I love idi amin. I have never been his enemy. I wish somebody would take that message back to him. If I were in Uganda, I would shout it from the housetops. If I could get near President Amin, I would tell him to his face. Actually, he knows it already.
Is it surprising that I love him? It shouldn’t be. This is a purely Christian response to the tragic events of recent weeks. It is not weakness, nor is it cowardice. Remember Christ and his response as he underwent that absolute injustice, being nailed to a cross. He didn’t say, “Father, destroy them.” No! He said, “Father, forgive them.” Forgiveness is creative. Retaliation is destructive. Anyone who loves humanity must seek the constructive, reconciling way. God did it. Who am I to stray from his way? So that is why I love Idi Amin. Love can heal, and I will be committed to that until I die.
Janani Luwum, my dear archbishop, was committed to that. He died at the violent hands of men who considered him the enemy because of his stand for the truth. The truth hurt them, so they killed him. It was no accident. He was killed because the leaders of the church stood for truth in love. We spoke against brutality, selfishness, and murder, particularly when they were committed in the name of the government. A government must protect the people it governs, and when it becomes selfish and protects itself but not its people, then it must be told the truth. This is the truth we spoke, and that is why my dear archbishop died as a Christian witness.
Our speaking out is not new this year. In 1973 we stood in the stadium with men just before they faced the firing squad. In 1974 we sent the president a memorandum about the mistreatment of people. Our concern reached a new level last September, and another protest was sent. We requested an audience, but it was not granted.
Various church leaders spoke out about different situations during the last three months of 1976, and some of them were accused of “interfering with the government.” Then the archbishop attracted wide attention with his Christmas sermon on peace. His comments about the elements that were against peace provoked a strong statement from the president, who said some bishops were preaching bloodshed.
In January we knew things were not quite happy. At the end of the month we had the consecration of a new bishop in western Uganda. This was just one of many events planned this year as a part of the centennial celebration of the Church of Uganda. There was a big turnout for the consecration. I was asked to preach the sermon, and it was based on the words of Paul to the bishops (Acts 20:17–35). The value of a soul was emphasized, and the bishops were warned to guard themselves and the church of which God made them shepherds because God bought the church with his own blood. I said that if God paid such a price for those whom he called into believing, then that shows us that every life is precious to him.
There were many government officials in the congregation. There were governors, policemen, and intelligence officers, as well as local officials and even Muslim sheiks. The crowd was estimated to total 30,000. After speaking to the bishops and other ministers, I said, “Now, I’m going to speak directly to government authorities.” I said that God had entrusted them with their authority but that there had been a misuse of authority. For the next ten minutes I spoke on the use of force and on exploitation by force. Friends told me when it was all over that I was quite passionate, and many of the Christians were trembling for fear that I would be whisked away by security men immediately. I wasn’t whisked away. I had only spoken the truth as the Spirit gave me liberty. Even the Muslim governor came up and shook my hand.
After that the situation heated up considerably. First there was the midnight raid on the archbishop’s house and the searching of the bishop of Bukedi. The council of bishops met and drafted a protest over the treatment of these two colleagues. Then the president brought the archbishop to Entebbe for the well publicized meeting with his old British army commander. It was two days after that that we were all summoned to appear at the conference center in Kampala for the meeting that the whole world now knows about.
When we got to the conference center, we found about a thousand soldiers and many government officials. They were all standing around outside, and a display of the “smuggled arms” was on the ground. The meeting started at about 9:30 A.M. and didn’t end until after 2 P.M. There were speeches and then confessions by the men who had been tortured. They read the documents which were supposed to have been captured with the arms—alleged plans for the overthrow of President Amin. Among the insinuations in these plans was one implicating the archbishop and the bishop of Bukedi in arms smuggling. When that part was read, the archbishop shook his head in disbelief. Finally, the vice-president gave a long harangue. He asked, “What shall we do with such people?,” and the soldiers replied, “Kill them!”
Before the people at the outdoor meeting were dismissed, the master of ceremonies announced that the religious leaders, diplomats, senior military officers, and cabinet officers were wanted inside the conference center, where the president was waiting for them. (He had not been at the gathering outside.) So we went in, and for about twenty minutes a soldier gave instructions. Then he separated all the religious leaders from the others, and we left for an adjoining room. Soon we heard applause for the president. We learned that it was at this time that he arrested the two cabinet officers who were later killed. Then we were told to return to our work. We all started to leave, but as we neared the door the man in charge told the archbishop that the president wanted to see him. And that is how Janani Luwum was arrested. That was just after 3 P.M.
Some of us went to the archbishop’s house to have a prayer meeting. On the 6:30 P.M. radio news it was announced that the archbishop had been arrested, and the next morning’s newspaper said he died in a car wreck. Nobody in Uganda believed that, not even the children. Everybody knew he had been murdered.
Three of us bishops went to the hospital that morning to claim the archbishop’s body, but we were kicked away. We learned that the mortuary had been under guard since six the night before. However, some people did get in and told us what they saw. We also got a report from someone who was at the prison where he was shot.
They didn’t tell us until Friday that the remains had been sent to the archbishop’s village in the northern part of the country on Thursday. We protested that he had to be buried by his cathedral. They refused. On Saturday the report reached us that the archbishop’s brother had buried him with the help of villagers. They had actually been forced to do so.
When it became evident to us in Kampala that we would not be able to have the funeral there, I decided to leave the city. Calls kept coming from people who expected me to be killed. They warned me to flee, and I was threatened with arrest. I decided it would be better to die among my own people than in the city, so I headed for home. While I had no trouble on the way to Kabale, I discovered upon arrival that my house was being watched and that the intelligence men had come for me at least four times. Christians came, and we prayed. We were encouraged to get out that night, and the Lord helped us do so. Part of the time we were lost in the mountains. My wife was suffering from bronchitis and tonsillitis, but we climbed two and a half hours to the top of the mountain.
I’ll never forget the experience when we got to the top of that mountain. The young man who was our guide said, “Now you just go on, walk about three more steps.” We did. It was no marked border, but he knew the territory well. He said, “Now you are in Rwanda. You can breathe.” I looked at him and said, “We’ve been breathing all the time.” He replied, “Now you can breathe a little freer.” We sat on a stone, like Jacob. We were wet and exhausted, but we praised Jesus. We knew that Christ’s people were praying for us as we escaped.
It was sad to leave. I love Uganda, but I was a marked man. The church is more virile than ever there. As I crossed into Rwanda, I remembered something that had happened Saturday morning. Some of us had walked into the cathedral in Kampala, and five women were there preparing flowers for Sunday. Most of us bishops were looking rather washed out by that time, but one of the women came up and said to one of us, “Praise God! This experience has pushed us fifty times forward!” One of my colleagues told me later, “Oh, I needed to hear that.”
Contrary to some of the reports that got to the outside world (see March 18 issue, page 50), Christians did gather at the cathedral on Sunday. In fact, they packed it. Then they went outside to the grave which had been dug for the archbishop and which was, of course, still empty. There were about 4,500, an eyewitness told me. They gathered about the grave and sang praises to God. They sang the hymn associated with the first Ugandan martyrs. Then Erica Sabiti, our beloved former archbishop, spoke a word. That service was no defeat; it was a tremendous victory.
As they were singing praises at the cathedral, I was still walking through the forest. We were very tired, and the going was rough. I thought back to the last time Janani Luwum led us in devotions as we sat as the council of bishops. He directed us to chapter six of Mark, particularly to verse 48. He read from the 1971 text of the Revised Standard Version, about Jesus and the disciples on the sea: “And he saw that they were making headway painfully, for the wind was against them.…” Making headway painfully! The archbishop turned to us after reading the passage and said, “For the last four days the Lord has seen us in this council making headway painfully. But I see the road very clearly.” He had a way of stressing things, and he repeated, “very clearly.” What road? It is the road across the stormy sea of Uganda. The disciples look helpless and harassed (a translation of one of the words in that text) in face of the high waves, but Jesus has power over the waves. Janani Luwum put the title “The Blessing of Harassment” on that devotional talk.
He died, a glorious martyr. He left behind a church exposed to the fury of the wind and the storm. What is the blessing of harassment? Jesus knew it. As he saw the disciples in their boat and helped them, so he will help Ugandan disciples through their storm. He saw us. He helped us. That is the blessing.
