A different view on Yusuf Serunkuma’s open letter to Gen. Salim Saleh

COMMENT | CRISPIN KAHERU |  I have read Yusuf Serunkuma’s open letter to Gen. Salim Saleh, published in The Observer on October 28, 2026, under the title “Dear Gen. Saleh, an apology to Dr Besigye and the country will suffice.”

I know my friend Yusuf to be a fine political theorist, which is partly why I feel compelled to respond. His concerns about justice are not misplaced, but his conclusions deserve more rigorous intellectual interrogation.

And I must begin with this. Serunkuma raises legitimate questions about Dr Kizza Besigye’s detention. However, he mistakes an attempt at reconciliation for an admission of wrongdoing, and he turns an institutional question into a personal indictment of Gen. Saleh. Surely we can demand accountability without making goodwill an offence.

He questions engagement through religious leaders, calling our clergy “emasculated” and “spineless.” This is a strange way to treat people who, through forums such as the Acholi Religious Leaders’ Peace Initiative and the Inter-Religious Council of Uganda, actually mediated some of our country’s worst conflicts while many of us, Serunkuma and I included, only wrote about them. Faith leaders are not uniformly spineless. In fact, given our social structure, they offer one of the few rooms that opposing sides can enter without losing face today.

Serunkuma argues that Besigye, his family and his lawyers should be directly involved. He has a point. No credible settlement can disregard the principal parties. But he forgets that dialogue seldom begins with everyone at one table. Intermediaries make contact, test positions and build confidence before substantive negotiation becomes possible.

Religious leaders have historically played precisely that role. Their involvement does not authorise them to negotiate on Besigye’s behalf, but neither does it invalidate the initiative.

From the interlocutors, Serunkuma moves to the prosecution itself, reading reconciliation efforts as evidence that the state cannot sustain its case. Here he conflates two distinct processes. Criminal responsibility is determined through evidence and judicial proceedings. Political reconciliation addresses relationships, grievances and the wider consequences of conflict.

Besigye enjoys the presumption of innocence, and the prosecution bears the burden of proof. Yet an invitation to dialogue is neither an admission of prosecutorial failure nor proof of innocence.

Besigye faces treason charges, which are inherently political. Justice must take its lawful course, independently and expeditiously, but that does not rule out a parallel political process.

Serunkuma then invokes disputed intelligence reports, allegations of fabricated evidence and controversies involving security officers. These are serious matters that deserve independent scrutiny. But allegations against particular officers do not establish that every investigation involving the intelligence community is fraudulent. Intelligence is not proof of guilt, and allegations of intelligence misconduct are not, by themselves, proof of innocence. Both propositions demand evidence. Otherwise, we merely replace one presumption with another.

His argument is weakest when he turns to Gen. Saleh personally. He calls him a co-president, attributes collective state decisions to him and demands a televised confession. That is a considerable leap for a political theorist. From the little I know, Saleh is neither the court trying Besigye nor the constitutional authority responsible for prosecution. Taking part in political engagement does not make him personally responsible for the decisions in dispute. Accountability must follow evidence, institutional mandates and identifiable conduct, not political proximity. We should not make a willingness to mediate a new basis for accusation.

This brings us to Serunkuma’s central prescription. A public apology followed by immediate release. An apology may be appropriate where wrongdoing is established or acknowledged. But criminal proceedings cannot be settled by televised contrition.

Release, bail and the withdrawal of charges each have distinct legal requirements and competent authorities. Political engagement can create conditions for resolving grievances, but it cannot substitute for due process.

A humanitarian imperative should also transcend these disagreements. Besigye and Hajji Obeid Lutale are entitled to appropriate medical care, access to counsel and fair, timely proceedings. Their welfare must not become a bargaining chip.

Serunkuma is right to demand justice and transparency. But his argument loses force when he treats engagement as deception and the intermediary as the accused. Uganda’s political history holds enough broken relationships to teach us that dialogue is hard enough without making humiliation its starting point.

Saleh has spent much of his life on the unglamorous work of getting adversaries to talk, from the bush to Operation Wealth Creation. You have a right to disagree with him. But mocking the bridge-builder midway through building the bridge helps no one, least of all Dr Besigye, whose health Serunkuma rightly worries about.

For me, that is the point. If Dr Besigye’s freedom and health matter, and they do, then the way out matters more than who gets to say “I told you so.” A negotiated release is a defeat for no one. It would be the country choosing to be bigger than its grudges.