Welcome to Uganda, a nation where the concept of a 'presidential term' is treated with the same fleeting regard one might give to a 'suggested serving size' on a tub of lard. Yoweri Museveni, a man who has occupied the State House since 1986—an era when the world was still fascinated by the Walkman and the Soviet Union was a thing—has once again emerged 'victorious.' To call it an election is an insult to actual math; it is more of a periodic inventory check of Museveni’s personal property. On the other side of this bleak theatrical production, we have Bobi Wine, the pop-star-turned-politician who has recently informed the BBC, from the safety of an undisclosed bunker, that he will not be seeking justice through the courts. It is a moment of profound, albeit late-onset, clarity. Wine has finally realized that asking the Ugandan judiciary to rule against Museveni is like asking a hostage to provide an honest Yelp review of their kidnapper’s basement.

Let’s start with the protagonist of this tragedy: Bobi Wine. A man who built a career on catchy hooks and red berets, Wine represents the latest iteration of the 'young savior' trope that the West finds so intoxicating. He talks of 'peaceful change' while hiding from the very system he claims to lead. It’s a classic performance. By refusing to go to court, Wine is attempting to occupy the high moral ground, but the ground is so high it’s practically devoid of oxygen. He claims the judiciary is not independent. Well, color me shocked. It only took thirty-five years of Museveni’s iron-fisted choreography for the opposition to notice that the referees are on the payroll of the home team. Wine’s rhetoric is a masterclass in the toothless protest; by calling for 'peaceful change' from a hiding spot, he is essentially shouting at a hurricane to be a bit more considerate of the lawn furniture.

Then there is the antagonist, Museveni. He is the quintessential African strongman, a political dinosaur who has survived the extinction events of the Cold War, the rise of the internet, and several dozen failed coups. Museveni doesn’t just run the country; he is the country’s nervous system. To him, an election is a tedious bureaucratic necessity designed to keep international donors just satisfied enough to keep the checks coming. He doesn't need to win the hearts and minds of the people when he owns the boots and the bayonets. The irony of Wine complaining about the lack of judicial independence is that Museveni doesn't even bother to hide it. He doesn't need a subtle conspiracy when he can simply point a tank at the courthouse. The 'independence' of the Ugandan judiciary exists only in the glossy brochures printed for UN sub-committee meetings.

The refusal to contest the results in court is being framed as a principled stance, but in reality, it is a white flag wrapped in a press release. Wine knows that a court case would only provide a thin veneer of legitimacy to a process that is already a rotting corpse. He avoids the court not because he’s a martyr, but because he knows the ending of that movie, and he’s tired of the spoilers. Meanwhile, the 'international community'—that collection of well-dressed voyeurs—watches with its usual mixture of feigned concern and genuine apathy. They will issue statements, they will 'express deep concern,' and then they will go back to whatever business ensures that the stability of the region (and the flow of whatever resources they need) remains uninterrupted.

What we are witnessing is the death of a narrative. The idea that a celebrity in a red hat can simply sing his way through the machinery of a sophisticated gerontocracy is as laughable as it is pathetic. Uganda is stuck in a loop. Museveni will continue to rule until he is physically reclaimed by the earth, and the opposition will continue to issue declarations of moral victory from the shadows. The 'peaceful change' Wine advocates for is a fantasy, a soothing bedtime story told to a population that has forgotten what an actual transfer of power looks like. In the end, the judiciary’s lack of independence is the most honest thing about this entire situation. It is the only thing that isn’t a lie. Everything else—the ballots, the campaigns, the 'will of the people'—is just expensive noise. Wine is right to stay away from the courts; why bother attending the funeral of a democracy that never actually lived?