In recent weeks, President Yoweri Museveni has delivered a series of unusually forceful and emotionally charged statements, targeting what he calls “internal saboteurs” of Uganda’s free education policy. From the podium at the National Leadership Institute in Kyankwanzi to the commissioning of the Mubende Zonal Training Hub, the President’s message has been consistent: he is running out of patience.
“In the 1996 NRM manifesto, we proposed free education,” Museveni declared at the Mubende event. “However, you people refused to implement it… you excluded the children of the poor, and that’s what is happening.”
What began as a hopeful political promise has become Museveni’s deepest domestic frustration. Nearly three decades after introducing Universal Primary Education (UPE) and later Universal Secondary Education (USE), the promise of free education in government schools remains largely unfulfilled.
The President’s tone has shifted from encouragement to confrontation—exposing a governance crisis where presidential directives are routinely ignored by those tasked with implementing them.
Museveni highlighted the problem with a stark contrast: 11 million children are enrolled in primary school, yet only 2 million proceed to secondary.
“So, what happened to the 9 million?” he asked. “It is the refusal to implement UPE and USE.”
This dramatic dropout rate reveals a system that pays lip service to free education while tolerating informal—and often illegal—fees. In many areas, Parent-Teacher Associations (PTAs), school administrators, and district education officers impose charges for uniforms, meals, boarding, or vague “development” contributions. These fees effectively exclude the very children the UPE and USE initiatives were meant to support.
What Museveni now confronts more directly is the reality that the free education system has been captured by those meant to implement it. Instead of a universally accessible public good, it has become, for many Ugandan families, a privatized service delivered through public institutions.
His warnings are not just moral; they reflect a deeper crisis of accountability. When Museveni says, “people who introduce charges in government schools may not go to heaven,” he is highlighting a system where local actors distort national policy for personal gain.
This misalignment has caused a growing disconnect between the state’s development agenda and institutional conduct.
Museveni has championed regional training hubs as proof that free, practical education is possible and impactful. Testimonials from youth trained in carpentry, baking, and hairdressing support this. However, the President acknowledges the limitations:
“You find five districts sharing this center, and the children come from far away. So, I need to accommodate and feed them.”
This logistical and financial burden contrasts sharply with the original UPE vision: community-based, day-school education with one primary school per parish and one secondary school per sub-county—low-cost, scalable, and accessible.
While the hub model shows promise, it risks becoming a distraction unless accompanied by a renewed commitment to restoring the integrity of UPE and USE.
This is not the first time Museveni has accused insiders of sabotaging national priorities. Days before the Mubende address, speaking to over 200 Chief Administrative Officers and Town Clerks, he warned:
“The war on poverty, ignorance, and disease is being undermined from within.”
The threat, he argued, is not external but embedded in Uganda’s own bureaucracy—the “political class.” He increasingly uses this term to describe those who resist change and benefit from the status quo. In this view, even well-intentioned policies like free education become casualties of self-serving practices.
Museveni’s remarks reveal a larger structural issue: a presidential system where authority does not guarantee implementation. When local actors have autonomy—and when their incentives diverge from national goals—policy execution suffers.
His strategy to link education with wealth creation, as seen in the Parish Development Model (PDM) and training hubs, represents a shift from elite-led development to household-level transformation.
“That was a deliberate and cost-effective way to achieve universal education,” Museveni noted, reaffirming his support for the original UPE plan over today’s fee-heavy, boarding-centric model.
Museveni’s criticism of those undermining free education is not just about schools. It reflects a broader ideological battle over Uganda’s development path.
Is the state a vehicle for social transformation, or has it become a structure protecting vested interests?
Whether his indignation will drive reform or provoke temporary compliance remains uncertain.
“The children can sleep at home and walk to school. You’re confusing parents that children must be in boarding. It’s a wrong strategy,” he asserted.
If Museveni is truly intent on reclaiming the spirit of Boona Basome (Education for All), the next battle won’t be fought in manifestos—but in local power centers, where national policies are too often rewritten, diluted, or ignored