On the entanglement of loyalty: When loyalty becomes a mass grave

Frank Gashumba

There is that couple in the neighbourhood, where the husband has trysts with the housemaid as soon as the wife steps out of the house.

One day when the ugly truth bursts wide open thanks to the housemaid’s now evident pregnancy, the wife, to her horror, discovers that the breaking news is breaking only to her.

Or the devout church leader, a bastion of service and humility, who is also a card-carrying terrorist to his family. Those close to him know of his terrorist activity, they hear the nefarious whispers, they see his battered and bruised spouse, but pussyfoot about him as if all is well until his son bludgeons him to death in a murderous rage!

Dear reader, I invite you to muse along with me the entanglement of loyalty – how loyalty can aid and abet impunity. Across the border, our neighbour, Kenya is reeling from the horror of a doomsday cult.

Earlier this month, Pastor Paul Mackenzie, leader of the Good News International Church, was sentenced to 200 years for the murder of 191 people, of whom 190 were children.

Mackenzie is facing a myriad of other charges ranging from terrorism, manslaughter, child abuse to torture. For the murder of the 191 people, now infamously known as the Shakahola Massacre, Mackenzie was charged alongside 28 of his followers – people who enforced his murderous starvation directives and dug the mass graves to bury the bodies.

In pop culture, the 28 people can be defined as his ‘ride or die’ – people who know where the bodies are buried, literally. According to media reports, Mackenzie’s son, Dan Mackenzie, said he felt sorry for his father over the verdict but acknowledged that the victims needed justice.

The son, glad that he survived his father’s death cult, said he escaped by rebelling against his father’s teachings for which he was often punished. There must have been signs along the way that Mackenzie’s ‘church’ was dangerously going off the rails.

Perhaps among the 28, there are those who saw the red flags but swatted away the discomfort of being the one to broach the hard and honest truth. Or in respect of the hierarchy of the ‘organization’, they told someone higher whom they trusted would do something about it.

Feasibly for some, they went far back with Mackenzie. Maybe he had been there for them when no one was that they were now bound to him with such loyalty. He could do no wrong in their eyes.

And if he did, he must have been wronged. To them, they excused any red flags until their conscience was silenced. It is easy to look at the 28 co-accused and wonder why they did not do something about the red flags.

However, the experience of the Mackenzie’s son is instructive. He saw the red flags and chose to rebel. For that, he was punished. For the 28, the lesson would have been loud: dissenters will be punished.

That whistleblowing is costly and hostile. Safety would mean staying in line, not rocking the boat – yet here we are. Alas. It is reported that only one of the 28 owned up to the charges and pleaded for leniency.

The rest, including their unassuming looking leader, denied the charges. In fact, the judge remarked that the culprits showed no remorse and they declared they were ready to fast unto death as well. Woe unto woe.

As we reflect on the tragedy of the Shakahola massacre, it is the 28 co-accused that I keep returning to; what if the impunity we must shout loudest about is the impunity from within, the impunity of our family and friends?

How many family WhatsApp groups would be obliterated if we talked about the impunity of that rich relative who used their influence to push poorer relatives off their land? Where is the line between loyalty and the courage to do the right thing?

Does loyalty trump the greater good? Social critic Frank Gashumba could be described as a talking head, common on local media lending his voice to every topic under the lovely Ugandan sun.

For some, he is a shrewd wheeler dealer, siding with the regime as and when it suits his narrative. To others, he is the unapologetic voice of the downtrodden masses.

Recently, Gashumba stirred up all the hornets’ nests when he pontificated quite loudly about some of the goings-on in churches in Uganda, especially Pentecostal or Evangelical churches.

Gashumba who, despite his fitted shirts and ties, is unafraid of rolling in the mud, asserted that pastors are peddling false hope and fake miracles to take advantage of their needy and desperate congregations.

He went on to dare pastors to heal the critically sick in the national referral hospital. The angry blowback from faith leaders in Pentecostal circles was massive and startling, with some going so far as ‘reporting’ Gashumba to the Patriotic League of Uganda (PLU).

They demanded that Gashumba be called to order. Some netizens wondered why the church leaders did not report Gashumba to God instead. More curious is the reaction from many congregants of the church leaders.

They deemed Gashumba’s challenge as an attack on God himself and, therefore, a most wicked thing. Adding fuel to the inferno, some responded like witchdoctors, invoking curses upon Gashumba and his family.

Dear reader, the crux of this highly emotive debate must remain within our sights – are leaders beyond reproach? When Gashumba throws down a challenge, why as Christians, do we not pick it up as an opportunity to engage on doctrinal matters instead of frothing at the mouth and spewing curses?

I understand that in our pseudo-democracy, our leaders are brittle and unaccustomed to criticism, especially criticism from people they don’t like or any criticism that does not praise them – but does loyalty mean that we set our leaders on a pedestal where the harsh words of mere mortals cannot reach them?

Power must be checked, for abuse grows unabated when loyalty to the personality becomes the most important mission. Where do we draw the line between loyalty to the personality and loyalty to the mission?

Is there a limit to being one’s ‘ride or die’? May we revisit the tragedy of the Shakahola massacre and remember that we too are but mere men and how peculiar that mere men, mortal and fallible as you and I, have a longstanding history of abusing power – a history as old as humanity.

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The writer is a tayaad muzzukulu

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