Jennifer Nakangubi (Full Figure) Assault: How Social Media Amplified Violence Against Women in Uganda

Jennifer Nakangubi Assault: Video of Full Figure Attack Sparks National Outrage in Uganda

The brutal assault on Ugandan socialite and presidential adviser Jennifer Nakangubi, widely known as ‘Full Figure’, has ignited a firestorm of public debate, holding up an unflinching mirror to the nation’s soul. A video of the attack, which circulated widely on social media, did more than document a criminal act; it triggered a deeply divisive and troubling response that laid bare Uganda’s complex and entrenched relationship with gender-based violence (GBV). While many condemned the violence, a significant portion of the public commentary engaged in pervasive victim-blaming, arguing that Nakangubi’s notorious outspokenness and history of verbal provocation justified the physical retribution.

This incident, and the toxic digital vitriol that followed, serves as a critical case study, exposing symptoms of a larger societal sickness—from the normalisation of violence and internalised misogyny to the dangerous slide towards digital vigilantism. It highlights a stark generational clash over values and a glaring deficit in civic education regarding human rights and the rule of law. This analysis delves into the disturbing public reaction, exploring the psychological impact on survivors, the media’s responsibility, and the urgent crossroads at which Uganda finds itself. The path chosen now—between condoning brutality or recommitting to the unequivocal principles of justice and universal human dignity—will define the nation’s character for generations to come.

In the digital age, a society’s conscience is no longer found just in courtrooms or newspaper editorials, but in the frenetic, unfiltered commentary beneath a social media post. Last week, Uganda held up that mirror to itself, and the reflection was jarring. The violent assault of socialite and presidential adviser Jennifer Nakangubi, known widely as ‘Full Figure’, was not just a news story; it became a national Rorschach test. The videos of her bruised face sparked a firestorm of online reactions, but it was the nature of these reactions that revealed a far more profound and unsettling truth about prevailing attitudes towards women, violence, and justice in modern Uganda. This is not merely a story about one woman’s ordeal; it is a diagnostic tool for a national psyche grappling with deep-seated contradictions.

The Story Unfolds: From Physical Attack to Digital Aftermath
The incident itself involved Nakangubi being physically attacked by a group associated with events promoter Justine Nameere. While the details of the altercation are still subject to police investigation, the aftermath played out in real-time for all to see. When the story was shared online, the digital floodgates opened. Instead of a unified chorus of condemnation, the platform was inundated with a cacophony of celebration, mockery, and justification. This response forms the basis of a critical national conversation.

Twenty Key Points for National Reflection:

1. The Unmasking: How One Incident Laid Bare a National Crisis

   The brutal assault on Jennifer Nakangubi, known as ‘Full Figure’, did far more than dominate the news cycle for a week. It functioned as a powerful catalyst, a sudden spark that ignited a long-simmering national conversation, forcing Ugandan society to stare into a mirror and confront its own reflection. To understand its profound impact, one must appreciate the Ugandan adage: “When the moon is bright, even the smallest path becomes visible.” For a long time, the issue of gender-based violence (GBV) has been walked upon in the shadows of private homes, whispered about in markets, and tacitly accepted in many communities. The Nakangubi incident provided that stark, revealing moonlight, illuminating the deeply entrenched and complex path of attitudes that perpetuate violence against women in Uganda.

   This catalytic effect unfolded across several critical layers:

   1. Breaching the Wall of Silence and Selective Outrage:
   Often, discussions of GBV are confined to specific, ‘sympathetic’ victims—typically those perceived as blameless, modest, or from certain social strata. The assault on a high-profile, controversial socialite like Nakangubi shattered this selective silence. Because she is a public figure who does not conform to traditional expectations of demure womanhood, the incident forced a public test of Uganda’s principles. Would the commitment to condemning violence hold fast when the victim was someone many found unlikeable or provocative? The answer, found in the furious online debates, revealed a troubling truth: for a significant portion of the populace, the principle against violence is conditional, not absolute.

   2. Exposing the Justification Framework:
   The incident acted as a trigger because it provided a perfect scenario for the public application of a dangerous justification framework. This framework, deeply embedded in the social fabric, suggests that a woman’s right to safety is contingent on her behaviour, reputation, and adherence to social norms. Comments like, “She has been asking for it with her insults,” or “What did she expect?” were not just criticisms of Nakangubi; they were a public rehearsal of a rationale used every day to excuse violence against women in homes and communities across the nation. The incident provided a specific, high-profile case study onto which people could project this deeply held, yet often unspoken, belief system. It moved the private justification of violence into the public square for all to see.

   3. Highlighting the Clash Between Modern Law and Traditional Norms:
   Uganda has a robust legal framework against violence, including the Domestic Violence Act. However, this exists in tension with more traditional, patriarchal norms that emphasise a woman’s submission and place a premium on her reputation. The Nakangubi incident became a catalyst because it starkly highlighted this clash. The voices calling for the immediate arrest of the perpetrators represented the modern, legalistic view: violence is a crime, period. The voices blaming the victim often represented a traditional, normative view: justice is communal and behavioural, where public shaming or physical reprimand can be an accepted tool for social correction. The online thread became a battlefield for these two competing worldviews.

   4. Demonstrating the Normalisation of Violence:
   The casual minimisation of the assault—calling it “small small beating” or a “lesson”—revealed how normalised violence against women has become. When a severe physical attack can be laughed off with emojis or dismissed as a trivial event, it indicates a society that has become desensitised. The catalyst effect here was to show that this desensitisation is not just present but is widespread and vocal. It demonstrated that for many, violence is not a shocking aberration but an expected, and even acceptable, part of social discourse and conflict resolution.

   5. Empowering the Counter-Narrative:
   Finally, and crucially, the incident also catalysed a powerful and unequivocal defence of women’s rights. The sheer extremity of the victim-blaming galvanised many Ugandans—men and women alike—to speak out with clarity and force. It gave a platform to those who argue for unwavering bodily autonomy and the rule of law. Their messages, arguing that “no provocation justifies battery” and that “a wrong does not correct a wrong,” gained prominence precisely because they were responding to such a visible and egregious example of the opposite view.

   In conclusion, the assault on Nakangubi was so catalytic because it was more than a news item; it was a national Rorschach test. People’s reactions to it were less about the details of the case and more about their deeply held, often unconscious, beliefs on gender, power, and justice. It held up a mirror and asked a difficult question: Does every Ugandan woman, regardless of her character or career, have an equal right to life, dignity, and freedom from violence? The divisive answer that echoed back from the comments sections revealed that the moon is indeed bright, and the path towards a truly violence-free society remains long and difficult to tread. The incident did not create these divisions; it simply illuminated them for all to see.

2. The Festering Wound: How Brutality Against Women Became Normalised in Uganda

   The public response to the assault on Jennifer Nakangubi revealed a deeply unsettling undercurrent in Ugandan society: the normalisation of violence against women. This was not merely a case of a few insensitive comments; it was a widespread exhibition of a disturbing desensitisation to brutality. The gleeful declarations of “RIP Fulfiger” and “may her soul rest in pieces” are more than just cruel mockery; they are the symptoms of a much deeper societal sickness. To understand how such a response becomes possible, one must consider the Ugandan adage: “The frog does not jump in the daytime for nothing.” This implies that every visible action has a long history of causation. The public celebration of violence does not emerge from a vacuum; it is the result of a long, sustained process of normalisation that has made such brutality seem unremarkable, acceptable, and even humorous to a segment of the population.

   This process of normalisation operates through several interconnected channels:

   1. The Trivialisation of “Corrective” Violence:
   A pervasive belief exists that violence is a legitimate tool for social correction, particularly against women who are perceived to have transgressed social norms. When a woman is seen as outspoken, arrogant, or sexually liberated, a segment of society views physical assault not as a crime, but as a deserved “punishment” or a “lesson” to bring her back in line. This frames the perpetrator not as a criminal, but as a vigilante administering street justice. The comments celebrating the attack on Nakangubi were rooted in this warped logic: she was considered having “stepped out of her place,” and the violence was thus reframed as a necessary and justified corrective measure. This mindset transforms a criminal act of battery into a communal, and even commendable, act of discipline.

   2. The Role of Humour and Meme Culture in Desensitisation:
   The use of laughing emojis, memes, and sarcastic phrases like “RIP” is a critical mechanism of normalisation. Humour serves to downplay the severity of the act, stripping it of its gravity and horror. By turning a brutal beating into a subject of online comedy, the violence is trivialised. It becomes just another piece of content in the endless scroll of social media, equivalent to a funny pet video or a witty joke. This process anaesthetises empathy. When we laugh at something, we cannot simultaneously be horrified by it. This digital schadenfreude—taking pleasure in another’s misfortune—creates a psychological distance that allows people to celebrate an act they would likely find shocking if they witnessed it in person outside their own front door.

   3. The Cultural Narrative of the “Strong Woman” and Resilience:
   Ugandan women are often celebrated for their strength and resilience, virtues born out of a history of hardship and labour. However, this narrative has a dark, twisted shadow. It can foster an expectation that women should be able to “take it”—whether “it” is hard work, verbal abuse, or even physical violence. This creates a environment where sympathy for a female victim is conditional. If she is perceived as strong and defiant, she is often denied the right to be vulnerable or to be considered a victim. The violence against her is therefore minimised because she is thought to be “tough enough to handle it.” The celebration of Nakangubi’s assault was, in part, a perverse testament to her own publicly perceived toughness; the commentators were effectively saying, “She can take this beating, and she probably deserved it anyway.”

   4. The Erosion of Empathy Through Repeated Exposure:
   Normalisation is a gradual process. Ugandans, particularly online, are exposed to a constant stream of content depicting violence—from local news reports to graphic videos shared on WhatsApp and Facebook. This repeated exposure, without adequate critical context or counselling, can lead to compassion fatigue and a numbing of emotional response. When violence is ubiquitous, it ceases to be extraordinary. The unique horror of an individual act is lost, and it becomes just “another case” of a woman being beaten. This erosion of empathy allows people to engage with such content not with distress, but with detachment, curiosity, or even amusement.

   5. The Ingroup/Outgroup Dynamic:
   Normalisation is often reserved for those perceived as being outside the bounds of societal protection. When a woman is labelled a “prostitute,” a “quarrelsome,” or a “socialite” of questionable character, she is effectively placed in an “outgroup.” Violence against members of an outgroup is more easily justified and celebrated because they are seen as less than human or undeserving of the same rights and sympathies as “respectable” women. The dehumanising language used to describe Nakangubi prior to the attack created a permission structure for this lack of empathy, making the celebration of her suffering possible.

   In conclusion, the cheers that greeted the video of Nakangubi’s assault are the fruit of a deeply rooted tree. They signify a environment where violence has been systematically reframed as correction, where humour has been weaponised to dissolve empathy, and where resilience is mistaken for an invulnerability to pain. The frog, as the adage says, did not jump in the daytime for nothing. This public celebration of brutality is a dire warning sign—a symptom of a festering wound that normalises violence until it becomes just another part of the background noise of daily life, a noise that ultimately threatens the safety and dignity of every Ugandan woman.

3. The Calculus of Blame: How Ugandan Society Excuses Violence Against Women

   The torrent of public commentary following the assault on Jennifer Nakangubi was characterised by a most insidious and pervasive theme: victim-blaming. This was not a minority view but a dominant narrative, where a significant portion of society engaged in a collective act of justification, arguing that the victim’s own behaviour—her outspokenness and history of verbal insults—made the physical retribution not only understandable but deserved. This mindset reflects a deep-seated social machinery that tirelessly works to exonerate perpetrators and shift the burden of guilt onto the abused. To comprehend this, one must consider the Ugandan adage: “When a river floods, it is the small stones that are blamed for making noise, not the heavy rains that caused the deluge.” This proverb captures perfectly the misdirection of blame, where the victim’s reaction (the noisy stones) is scrutinised, while the root cause of the violence (the deluge) is ignored and excused.

   This pervasive victim-blaming operates on several interconnected levels:

   1. The Fallacy of “Provocation” and Deserved Retribution:
   At the heart of this blame is a flawed moral calculus that equates verbal insults with physical violence, suggesting they are part of the same spectrum of conflict and thus one justifies the other. This logic fundamentally misrepresents both the law and basic human rights. Verbal provocation, however unpleasant, is not a capital offence. In a society governed by the rule of law, the prescribed response to insult is not battery but legal redress through courts for defamation or civil suits. By claiming Nakangubi “deserved it,” commentators effectively advocate for a vigilante justice system where might makes right, and any perceived slight can be met with physical force. This creates a society where safety is conditional on never offending anyone, an impossible standard that primarily serves to control and silence outspoken women.

   2. The Scrutiny of the Victim’s Character to Diminish the Crime:
   Victim-blaming functions as a psychological coping mechanism. It is easier to believe that a victim did something wrong to attract violence than to accept the unsettling truth that violence can be random, brutal, and happen to anyone. By focusing intensely on Nakangubi’s character—labelling her “loud,” “insulting,” or “immoral”—society creates a checklist of respectability. If a victim can be shown to have failed any point on this checklist, the gravity of the crime against her is automatically diminished in the public eye. This process absolves the community from the responsibility of confronting the perpetrator’s actions and the uncomfortable reality of pervasive misogyny. It asks, “What was she wearing?” or “What did she say?” instead of “Why did he beat her?”

   3. Upholding Patriarchal Norms and Policing Women’s Behaviour:
   This blame is a powerful tool for social control, particularly aimed at women who defy traditional gender expectations. A fiercely outspoken woman, financially independent, and unapologetic about her lifestyle, like Nakangubi, challenges patriarchal authority. Her very existence is a provocation to a certain world view. When violence against such a woman is met with approval, it sends a chilling message to all women: step out of line, and not only will you be harmed, but society will side with your attacker. It reinforces the archaic notion that a woman’s primary value lies in her docility, politeness, and submission. The blame thus becomes a punishment for failing to conform.

   4. The Cultural Concept of “Ukwerera” (Letting it Slide) vs. Righteous Anger:
   There is a cultural pressure, often placed on women, to practice ukwerera—to let things slide for the sake of peace and social harmony. A woman who consistently refuses to do this, who responds to insults with her own sharp tongue, is seen as disrupting the social order. In the warped logic of victim-blaming, her refusal to be passive is framed as the original sin that necessitated the violent response. The perpetrator’s actions are thus re-cast as a frustrated, albeit extreme, attempt to restore the order she disrupted. This completely pathologises her rightful anger or defiance while legitimising his criminal violence.

   5. Creating a Barrier to Justice and Healing:
   The most damaging consequence of this pervasive blame is its real-world impact. It actively discourages survivors from reporting assaults for fear of being shamed, disbelieved, and put on trial in the court of public opinion for their own victimisation. It isolates them, forcing them to grapple not only with trauma but also with societal condemnation. Simultaneously, it emboldens perpetrators, who are reassured that their actions will be met with understanding, justification, and even praise by a complicit public.

   In conclusion, the victim-blaming surrounding Nakangubi’s assault is a stark reflection of a society grappling with a profound contradiction. It reveals a tendency to protect the structures of power and privilege by sacrificing the safety and dignity of the individual. The adage holds true: society rushed to blame the noisy stones—the woman who spoke up—while giving a free pass to the devastating deluge of masculine violence. Until this calculus of blame is challenged and rejected, the right of every Ugandan woman to exist safely in her full, authentic, and sometimes disagreeable humanity will remain under threat.

4. The Price of Transgression: Deconstructing the ‘Just Consequences’ Narrative in Uganda

   The public discourse following the assault on Jennifer Nakangubi was profoundly shaped by a narrative that is both pervasive and deeply corrosive: the idea of ‘Just Consequences’. This framework posits that the violence she endured was not a criminal act but a natural, even expected, outcome for a woman who dared to step outside the narrowly defined boundaries of respectability. Sentiments like, “She should have known better,” or “She was asking for it,” are not merely casual remarks; they are the pillars of a societal logic that justifies brutality by shifting the moral failure from the perpetrator to the victim. To understand the potency of this narrative, one can turn to a Ugandan adage: “The grass that grows too tall is the first to be cut by the lawnmower.” This saying, often used as a warning against standing out, perfectly encapsulates the mindset that views Nakangubi’s assault not as a tragedy but as an inevitable corrective action—the necessary cutting down of grass that had grown too tall.

   This narrative of ‘Just Consequences’ is built upon several interconnected foundations:

   1. The Conflation of Social Norms and Natural Law:
   Proponents of this narrative mistakenly elevate social and patriarchal norms to the level of immutable natural law. They argue that a woman who is “loud,” “insulting,” or sexually assertive violates a fundamental order. Within this warped worldview, the violent response is not seen as a choice made by an individual man, but as an inevitable and natural reaction—as predictable as gravity. This framing removes human agency and moral responsibility from the perpetrator. He becomes merely an instrument of karmic justice, delivering a punishment that the victim’s own behaviour had logically set in motion. This absolves him of guilt and places the entire onus on the woman to navigate a world of unspoken rules whose violation carries severe physical penalties.

   2. The Function of Deterrence and Social policing:
   The narrative serves as a powerful tool for social policing and control. The public spectacle of a woman being beaten and then publicly blamed acts as a stark warning to other women. The phrase “She should have known better” is inherently instructional. It communicates the clear terms of the social contract: conform, or face the repercussions. This enforces a culture of silence and submission, where women may self-censor, dim their personalities, and tolerate abuse rather than risk being perceived as provocative. It is a mechanism designed to maintain a specific social hierarchy by instilling fear in those who might challenge it.

   3. The Erosion of Legal Rationality:
   A functioning society operates on a legal principle that clearly distinguishes between crimes and minor transgressions, with proportionate punishments administered by a court of law. The ‘Just Consequences’ narrative utterly dismantles this. It creates a parallel, vigilante justice system where the prescribed punishment for a verbal insult—a civil offence—is severe physical assault—a criminal offence. This is a complete abandonment of proportionality and the rule of law. It suggests that certain women, by virtue of their perceived character, forfeit their legal right to safety and exist outside the protection of the state, subject to the whims of mob justice.

   4. The Conditional Nature of Empathy and Humanity:
   At its core, this narrative makes empathy conditional. It asserts that a woman’s right to compassion and her fundamental right to bodily autonomy are not inherent, but must be earned through impeccable behaviour. It creates a sliding scale of victimhood, where a “respectable” woman might be deserving of sympathy, but a “disreputable” one is not. This dehumanises the victim, reducing her from a whole person to a collection of objectionable traits that supposedly justify her suffering. She is no longer a human being who was beaten, but a problem that was solved.

   5. The Preservation of Patriarchal Power:
   Ultimately, the ‘Just Consequences’ narrative is about preserving power. A woman like Nakangubi, who is economically independent, vocally assertive, and controls her own public persona, represents a threat to traditional patriarchal authority. The narrative that her behaviour “invites” violence is a desperate attempt to reassert control. It is a message that says, “No matter how successful or independent you become, you are still subject to our rules, and we will use force to remind you of your place.” It is a punishment for autonomy.

   In conclusion, the adage of the tall grass being cut down is not a neutral observation; it is a justification for violence masquerading as wisdom. The ‘Just Consequences’ narrative is a dangerous fallacy that perverts justice and normalises brutality. It asks women to carry the burden of male violence on their shoulders, to live in a state of perpetual caution, and to shrink themselves to fit into confines designed to control them. A truly just and progressive Uganda must reject this narrative entirely and affirm, without exception, that the only consequence for breaking a social norm should be social criticism—never the brutalising touch of violence. The only thing a woman should “know better” than to do is to believe she deserves less than full protection under the law.

5. The Digital Lynch Mob: How Uganda’s Street Justice Found a New Home Online

   The disturbing glee that greeted the video of Jennifer Nakangubi’s assault is a phenomenon far too familiar in Uganda, albeit in a new, digital guise. This was not merely schadenfreude; it was the unmistakable echo of the mob justice mentality that has long plagued our physical streets, now transplanted into the digital sphere. The online comments sections became a virtual version of a charged Kampala alleyway, where a crowd gathers not to help, but to egg on the violence, to cheer the perpetrators, and to ensure the victim is thoroughly shamed and broken. This shift from the physical to the digital is captured by the Ugandan adage: “The fire that burned your neighbour’s beard is now warming your own feet.” The dangerous fire of vigilante violence has not been extinguished; it has simply found a new hearth in our smartphones and computer screens, offering a deceptive warmth to those who gather around it.

   This digital transformation of mob justice operates through several key mechanisms:

   1. From Physical Stones to Digital projectiles:
   In a typical street mob justice scenario, a crowd gathers around a perceived offender, hurling stones and insults, often leading to a brutal and fatal outcome. The digital mob performs the exact same function, but its weapons are different. Instead of stones, they hurl laughing emojis 🤣, memes mocking the victim, and comments like “Tewali kusima kwe bagobe” (There is no pity for the arrogant). Instead of physical blows, they deliver psychological trauma through widespread shaming and the endorsement of violence. The intent, however, remains identical: to collectively punish and humiliate an individual deemed to have transgressed, bypassing all formal judicial processes.

   2. The Illusion of Legitimacy Through Numbers:
   A key feature of both physical and digital mob justice is the perceived legitimacy granted by the crowd. On the street, an individual might hesitate to throw a stone alone, but feels empowered to do so as part of a large group. Online, the same psychology is at play. A single user might not post a vicious comment alone, but seeing hundreds of others do so creates a bandwagon effect. The number of likes and supportive replies serves as a form of social validation, making individuals feel their cruel stance is the majority and therefore correct. This digital crowd provides both anonymity and a sense of collective righteousness, erasing individual moral responsibility.

   3. The Performance of Public Punishment:
   Mob justice is not just about punishment; it is a public spectacle designed to serve as a warning to others. The physical beating of a thief in a market square is a gruesome lesson for any would-be offenders. Similarly, the digital shaming of Nakangubi was a performative act. The commenters were not just expressing an opinion; they were participating in a public flogging. By adding their voice to the chorus, they were contributing to a modern-day pillory, ensuring the victim’ humiliation was maximised and broadcast to the entire nation. This performance reinforces social norms by making a brutal example of those who break them.

   4. The Bypassing of State Authority:
   At its core, both physical and digital mob justice represent a profound lack of faith in, or patience for, the formal justice system. The mob, whether on the street or on Facebook, operates on the principle that the courts are too slow, too corrupt, or too lenient. They believe that immediate, brutal retribution is not only more efficient but also more satisfying. The digital cheers for Nakangubi’s assailants were implicitly a condemnation of the legal process. The anxiety about the perpetrators going to jail (“They will siba”) was rooted in a preference for their form of instant street justice over the state’s slower, more procedural form of justice.

   5. The Dehumanisation of the Target:
   For a mob to act, it must first strip its target of their humanity. On the street, the accused becomes a “thief” or a “witch,” not a person. Online, Nakangubi was reduced to a caricature: “Fulfiger,” a loudmouth, an immoral socialite. This dehumanisation is a necessary psychological step that allows the mob to suspend empathy and justify its cruelty. Once a person is turned into a symbol of everything the mob despises, any action against them is permissible.

   In conclusion, the digital arena has not created a new form of brutality; it has simply provided a new and vastly more powerful platform for an old Ugandan demon. The fire that once burned in the street now warms the hands of thousands online, spreading its destructive potential further and faster than ever before. Combating this requires more than just condemning online hate; it requires addressing the root causes: strengthening public trust in formal justice, fostering a culture that values due process over visceral retribution, and teaching that a crowd’s roar—whether physical or digital—is not the sound of justice, but the sound of its failure. True justice is not found in the heat of the mob’s fire, but in the cool, deliberate halls of the law.

6. The Poison in the Laughter: How Humour Trivialises Violence in Uganda

   In the unsettling digital aftermath of the assault on Jennifer Nakangubi, one of the most jarring features was the soundtrack of mockery that accompanied the visuals of violence. The deployment of laughing emojis 😂, memes, and sarcastic commentary did not just represent poor taste; it was a deliberate act of alchemy that transformed a serious criminal act of battery into a subject of public comedy. This misuse of humour is a sophisticated and deeply damaging social weapon, serving to trivialise the victim’s experience, invalidate her pain, and shield the perpetrators and the public from the gravity of what occurred. To understand this phenomenon, one can consider the Ugandan adage: “A snake may shed its skin, but it remains a snake.” The laughing emojis are merely a new skin; the underlying poison of cruelty and indifference remains unchanged. The humour is not a harmless release, but a venomous tool that perpetuates harm.

   This process of using humour as a social weapon operates through several distinct mechanisms:

   1. The Trivialisation of Trauma:
   Laughter is a powerful psychological tool that can instantly deflate tension and diminish the significance of an event. By framing a brutal beating as a joke or a form of entertainment, the online commentators actively stripped the event of its horror. A serious act of gender-based violence becomes just another piece of “content,” equivalent to a funny skit or a viral dance challenge. This process makes it intellectually and emotionally easier for society to consume and discard the incident without engaging with its disturbing implications. It allows people to avoid the uncomfortable feelings of empathy, outrage, or guilt that a straightforward condemnation would require. The victim’s trauma is reduced to a punchline.

   2. The Creation of a ‘In-Group’ Through Cruelty:
   Sharing a joke, especially a cruel one, creates a powerful sense of belonging among those who are “in on it.” The laughing emojis and memes surrounding Nakangubi’s assault served as a badge of membership for a specific digital tribe. This tribe defined itself by its shared contempt for the victim and its approval of the violence she endured. To laugh along was to signal allegiance to a set of values that prioritise patriarchal control and social conformity. Conversely, to express horror or condemnation was to mark oneself as an outsider, overly sensitive, or a defender of the victim’s “bad” behaviour. This use of humour builds solidarity among abusers and their sympathisers, while isolating the victim and her supporters.

   3. The Evasion of Moral Accountability:
   Humour provides a convenient smokescreen for expressing deeply antisocial views without being held fully accountable. A commenter can hide behind the defence of “I was only joking!” or “Can’t you take a joke?” when their cruel remarks are challenged. This allows for the propagation of victim-blaming and the endorsement of violence under the protective cloak of comedy. It is a coward’s tool, enabling the expression of vicious sentiments while retaining plausible deniability. This evasion makes it difficult to confront the underlying misogyny, as the discussion can be quickly derailed into debates about sensitivity and humour, rather than addressing the core issue of violence against women.

   4. The Reinforcement of Power Imbalances:
   Historically, humour has been used by powerful groups to mock and subordinate marginalised ones. In this context, the laughter directed at Nakangubi is a modern manifestation of this dynamic. It is a tool of social control wielded to put a powerful, outspoken woman “back in her place.” The laughter is meant to humiliate and belittle, reinforcing the power imbalance between the ( predominantly male) perpetrators of violence and the female victim. It sends a clear message: your pain is not serious; your suffering is a spectacle for our amusement; you are not worthy of our solemnity or respect.

   5. The Ugandan Context: ‘Kutegereza’ and Public Shaming:
   This digital mockery mirrors a traditional form of social control in Ugandan communities: public shaming and ridicule, or kutegereza, to enforce norms. While traditionally used for minor corrections, the digital sphere has amplified this practice into a weapon of mass destruction. The online crowd gathers to point and laugh, much like a village might gather to shame a wrongdoer. However, the scale and permanence of the digital record magnify the damage exponentially, turning a temporary chastisement into a permanent, national spectacle of humiliation.

   In conclusion, the laughter that echoed through the comments sections was not a sign of lightness but a symptom of a profound societal sickness. As the adage reminds us, the snake of cruelty remains poisonous, regardless of what skin it wears. The misuse of humour to mock a victim of violence is a deliberate strategy to avoid moral responsibility, strengthen regressive power structures, and ultimately, normalise brutality. It is a tactic that corrodes empathy and allows injustice to flourish under the cover of a joke. A society that laughs at violence is not a society at peace; it is a society that has become dangerously accustomed to the sound of its own moral decay. True healing requires recognising this poisonous laughter for what it is and choosing, instead, the sober clarity of compassion and justice.

7. The Double-Edged Sword: Power, Protection, and Peril in Ugandan Society

   The assault on Jennifer Nakangubi, a socialite with the official title of Presidential Adviser, ripped aside a veil on a complex and often unspoken aspect of Ugandan society: the intricate dance between class, power, and violence. This was not merely an attack on an individual, but an incident that forced the nation to confront an uncomfortable paradox: does privilege and political connection serve as an impenetrable shield, or does it instead paint a target on one’s back, making one vulnerable to a different kind of danger? The public’s reaction revealed a society deeply conflicted about its own power structures. This duality is perfectly captured by the Ugandan adage: “The same fire that melts butter is the one that hardens the egg.” Power, like fire, does not have a uniform effect. For some, it provides protection and influence (melting all resistance). For others, particularly those who are perceived to have overreached, it can attract intense heat that leads to their downfall, hardening public opinion against them.

   This complex interplay of class and power dynamics manifests in several critical ways:

   1. The Illusion of the Invulnerable Shield:
   A common perception in Uganda is that proximity to political power grants one a form of immunity. The title “Presidential Adviser” suggests access, influence, and protection from the consequences that ordinary citizens might face. This incident starkly challenged that notion. It demonstrated that such connections are not a guaranteed shield against physical violence, particularly when that violence stems from personal vendettas or conflicts within the same elite circles. The attack laid bare a harsh truth: that protection is often conditional and can be withdrawn in an instant, leaving even the seemingly powerful exposed. This shattering of the invulnerability myth was deeply unsettling to the national psyche, which often equates title with absolute safety.

   2. Power as a Magnet for Resentment and Targeting:
   Conversely, high visibility and perceived privilege can make one a magnet for public and private resentment. In a society with vast economic disparities, figures like Nakangubi, who flaunt their wealth and influence, can become symbols of the inequality that ordinary citizens grapple with daily. This can create a perverse environment where an act of violence against them is not considered an attack on a person, but as a form of comeuppance against an entire system. The assailants in this case may have felt emboldened, believing that public sentiment would be on their side for “taking down” a powerful figure, or that the victim’s very status made her a legitimate target for settling scores. Her power did not deter the attack; it may have been a central reason for it.

   3. The ‘Big Fish in a Small Pond’ Dilemma:
   Ugandan social and political circles are intensely interconnected and competitive. This creates a environment where conflicts between influential individuals are often played out not through formal channels but through displays of power, influence, and sometimes, intimidation. An attack on a high-profile person can be a brutal message from one faction to another, a way of demonstrating that one’s influence is greater and one’s reach longer. In this sense, the violence was not just personal; it was a performance of power for a specific audience within their social stratum, using the victim’s body as a canvas to paint a message of dominance and warning to others.

   4. The Public’s Schadenfreude and the Levelling Effect:
   The widespread glee and victim-blaming observed online can be partially explained as a form of schadenfreude—pleasure derived from another’s misfortune. For many commentators, seeing a wealthy, connected individual humiliated and beaten served as a momentary leveller. It provided a fleeting sense that the powerful are not untouchable and that they, too, can experience the pain and vulnerability that is the daily reality for many ordinary Ugandans. This is not to justify the reaction, but to explain its psychological underpinnings. The public’s laughter was, in part, the sound of pent-up frustration at a rigid class system finding a distorted release.

   5. The Question of Equal Justice:
   The incident immediately raised a critical question: will the perpetrators be held to account with the same vigour as if they had assaulted an unknown market vendor? The public’s anxiety about the assailants’ potential jail time (“they will siba”) was tinged with a suspicion that the weight of the victim’s political connections would now swing the full force of the state against them, perhaps disproportionately. This highlights a deep lack of faith in a blind and equitable justice system. The fear is that the law is not a constant, but a tool that can be wielded by the powerful—either to protect themselves or to crush their enemies.

   In conclusion, the Nakangubi incident serves as a stark national lesson that power is a double-edged sword. As the adage goes, it can be the fire that melts butter or hardens the egg. Her story demonstrates that influence does not guarantee safety; it merely changes the nature of the threats one faces. It can protect one from the common struggles of the many but can invite the targeted vengeance of the powerful few. Ultimately, the episode holds up a mirror to Uganda’s deep-seated anxieties about inequality, justice, and the true nature of power—revealing a society where even the most elevated are not safe from the base violence that simmers beneath the surface.

8. The Unbent Blade of Grass: The Resilient Voice of Principle in Uganda

   Amidst the deafening digital roar that sought to justify the assault on Jennifer Nakangubi, a quieter, yet resolutely firm, chorus of voices emerged. This alternative perspective, though in the minority, served as a crucial moral counterweight, firmly and unconditionally condemning the violence itself. Comments such as, “No man should lay his hands on a woman,” and calls for the perpetrators to be arrested “ASAP” were not merely opinions; they were the active reaffirmation of a fundamental principle that danger and loud opposition cannot entirely extinguish. This unwavering stance calls to mind a powerful Ugandan adage: “However much the wind blows, it cannot break the mountain.” The hurricane of victim-blaming and justification may have been fierce, but this principled minority stood as the mountain—unbroken, immutable, and rooted in the bedrock of universal human rights and the rule of law.

   This alternative perspective is significant for several key reasons:

   1. The Reassertion of Absolute Principle Over Subjective Excuse:
   The core of this position is its absolutist nature. It deliberately refuses to engage in the debate about Nakangubi’s character or past behaviour. Instead, it establishes a simple, non-negotiable truth: physical violence is always wrong. By stating “No man should lay his hands on a woman,” these commentators cut through the toxic noise of justification and return the discussion to first principles. This stance upholds the notion that certain rights—like bodily autonomy and security—are inherent and cannot be forfeited, no matter how unlikeable or flawed a person may be. It is a defence of the rule of law over the rule of the mob.

   2. The Courage of Counter-Culture:
   In the context of the overwhelming online tide, voicing this perspective required significant social courage. To stand against the popular narrative of victim-blaming was to risk being labelled “soft,” a “simp,” or out of touch with reality. By speaking out, this minority demonstrated a form of digital bravery, prioritising ethical consistency over social validation. Their comments served as a lifeline to other silent observers who felt the same unease, showing them that they were not alone and creating small pockets of moral sanity within the digital chaos. This helps to prevent the complete normalization of the toxic narrative.

   3. The Defence of a Society’s Ethical Foundation:
   These voices, though few, play a disproportionately critical role in safeguarding the ethical foundations of society. They act as a necessary check, a conscience for the collective. Without this alternative perspective, the dominant narrative of justification would go entirely unchallenged, cementing the idea that violence is an acceptable tool for social arbitration. Their insistence on condemning the perpetrators and focusing on the criminal act itself is an attempt to pull public discourse back from the brink of outright barbarism and towards civility. They are, in effect, defending the very idea of a civil society.

   4. The Distinction Between Disapproval and Criminality:
   A sophisticated element of this perspective is its implicit understanding of the difference between social disagreement and criminal acts. These commentators might personally disapprove of Nakangubi’s behaviour or find her insults distasteful. However, they intellectually separate that social transgression from the criminal act of assault. They argue, either explicitly or implicitly, that the appropriate response to verbal insults lies within the realm of social consequence, civil litigation for defamation, or simply choosing to avoid that person—not in physical battery. This reflects a mature understanding of a differentiated society where different wrongs have different, proportionate remedies.

   5. A Reflection of Uganda’s Aspirational Values:
   This princi stand mirrors the values enshrined in Uganda’s constitution and its international commitments to human rights and gender equality. It represents the Uganda we aspire to be—a nation where the law is supreme, and every individual is secure. It is a voice that aligns with the work of religious leaders preaching peace, educators teaching conflict resolution, and legal professionals upholding justice. It proves that despite the pervasive noise, the foundational values of respect and non-violence are not dead but are actively being fought for.

   In conclusion, the wind of vitriol blew fiercely, but it did not break the mountain. The alternative perspective, though a minority, was arguably the most important one in the entire episode. It represented the unwavering conscience of the nation, refusing to be bent or broken. It served as a critical reminder that the measure of a society’s character is not found in how it treats its most popular or “respectable” citizens, but in its unwavering commitment to protecting the rights and safety of all, especially when it is difficult to do so. This unbent blade of grass signifies the resilient hope for a Uganda where the law, and not the strongest fist or the loudest mob, has the final say.

9. Naming the Cowards: How Shifting Focus Challenges Uganda’s Culture of Impunity

   In the tumultuous wake of the assault on Jennifer Nakangubi, a crucial and morally clear thread of discourse emerged from the digital fray: the direct and unambiguous condemnation of the male perpetrators. While many were lost in the labyrinth of victim-blaming, a segment of users correctly shifted the spotlight back onto the assailants, labelling them “cowards” and “losers” for their actions. This was far more than mere name-calling; it was a vital act of moral recalibration. It served to challenge the dominant narrative of justified force and reassert the fundamental principle of personal accountability. This act of refocusing brings to mind a timeless Ugandan adage: “When a child burns the forest, you do not blame the wind; you chastise the child.” In this case, the online commentators who condemned the attackers were refusing to blame the ‘wind’ of the victim’s provocation and were instead rightly chastising the ‘children’ who chose to unleash the fire of violence.

   This act of condemning the perpetrators is critically important for several reasons:

   1. Reasserting Agency and Accountability:
   The core of this perspective is its insistence on agency. It directly challenges the pervasive narrative that the assailants’ actions were an inevitable, uncontrollable reaction to Nakangubi’s behaviour. By calling them “cowards,” these commentators correctly identify that violence is a choice. It is a conscious decision made by an individual to resort to physical force. This labelling forces a public acknowledgement that the men involved were not passive instruments of karma, but active agents of harm who must be held fully responsible for their choices. It restores the correct moral equation: the fault lies solely with those who threw the punches.

   2. Challenging Toxic Masculinity and ‘Strength’:
   The specific use of the term “coward” is a powerful rhetorical tool. In a cultural context, that often wrongly equates physical dominance with masculinity and strength, labelling a man who beats a woman a “coward” flips the script. It exposes their actions not as a display of power but as a profound weakness. It highlights the cowardice inherent in ganging up on a single individual, and particularly a woman, undermining any attempted bravado. This reframing is a direct challenge to toxic masculine norms that sanction violence as a way to assert dominance or resolve conflict.

   3. dismantling the ‘Justified Force’ Narrative:
   The most significant function of this condemnation is its ability to dismantle, brick by brick, the argument that the violence was justified. By focusing exclusively on the perpetrators’ actions—the act of two men collaboratively beating a woman—it exposes the sheer brutality of the event in its purest form, stripped of the distracting context of the victim’s character. This makes it much harder for others to rationalise the attack. It becomes difficult to argue with the simple, stark image of “two men beating a woman,” a phrase that inherently evokes a sense of imbalance and injustice.

   4. affirming the Rule of Law:
   This line of commentary is inherently aligned with the principles of a lawful society. It implies a clear understanding that in a functional state, individuals are not entitled to mete out physical punishment for perceived slights or insults. The correct channel for grievance is the police and the courts. By condemning the perpetrators and calling for their arrest (“bakwatibwe ASAP”), these users are advocating for a system where the state holds a monopoly on justice and where individual vigilante action is condemned, not celebrated.

   5. Offering a Model for Constructive Public Discourse:
   In a digital environment saturated with hate and vitriol, this approach offers a model for constructive engagement. It does not require one to defend the victim’s character or like her. It simply requires a commitment to the basic, universal principle that unprovoked physical violence is wrong. This provides a common ground upon which people of different opinions can agree, creating a coalition for civility that transcends other divisions. It is a pragmatic and powerful way to counter toxic narratives without getting bogged down in unwinnable arguments about the victim’s past.

   In conclusion, the voices that rose to condemn the perpetrators, though they may have been outnumbered, were arguing from a position of immense moral and logical strength. They were applying the ancient wisdom of the adage: they refused to blame the wind and instead rightly identified and chastised those who started the fire. This act of shifting focus is not a minor detail in the conversation; it is the essential first step towards justice. It is the necessary correction that begins to dismantle a culture of impunity and reaffirms the foundational truth that in a decent society, the blame for a crime must always rest squarely on the shoulders of the criminal.

10. The Gavel and the Fist: Upholding the Law Against the Lure of Vigilantism in Uganda

    Amidst the distressing digital cacophony that sought to rationalise the assault on Jennifer Nakangubi, a clear, principled, and critical argument emerged from a minority of voices. This argument drew a bright, unwavering line between a civilised society and a descent into chaos by emphasising the paramount need for legal recourse. These commentators firmly asserted that verbal abuse, however objectionable, must be addressed through the courts of law, not through streetside beatings. This position is far more than a legalistic point; it is the defence of the very foundational principle that separates order from anarchy. This steadfast belief in due process calls to mind a fundamental Ugandan adage: “The mouth that tells lies does not destroy the court of law.” This proverb teaches that falsehoods and provocations, represented by the ‘mouth,’ are ultimately powerless against the enduring structures of justice—the ‘court.’ The solution to lies is not to smash the court with a fist, but to use the court’s own processes to expose the truth.

    This defence of the law over vigilantism is critically important for several reasons:

    1. The Foundation of a Civilised Society:
    The primary argument is that a society’s civility is measured by how it resolves disputes. The choice to pursue a case for defamation or verbal harassment through the civil or criminal courts is a choice for order, procedure, and proportionate justice. It is a slow, often frustrating process, but it is designed to be fair and to prevent the escalation of conflict. In stark contrast, streetside beatings represent the law of the jungle—might makes right. By advocating for the former, this minority was advocating for the preservation of a social contract where every citizen, regardless of their flaws, is entitled to the protection of the state from bodily harm.

    2. The Rejection of Disproportionate Retribution:
    Vigilante justice is, by its nature, wildly disproportionate. It suggests that the appropriate punishment for a verbal insult—a transgression that might result in a fine or a court-ordered apology—is severe physical assault, which is a grievous criminal offence carrying a sentence of imprisonment. Those calling for legal recourse were highlighting this absurd and dangerous imbalance. They argued, correctly, that a wrong cannot correct another wrong; it only compounds the harm and creates a vicious cycle of retaliation and violence.

    3. The Protection of Everyone’s Rights:
    A system of vigilantism, where individuals are judge, jury, and executioner based on their personal grievances, offers no protection for the innocent. The same mob that attacks a genuinely unpleasant person today might attack an innocent person based on a rumour or a mistaken identity tomorrow. By upholding the law, this minority was arguing for a system of objective rules that protect everyone—even the unlikeable and the controversial. They understand that the rights we deny to the most unpopular among us are ultimately rights we forfeit for ourselves.

    4. The Practical Impossibility of Vigilantism:
    The pro-vigilante stance is not only immoral but also illogical. If every verbal insult in Uganda’s vibrant, often heated public discourse were met with physical retaliation, the country would descend into perpetual bedlam. The courts exist precisely to provide a neutral, safe arena for the ventilation of grievances without bloodshed. Advocating for legal channels is an argument for a functional, practical society where conflicts can be resolved without citizens living in fear of being beaten for a misspoken word.

    5. Upholding the State’s Monopoly on Force:
    A key marker of a functional state is its ability to hold a monopoly on the legitimate use of force. This means that only authorised entities like the police and the courts can apprehend and punish individuals. When citizens take this power upon themselves, they directly undermine the authority of the state and chip away at the rule of law. The voices calling for the perpetrators to be arrested (“bakwatibwe ASAP”) were reinforcing this principle, insisting that the state must act to assert its authority and demonstrate that it will not tolerate citizens administering their own brutal form of justice.

    In conclusion, the minority who emphasised legal recourse were acting as guardians of Uganda’s social fabric. They were reiterating the profound wisdom of the adage: the ‘mouth’ of provocation is ultimately powerless against the enduring ‘court’ of law. The solution to offensive speech is more speech, or legal redress, not fractured bones. They recognise that the path away from a brutish existence is not found in the fury of the mob but in the deliberate, often slow, but essential processes of justice. The gavel of the judge, not the fist of the vigilante, is the only instrument that can ultimately ring out with true and lasting justice.

11. The Digital Marketplace of Ideas: How Social Media Amplified Uganda’s Divisions

    In the aftermath of the assault on Jennifer Nakangubi, it became abundantly clear that platforms like Facebook were not passive stages but active, shaping forces in the drama. They did not merely report the national conversation; they fundamentally altered it, acting as both a powerful amplifier and a dangerous distorter. These platforms allowed toxic, victim-blaming opinions to gain a visibility and momentum they would likely lack in the more restrained realm of offline, face-to-face discourse. This transformation of public debate calls to mind a Ugandan adage: “A lie whispered in a crowded market becomes news by evening.” Social media is that crowded market—a vast, unregulated space where a malicious whisper, once released, can be echoed, amplified, and transformed into accepted ‘news’ with terrifying speed, far outstripping the ability of truth or reason to keep pace.

    This dual role of social media as an amplifier and distorter operates through several distinct mechanisms:

    1. The Amplification of the Extreme:
    Social media algorithms are designed to prioritise engagement. Content that provokes strong reactions—outrage, anger, glee—is given prominence in feeds because it keeps users scrolling and commenting. In the case of the Nakangubi assault, the most extreme, vitriolic, and shocking comments condemning her were often the most engaged with. This created a perverse incentive structure where the loudest, most toxic voices were systematically amplified by the platform’s very architecture, making them appear more representative of public opinion than they actually were. A hateful comment that would be met with stunned silence in a room of people could find a cheering section of thousands online.

    2. The Distortion of Scale and Consensus:
    In a traditional setting, one might hear a handful of reprehensible opinions and rightly judge them to be a minority view. On Facebook, however, the sheer volume of repetitive comments—hundreds of versions of “she deserved it”—creates an illusion of consensus. This phenomenon, known as the “spiral of silence,” occurs when people who hold the moderate or opposing view (e.g., that the violence was unequivocally wrong) choose to remain silent because they perceive themselves to be in the minority. The distorted scale presented by the platform thus actively suppresses healthier perspectives, making the toxic narrative seem like the dominant, and therefore acceptable, stance.

    3. The Removal of Social Inhibitions (Online Disinhibition Effect):
    Face-to-face discourse is governed by social cues—a frown, a look of disapproval, the immediate consequence of seeing the hurt one’s words cause. The digital sphere strips these away. Anonymity or the buffer of a screen emboldens people to say things they would never dare utter in person. This “online disinhibition effect” turned the commentary on Nakangubi’s assault into a free-for-all of cruelty, where users felt licensed to celebrate violence without the moderating influence of social accountability. The market crowd, hidden behind masks, felt free to shout the lie without fear.

    4. The Creation of Digital Mobs:
    Social media facilitates the rapid formation of digital mobs. A single post can instantly gather a crowd of like-minded individuals, creating a sense of collective identity and purpose. In this case, the mob’s purpose was the public shaming and justification of violence against Nakangubi. The platform provided the tools for this mob to coordinate its attack—through shares, likes, and replies—creating a overwhelming wave of negativity that was aimed not just at the victim, but also at anyone who dared to defend her. This mob mentality discourages dissent and creates a bandwagon effect, where users join in simply to be part of the dominant group.

    5. The Permanence and Reach of Harm:
    Unlike a spoken word that fades, a comment on Facebook is permanent and has a global reach. The victim-blaming rhetoric attached to this incident is now part of a digital record, easily searchable and accessible. This inflicts lasting psychological harm on the victim, who can be repeatedly traumatised by encountering the hateful commentary. Furthermore, it poisons the broader information ecosystem, ensuring that this case will be referenced for years to come not just as an example of assault, but as an example where a significant portion of the public endorsed the violence.

    In conclusion, social media’s role was not neutral. It was the crowded market of the adage, a place where the whispered lie of victim-blaming was amplified into a deafening roar that distorted reality and created a false consensus around brutality. It provided the tools for a digital mob to convene and execute a public shaming with unprecedented scale and cruelty. Understanding this role is the first step toward mitigating its harm. It calls for greater digital literacy among users to recognise these distortions, and a more conscious effort to amplify the voices of reason and principle, ensuring that the digital public square fosters not just conversation, but civility and justice. The market does not have to be a place for lies; it can be a place for truth, but only if the voices of reason are just as determined to be heard.

12. The Uneven Scale: How Gender Dictates the Right to Safety in Uganda

    The public dissection of the assault on Jennifer Nakangubi revealed a truth far more pervasive than the incident itself: the application of a brutally uneven standard based on gender. The response was intensely gendered in a way that laid bare a deep-seated societal bias. A man known for verbal attacks and public provocation would be highly unlikely to receive the same widespread public endorsement for a violent beating. This stark double standard exposes a disturbing calculus where a woman’s right to safety is not inherent but is conditional upon her adherence to a narrow and subjective set of behavioural rules. This inequality is perfectly captured by the Ugandan adage: “The hen is told to lay eggs in a basket, but the basket is kept in the hands of the man who can crush them at any time.” The woman, like the hen, is expected to perform and behave within a confined space, yet the power to destroy her well-being is held by others, and her compliance offers no guaranteed protection.

    This gendered lens operates through several critical mechanisms:

    1. The Policing of Female Respectability:
    A woman’s value and her right to security in the public eye are often contingent on her perceived respectability. This encompasses her language, her sexuality, her assertiveness, and her adherence to traditional gender roles. A woman like Nakangubi, who is financially independent, outspoken, and controls her own narrative, is frequently labelled as “loud,” “arrogant,” or “immoral.” Her behaviour is considered a transgression that nullifies society’s obligation to protect her. In contrast, a similarly provocative man might be called “sharp” or “a tough businessman”; his abrasiveness may even be celebrated as a sign of strength and ambition. His right to safety is rarely questioned because male conflict is often considered a contest of equals, not a violation of order.

    2. The Perception of Male vs. Female Provocation:
    When a man is verbally aggressive, it is often framed within the context of competition, politics, or business—realms where verbal sparring is expected. The response to his provocation is typically considered a verbal counter-attack or a legal challenge. However, when a woman is verbally aggressive, particularly towards men, it is frequently perceived as a fundamental challenge to male authority and the natural social hierarchy. Her words are not just insults; they are an act of insubordination. Within this warped logic, physical violence is recast as a necessary tool to restore the perceived natural order and “put her back in her place.” The beating becomes a punishment for defiance, not just a response to an insult.

    3. The Imbalance of Power and Physicality:
    The image of two men beating a woman inherently highlights a profound physical power imbalance. The commentators who celebrated this image were not celebrating a fair fight; they were celebrating the assertion of dominance. There is an underlying, unspoken acceptance that men can and should use physical force to control women who step out of line. This would not be the case in a physical altercation between two men. A fight between male rivals might be condemned as thuggery, but it would not be celebrated with the same gleeful vindication because it is not considered reinforcing a social hierarchy in the same way.

    4. The Gendered Vocabulary of Judgment:
    The language used to describe a provocative woman versus a provocative man is fundamentally different. A woman is labelled with terms that attack her character and morality: “witch,” “prostitute,” “bitter,” “insolent.” A man in a similar position might be called “harsh,” “controversial,” or “bold.” The former set of terms is designed to dehumanise and justify punishment. The latter describes behaviour without necessarily stripping the individual of their right to exist safely in society. This vocabulary creates a permission structure for violence against women that simply does not exist for men.

    5. The Preservation of Patriarchal Control:
    Ultimately, the gendered response functions as a powerful mechanism of social control. The enthusiastic support for Nakangubi’s assault serves as a stark warning to all women: Your autonomy has limits. Your voice has a volume control. If you exceed these invisible boundaries, you will be punished, and society will side with your punishers. It reinforces the archaic idea that women are wards of society, specifically under the authority of men, and must conduct themselves accordingly to earn protection.

    In conclusion, the adage of the hen and the basket is a tragic reflection of this reality. The basket represents the confines of acceptable feminine behaviour, and the crushing hands represent the violent punishment that awaits those who dare to overstep. The incident demonstrated that for many, a woman’s safety is a privilege to be earned through meekness, not a right to be enjoyed by virtue of her humanity. Until Ugandan society examines and dismantles this gendered lens, it will continue to operate a justice system with two tiers: one for men, and a far more precarious one for women, who must navigate a world where their very personality can be used as justification for their own victimisation. True equality will only come when the right to bodily autonomy is made unconditional, applied equally to the meek and the outspoken alike.

13. The Enemy Within: How Internalised Misogyny Turns Women Into Agents of Their Own Oppression

    One of the most painful and complex dimensions of the public shaming of Jennifer Nakangubi was that the vitriol was not exclusive to male commentators. A significant number of women actively participated in the condemnation, celebrating the violence and blaming her for her own assault. This phenomenon is a stark manifestation of internalised misogyny—a deeply ingrained prejudice against women that leads them to unconsciously enforce the very patriarchal norms that subjugate them. It is where women become the fiercest police officers of the boundaries set for them by a male-dominated society. This self-defensive behaviour is captured by a poignant Ugandan adage: “The goat that is brought to the slaughterhouse does not blame the butcher; it blames the rope that tied it.” In this dynamic, women who have internalised societal misogyny are like the goat, blaming the ‘rope’—another woman who dared to break free—rather than confronting the ‘butcher’ of the patriarchal system that binds them all.

    This internalised misogyny operates through several interconnected mechanisms:

    1. The Psychology of the “Respectable Woman”:
    Patriarchal societies often create a hierarchy of womanhood, offering a precarious form of status and protection to those who conform to ideals of respectability—modesty, submission, and politeness. Women who have painstakingly adhered to these rules, often at great personal cost, can feel a sense of resentment towards those like Nakangubi who openly flout them. By publicly shaming the ‘transgressive’ woman, they are performing their own respectability and reinforcing their own place in the perceived safety of the hierarchy. They are essentially saying, “I am not like her; I follow the rules; therefore I deserve protection and respect.” It is a strategy for survival that pits women against each other.

    2. The “Pulling Down Syndrome” (PDS):
    This is a specific form of internalised misogyny where women are socialised to view other women not as allies but as competitors for limited social and economic capital—namely, male approval and patronage. A woman who is too successful, too bold, or too independent is considered a threat to the established order and to the status of other women. Instead of uplifting her, the instinct is to “pull her down” to size. The violent assault on Nakangubi was, for some women, a perverse validation of this worldview: “See what happens when you fly too high? You should have stayed down here with the rest of us.” It is a tragic case of aligning with the oppressor to gain a fleeting sense of power.

    3. The Internalisation of the Male Gaze:
    Women are taught from a young age to view themselves and other women through the lens of the male gaze—to judge value based on male-defined standards of attractiveness, behaviour, and virtue. When women police other women, they are often enacting this internalised male perspective. They are not judging based on their own independent moral code, but on a code, they have inherited from the dominant patriarchal culture. Comments from women like, “She is too loud,” or “She has no shame,” are often direct echoes of patriarchal criticisms, delivered by female voices.

    4. The Misguided Notion of “Tough Love” and Social Cohesion:
    Some women engage in this policing, believing it to be a form of tough love or a necessary action to maintain social harmony. The thinking is: “If she continues to behave like this, she will bring shame upon all women/our family/our community. She needs to be corrected for her own good and for the good of the group.” This aligns with traditional communal values that prioritise the group over the individual. However, it becomes a toxic tool when this “correction” involves endorsing violence and public humiliation, ultimately upholding a system that harms all women.

    5. The Lack of Solidarity and a Unified Feminist Consciousness:
    Ultimately, the participation of women in the shaming highlights a critical lack of gender solidarity. It reveals a society where women have not been empowered to see themselves as a collective group with shared interests and struggles. Instead, they see each other as individual actors competing within a system they dare not challenge. True liberation requires women to see that an attack on one woman’s right to exist autonomously and safely is an attack on the rights of all women. When one woman is tied with the rope, all are potentially bound.

    In conclusion, the internalised misogyny displayed by women in the Nakangubi case is a heartbreaking testament to the deep and insidious nature of patriarchal oppression. It is the ultimate victory of a oppressive system when the oppressed become the enforcers of their own subjugation. As the adage illustrates, it is easier to blame the rope—the other woman—than to face the terrifying reality of the butcher. Until more women are able to recognise the rope for what it is and unite to confront the real source of their constraint, they will remain complicit in upholding the very structures that limit their own freedom, safety, and potential. Breaking this cycle requires conscious unlearning, the fostering of solidarity, and the courageous understanding that another woman’s freedom is not a threat, but a beacon leading towards your own.

14. The New Pot and the Old Fire: A Generational Clash Over Respect and Rights

    The furious public discourse surrounding the assault on Jennifer Nakangubi revealed a significant, though not absolute, fault line running through Ugandan society: a generational divide. While individuals of all ages were found on both sides of the debate, the incident starkly highlighted a fundamental clash between older, more conservative values that emphasise hierarchical “respect” and a younger generation’s championing of individual free expression and bodily autonomy. This tension is not merely a difference of opinion but a struggle over the very soul of modern Ugandan society. It brings to mind a deeply relevant Ugandan adage: “The young bird eats the worm where the old bird has already eaten.” This proverb speaks to continuity but also to change; the younger generation follows in the footsteps of the old, yet they inevitably find their own path and their own way of feeding themselves. The conflict arises when the old bird insists the worm must be eaten in the exact same way and in the exact same place.

    This generational divide manifested in the debate in several key ways:

    1. Divergent Definitions of “Respect”:
    For many from older generations, “respect” (often expressed through concepts like ekitiibwa or obutongole) is inherently hierarchical and conditional. It is accorded based on age, social status, and adherence to established norms. Within this framework, a woman like Nakangubi, through her outspokenness and defiance of traditional expectations, is considered inherently disrespectful. Her behaviour is not just a personal choice but a rejection of the entire social order, thus making her, in the eyes of some, deserving of social sanction—which, for a violent minority, includes physical retribution.

    For many younger Ugandans, respect is increasingly viewed as something that should be mutual and inherent to all individuals, regardless of age or status. They argue that true respect includes respecting a woman’s right to her voice, her body, and her safety, even if one disagrees with her. From this perspective, the greatest disrespect was shown by the perpetrators who violated her bodily integrity.

    2. Conflict Between Communal Honour and Individual Rights:
    The older, more conservative worldview often prioritises the honour and reputation of the family, clan, or community above the rights of the individual. A woman’s behaviour is frequently considered a reflection on her entire family. Her transgressions bring “shame” upon others, justifying communal pressure, including punishment, to bring her back into line for the collective good.

    The younger, more liberal perspective tends to prioritise individual rights and autonomy. They argue that a woman is an individual first and not merely a vessel for her family’s honour. They see the attempt to control her speech or behaviour as a violation of her fundamental rights, and they reject the idea that community honour can ever excuse violence.

    3. Differing Attitudes Towards Authority and Conflict Resolution:
    The older generation often exhibits a greater faith in, or adherence to, traditional and patriarchal authority structures for maintaining order. This can sometimes translate into a tacit acceptance of extra-judicial “correction” if it serves to reinforce those structures and the values they uphold.

    The younger generation, often more educated, urbanised, and exposed to global discourses on human rights, places its faith in formal legal and state institutions (however flawed they may be). They vehemently reject vigilantism and insist that all disputes, including verbal insults, must be resolved through the police and the courts, not through violence.

    4. The Role of Technology and the Public Square:
    This clash is amplified by technology. For younger digital natives, social media is the public square—a platform for unfettered expression, debate, and the formation of identity. They use it to challenge norms and hold power to account.
    For some older generations, this new, chaotic digital arena can seem like a place of dangerous anarchy where traditional values of decorum and respect are routinely flouted. The violent response to Nakangubi’s online persona can be seen, in part, as a brutal attempt to impose old-world rules on a new-world space.

    A Nuanced Reality:
    It is crucial to avoid a simplistic binary. The debate was not neatly split along age lines. Many older Ugandans were appalled by the violence and defended the rule of law. Conversely, many younger people participated in the victim-blaming, showing that internalised conservatism is alive and well. The divide is thus less about chronological age and more about a clash of ideologies that are unevenly distributed across the generations.

    In conclusion, the Nakangubi incident acted as a powerful spotlight on the generational tension in Uganda. It is the struggle between the old fire that has always warmed the home but can also burn, and the new pot that demands the right to determine what is cooked inside it. The adage of the young bird reminds us that while tradition provides the foundation, each generation must inevitably find its own food and its own way. The challenge for Uganda is to forge a path that honours the valuable aspects of respect and community from the past, while fully embracing the future—a future where the safety and rights of every individual are non-negotiable, and where disagreement is never settled with fists.

15. The Unseen Wound: How Public Endorsement of Violence Breaks the Spirit

    The brutal assault on Jennifer Nakangubi left visible wounds that will, in time, heal. However, the most damaging injury inflicted that day was not the one captured on camera; it was the psychological trauma amplified by the deafening roar of public endorsement that followed. Beyond the physical pain, the gleeful comments, the laughing emojis, and the widespread victim-blaming constitute a second, more insidious assault—one that inflicts deep psychological trauma on the victim and sends a chilling, paralysing message to every woman who dares to speak up. This phenomenon is captured by a profound Ugandan adage: “The pain of the spear is forgotten, but the scar of the tongue remains forever.” The physical pain of the violence (the spear) will fade, but the psychological scar left by the cruel words of the public (the tongue) will haunt the victim and the collective consciousness of women for a lifetime.

    This psychological impact operates on multiple devastating levels:

    1. The Trauma of Betrayal and Social Isolation:
    For the victim, the physical attack is a crime committed by a few individuals. However, the public celebration of that attack feels like a betrayal by society at large. It is a profound form of social isolation that screams: “You are not one of us. You deserve this. You are alone.” This shatters the victim’s sense of belonging and safety in the world. The very community that should offer support and condemnation of the crime instead becomes a source of further agony, making recovery exponentially more difficult. This betrayal trauma can lead to severe anxiety, paranoia, and a fundamental loss of trust in other people.

    2. The Internalisation of Shame:
    When thousands of people repeatedly state that you “deserved” to be beaten, a dangerous psychological shift can occur. Despite knowing rationally that they are mistaken, the victim may begin to internalise this message, leading to intense feelings of shame, self-blame, and worthlessness. They may start to question themselves: “Was it my fault? Am I truly a bad person who invites violence?” This internalisation is a primary driver of complex post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), depression, and can tragically deter survivors from seeking help, as they feel they do not deserve justice or support.

    3. The Chilling Effect and the Culture of Silence:
    The most widespread impact is the chilling effect on other women. The public response to Nakangubi’s assault was not just about her; it was a performative lesson for all women. The message is clear and terrifying: “If you are loud, if you are ambitious, if you are sexually autonomous, if you simply offend the wrong person, this could be you. And if it is, we will laugh at you, not help you.” This threat of double victimization—first by the perpetrator, then by the public—is a powerful tool for enforcing silence. It teaches women that the cost of speaking up, of being assertive, of living freely, is potentially catastrophic. It forces them into self-censorship and diminishes their participation in public life.

    4. The Reinforcement of Powerlessness:
    The celebration of the assault reinforces a profound sense of powerlessness. It demonstrates that even if a woman achieves success, wealth, or a public profile, she is still vulnerable. Her accomplishments cannot protect her from physical violence, and her society will not protect her from psychological torment. This can lead to a learned helplessness, where women feel that resistance is futile because the system is fundamentally stacked against them. Why report an assault if you expect to be shamed? Why pursue your ambitions if they make you a target?

    5. The Normalisation of Trauma:
    When violence is met with jokes and celebration, it becomes normalised. For young girls and women, observing this, it teaches them to accept a certain level of threat and intimidation as an inevitable part of being a woman. It distorts their understanding of healthy relationships and acceptable behaviour. They grow up in an environment where their fear is trivialised, and their safety is conditional, leading to generational trauma where anxiety and hypervigilance are passed down as necessary survival skills.

    In conclusion, the court of public opinion did not deliver a verdict on a single event; it delivered a sentence on the spirit of every Ugandan woman. As the adage teaches, the scar of the tongue is permanent. The psychological wounds inflicted by the crowd’s endorsement will long outlast the bruises. They create a society where women are not just afraid of the perpetrator in the alleyway but are terrified of the mocking crowd that awaits them if they dare to speak of it. Healing this wound requires more than just condemning physical violence; it demands a collective, societal commitment to empathy, to vocal support for survivors, and to creating a world where a woman’s voice is met with respect, not the terrifying echo of a crowd cheering her destruction.

16. The Precedent of the First Stone: How Justifying Violence Unravels the Social Fabric

    The widespread attempt to justify the assault on Jennifer Nakangubi based on her character represents far more than a momentary failure of empathy; it sets a dangerous and precedent that threatens the safety of every Ugandan. This line of reasoning creates what is known as a “slippery slope”—a situation where a single, accepted justification for a wrong action makes it infinitely easier to commit further, more egregious wrongs. By arguing that her verbal provocations legitimised a physical response, society tacitly endorses a principle that any perceived provocation can be used to legitimise assault. This erodes the foundational rule of law and replaces it with a volatile system of vigilante justice. This perilous path is perfectly illustrated by the Ugandan adage: “He who throws the first stone today will surely be hit by a rock tomorrow.” The principle is one of inevitable reciprocity: the violence you justify for use against someone you dislike today will inevitably be turned against you or someone you love tomorrow, for a reason you find unjust.

    This slippery slope operates through several terrifying mechanisms:

    1. The Subjectivity of “Provocation”:
    The central flaw in the argument is that “provocation” is entirely subjective. What one person finds offensive, another may not. By establishing that violence is an acceptable response to a perceived insult, society surrenders itself to the whims of individual interpretation and temper. A woman could be assaulted for her style of dress, for rejecting a man’s advances, for arguing a point too forcefully in a meeting, or for simply being too successful in a male-dominated field. The justification used for Nakangubi—“she is insulting”—is a blanket term that can be stretched to cover any behaviour that challenges another’s ego or sense of entitlement.

    2. The Erosion of Proportionality:
    A just society operates on the principle of proportionality. The punishment must fit the crime. Verbal insults, however hurtful, are not a capital offence. They are a civil matter, addressable through dialogue, social censure, or courts of law for defamation. Physical violence, especially a coordinated assault, is a grievous criminal act that inflicts bodily harm and trauma. Justifying the latter as a response to the former completely abandons any notion of proportionate response. Once this line is crossed, there is no logical barrier to prevent further escalation. If insults justify a beating, does a shove justify a stabbing? The slope is indeed slippery and leads directly to anarchy.

    3. The Licence it Gives to the Most Volatile:
    This justification does not empower the reasonable; it licenses the most volatile and aggressive members of society. It gives every man with a short temper and a predisposition to violence a ready-made excuse for his actions. All he must do is claim he was “provoked.” The public commentary around Nakangubi’s assault effectively provides these individuals with a social script for evading accountability. They can point to the online mob and say, “See? They agree with me. She deserved it.” This emboldens potential perpetrators and makes every disagreement a potential flashpoint for violence.

    4. The Destruction of Trust and Social Cohesion:
    A society where anyone can be a target based on another’s subjective interpretation of their behaviour is a society built on fear, not trust. It destroys the social contract that allows people to interact freely. Women will fear speaking their minds. Men will fear inadvertent slights. Public life becomes a minefield where everyone must tread carefully, lest they trigger an explosive and “justified” response. This is the antithesis of obuntu bulamu—it is a descent into a Hobbesian state of nature where life becomes “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.”

    5. The Inevitable Expansion of the Principle:
    The most dangerous aspect of the slippery slope is its inevitable expansion. The principle of “justified violence” will not remain confined to cases involving socialites and public insults. It will be applied in domestic settings (“My wife nagged me, so I hit her”), in business disputes (“My competitor slandered me, so I had him beaten”), and in political rivalries. The precedent set in the court of public opinion will seep into the consciousness of the nation, normalising violence as a legitimate tool for conflict resolution across all spheres of life.

    In conclusion, the adage of the first stone is a timeless warning against setting dangerous precedents. Those who threw the digital stones of justification at Jennifer Nakangubi may believe they are aimed only at her, but in reality, they are shattering the windows of protection for everyone. By legitimising violence for one person, they legitimise it for all. They create a Uganda where the strong can prey upon the weak, where the irritable can terrorise the outspoken, and where the law is replaced by the fragile ego of the individual. The only way to avoid the rock flying back tomorrow is to refuse to throw the first stone today. Upholding the absolute, non-negotiable principle that violence is never a legitimate response to words is the only solid ground upon which a safe and civil society can be built.

17. The Mirror and the Megaphone: The Weight of Media Responsibility in Uganda

    In the tumultuous aftermath of the assault on Jennifer Nakangubi, the role of the media—from traditional news outlets to digital platforms—transcended that of a mere observer. The media did not just report the story; it became a central actor in shaping the national narrative, for better or for worse. Its responsibility to report such events with sensitivity, accuracy, and without sensationalism is not a matter of mere professional ethics; it is a crucial civic duty that directly shapes public understanding and either reinforces or challenges the toxic norms that allow such violence to flourish. This immense responsibility is perfectly captured by the Ugandan adage: “The mouth that tells the story controls the hunt.” The media holds this powerful mouth. It can choose to tell the story in a way that hunts down the truth and promotes justice, or in a way that hunts the victim and glorifies the violence.

    This responsibility manifests in several critical areas:

    1. Steering Clear of Sensationalism and Victim-Blaming Framing:
    The most basic failure occurs when media outlets prioritise clicks and headlines over humanity. Using sensationalist headlines like “FULL FIGURE BEATEN FOR HER MOUTH!” or “What did she do to deserve this?” fundamentally distortions the story. It frames the event around the victim’s character, implicitly endorsing the spectacle and inviting the public to engage in the very victim-blaming that proliferated online. Instead, responsible framing focuses on the crime itself: “Presidential Adviser Assaulted in Brutal Attack; Two Suspects Sought.” This centres the event as a criminal act, not a personal drama.

    2. The Ethical Use of Imagery:
    The decision to publish or broadcast graphic footage of the assault is a profound ethical dilemma. While it can provide evidence and spark outrage, it also risks re-traumatising the victim and transforming her suffering into a public spectacle for consumption. Responsible media would either refrain from using such footage or would heavily blur it, with clear content warnings, understanding that the dignity of a human being is more important than the graphic proof of their violation.

    3. Providing Context, Not Justification:
    A responsible media house can provide context about the victim’s public persona without implying it is a mitigating factor for the crime. This is a delicate balance. The line is crossed when the reporting structure becomes: “She was known for insults X, Y, and Z… and then this happened.” This sequence implicitly suggests causation. Responsible reporting would firmly separate the two: first detailing the criminal assault, and then, in a separate section, perhaps exploring the background of the individuals involved, while consistently reiterating that nothing justifies physical violence.

    4. Amplifying Expert Voices and Principle:
    Instead of merely amplifying the noisy, divisive court of public opinion, the media has a duty to platform voices that provide clarity and principle. This includes legal experts who can explain the laws against assault and defamation, gender activists who can contextualise the event within the spectrum of gender-based violence, and psychologists who can speak to the trauma inflicted. This elevates the discourse from a base debate about “she said, they did” to a principled discussion about rule of law and societal values.

    5. Shifting the Focus to Accountability:
    The media’s most powerful role is to keep the spotlight firmly on accountability. This means consistent follow-up reporting: Were the perpetrators arrested? What charges are they facing? What is the state of the judicial process? This relentless focus on the legal outcome counters the vigilante narrative and reinforces the message that in a lawful society, justice is delivered by the state in a courtroom, not by thugs on the street. It shifts the narrative from “What did she do?” to “What is being done to hold the attackers accountable?”

    6. The Digital Media’s Algorithmic Amplification:
    For digital media platforms and social media companies, the responsibility extends to their algorithms. These algorithms are not neutral; they are designed to amplify content that generates engagement, which is often the most sensationalist and divisive material. These companies have a responsibility to adjust their algorithms to not promote content that celebrates violence or engages in victim-blaming, ensuring their platforms are not megaphones for hatred.

    In conclusion, the adage is correct: the mouth that tells the story truly does control the hunt. The Ugandan media stood at a crossroads. One path involved being a mere mirror, reflecting the worst of society’s prejudices and sensationalising suffering for profit. The other path involved being a guided mirror, reflecting the event through a lens of ethics and principle, and using its megaphone to amplify justice over jest, and accountability over anecdote. The media’s choices in such moments either pour petrol on the fires of division or help to extinguish them by elevating public discourse and upholding the inviolable principle that violence is a crime, never a spectacle. The safety of every Ugandan woman depends on which path the media chooses to take.

18. The Fever and The Disease: One Assault as a Symptom of Uganda’s GBV Pandemic

    The brutal assault on Jennifer Nakangubi and the disturbing public response that followed must not be mistaken for an isolated event. To do so would be a grave misdiagnosis. This incident is not the disease itself; it is a high fever—an acute, visible symptom that points to a much deeper and widespread sickness within the body politic of Uganda: the pervasive pandemic of gender-based violence (GBV). It starkly demonstrates that despite significant legislative progress, such as the Domestic Violence Act (2010), the law’s protective power has failed to permeate the cultural fabric fully and transform deeply entrenched attitudes. This disconnect between the law on the books and the law in the hearts of the people is captured by a powerful Ugandan adage: “You can plant a seed in the ground, but you cannot make the rain fall.” The government has planted the seed of good legislation, but the nourishing rain of cultural change and widespread public acceptance has not yet come, leaving the seed struggling to take root and grow into a tree that can offer real shelter to all.

    This incident as a symptom of a larger problem is evident in several critical ways:

    1. The Normalisation of Violence in the Private Sphere:
    The public celebration of a streetside beating is merely the tip of the iceberg. It reflects the terrifying normalisation of violence that occurs behind closed doors across the nation. Uganda’s persistently high rates of intimate partner violence and domestic abuse indicate that many view violence as an acceptable, or even necessary, tool for maintaining control and resolving conflict within relationships. The public response to Nakangubi’s assault revealed that this private acceptance has a very loud public voice. What is whispered in homes was shouted on social media.

    2. The Legislative-Cultural Gap:
    Uganda has a robust legal framework. The Domestic Violence Act, the Penal Code Act, and the Constitution all provide strong protections for women and criminalise assault. However, a law is only as powerful as the cultural will to enforce it and abide by its spirit. This incident exposed a gaping chasm between the law and the popular conscience. For a significant portion of the populace, the legal principle that “violence is always wrong” is overshadowed by the older, cultural belief that “violence is wrong unless the victim is deemed to have transgressed.” The law says one thing; a deeply held social norm says another.

    3. The Failure of Legal Consciousness:
    The public anxiety about the perpetrators facing jail time (“they will siba”) and the argument that Nakangubi should have “fought her own battles” reveals a critical failure in legal consciousness. It shows a lack of understanding that the state, through the police and courts, is the legitimate arbiter of justice. Instead, there is a pervasive belief in personal retribution and a suspicion of formal legal systems. This preference for vigilante justice overdue process is a major barrier to addressing GBV, as it discourages reporting and reinforces impunity.

    4. The Intergenerational Transmission of Harm:
    The toxic attitudes on display are not innate; they are learned and passed down through generations. Children who grow up in households where violence is normalised, or who witness their mothers being subjugated, internalise this as the natural order. They learn that might makes right and that women’s bodies are not their own. The comments sections became a classroom where these harmful lessons were taught to a new generation, ensuring the cycle of violence continues.

    5. The Symptom Reveals the Weakness in the Immune System:
    A healthy society has immune responses—systems like education, religious guidance, and community leadership—that rally to reject such toxic narratives. The fact that the victim-blaming narrative spread so widely and with such little resistance from these quarters indicates a weakness in these social immune systems. It suggests that efforts to promote gender equality have not yet been mainstreamed effectively enough to build a critical mass of resistance to such regressive views.

    In conclusion, the adage of the seed and the rain is a poignant summary of Uganda’s challenge. The seed of good law has been planted. But a law alone cannot change a culture. The nourishing rain must come from a concerted, societal-wide effort: from schools teaching gender equality from a young age; from religious leaders preaching unequivocally against violence; from community elders modelling respectful conflict resolution; and from the media reporting with principle. The Nakangubi incident was a fever spike that tells us the patient is still very sick. The diagnosis is clear: a deep-seated cultural acceptance of gender-based violence. The treatment requires moving beyond legislation and embarking on the much harder work of changing hearts and minds, one community, one school, and one conversation at a time. Until this rain falls, the seed of justice will remain dormant, and the fever will return again and again.

19. Building the Foundation: Civic Education as the Antidote to Social Decay

    The virulent online reaction to the assault on Jennifer Nakangubi did more than expose deep-seated prejudices; it revealed a fundamental failure in Uganda’s educational foundation. The comments celebrating violence, justifying vigilantism, and blaming the victim underscore a critical and dangerous deficit in public civic education. This is not merely a lack of information, but a missing framework of understanding regarding the core principles of human rights, gender equality, and the proper channels for legal redress in a civilised society. This absence leaves a void that is too easily filled by toxic, archaic notions of street justice and majoritarian rule. The situation calls to mind a vital Ugandan adage: “You do not blame the seedling for growing crooked; you blame the person who failed to prop it up with a stick.” The Ugandan public is the seedling. The widespread failure to understand basic civic principles is not its inherent fault; it is the result of a systemic failure to provide the supporting stick of consistent and effective civic education.

    This critical need for civic education is evident in several key areas:

    1. Understanding Human Rights as Inherent, Not Earned:
    The most glaring deficit is the misunderstanding of human rights. A significant portion of the public believes that rights—particularly the right to safety and bodily autonomy—are privileges that must be earned through “good” behaviour. Civic education must teach, from a young age, that these rights are inherent to every person by virtue of their humanity. It must reinforce that these rights are enshrined in the Ugandan Constitution and are not nullified by a person’s character, reputation, or actions. No one “deserves” to be beaten; this is a non-negotiable principle of a rights-based society.

    2. Demystifying the Rule of Law and Legal Redress:
    The preference for mob justice over legal processes highlights a deep mistrust and misunderstanding of the justice system. Civic education must demystify how the system is supposed to work. It should provide practical knowledge: what constitutes defamation and how to file a case; what constitutes assault and how to report it; the roles of the police, lawyers, and the judiciary. When people understand the proper channels for redress, they are less likely to resort to the chaos of the streets. They learn that the law is the only legitimate instrument for resolving disputes, even against unlikeable individuals.

    3. Moving Gender Equality from Theory to Practice:
    Many Ugandans may have heard the term “gender equality” but fundamentally misunderstand its meaning. It is often misconstrued as a foreign concept aimed at undermining men or disrupting traditional family structures. Civic education must reframe this. It needs to be taught as the simple, practical principle that all people, regardless of gender, deserve equal access to opportunities, justice, and safety. It is about teaching boys that strength is not for domination and teaching girls that their voices are valid. This education must happen in schools, but also in community dialogues, through radio dramas, and in religious settings.

    4. Cultivating Digital Citizenship:
    The online arena is where this civic deficit was most visible. Citizens need to be educated in digital citizenship—the norms of appropriate, responsible behaviour online. This includes understanding how algorithms amplify outrage, the real-world consequences of digital speech, the importance of verifying information before sharing, and the critical skill of engaging in disagreement without resorting to hate speech or incitement. Social media is the new public square, and citizens must be taught how to navigate it responsibly.

    5. Fostering a Culture of Active Citizenship, Not Passive Spectatorship:
    The incident revealed a culture of passive spectatorship, where many watched a crime and chose to cheer rather than intervene (even digitally by reporting content or countering hate). Civic education must foster a sense of active citizenship. This is the understanding that a healthy society requires its citizens to actively uphold its values—to be the “stick” for each other. It means teaching people that silence in the face of injustice is a form of complicity, and that every individual has a role to play in building a more just community.

    In conclusion, the adage of the seedling is a urgent call to action. We cannot continue to blame a misinformed public for growing crooked. The responsibility falls on the state, civil society, religious institutions, and the education sector to provide the essential support of civic education. This is not a short-term project but a generational investment. It involves integrating these principles into school curricula, launching nationwide public awareness campaigns, and empowering local leaders to be champions of these values. The goal is to build a society where the next time a woman is assaulted, the public reaction is not a debate about her character, but a unified, knowledgeable, and principled demand for justice through the proper channels. The supporting stick must be strong, and it must be provided now.

20. The Mirror Held Up: A Nation’s Chance to Gaze at Its Own Soul

    The brutal assault on Jennifer Nakangubi and the cacophony of public responses that followed have presented Uganda with something far more significant than a news cycle; they have offered a stark, unflinching, and necessary moment for national reflection. This event is a mirror held up to the collective soul of the nation, demanding that we move beyond the specifics of the case and ask ourselves the most profound and uncomfortable questions: What values do we, as a nation, truly champion? And more critically, what does our reaction to violence against women say about who we have become? This moment of reckoning is encapsulated by a deeply resonant Ugandan adage: “When two elephants fight, it is the grass that suffers.” For too long, the ‘elephants’ of political conflict, social division, and economic struggle have dominated our national discourse, while the ‘grass’—the foundational well-being, safety, and dignity of our ordinary people, especially women and children—has been trampled underfoot and forgotten. This incident forces us to look down at the crushed grass and decide if this is the nation we want to be.

    This moment for national reflection necessitates a deep interrogation of several core aspects of our national character:

    1. Reflecting on the Value of Obuntu Bulamu (Our Shared Humanity):
    At the heart of this reflection is the concept of Obuntu Bulamu—the humanity we owe to one another. The public commentary revealed a fracture in this principle. Did we see a society that values compassion, empathy, and the inherent dignity of every individual? Or did we see one where humanity is conditional, revoked for those deemed immoral, unrespectable, or unlikeable? A nation’s character is measured not by how it treats its most powerful, but by how it protects its most vulnerable and controversial. This moment asks us if Obuntu Bulamu is a living value or merely a forgotten proverb.

    2. Confronting the Hypocrisy of Progress:
    Uganda proudly showcases its vision for modernisation and development—skyscrapers, infrastructure, and economic growth. Yet, this incident exposes a dangerous hypocrisy. Can a nation truly be considered “developed” if a significant portion of its citizenry believes that beating a woman is a legitimate form of conflict resolution? This reflection forces us to define progress not just in material terms, but in moral and ethical ones. It questions whether our soul is keeping pace with our skyline.

    3. Choosing Between the Rule of Law and the Rule of the Mob:
    The division in responses represents a fundamental choice about the kind of society we are building. One path endorses the rule of the mob, where strength and popularity dictate justice and violence is an acceptable tool for social policing. The other path, however difficult, upholds the rule of law—a slow, imperfect, but essential system designed to protect everyone equally, even the unlikeable. This moment asks us: Do we believe in a Uganda governed by laws, or by the whims of the strongest and loudest?

    4. Re-evaluating the Legacy We Bequeath Our Children:
    The images and comments from this event are now part of the digital archive that will shape our children’s understanding of the world. What lesson have we taught them? Have we taught them that a woman’s body is a legitimate battleground for disputes? Have we taught them that public shaming is a sport? Or will we use this as a teachable moment to show them that violence is always wrong, that empathy is a strength, and that justice must be blind? This reflection is about the moral inheritance we are leaving for the next generation.

    5. The Question of National Pride:
    True national pride is not found in flags and anthems alone, but in the daily lived experience of safety and dignity for all citizens. This incident challenges our sense of pride. Can we truly be proud of our nation when women live in fear of double victimization—first by perpetrators, then by society? National pride must be rooted in the tangible protection of all citizens, not just the feeling of tribal or political belonging.

    In conclusion, the adage of the fighting elephants and the suffering grass is a tragic summary of our neglect. This moment of national reflection is an urgent call to shift our gaze from the elephants and tend to the grass. It is a chance to decide if we will be a nation that excuses brutality based on personal prejudice, or one that champions the unwavering, non-negotiable principle that every person has a right to security and dignity.

    The mirror has been held up. The reflection we see is troubling. But the great opportunity lies in the fact that we do not have to accept the image. We can change it. This requires a collective recommitment to our highest values, a rejection of the poison of victim-blaming, and a determined effort to build a society where the law is sovereign, and every woman can walk without fear. The answer to the question “Who are we?” is not yet fully written. This moment provides the stark, but necessary, opportunity to write a better answer.

Beyond the Individual: Why the Principle Outweighs the Person in Upholding the Law

In any national conversation as charged as the one surrounding the assault on Jennifer Nakangubi, it is crucial to address the counterarguments that arise. The most persistent one is both simple and emotionally compelling: She is a controversial figure who has actively provoked others and should not be sympathetically portrayed. This perspective, while understandable on a superficial level, fundamentally misses the core point of the debate and, if accepted, would unravel the very fabric of a lawful society. Engaging with this counterargument is not about defending Nakangubi’s character; it is about defending a principle that protects every single Ugandan. This necessity is perfectly captured by a timeless Ugandan adage: “When you point one finger at the forest, four others point back at you.” The counterargument points one finger at the victim’s flaws, but in doing so, it inadvertently points four fingers back at our own society’s failure to uphold a fundamental standard of justice that should apply to all, regardless of their reputation.

Addressing this counterargument requires dismantling it through principled logic:

1. Separating the Sin from the Crime:
The counterargument deliberately conflates two entirely different categories of wrongdoing. Nakangubi’s alleged behaviour—verbal insults, provocation, and public rudeness—constitutes a social sin or potentially a civil offence (like defamation). The appropriate remedies for these are social censure, public criticism, or a civil lawsuit.
The response she received—a violent physical assault—constitutes a criminal act (aggravated battery and torture). The remedy for this is arrest, prosecution, and imprisonment.
A civilised society must maintain a bright, clear line between social sins and criminal acts. To argue that the former justifies the latter is to advocate for a world where every argument can escalate into a physical beating, and where the size of one’s fist matters more than the strength of one’s legal case.

2. The “Unlikeable Victim” Test:
The true measure of a society’s commitment to justice is not how it treats its most sympathetic victims—the innocent, the gentle, the likeable. The ultimate test is how it treats its most unlikeable ones. Do we discard the rule of law for the rude, the obnoxious, and the controversial? If we create a category of people who are “fair game” for violence because of their unlikeable character, we have abandoned the concept of universal human rights. We create a society where safety is a privilege for the polite, not a right for all.

3. The Slippery Slope of Subjectivity:
Who gets to decide which victims are “sympathetic enough” to be protected? What is the exact threshold of provocation that justifies a physical response? The counterargument offers no objective standard. It bases the right to safety on the entirely subjective and shifting opinions of the mob. One person might find a comment justify a slap; another might find an outfit justify a beating. This logic leads directly to anarchy, where the strongest and most volatile individuals become the arbiters of justice. The rule of law exists precisely to remove this subjective, dangerous power from the streets and place it in the hands of an objective, evidence-based judicial process.

4. The Defence of Bodily Autonomy as the Bedrock of Society:
The single most important principle at stake is that of bodily autonomy—the right of every person to be free from violent physical violation. This is not a minor right; it is the foundational right upon which all others are built. If this right is not absolute, then no right is secure. Defending Nakangubi’s right to bodily autonomy is not about endorsing her character; it is about defending the principle that protects your mother, your sister, your daughter, and indeed, every Ugandan citizen from being beaten by anyone who takes offence at their words, their clothes, or their lifestyle.

5. Upholding the Dignity of the State:
When citizens take it upon themselves to violently punish others for perceived slights, they directly undermine the authority and dignity of the state. They signal a utter lack of faith in the police and the courts to administer justice. The counterargument, therefore, is not just an attack on a single individual; it is an attack on the very idea of the Ugandan state as the legitimate holder of a monopoly on justice. A government that tolerates such vigilantism cedes its authority to the mob.

In conclusion, the counterargument, while emotionally seductive, is intellectually bankrupt and socially dangerous. It is a reaction of the gut, not of the mind or the spirit of the law. The adage of the pointing finger reminds us that the focus on the victim’s flaws is a distraction from the larger, more important truth. The four fingers pointing back at us ask a far more crucial question: What kind of nation are we? Will we be a nation governed by the consistent, impartial rule of law, or will we be a nation governed by the whims of the angry mob, where safety is conditional and violence is legitimised? The answer to that question defines our collective future far more than the actions of any single controversial individual. We must not allow distaste for a person to blind us to the defence of a principle that secures us all.

Conclusion: The Two Roads Ahead for Uganda’s Soul

The digital vitriol that erupted following the attack on Jennifer Nakangubi is indeed a symptom of a deep societal sickness. Yet, within this ugly outburst lies both a clear diagnosis and the faint, but tangible, potential for a cure. Uganda stands at a critical crossroads, a moment of national reckoning where two distinct paths forward emerge from the dust of this controversy. The choice between them will define the nation’s character for generations to come.

One path is well-trodden and deceptively easy. It is the path of least resistance, leading to the further normalisation of violence. On this road, might makes right, public opinion serves as a capricious judge, jury, and executioner, and a woman’s right to safety remains conditional upon her politeness and conformity. It is a path that promises the fleeting satisfaction of vigilante justice but ultimately leads to a society where no one is truly safe, and where the rule of law is supplanted by the rule of the strongest fist and the loudest mob.

The other path is more arduous, requiring conscious effort and moral courage. It demands a national recommitment to the foundational principles of justice, equality, and universal human dignity. This road is built on the unwavering understanding that bodily autonomy is absolute and that violence is always a crime, full stop. It is the path that leads to a truly civilised and developed nation.

This journey of transformation begins with a single, crucial step: acknowledging the problem. We must recognise that the sickness is not just in the shadowy alleyways where beatings occur, but in the bright glow of our phone screens, where they are celebrated. It continues with a concerted, multi-generational effort:

• Through robust civic education that teaches every child, from the youngest age, the meaning of human rights, the mechanics of the rule of law, and the value of mutual respect.

• Through responsible media reporting that refuses to sensationalise suffering and instead amplifies voices of reason and accountability.

• Through courageous leadership from cultural, religious, and political figures who must unequivocally condemn violence in all its forms, without cautions or excuses.

This journey ends with one ultimate goal: the cultivation of a culture where a woman’s safety is never contingent on her politeness, her silence, or her likeability. It ends with a Uganda where every woman can move through the world with the inherent confidence that her person is inviolable.

This moment calls to mind a final, pivotal Ugandan adage: “A tree that grows in a valley will not reach the summit.” We have been comfortable in the valley of complacency for too long, shaded by the old ways of victim-blaming and justified violence. To reach the summit of our potential as a just and prosperous nation, we must consciously choose to grow upwards toward the light of principle.

The comments sections held up a mirror, and the reflection was jarring. The question now is whether we, as a nation, possess the courage to look into it unflinchingly, to see our flaws clearly, and to commit to the difficult work of change. The future of Uganda’s soul depends on the answer. Let us choose the uphill path. Let us build a nation where the next time a woman is beaten, the public response is not a cheer, but a unified, furious, and principled roar of condemnation that shakes the very foundations of injustice. Our collective destiny awaits our choice.

• About
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Hakuna Matata

Director at Multimedia Fusion Lab

Uganda Media

Latest posts by Hakuna Matata (see all)

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