A photojournalist’s nightmare

Akena relives torture visited on him by Uganda’s military

Kampala, Uganda | RONALD MUSOKE | James Akena is a hardened photojournalist. He is also very professional, having worked and trained with the international news agency; Thomson Reuters.

But, on Aug.20 in Kampala, images of Akena, kneeling with hands raised as a gang of four or five soldiers battered him with sticks, guns, and kicks; on the head, arms, ribs – everywhere, went viral on social media. Initially Akena is holding his camera up, explaining, begging for his life. But the beating does not abate.

The images of Akena’s ordeal at the hands of the Ugandan army have been shared widely, showing the world the horrors journalists sometimes endure at the hands of brutal armed forces, and dispelling any pretense of respect for human rights by the Uganda army and police.

President Yoweri Museveni has reacted with a double face; condemning the attacks on journalists when it suits him and defending the barbarous attacks on them when it is convenient. The heads of security agencies have picked their cue from the President. They are unrepentant, unapologetic, and cocky in their impunity. It is clear they are ready tomorrow to torture another journalist again.

But we, as journalists, will do what we do best; we will document the atrocities and hope that, one day, the powerful men and women of today, will be hunted down and held to account. It happened to the brutal armed forces of Idi Amin in 1979, Milton Obote in 1986, Mobutu Sese Seko in 1997 and Muammar Gadhafi in 2011.

But, as Akena says, the UPDF and Ugandan police have not always been brutes. And he hopes the old days of the disciplined force that respects human rights can return before the worst happens.

Akena is one of the best trained photojournalists and instructors in Uganda.

For the last 16 years he has photographed some of the most tumultuous events in East Africa’s most hostile conflict environments— from the atrocities of the Joseph Kony rebellion in northern Uganda, the wars in the DR Congo to the endless political protests in Kampala. He has gone in and out of hostile working environments largely unscathed.

So why did everything go wrong for him on Aug.20 in Kampala, at the hands of Uganda’s brutal armed forces? Why did they put him through what he calls his worst nightmare ever? Before he flew out to London for treatment and psychological rehabilitation, he recounted his torment to The Independent’s Ronald Musoke on Aug.29.

Akena tells his story

“I have been off the photojournalism routine for quite a bit but, of course, occasionally I follow what is happening around the world, especially Uganda.

Following what happened in the Arua by-election; I got back on the road again; to cover what was meant to be a peaceful protest at Constitutional Square in Kampala.

I took a night bus from Gulu on Aug.19 and was in the city in the early morning. I had a few private things I wanted to do, then get my safety gear from my home considering that Kampala protests often get violent.

After booking my return ticket at Namayiba Bus Terminal, I moved up towards Hotel Equatorial. But at the turn to Kisekka Market, I heard a big bang. It sounded like a grenade.

Before I could process that, something whizzed past my face. Everybody went in panic, we all started running. I ran until I found a staircase to duck. I was thinking it could possibly be a terrorist attack.

I set my camera to photograph, got my press tag and plastered it on the strap of my bag which I had tied across my chest so that people could tell I was a media person. I then slowly walked back towards Kisekka Market to observe what’s happening.

This part of Kampala is quite busy. People sell electronics and car spare parts. Now they were frantically struggling to get their merchandise off display outside into their shops. Many were locking up. Bodaboda motorcycle riders were struggling to push their bikes off the streets. Everybody was running. The mechanics were running into the malls. People in the malls were getting to the balconies. Observing. Wondering what next.

Somebody dumped a cardboard on Kyaggwe Road. Another followed with a used tyre. Soon there was a pile of trash. Then another man came and set it ablaze. It was not one person doing everything. The first fire was set. The second fire was set on the upper side of Kyaggwe Road towards Old Kampala.

The crowds on the balconies were now shouting excitedly. Some had their cell phones out, making calls, clicking away, and probably sharing photos on social media.

Eight minutes later, three police officers showed up; from the former Kisekka Hospital direction. Two had AK47s and one a pistol. They began firing into the air; lots of bullets. It was quite scary. In previous protests, the anti-riot police always arrived first. This was between 10am-11am. The fire on the road was a big flame with lots of smoke billowing up.

I walked up, towards Watoto Church. In front of the church was another fire and police fire brigade putting it out. Just then a police truck, with military men with helmets and guns at the ready zoomed past; heading down Kisekka Market. Instinctively, I turned back to go see what was happening.

At that point the truck with military men stopped near the entrance of Kikuubo, soldiers jumped off and went after the people around; beating them indiscriminately. Many were pulled out of the building and whipped, then dumped on the waiting truck.

More trucks arrived. I was on Allen Road and saw soldiers headed towards Nakivubo Channel when journalists joined me. Soldiers started screaming at us, barking orders. I could not hear what they were saying. I thought they signaled us not to continue walking. We stopped.

I turned around to retreat. But there was another soldier coming from the rear. My two colleagues fled. I was caught. I tried to explain. I am a journalist. I showed my camera and the press tag. The soldiers said nothing. They just began beating me with sticks, using as much force as they could. I remember raising my hands, but they just continued beating me, hitting the back of my head and shoulders.

They took away my camera. Then a police truck arrived and I was ordered to climb into the back. I was shoved underneath the seats on the bare metal floor which was littered with sticks. More people were brought in. Bleeding and crying. Many of them were youth.They were thrown on top of me. I could not breathe. My clothes were soaked in blood. I was also struggling to keep my injuries from getting worse. Then the truck drove towards Buganda Bus Park.