A throne is never empty and why succession is war, not mourning

King Oyo’s chair turned towards the wall

Succession within a kingdom is frequently misunderstood as a period of mourning, yet this interpretation fundamentally misreads the nature of royal authority.

It is sad that King Oyo died on August 27. Nonetheless, the kingdom did not pause to grieve in the manner of an ordinary family. His death initiated an immediate and silent struggle for the throne, because a kingdom cannot endure even a single moment without a head.

Put simply, when the king’s heart stops, the heart of the kingdom must continue beating without interruption. My Oracle from Kifuuta village in Kyotera instructs that steel must be shaped while it is still hot. If one waits for the metal to cool, it will break.

This principle applies directly to Tooro royal succession. So, the controversial insistence by Andrew Mwenda to address the succession without delay is therefore neither disrespectful nor premature as some suggested in the heat of the moment.

It is historical and necessary. Every kingdom throughout history knows the throne must never remain vacant, and the fire of kingship must never go out. Take the case of Buganda as a clear example from within our own blood.

When Kabaka Mutesa I died, Buganda did not wait seven days to mourn before choosing a successor. Before the body was cold, chiefs were already gathered at the Lubiri at night, whispering about who would be next Kabaka.

When Kabaka Mwanga, his successor, was chased from the throne, Muslims installed Kiweewa while Christians supported another claimant, Kalema, all while the throne remained warm.

Buganda’s custom holds that the king never dies but simply disappears, and before that disappearance is announced, the successor must already be known. The burial customs themselves cannot be performed without a king seated on the throne.

A kingdom buries its king with a king present. To bury a king when there is no king is an abomination. The Ottoman empire understood this reality with brutal clarity. Sultan Mehmed II established the law of fratricide, declaring that whichever son God granted the Sultanate could lawfully put his brothers to death for the welfare of the state.

The moment the Sultan died, messengers rode swiftly to all provinces. The first son to reach Istanbul became Sultan and immediately ordered his brothers strangled with a silk cord, even before his father’s body was washed.

This was cruel, yet the empire lasted 600 years because the throne was never left empty. Rome learned the same lesson when Julius Caesar was stabbed 23 times on the Senate floor.

His blood was still fresh when Mark Antony claimed the inheritance, and Octavian marched to Rome without waiting for a funeral. Because succession was delayed, Rome endured a year of civil war, and that vacuum led to the killing of thousands.

The Romans therefore proclaimed in a single breath that the king is dead and long live the king, allowing no gap between reigns. Saudi Arabia demonstrates this wisdom today. When King Abdullah died in 2015 at 1 a.m., the royal court announced his death and, 10 minutes ater, announced Salman as the new king.

They did not wait for burial or 40 days of mourning. The burial occurred later that same day and was led by the new king, because only a living king can bury a dead one. Britain follows the same principle.

When Queen Elizabeth II died in Scotland, the BBC declared at that exact moment that the Queen was dead and the King lived. Prince Charles became King Charles III immediately, not after burial and not after coronation.

His first duty the next morning was to plan his mother’s burial, because only a king can bury a queen in that tradition. Those who ask why Mwenda is rushing, suggesting that burial should come first and succession later, are thinking like villagers who have lost a grandfather.

A kingdom is not a village but a spirit, and that spirit must jump immediately from one body to another or else the kingdom dies. The customs, the last funeral rites, the cleansing, and the bringing of barkcloth all require a living king to preside over them.

One drum stops, and another drum starts immediately. So, that is not disrespect to the dead king but the highest respect to the kingship itself. I am sure Mwenda’s fight is not against grief but for the kingdom to survive grief.

If grief is entertained for too long, the kingdom may be sold while the people are still crying. The throne is never empty, and the fire must never go out.

The author is an investor, contractor, and football enthusiast

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