Turning Karamoja away from guns

The fall of the infamous dictator Idi Amin heralded a new era for Uganda. Unfortunately for the northeastern region of Karamoja it also heralded the era of the gun. Fleeing soldiers abandoned their arsenal of automatic weapons and local pastoralist Karamojong quickly found that the Kalashnikov was more effective than the spear. Cattle raiding would never be the same again. Death, hunger and paralysing insecurity have been the result, both for Karamoja - Uganda's poorest region - and for the surrounding areas preyed on by raiders. The government has promised to disarm the warriors but critics say heavy-handed tactics and widespread human-rights abuses are alienating the communities while failing to address the underlying causes of the insecurity. The military insists that where voluntary disarmament fails, force must be used. In the shade of a mango tree near the Kenyan border, Pokot elders agree that raiding must be consigned to the past. One by one, former warriors step up to the middle of the circle at an International Relief Committee (IRC) workshop on disarmament and speak of how the culture of raiding has held Karamoja back. "The world has gone off its axis here in Karamoja and it has done that because of the gun," says one middle-aged man swathed in the red checked 'shuka' [wrapping sheet] characteristic of both the Karamojong and minority Pokot tribes. "When you go on a raid you know that you or one of your friends will die," said 37-year-old Lomoto Lochuman. "And after you have done it for a while you realise that there is only pain and no profit." "My generation want peace," says another veteran who has passed on his AK-47, "but it is not up to us – it is up to those boys sitting here under the tree." And those boys don't say very much at all - not under the tree at any rate. They have yet to marry and establish their position within the community and the one way they can do that is by having cattle. Bride price has been the traditional spur to raid in a society where a wife can cost more than 100 cows. A Karamojong who fails to produce the promised dowry can lose his wife and children to another man. Women traditionally sing songs praising raiders and mock the husband who does not seize cows as half a man. Young warriors crave the tribal chest markings and respect won for daring raids just as their fathers did. "Raiding is done for prestige," says Akol Risa Anna, Nakapiripirit's Assistant District Education Officer. "Whether it is for marriage or the market, you are seen as a strong warrior." And increasingly rustling is for the market. In days past raids would be sanctioned by elders and would target another rival clan or tribe. Nowadays raiding parties are often drawn from across clans and are said to disregard traditional codes of conduct such as respect for women, children and the elderly. The modern raiders strike, kill and then sell on their spoils in markets sometimes as far afield as Jinja and Kampala. In neighbouring areas normal life has been heavily disrupted and Karamojong has become a byword for fearsome violence. Up to 90,000 people in Teso region, for example, have been forced to seek protection from raiders in squalid and unhygienic camps. Says army spokesman Major Felix Kulayigye: "The state can not stand by while this raiding continues. We must do something. This has been forced on us by the lack of cooperation from warriors themselves. "In 2002, the president went to Karamoja and said surrender your guns and let’s embark on development together. In 2004 he returned to Karamoja to launch the voluntary disarmament programme. But almost two years later we have had a little over 600 guns surrendered and cross-border raids are continuing - voluntary disarmament isn't working," he added. The army's medicine has been 'cordon and search' operations - soldiers ring a settlement until the guns are produced. A very bitter medicine it can be too. Within the past two months a 19-year-old had his testicles shot off in Moroto, a 15-year-old girl was among four killed in Kotido and an old woman was killed and four other women allegedly raped in Nakapiripirit, according to Ugandan media reports. Major Kulayigye insists that where there is evidence of wrongdoing soldiers will be prosecuted. The problem, say critics, is not just a few hot-headed young soldiers but rather army tactics in general. The United Nations has called for a return to the more cautious methods agreed in the Karamoja Integrated Disarmament and Development Programme of 2005. But the army has found an ally in a most unlikely corner - the Ugandan Human Rights Commission. The Commission's Nathan Byamukama says there has to be an honest recognition of the special circumstances in Karamoja. "The biggest abuse of human rights in Karamoja is the raiding and ambushing. "If we want to be legalistic," Byamukama says, speaking of arbitrary detention, "then there is something wrong with that. They should be taken to court in 48 hours but there is no court in Karamoja. And when there was a court, the Karamojong forced the magistrate to flee for his life. If there is no respect for the law, then the government must find other ways." Can disarmament alone ever deliver peace when south Sudan's cheap weapons markets are readily accessible across the border? Better to address the underlying causes of raiding than focus on gun seizures, say those who feel the government's approach is too simplistic. "They are just fire-fighting," says one agency specialist on human-rights violations, who spoke on condition of anonymity. "They think they can achieve everything militarily," he said, "but we have to step into the Karamojongs’ shoes and ask why they want guns." One fear repeated time and again by the Pokot elders is that they will be left with no protection next time the raiders come. That fear may not be misplaced if incident reports compiled by NGOs are accurate. On 2 June, Apalatotwala Amaikori handed in bullets and 10 guns in Moroto; four days later Jie warriors raided 130 cows and shot him dead. His story is not unique. "People have a very low opinion of government and its ability to protect," says Mark Longele, who works to build bridges between clans and tribes that have traditionally targeted each other. He tells a story of how he had started trying to persuade Karamojong elders from Nakapiripirit and his home county of Bokora to meet after a succession of tit-for-tat raids. "No-one was prepared to visit the other's area. They were afraid they'd be shot in broad daylight," he said. Eventually they were persuaded to meet on neutral ground, talks went well and a follow-up meeting was held at Bokora. Longele remembers that before long the once implacable enemies were sharing a drink and dancing into the early hours. "When the time came for us to leave they said they were having such a good time they wanted to stay on. They stayed for a week. Now they are happy to meet at their homes and they are no longer scared of each other." Over the past year gunfire has become less frequent in Karamoja. As Karamojong see what development has delivered for Uganda and the world beyond, there is a desire for change and concern that without peace Karamoja will slip further behind. But peace alone will not deliver development. The annual budget for the Office of Karamoja Affairs is a paltry 80 million Uganda shillings (US $45,000). Many other organisations have paid the region scant attention. Education is far below the national average, the road network is woeful and industry is non-existent. As the regional director of one key international agency admitted: "If we don't invest in major infrastructure then we are going to [...have problems] for several generations." Organiser Lolemle Achero, enjoying a post-peace workshop beer in one of the 'disarmament' hotels, took a philosophical view of the conflict. "As long as people are hungry, some of them will reach for the gun," he said, taking another swig of his drink. ed/mw/eo