By Lawel Muhwezi
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.
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