on how different forces would react to a specific seed for example,
an event of public uproar and political entrepreneurs prided them-
selves on knowing that very well. I know youth politics, h? Ron said,
having worked for both the opposition and the government:
I know violence, how it comes up, h? I know how opposition
operates, and I know how government operates, properly! [] In
this nation I know.
Such knowledge was relative to a surrounding that political entrepre-
neurs tended to picture as comparatively nave. Gerald, less self-confi-
dent than Ron, said,
There are some things I understand. But I want to tell you that the
youth who follow me, know absolutely little about so many things.
About so many things. So, this person, if I decide to put something
in him [an idea or a political affiliation], me, myself, I can.
In a context of manipulable surroundings, then, the scope of schemes
depended on how well connected a political entrepreneur was.28 Those
able to draw from a broad range of connections could induce the most
wide-ranging crystallisation processes, while others had to pitch their
ideas to better-placed peers to benefit from their connections. For in-
stance, during the interview with Dixon, the police spy, his phones rang
and vibrated incessantly. You see my phones here? he asked at some
point. I receive sooo many calls every day, these gangsters, whoever
calling me [,] [I receive] soooo many ideas every day! Asked to specify
the kind of ideas, Dixon answered, Blackmail threatening someones
power by exposing subversive information. While the content of the
information itself was comparatively negligible and oftentimes fabricated,
the threat consisted of the expected effect what would happen if the
information gathered momentum.
The NRM state was in a strikingly similar position: blackmailed on
charges of corruption, which is common knowledge across the country,
the subversive element was not the information that corruption existed
but that frustrations about it gathered political momentum in large-scale
protest. The question preoccupying Dixon was how long the govern-
ment could pay the ransom:
The moment the government runs out of money, we get [it gets]
scared, trust me: (whispering suspiciously) Now, these people, criticising
on the street, what shall we give them? If there is no money?
Indeed, it is in this context that the state has increasingly counted on
police to handle the issue.
the police established a new anti-riot division, the so-called Field Force
Unit (see Baker 2015: 381382), and in 2013 President Museveni signed
the Public Order Management Bill, which gives police discretionary au-
thority to break up gatherings of as few as three people in a public arena
who are deliberating political issues (Kagoro 2014: 114115).
Despite these legal-institutional instruments, the police tend to op-
erate not as a bounded institution but an open-ended network, defying
distinctions as to who is in the police and who is not. Street kids indicate
traffic offenders to policemen to later pocket a fraction of the bribe
(chai ). Paramilitary youth brigades join police in ad-hoc anti-riot oper-
ations on the basis of personal and financial arrangements whose specif-
ics remain opaque to most of those involved.32 At police stations, infor-
mal middlemen, so-called kayungerizi, liaise constantly between police
officers, suspects, and complainants in nebulous shuttle mediations
about allegations, bribes, and brokerages. Akin to Kisekka Market, such
jockeying involves a multiplicity of connections, phone calls to people of
potential influence, some of them fake, some of them real, most of them
transgressing institutional boundaries. Police actively engender such
entanglements, and have amassed a plethora of informants, to the point
where Kampalas urbanites half-jokingly say that if four people meet,
you can be sure that one is a spy.33 Just like during the Ugandan Bush
War, when civilians were military-trained under the democratisation of
the gun discourse to later participate in the removal of the Obote re-
gime (Mudoola 1991: 239; Museveni 2000: 80), and akin to the post-war
nationwide mchaka-mchaka politico-military trainings of civilians that
interlaced Ugandan society with a marked military ethos (Kagoro 2015b:
183), current crime preventer trainings are turning millions of Ugan-
dan citizens into police partners, including for political mobilisation
purposes on behalf of the ruling party.34
One of the polices greatest assets in the spy apparatus are boda-boda
motorcycle taxi drivers. Estimated at 200,000 and continuously growing
35 These figures were revealed during a meeting between the RPC Kawempe and
all Kampala city division boda-boda chairmen held at Makerere, Kikoni on 26
March 2015.
36 Interview with a senior police officer at the rank of assistant inspector general
of police (AIGP) and with a regional police commander, both in Kampala, on
18 March 2015 and on 26 March 2015, respectively.
37 Conversation with the IGP Kale Kayihura, 18 April 2015, Kololo, Kampala.
38 Kaweesi is now the director of Human Resource Development.
Protesting and Policing in Kampala 21
At the same time, while the polices own ranks can pose risks, the
opposition can be won over. The IGP himself is known to frequently
take rioting youth to his personal home in Muyenga to dissuade them
from organising and participating in riots offering tea and food, hand-
ing out money, promising development projects to individual ringleaders,
integrating others into the spy apparatus, keeping them tied up in talks
when they are supposed to be mobilising, and appealing to their hopes
that they can make it within the current metastable order, and that they
need to continue trying like everyone else. Ron, a former opposition
mobiliser, when asked why he would stay with the IGP instead of mobi-
lising fellow protesters, exclaimed,
This is the general who has called you, everything is there. Hes tell-
ing you how he used to do what youre doing. [] Personal expe-
rience. [inaudible] That these [opposition] people are not going to
help you, they are doing selfish businesses, youre young, you lose
your life.
Ron later worked for the IGP himself: Hes a nice person, this guy. He
listens to you. If you have personal challenges, you seek something, he
gives you money.43 The IGPs personal budget per quarter for such ad-
hoc purposes is now at UGX 3.6 billion (approximately USD 1 million),
making him a key player in the urban politics of crystallisation.44
Money, however, was only one way of silencing dissent. While police
pay journalists who report favourably about their operations,45 they muzzle
others whose reports may threaten the regime (Human Rights Watch
2010b). In the wake of the 2009 Kayunga riots and in addition to repress-
ing the demonstrations in the street, the state shut down four radio sta-
tions and banned the so-called ebimeeza open radio debates that had been
key sites of political deliberation (see Brisset-Foucault 2013a: 241). Numer-
ous newspaper offices and radio stations have been raided and shut down
over the years, and various journalists have been arrested, leading to
considerable insecurity and precariousness amongst journalists without
political protection (see Tripp 2010: 96-101). At the same time, many jour-
nalists seek such protection from police. Police headquarters are crowded
with journalists who hope to establish good relations with influential offic-
ers, to have a number to call in difficult situations, but also to get the latest
news, a fuel card, or UGX 100,000 for positive coverage. This goes for
journalists from both private and state-owned media, as Ugandas media
outlets tend to defy the idea of stable political camps. Journalists from the
state-owned New Vision newspaper, for instance, might be critical of police,
while the previously police-raided Independent news magazine might be full
of praise, due to a diverse range of favours, threats, personal rivalries, and
other contingencies.
An important upshot from this discussion on police is that any
crystallising entity in a metastable context must maintain responsiveness
to change and uncertainty. Just like the Boda-Boda 2010 Association or
different media outlets, police were forced to become neither too stable,
bounded, or paralysed in an ever-shifting environment, nor too unstable,
fluid, or indistinguishable from that environment. While ensuring visibil-
ity as a distinct institution, police also connived with boda-boda drivers,
some of whom had been involved in anti-government protests, some of
whom still were, and some of whom sympathised with the protests, but
would argue that the difference between the government and the oppo-
sition is that the opposition doesnt have power. Thats all.46
Conclusion
Thinking through these dynamics of protest and policing in Kampala in
terms of stable political camps, where a bounded opposition stands
against a bounded government or state apparatus, ignores both the rela-
tions that transgress these boundaries and the shifting political positions
between these camps. Though political camps do obviously exist in
Kampala, this paper has suggested treating them not as structures, not as
a priori, permanent, and definitive parameters of agency, but as emerging
fields of gravity once a protest, riot, or any other seed transforms the
metastable milieu into an antipodal political spectrum. This process is
akin to what Brubaker (2002) has argued about ethnicity and the for-
mation of ethnic groups. Brubaker, who notably defines ethnicity as a
crystallization of group feeling (2002: 167), rejects the concept of
ethnic groups because it presupposes the groupness, whose genesis
the analyst is actually supposed to account for (2002: 176). Since ethnic-
ity is contextually fluctuating, waxing and waning over time, and often-
times a corollary of conflict rather than the underlying cause of it, it
should be thought of as a project or an event rather than a collective
entity: schemed by political entrepreneurs, solidified through external
representation by media, and self-perpetuating as it crystallises (Brubaker
2002: 168).
48 The Fragile States Index, which until 2014 used to be called the Failed States
Index, has been published annually since 2005 by the American think tank The
Fund for Peace and the journal Foreign Policy. It is based on 12 social, economic,
and political indicators, each with an average of 14 sub-indicators. Criticisms of
the index abound. See, e.g., Beehner and Young (2012); Evers (2014); Leigh
(2012).
26 Joschka Philipps and Jude Kagoro
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