The spectacular fall of former Uganda Parliament Speaker Anita Annet Among caught the attention of East Africans, and must have felt like a rerun of an old movie to veteran Kenyan political watchers.
It showed that President Yoweri Museveni did not invent a ruthless political playbook. He sharpened a tried-and-tested one.
When security agents closed in on Among’s home, put her under house arrest and began unpicking her multibillion-shilling holdings, for Kenyans who follow East African politics closely, that public shaming felt uncannily familiar.
That’s because Museveni was following a script once practised by former Kenyan President Daniel arap Moi.
Moi, nicknamed the “Professor of Politics”, ruled for 24 years with a single, effective tactic. He ushered loyalists into wealth and privilege, let them grow accustomed to looking down on the masses, then dramatically pulled the rug from under their feet the moment they thought themselves untouchable.
By allowing Among to amass a fortune, plaster her initials, “AAA”, on grand properties and parade an elite fleet before ending her career in a public spectacle, Museveni showed the same hard-headed logic.
And another thing, to steal the words of commentator Mutahi Ngunyi, you cannot buy Museveni. You can only rent his affection. For decades, people have flattered him, sung his praises and claimed God placed him in charge.
Speaker Among devoted much of what she built with public resources to him and his family. She named schools and hospital wards after them and knelt for him on the tarmac more than once. In the end, he decapitated her politically without flinching.
When Museveni lets you wield power, amass unexplained wealth and act with impunity, it is not a gift. It is a short loan. The man keeps a pair of scissors in his political toolkit.
If your wings grow too long, he will cut them. The only question is how long he lets you enjoy the height before he trims those wings. He has given some potential victims 30 years.
Amama Mbabazi once wielded enormous sway as NRM Secretary-General, holding simultaneous Cabinet posts and being dubbed “super minister”.
Museveni incited the ruling party mob against him and dramatically stripped him of titles and left him politically isolated. Gilbert Bukenya, a university don, was appointed Deputy President (much the same way Moi elevated Prof George Saitoti), thought himself indispensable; he was dropped like a sack of potatoes and later faced corruption charges.
These parallels between Museveni and Moi in handling protégés are stark. Moi let allies grow arrogant and rich, then toppled them when it was convenient, with vengeance.
Charles Njonjo, the all-powerful Attorney-General who made many tremble in their boots, helped Moi secure the presidency but was later branded a traitor in a staged inquiry and politically broken.
Saitoti served as Moi’s Vice President for years. When he began to think about succession in 2002, Moi publicly humiliated him, saying Saitoti was a good friend but not fit for the presidency, and snuffed out the dream.
Both men grasped that co-option can often corrode opponents more effectively than crude brutality. They brought rivals into the State tent, fed them and let their public credibility rot from within.
Moi did not merely jail Raila Odinga after years of opposition. He weakened his movement (albeit briefly) by drawing Raila into Kanu, appointing him party secretary-general and a Cabinet minister. He then surprised him by choosing a young Uhuru Kenyatta as successor, leaving Raila stranded.
Museveni deploys the same pattern. He absorbs organisers and activists with State House patronage until their followings dwindle.
Neither Museveni nor Moi ended corruption. They used it as an instrument of control. By allowing lieutenants to steal, the State built dossiers to be opened at the slightest sign of independence.
Under Moi, scandals like Goldenberg, which cost Kenya more than 10 per cent of GDP, and irregular land allocations unfolded with impunity. Loyalists grew rich and built grand homes with confidence. That wealth, though, sat on a short lease. When a politician grew a big head, they suddenly faced asset seizures or court action. Unless you are a family member, be worried when Museveni fattens you.
To stay at the top for 40 years, both men mastered the agrarian touch. When pressure rises or the city gets too noisy, both men retreated to rural havens to show calm and invite miscalculation.
Moi would go back to Kabarak, tend his crops and turn his attention to church choirs and school visitors. Museveni similarly retreats to one of his two farms to tend cattle. By treating national crises as mere interruptions to pastoral life, they look serene and drain opponents’ momentum.
These patterns make Museveni predictable but hard to beat. He shamelessly preys on a simple human weakness: proximity to power is intoxicating.
Small privileges and State perks make officials feel special and above ordinary citizens. That arrogance blinds them.
They fail to see the trap until it is too late. He has a near clinical mastery of the workings of opportunism and vanity. In style and method, he stands as Moi’s truest political son.
The author is a journalist, writer and curator of the Wall of Great Africans. X@cobbo3
