Earlier this week, I had a refreshing conversation with Maria Nattabi Ledochowska, the National Unity Platform candidate for Butembe County. Amidst the prevalent practices of survival handouts, voter buying, and populism among young politicians, Maria stands out with her unwavering commitment to her values and faith.
She explicitly states that she doesn’t give out money neither to voters nor to mobilisers during her campaign, except for providing breakfast for her team, which she considers an “indulgence.”
But the moment that stayed with me was her simple yet profound statement: “God doesn’t speak through guns or money. God speaks through people.”
In Uganda’s political climate, that is a rare sentence. The Opposition rarely frames its struggle in the language of faith, whereas the government speaks it fluently. From high-profile pastors who insist that leadership “comes from God” (and therefore must not be questioned), to the First Lady’s biblical references and the President’s daughter’s pastoral ministry, faith has long been a political weapon and justification for their actions.
Meanwhile, those demanding justice, democratic reform, and human dignity are dismissed as vagabonds, rioters, or “people with nothing to do.” Their moral credibility is undermined, even though their cause is arguably more aligned with the core values of most religious traditions: truth, justice, and freedom from oppression.
Maria’s words forced me to ask a question that we have tiptoed around for too long: What is the place of religion in Uganda’s struggle for change? We are a secular state by law. But deeply religious with churches and mosques commanding audiences that political parties only dream of. Even those who rarely attend services still instinctively appeal to God in moments of crisis.
If faith is such a powerful force in people’s lives, why has the struggle for change chosen to keep it at arm’s length? Ironically, the few moments when faith has slipped through have been incredibly revealing. During the presidential campaigns, when the army raided Robert Kyagulanyi’s hotel, cameras captured the NUP Deputy President, Dr Lina Zedriga, clutching a rosary, praying in the corridor. She had no baton, no tear gas, no protective gear, just faith.
There is nothing contradictory about fighting for human rights while believing in God. Since time immemorial, faith has had a strong connection with social activism, inspiring movements for justice and equality worldwide. During the American Civil Rights Movement, (1955-1968), African American churches played a pivotal role. Churches served as meeting spaces, hubs for organizing, and sources of moral guidance, with many prominent leaders, including Martin Luther King Junior, emerging from the clergy. In Latin America during the 1950s-1980, the Liberation theology armed the poor with a moral vocabulary that dictators could not easily silence. This theological framework inspired many to challenge authoritarian regimes and advocate for human rights, often at great personal risk.
Why then should Uganda’s struggle be allergic to the language of faith? Of course, faith in politics is a double-edged sword. It can inspire courage, but it can also be abused to sanctify power. Religion has long been used for political manoeuvering, lobbying for leaders, voicing concerns, or even supporting regimes. Politicians have, on the other hand, manipulated religious sentiments for votes, creating an intricate, often controversial, relationship. What Uganda does not need is a religion that silences citizens by telling them to “submit.” We do not need pastors who bless corruption or leaders who frame political loyalty as spiritual obedience. What we do need is a faith that: affirms citizens’ dignity as God-given, holds leaders morally accountable, encourages truth-telling rather than fear, and motivates people to challenge injustice.
If God “speaks through people,” as Maria says, then perhaps He is speaking through the mother demanding better schools, the boda rider protesting harassment, the young candidates refusing to bribe voters, and the activists documenting abuses at great personal risk.
A moral revolution may perhaps be the missing ingredient. Uganda’s struggle has always been political, but perhaps it also needs to be moral. A nation is not transformed only by ballots, rallies, and slogans; it is transformed when people rediscover their own worth and refuse to be ruled through fear or manipulation. Faith can play a role in that awakening. Not because religion is automatically “correct,” but because a majority of Ugandans already believe in God. Ignoring that reality is a strategic mistake.
If misused, religion can keep a nation captive; then, redeemed religion can help set it free. Perhaps the revolution we need is not only one that speaks to the head and the pocket, but also to the conscience.
Seventeen billion seven hundred thirty-three million eight hundred and sixty-five thousand Uganda Shillings (UGX 17,733,865,000) is what eight Parliament of Uganda staff stacked in their private accounts for what was called “corporate social responsibility” according to the vouchers seen by Agora. The vouchers made public during the #UgandaParliamentExhibition, an exposé about corruption at Parliament run on social media by Agora in 2024, show the staff withdrew money on 103 different occasions in a space of 12 months between January 15, 2023, and January 23, 2024.
Leonard Okema the Principal Personal Secretary (PPS), received the highest amount, UGX4,780,750,000. On October 16th, 2023, Okema made four withdrawals totalling to UGX 2,000,000,000. Ranny Ismail the Director of International Collaboration at Parliament received UGX 4,452,947,000. Emmanuel Okwii Emuron the Monitoring and Evaluation Technical officer at Parliament took out UGX 1,119,760,000, while Chris Obore, Parliament’s head of Communications withdrew UGX 1,930,000,000. Zainabu Kaguma and Daniel Adilo both junior staffers at Parliament withdrew UGX 1,096,340,000 and UGX 2,073,760,000 respectively. A Police officer Fred Businge received UGX 367,308,000.
When the public demanded answers, the explanation was that the money was used for the institution’s corporate social responsibility where the leadership of parliament was using this money to build health centres, schools, mosques, donate to women saccos, among others.
So, what is corporate social responsibility? The United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organisation (UNESCO) defines Corporate Social Responsibility (CSR) as, “Responsibility of enterprises for their impact in society.”According to UNESCO, CSR is essentially a business model that helps corporations be socially accountable to themselves, their stakeholders, and the public. The concept of CSR is relatively new, emerging in economist Howard Bowen’s 1953 book, “Social Responsibility of a Businessman”. Initially, CSR competed with the conventional understanding of businesses as profit-driven entities serving shareholders, as articulated by Nobel Prize-winning economist Milton Friedman: “There is one and only one social responsibility of business – to use its resources and engage in activities designed to increase its profits so long as it stays within the rules of the game…”. However, as businesses evolved, the call for greater responsibility gained traction, and CSR became more prominent.
By its nature, CSR is typically associated with corporations and businesses, tied to their profits. This raises questions about why the Parliament of Uganda, an arm of government under the 1995 Constitution, is engaged in CSR activities, investing state funds rather than corporate profits. Notably, there is no evidence of other government entities carrying out CSR activities. In the 2024/25 budget, State House received UGX136,539,969,000 billion for donations, but this is distinct from CSR. Uganda’s Parliament only recently introduced CSR into its budget in 2022, following Anita Among’s election as Speaker. In Uganda, only the Uganda Communications Commission, (UCC), has a CSR Policy. In 2022, the communications regulator released its Corporate Philanthropy and Social Responsibility (CP&SR) policy. UCC is a government parastatal, different from Parliament which is an arm of government.
Corporations like MTN Uganda have clearly defined CSR objectives in education, health, and economic empowerment, but Parliament’s CSR efforts seem undefined and without any criteria.
Be that as it may, Agora did further investigations to find out whether this money was spent on the activities claimed on the vouchers. According to the vouchers, the bulk of this money was said to have been spent on activities in Bukedea, a district with a population of 282,864 people. This also happens to be the district that the Speaker of Parliament, Anita Annet Among comes from and is their District woman representative in Parliament. In total, UGX 1,840,000,000/= was signed off for seven activities in Bukedea. On July 24, 2023, under voucher number A11/JUL/2023, Adilo signed for UGX 750,000,000 being an advance for the speaker’s community empowerment workshop in Bukedea for July 2023. Teso as a region – excluding Bukedea – received at least UGX 1,430,000,00 for 10 projects, followed by Busoga that allegedly received UGX 550,000,000 for six projects. Bukedea is in Teso region, and the large sums of money claimed to have been invested there may suggest that the Speaker is using Parliament’s budget to bolster her political standing in her home region. Relatedly, the Speaker’s husband, Hashim Magogo comes from Busoga. Shortly after her election as Deputy Speaker in 2021, she addressed a public gathering in Busoga and said she wanted to be the new Mama Busoga. “Everybody is equal in Busoga, and I want to tell you, I am going to be the Mama Busoga…”, she said in an apparent dig at her political nemesis and former Speaker of Parliament, Rebecca Kadaga who hails from Busoga and was always called ‘Mama Busoga’.
Also in the vouchers it was claimed that there were more CSR activities conducted in other sub-regions including Acholi that received UGX 380,000,000, Buganda, UGX 350,000,00, Bukedi UGX 250,000,00 and Kampala city projects reportedly received UGX 195,000,000. Karamoja received UGX 50,000,000 for a single project, Kigezi UGX 30,000,000, Lango got UGX 130,000,000, Rwenzori UGX 30,000,000, Sebei UGX 50,000,000 and Tooro region got UGX 116,000,000.
When Agora tried to follow this money it was discovered that over 90 per cent of the activities claimed to have been conducted with these funds were not conducted.
These are some of our findings:
Donations to various initiatives in Bukedea District.
Donations worth an estimated UGX 1.825 billion to various women’s groups, SACCOs, and associations of market venders in Bukedea between February and October 2023.
Most of the groups we asked deny receiving the said funds. Kanyanga Women’s group and Okouba Youth Saving group, recorded as having received UGX 90 million each acknowledged receiving UGX 5 million. Specifically, the chairperson of Aminanara ka Apol in Kidongole subcounty denied receiving funds or benefitting from the said programme. Other groups such as Achelas Aja Savings and Credit Association, Aipecitoi Saving Group, and Aloet Market Vendors said they received nothing. One SACCO, Bukedea Crime Preventers SACCO was found as non-existent having been dissolved in 2018.
Our investigators were threatened and ordered to leave Kolir subcounty by the RDC as they did the investigations.
Donations to Nalango Primary School in Kamuli District.
The speaker allegedly donated UGX 80 million to Primary School and
Kyai Subcounty in Kamuli district. The school head teacher and school management committee stated that no such funds were received by the school. No photographic or documentary evidence linking the alleged UGX 80 million to Nalango Primary School was recorded.
Irimbi Health Centre II, Namutumba District.
The documents show that UGX 50 million was sent to Irimbi Health Centre II in Namutumba district, a government-funded health centre.
All the staff we interviewed stated that no equipment or such funding was received by the facility.
UGX 5,000,000 was donated to launch a book titled “Become a Successful You”. However, Agora’s investigation around bookshops including Aristoc Uganda, the country’s largest bookstore, found no record of this book, despite voucher number A262/OCT/2023 reflecting that the money was allocated to the book launch.
Under voucher number A186/APR/2023, Obore, Parliament’s Director of Communications signed for UGX 15,000,000 allegedly used as a medical advance for the treatment of Angura James Mandoko. While no further detail is given on who Angura is, records at the Electoral Commission shows that someone named Angura James Micheal Mandoko unsuccessfully ran as directly elected councillor in Bukedea and polled 1,258 votes losing to Okwii John Michael. A search on google led us to a LinkedIn profile of Angura who’s status shows his job title as Principal Legal Counsel at Parliament of Uganda. Similarly, on September 23, 2023, Businge Fred signed for UGX 2,000,000 as advance for contribution towards the treatment of one Duncan.
Some of the larger sums of money were registered under ambiguous projects without providing more details. Using voucher number A158/APR/2023 Rajab signed for UGX 198,000,000 for the Speaker’s donation to the girl child project. He also signed for another UGX 300,000,000 for the Speaker’s Corporate Social Responsibility Undertakings to various individuals and groups. Leonard, who received UGX 2,000,000,000, allegedly spent the money on economic empowerment programs in central, northern, western, and eastern regions, with no further details provided.
In August 2022, the speaker promised to donate solar solar panels to Arua Hospital.
At the time, Arua was facing persistent and chronic loadshedding, which, among other things, affected services at the regional referral hospital. The promise was initially made to a group from West Nile who had petitioned her office about the issue. This promise became the basis of all arguments in favour of the CSR programme from her supporters, who argued that it addressed a critical gap – state bureaucracy – that would otherwise delay such help and potentially cost lives, particularly those of expectant mothers. A team from Agora visited Arua Regional Referral Hospital in mid-2025 and found that no solar panels had been donated to the hospital. They also learned that hospital staff had spent considerable time following up on the promise, eventually giving up in frustration. These findings were made public through social media.
On October 28, 2025, weeks after Agora’s revelation– a journalist from Arua confirmed that the donation had finally been made. However, the estimated cost was UGX 80 million, significantly less than the initial UGX 250 million promised.
Accountability questions loom large.
The lack of transparency and accountability raises concerns about the use of CSR funds. Unlike private companies, Parliament has not registered a trust or established clear guidelines for CSR activities. Further investigations by Agora Centre for Research reveal that between June and August 2025, several projects allegedly funded under the parliament CSR report didn’t receive the money. Back to the Arua donation, would it have been fulfilled without the Agora exposé?
This is an in-depth investigative documentary examining the persistent cycle of electoral violence that continues to shape Uganda’s political landscape as the country heads toward the 2026 general elections. Drawing on eyewitness testimony, verified video evidence, expert analysis, and voices of victims and political actors, the film traces patterns of violence from the 2020–2021 election period to recent by-elections and party primaries across Uganda.
It investigates how political competition, the militarization of elections, internal party conflicts, and weak accountability mechanisms have transformed electoral contests into life-and-death struggles for ordinary citizens. From Lwemiyaga to Isingiro South, from Bukedea to Gulu, Blood and Ballots documents cases of fatal shootings, mob violence, intimidation, alleged political assassinations, and the silencing of dissent. Families recount the loss of loved ones, journalists describe working under threat, and human rights defenders warn of a democracy under strain. The documentary features voices including opposition leader Robert Kyagulanyi (Bobi Wine), human rights advocates, journalists, local leaders, and victims’ families, alongside responses from security agencies and political actors.
It also interrogates constitutional safeguards, including the role of the military in civilian political processes, and the growing concern over impunity. As Uganda approaches a critical electoral moment, Blood and Ballots asks urgent questions: Who is responsible for electoral violence? Why does it persist? And what does it mean for the future of Uganda’s democracy?
This film is a call for accountability, justice for victims, and renewed commitment to peaceful, credible, and inclusive elections.
During a recent podcast shoot with Eron Kizza and Aloikin Praise, something small but unsettling happened. A moment that replayed in my mind with the stubbornness of a memory that wants to teach you more than you’re ready to learn. We were discussing political prisoners in Uganda: the terror, the complacency of the justice system that has become commonplace.
Before the shoot, my mind was still stuck on a moment that had happened during the preparatory stages—the chit-chat before getting on set, Eron was sharing his experience in Luzira, and Aloikin turned to me with a light smile, saying, “Unlike Eron and me, you haven’t been to prison.” I smiled it off, but inside, something cracked open. It wasn’t shame or fear of missing out on a shared rite of passage. It was the realization that in Uganda today, imprisonment has become a mark of consciousness, not criminality.
Disturbingly, I began wondering why some of Uganda’s most alive, morally awake, and socially conscious individuals end up behind the walls of Luzira and Kitalya? Kizza Besigye, Eron Kizza, and Sarah Bireete recently. Why do our bravest, not our worst, rot in places designed for the condemned? Paulo Freire (1970) once wrote that systems of domination fear the “humanization of the oppressed” more than rebellion itself. I left the studio that day convinced that our prisons have evolved from places of separation into places of sequestration, where the state quarantines the danger of an awakened citizenry.
This is why I find myself disagreeing respectfully with Spire Ssentongo’s evocative title “What Died When We Lived.” It assumes we remained alive when everything was collapsing. I see it is a country that decayed with its people. When governance crumbled, institutions eroded, and civic space shrank, we didn’t stand untouched; we shrank too. We died with the systems. We adjusted. We adapted. We bent. Some of us even became interpreters of the very structures that deformed us. Our silence became participation.
Consider the civic space. As it narrowed through laws like the Public Order Management Act and administrative embargoes on assembly, Ugandans retreated voluntarily. When electoral malpractice intensified, instead of directing frustration at the architects of manipulation, we deflected it onto those who dared resist. We blamed Dr. Kizza Besigye for “failing to remove the dictatorship.” We blamed Robert Kyagulanyi for “strategic mistakes.” It was a tragic psychological misfire, a phenomenon common in oppressed communities, as noted by scholars of resistance psychology, Freire (1970). We internalized the architecture of power, turning on our own, and in doing so, validated the very system we claimed had broken us.
And this is why I argue that the accurate title for our condition is not “What Died When We Lived”, but “What Remained When Everything Died”. The answer, stripped of poetry, is chilling: very little. And what did remain were our few conscious citizens who are now swiftly identified, isolated, and delivered to Luzira. The state, facing no ideological threats, no institutional resistance, and no widespread civic awakening, has reduced the struggle to a simple logic: identify life, remove it. Identify consciousness, confine it. Identify moral clarity, arrest it.
My argument is that prisons in Uganda have become homes for the living. Unlike what they were meant to be, a place where the criminals are isolated from society, they are now places where the conscience is isolated and taken. On release, they either abandon their conscience at the prison gates or return, as seen with Kizza Besigye and Olivia Lutaaya.
Increasingly, our prisons have become what Chinua Achebe (1983) once called the “house of the living dead,” except in our case, ironically, they are the houses of the living. They are the last remaining sites where moral vitality can be found in unfiltered form. Luzira has become more than a correctional facility; it has become a political shrine, a place where citizens transform into embodiments of national conscience.
Those who have kept the flame alive, Besigye and countless others, remain not because they refuse comfort, but because they refuse to die inside. Fanon (1963) warned that oppressed societies often reach a point where “life becomes indistinguishable from submission.” Those who resist the merging and those who insist on remaining alive become intolerable to the system.
And so, prison awaits them.
If Uganda’s struggle is to mean anything, then the work ahead is what Freire termed conscientização, the slow, deliberate reawakening of a population that has been conditioned to accept decay as normal. This awakening must cut across divides: opposition, NRM, apolitical youth, religious communities, and civil servants. Everyone. A dead population cannot resist. Only the living can. And perhaps our task is to bring so many Ugandans back to life that they cannot possibly fit into all the prisons.
That afternoon in the studio, at the end of the shoot, I realized that Aloikin’s remark unsettled me because it carried an unspoken truth: in today’s Uganda, the moral geography is inverted. Imprisonment is a badge of presence, not absence; of life, not death. The prisons confer bravery, teach citizenship, and, unintentionally, shelter the country’s remaining conscience.
What remains, then, when everything has died? Only the conscious. And because they remain alive, they are taken away.
December 23, 2025, marks a year since Julius Ssemwaka, a mini-truck driver, was shot dead by a policeman in Nakasero, Kampala. The incident, sparked by a traffic dispute, has gone largely un-investigated, with the suspect, Constable Charles Bahati, still at large.
On the afternoon of Monday, December 23, 2024, Ssemwaka, set off with a consignment of jerrycans for delivery to a client in his mini- truck registration number UAX 604C. Julius had delivered goods several times before – it was his full-time job. The proceeds from these deliveries were his main source of income, which explains why, at a time when millions of Ugandans had retreated home to spend the festive season with their families, he was still on the road trying to earn a living. Unfortunately, he didn’t earn that day’s bread. He was shot dead by a policeman in Nakasero.
According to eyewitnesses, Julius’ truck was caught in Kampala’s notorious traffic gridlock at Nakasero, not far from the State Lodge. Behind him was a police patrol vehicle, the kind used for transporting Uganda’s political VIPs. One of the policemen jumped off the truck and demanded that Julius give way, but he couldn’t. An argument ensued, which the police officer was not about to win, so he discharged a bullet from his firearm, striking Julius and taking his life.
Most eyewitness statements didn’t account for what happened to the policeman after the shooting. Accounts of his actions were contradictory: some say he fled the scene on a boda boda, others dispute this and say he went back to the police patrol truck, while some say he fled on foot.
Five days after the incident, the police issued a statement identifying the shooting cop as Charles Bahati, Constable No. 55915 from the Very Important Persons Protection Unit (VIPPU). They shared two of his casual selfie photos, but no official photo in uniform or details about his background or the police’s progress in apprehending him. The police concluded that they would do their best to apprehend Bahati, urging the public to be patient and offer help in capturing him.
Out of sight out mind…
One year later, the police have yet to apprehend their officer, let alone arraign him in court. The media has largely stopped reporting on the incident, and the public has moved on. However, Nicholas Sengoba, a prominent journalist at the Daily Monitor, has made commendable efforts to keep the conversation alive. In a tweet, he writes, “It’s DAY 349 since PC Charles Bahati from Bushenyi shot dead, Julius Ssekamwa, driver of M/v UAX 480C & ‘fled’ on a boda boda, from armed patrol policemen. Police ‘recovered’ only the gun. Let’s retweet daily to remind @igp_ug1 & @PoliceUg to produce the suspect. #ArrestPCBahati
Each of the tweets are accompanied by a photo of Bahati and Julius side by side. Another tweet reads, “We shouldn’t allow such impunity to go unchecked. The police claim they have intelligence about people planning to bomb the city and yet they cannot find their own officer deployed by the force on a mission. How?”
By and large, his tweets are the main attempt at keeping the conversation alive, and to an extent it has. I spoke with Sengoba, who clarified that he has no relationship with Julius and is acting out of civic duty. He questioned how the police found the weapon used, yet allowed their officer to flee without a trace in the presence of other policemen. Sengoba also wondered why the police haven’t taken action against Bahati’s seniors, who should be held accountable for their junior’s actions.
The situation is complicated by the police’s silence on which VIP Bahati was protecting at the time of the incident, leading Sengoba to suggest that the police may not be doing enough to apprehend the suspect – a pattern seen in past cases of police officers committing crimes.
Investigations Stagnate
Twenty-nine days after Julius Ssemwaka’s shooting, the top brass of the Uganda Police Force appeared before the Parliament’s Defence and Internal Affairs Committee. The committee centred it’s questioning on extrajudicial killings. Betty Nambooze, the Mukono Municipality MP, from where Julius resided, demanded an update on police investigations and steps being taken to apprehend Bahati.
The Inspector General of Police (IGP) Abas Byakagaba responded saying, “We are following due process. While this is a serious issue, action must remain within the confines of the law. Rushing investigations could jeopardise justice for both the victim and the accused.” The IGP added, “The media may portray certain narratives, but we rely on facts. A thorough investigation will ensure a defendable and legal outcome.”
A year later, little to no progress has been made. The IGP was right that “rushing investigations” could jeopardise the outcome and justice for all parties involved. However, one wonders when “justice delayed” becomes “justice denied.”
A Pattern of Impunity
On January 16, 2022, a similar incident occurred in Ntinda, a Kampala suburb, except the person shot was a police officer. Like Julius Ssemwaka, Constable Robert Mukebezi was on the road doing his job – directing traffic. He responded to an accident involving a Uganda Peoples’ Defence Force (UPDF) vehicle, registration number H4DF 1391 and contacted a tow truck to move the vehicle.
While at the scene, he was intercepted by soldiers responding to the same accident in another UPDF vehicle, registration number H4DF 922. An argument ensued about the vehicle’s destination, escalating into Robert being shot in the leg. Unlike Julius, Robert survived: the bullet shattered a major artery, and his leg was later amputated.
A joint statement from UPDF and Police confirmed the incident, identified Robert Mukebezi as the victim, and Corporal Babangida Bashir Mango as the suspected shooter. They condemned the act and stated that the suspect was on the run. They condemned the act stating that the Defence Intelligence and Security (DIS) formerly, Chieftaincy of Military Intelligence (CMI) together with the Police were working hard to apprehend the suspect who “abandoned” his gun at Bukasa village and is on the run.
Initially, the army covered Robert’s medical bills, citing “UPDF insurance.” However, in May 2022, in a story published by the Daily Monitor, Robert reported that the insurance had been “stopped,” and UPDF officers weren’t responding to his calls. Robert received UGX 1,600,000- less than $500 from the Police, and was asked to account for it before receiving more.
Both Julius and Robert were relatively young, hardworking men providing for their families when shot. They were “nobodies,” highlighting the disparity in justice accessibility in Uganda. As Martin Luther King Jr. said, in his 1968 sermon Shatter Dreams, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice” – though for some, it’s longer and doesn’t always bend towards justice.
Silencing the Story
Attempts to contact the Uganda Police Spokesperson who doubles as the Assistant Commissioner of Police (ACP) Kituuma Rusoke were in vain. He didn’t respond to repeated calls or a WhatsApp message requesting an interview. I also reached out to Maureen Natungoza, Julius’ widow, who’d initially agreed to an interview. Speaking to me via phone, she stated that the police hadn’t provided the promised support and only covered part of the burial expenses before “disappearing.” She decried the financial struggles she was going through and welcomed attempts at justice.
However, when I called her back in November for the arranged interview, she became unresponsive. On December 11, she seemed surprised by my questions about Julius, saying, “They refused me to talk about those things…” She suggested speaking to Julius’ family – his parents and siblings – but hung up when I asked for contact information. It appears someone is working to silence the story, aiming to keep it “out of sight, out of mind.”
