The cowardly Activist.

I sat in an Entebbe - Kampala matatu today. I was on my phone, trying to keep the world out of my head, trying to be invisible. Then I heard them. And something stirred me to sit up, say something, defend someone, be the human rights activist I have been calling myself. But I did not.

You see, the matatu conductor (some of you call them touts) was telling these two Germans that he would charge them 15k to sit with their back packs in the back seat. Ideally, each seat is 2500 so the three seats should have been 7500 whether there was a bag or a person in the third seat.

He had tried to fix their bags in the boot (some of you call it trunk) but you see these matatus don't really have a reasonable boot you can fix a bag in. But even then, he wanted to charge them extra whether they sat with their bags or he threw them under the seats.

Now, before I mention my next statement I should let you know that I know many people around me are very uncomfortable with straight up words like racism and sexism and many words that fall into that picture. They'd rather I say some things are simply a little bit wrong and not call out people with 'big words' like that. But I'm a really straightforward person and if I covered up these annoying things in 'less offensive' words I'd be lying because if you're OK being offensive to other people, why do you want it to be sugarcoated?

Given this background, I should have told the Germans that they were being cheated, I should have told the conductor that it was wrong to charge them double the price. I shouldn't have cared that the whole matatu would have probably ganged up on me, because there was a chance they could have joined me. I shouldn't have cared that the driver and conductor would have abused me, because I have been abused before, countless times, when I stand up for wrongful treatment of white people. I shouldn't have cared that if I had said this is racist, they would have probably said i was extreme, that I was labelling people.

Because, there's no other way to say it.

Part of me wished I could speak German, so I could warn them in code, but the only thing I can do in German is swear. I felt hopeless, but I shouldn't have. I should have just been brave. I didn't even need bravery. I should have just been honest as I claim to be. But I was not.  I did not lift my head, I did nothing.

Today, I felt ashamed that this morning I called myself a human rights activist. I am unworthy.

As fate would have it, when I reached my destination, the conductor refused to give me my change, charging me double the price. I should have screamed at him, I should have become the argumentative Nitumwesiga that I am. But I realised, I had failed to stand up for others, I did not have a right to stand up for me.

The Banyankole say that a woman who sees her husband raise his stick to beat her co-wife and rejoices is a fool. Because that same man will surely raise the same stick in her house.

Every time we fail to stand up for others, we not only betray them, we betray ourselves. The oppressor does not only oppress those who are different. That's a lie they use to keep us quiet. If they are capable of oppressing them, they can oppress us.  Oppression is not about the victim, it's a reflection of the oppressor, and they need to be fought for the good of all humanity. I know a lot of people who would say I fuss too much but I know also how terrible I felt.

So I'll try to be true to myself tomorrow. I'll try to be less cowardly. Because I realize, there's no comfort in cowardice. I also know that it's possible I'll still be cowardly tomorrow but I'll still feel wrong if that happens and I hope you'll remind me, when I shut up, that I'm supposed to speak up. For them, for us, for everybody. It should be a reflection of me.

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