Dont Act. Just Think : A short lesson from 2023

Friends, as the embers of another year flicker low, I feel a chill wind whispering through the cracks in the edifice we call progress. It's not the usual New Year's shivers, the anxieties about resolutions, the hollow clink of glasses filled with liquid courage. It is a deeper tremor, a confession from the soul. that's been ill at ease for a while. This year served up losses. From loved ones gone too soon, to opportunities dashed through no fault of my own, to the inescapable loss of contentment at living in step with the just the way life is. Never more has the phrase " personal is political " resonated so much. Never have I seen change, innovation, and hoe mounted everywhere but in the realm of communal decision making how we decide the relations of life between us.

For years, I, too, sang the siren song of self-reliance, the gospel of "hard work saves us.". That's a bit f luck and surely we can all make it.I was intimately aware of the challenges I had to overcome, but they were overcome. I am intimately aware of the late nights, and the sacrifices I made, that my family, friends, and social connections made to get me in a reasonably good place. I climbed the ladder carved from toil, each rung slick with sweat and ambition, savoring the mirage of the "Ugandan Dream." I believed, naively, that every sunrise heralded a fresh start, a blank canvas where grit alone could paint a masterpiece of prosperity.

But lately- and I mean the last half-decade- the brushstrokes have begun to blur. The canvas is now stained with the tears of mothers juggling three jobs, the worn soles of children shuffling past glass towers, and the defeated unwanted people deemed unworthy of the bare minimum. called Casual laborers and treated less than human... Their stories whispered in the wind, snagged on the barbs of our complacency. The Professional Managerial Class, or should I say the Professional Managers of Capital - whose incentives align with reproducing the relations of production and interpellated by culture to think of ourselves by what we consume - some like rock, some like rap; some work in finance others media; others attribute their success to an invisible God, others to the wisdom of the market... We take the world as is and simply find ways to make it habitable. Painting over painful truths with mindfulness, and tales of self-care.

The truth, the one we've kept at bay with calloused hands and weary eyes, is that our ascent wasn't just a solo trek up a mountain. We climbed on a path paved with privileges we hardly notice, headwinds we mistook for sheer willpower. While I feasted on the fruits of my "hard work," others struggled to till the soil, their seeds barely taking root in the parched earth of inequality and in my largesse, I gave back in charity, in acts of kindness that don't abolish the relations that keep me giving and them receiving. After all, why would those at the near top of the pyramid want to destroy the structures they have ascended?

So, here's my confession: I was wrong. The ladder is rigged, its rungs unevenly spaced, and my climb, while arduous, and difficult in ways I can never fully express...it was also easier than some will ever know. Denial is a luxury I can no longer afford. At one point this year, Josey was speaking about the challenges of running a business while living with Sickle cell anemia. Having to consider things the rest of us take for granted. But in the midst of it, she also mentioned how fortunate she was to have supportive parents, ones that didn't abandon her as many in tough financial or emotional situations are often resorting to when it comes to dealing with a child with special needs. She owed it to her fortune to make things happen for others hence starting Raremark Foundation We talked about belief a lot...And with her help I saw that there's something like "objective belief"- the beliefs we follow in the actions we take, not how we ideologically interpret them but in their actual material effects. The trick is we can also live in disavowal. This is where what we think something is, and what it actually is could be real, nevertheless the way we act runs counter to the logic. Take money -what is it? A token that allows us to participate in society, a measure of what one's owed in goods and services. That's true and we believe it...However in how we treat money, it takes on a more powerful element-we kill for it, change our lives for it, and commit our lives to pursuing it..all while saying money isn't everything..All the whole treating it as so. Our beliefs just like our illusions are in our actions.

This New Year's Eve, I'm not making promises. I'm making a pact. A pact to see the world through eyes not blinded by my own climb, but sharpened by the stories etched on the faces around me. Of the data that seems to go by without emotional attachment, to hear that most Ugandans I meet are fighting a losing battle against this system that others get abundant rewards out of. To listen, learn, and understand the struggles that choke the very air for so many. To find ways with a communion of like-minded on how we can dismantle the rickety ladder, brick by brick, and build, together, a bridge of solidarity, strong enough to span the chasms of inequality.

Individualism, that seductive chimera, offers only two paths when faced with a rigged game: to claw our way up alone, turning neighbors into rivals, or to drown the sting of injustice in the shallow waters of escapism. But there's a third way, a path illuminated by the flickering embers of hope – the path of community, the symphony of shared burdens and dreams.

Community isn't just family and friends; it's the tapestry woven from the threads of shared struggles, the chorus of voices rising against the din of despair. It's in the hands that reach out to steady a faltering step, the hearts that offer warmth when the wind bites cold, and the minds that pool like tributaries to form a river of change.

We must rediscover the forgotten language of solidarity, the forgotten power of "we," the forgotten truth that our destinies are intertwined, our fates woven into the same tapestry. We must gather, talk, listen, dream, and together, reimagine the canvas of the "Ugandan Dream," painting a future where hard work isn't just a solitary climb, but a collective dance, where the fruits of our labor are shared, not hoarded, where every life has fertile ground to bloom.

So, tonight, as the stars replace the fireworks, let's raise a glass – not to champagne and empty platitudes, but to the fire in our hearts, the tears in our eyes, the unity in our voices. Happy New Year, friends. Not just for 2024, but for the revolution we begin right here, right now, in the embrace of community.

Remember, the path ahead may be long and winding, but we walk it together. We are the change we seek, the builders of a new dawn. Let our voices be the storm that shakes the foundations of an unjust world, and in its wake, let us build a future where "hard work saves us" is not a solitary struggle, but a collective symphony of hope, justice, and shared dreams. A year of being radical..because what is radical is not our methods, but in our sincere goals.