In the grand circus of Ugandan politics, the National Unity Platform (NUP) has once again proven that when it comes to strategic blunders, they don’t just drop the ball—they juggle it, toss it into the crowd, and then accuse the referee of theft. The latest episode in Bukedea District reads like a political satire penned by fate itself: NUP selected Florence Asio as their flagbearer for the Woman MP seat, only for her to vanish on nomination day. Cue the opposition’s usual chorus—“kidnapped by the regime!”—complete with press conferences, social media outrage, and Bobi Wine’s signature furrowed brow of indignation.
But the plot twist? Asio wasn’t kidnapped. She wasn’t blocked. She wasn’t even interested. Days later, she appeared smiling beside President Yoweri Museveni and Speaker Anita Among, declaring, “I have never been in NUP. I have never been a politician.” The woman NUP claimed as their candidate turned out to be Among’s own daughter—yes, the very person they were trying to unseat. If irony were a currency, NUP would be billionaires.
Museveni, never one to miss a rhetorical opportunity, seized the moment with the precision of a veteran statesman and the glee of a man watching his opponents trip over their own shoelaces. “The people of Bukedea, I want to thank you for electing my daughter, Anita Among, unopposed and showing how shallow and bogus NUP is,” he said, adding with surgical sarcasm, “The girl I took a picture with is a relative of Anita Among. She is the one they were hoping to stand against Anita Among because they didn’t even know who their members are.”
It’s hard to argue with the man. When your opposition can’t tell their candidate from your cousin, you don’t need to campaign—you just need to show up for the photo op.
The numbers speak volumes. Bukedea’s nomination exercise ended with Speaker Among elected unopposed, and NRM’s Patrick Isiagi securing Kachumbala County after David Omagor stepped down. No drama, no confusion, just clean execution. Meanwhile, NUP was left clutching conspiracy theories and a candidate who publicly refuted their claims. In a video released days after the nominations, Asio explained her absence: “I didn’t appear because of family pressure. I’m related to Anita Among.” That’s not just a rebuttal—it’s a political obituary.
This isn’t NUP’s first dance with disaster. Their 2021 parliamentary strategy was a chaotic buffet of unvetted candidates, many of whom had never held public office or even basic policy knowledge. Their boycott of IPOD meetings forfeited any chance to influence electoral reforms. Their much-hyped “Plan B” after the presidential elections turned out to be a ghost—no civil disobedience, no mass mobilization, just a few tweets and a lot of silence. And their shadow cabinet? More shadow than cabinet.
Bobi Wine, the self-styled leader of the new generation, has built his brand on defiance and charisma. But charisma doesn’t vet candidates. Charisma doesn’t build institutions. And charisma certainly doesn’t prevent you from selecting your opponent’s daughter as your flagbearer. If this is the opposition’s idea of readiness, then Museveni isn’t just winning—he’s being handed victory on a silver platter, wrapped in red ribbons and sealed with a NUP logo.
The implications are sobering. If NUP can’t manage basic candidate verification, how do they expect to manage national unity? What happens when they appoint a Minister of Internal Affairs who turns out to be a motivational speaker from TikTok? Or a Foreign Affairs envoy who thinks diplomacy is a dance move? In a country where political stability is guarded by the military and institutional memory, such blunders aren’t just embarrassing—they’re dangerous.
Museveni’s strength lies not just in his longevity, but in his ability to let his opponents self-destruct. He didn’t need to block Asio. He didn’t need to interfere. He simply waited, watched, and smiled for the camera. The image of him standing beside Asio and Among wasn’t just a photo—it was a metaphor. A portrait of victory earned not through suppression, but through the opposition’s own incompetence.
And so, as the dust settles in Bukedea, one thing is clear: NUP isn’t just losing elections—they’re losing credibility. They’ve become the punchline in a joke they don’t even understand. Meanwhile, Museveni remains the master of the game, the conductor of a symphony where his opponents play out-of-tune.
In the end, the question isn’t whether Museveni will win. It’s whether the opposition will ever learn how to play.
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