On this occasion, because I do not trust my own memory and reasoning enough, it behooves me to begin with a quotation from an internationally recognised authority.
“Ethics, or moral philosophy, is the branch of philosophy that systematically studies concepts of right and wrong, good and bad, and the principles that guide human conduct. It evaluates the foundations of our choices and aims to determine how we should live and interact in society.”
It is within ethics that we encounter two major schools of thought: deontological ethics and teleological ethics.
Teleological ethics, derived from the Greek word telos meaning “end” or “purpose”, argues that the morality of an action is determined by its outcome. If the result is noble or beneficial, this framework suggests that the method used to achieve it can be excused. This is the thinking behind the popular phrase that “the end justifies the means.”
Deontological ethics, on the other hand, comes from the Greek word deon, meaning “duty”. It argues that some actions are inherently right or wrong regardless of the consequences. Here, the process matters. Systems, procedures and rules are not obstacles but safeguards that ensure fairness and accountability.
This is where bureaucracy finds its philosophical foundation. A person may save lives, but if the money used was not authorised through the proper channels, there is still a question to answer. Under this ethical framework, good intentions do not automatically excuse improper methods.
This is the philosophical battle at the centre of the debate surrounding the actions of Hon. Balaam Barugahara and Hon. Nameere Justine since their much-discussed interventions in the Bugisu sub-region.
What is becoming increasingly clear is that many Ugandans are discovering, perhaps for the first time, that money intended for local governments does not always translate into the services citizens expect. Communities are beginning to question why resources allocated for public good sometimes fail to produce visible results.
During one of the minister’s engagements, a government official told him on camera that a classroom had 175 learners. Given his background in events and his familiarity with crowds, the minister immediately suspected that something was not adding up. He demanded honesty and accountability. The official, accustomed to what many describe as business-as-usual practices, maintained his position.
The minister ordered a headcount, arguing that these are not ordinary times. What followed was enforcement action, including arrests and investigations.
Some Ugandans have criticised this approach, arguing that public servants are being embarrassed for the cameras and that children and communities should not become spectacles in accountability campaigns. The minister has also used his X account to praise institutions, including a Catholic-run school, where systems appear to be working as expected.
The concern, however, is that Uganda may no longer have the luxury of operating as though everything is normal. These are abnormal times requiring unconventional responses.
When Balaam Barugahara and Nameere Justine took on responsibilities in local government oversight, their methods were always likely to divide opinion. They represent disruption — a combination of urgency, visibility and a willingness to challenge established ways of doing things.
Consider a medical analogy. When a disease begins dictating to doctors how it should be treated, then there is a serious problem. Imagine malaria questioning why a patient is receiving an intravenous drip instead of oral medication. The disease does not get to decide the method used to defeat it.
Similarly, corruption cannot be allowed to choose the systems through which it wants to be investigated or confronted.
The moment we allow endless explanations — that the Permanent Secretary must first write to the Commissioner, who must wait for the Director who is away, while the Town Clerk is unavailable because of a personal tragedy, and the Chief Administrative Officer is attending a workshop — before eventually reaching a government circular addressed to accounting officers, we risk creating a maze where accountability disappears.
Red tape and bureaucracy can become shields behind which systemic failures survive.
Uganda does not have unlimited time to fight corruption using tired processes that have repeatedly failed to deliver results. There must be a balance between respecting due process and ensuring that procedures do not become excuses for inaction.
This is why the disruption brought by Balaam Barugahara and Nameere Justine has captured public attention. Whether one agrees with every method they use or not, they have forced a national conversation about accountability, service delivery and the consequences of allowing old habits to continue.
In moments of crisis, societies often need people willing to challenge comfortable routines.
The debate now is not whether accountability is necessary. It is how Uganda achieves it — quickly, fairly and effectively.
