OpEd: Sex abuse – how long before we act?

By Norman Katende 

Social media is so noisy these days that even the most painful stories can drown in the flood, so when a video crossed my screen about a fortnight back, I almost scrolled past. I confess that I have little patience for long videos that wander before getting to the point, and I nearly switched it off. But something held me.

A woman was speaking about a university lecturer who, she alleged, used his power over students to bully and sexually exploit young women. According to her, he made passing his course impossible unless selected female students gave in to his demands, and in some cases pressured them into marriage. Her own story was the most harrowing. She said that when things went wrong, she was attacked with acid, leaving her face so badly damaged that she spent over ten years undergoing surgery after surgery to rebuild it.

Over a decade of hospital visits, of mirrors, of strangers’ stares, all because a man with power allegedly decided her body was his to control.

What struck me even more was a voice note from another former student that accompanied the video. Her voice was heavy with bitterness after seeing the photo.

“That is the man. Do not even mention him to me. He is a devil,” she said in a tone filled with a mixture of bitterness and hatred. She claimed the lecturer wasn’t acting alone, and that he belonged to a small circle of others she named. She claimed that they used to threaten to prey on female students, marrying them and discarding them at will.

For one man to misuse the power entrusted to him is bad enough, but when a system is created without a check, it is more than disgusting.

That video came less than three weeks after one of our own old girls opened up about a teacher from her school days. The teacher had pestered her to sleep with him and made the subject he taught a misery for her when she refused. She had once enjoyed that subject, but under that pressure she lost all concentration, and it became her worst result at Uganda Certificate of Education level.

What shocked me was what followed. At least three other women came forward to say the same teacher had approached them too. They began sharing the ways they had survived, the tricks they used to stay out of his “books” without failing his class. For them, this happened more than fifteen years ago. Yet as they spoke, the trauma was still raw, something you could almost touch.

Their stories took me back to one of my first assignments as a rookie journalist. I had heard whispers about a teacher who was preying on Senior One and Senior Two girls from one of the schools I attended. I went to the school, spoke with the head prefect and the head girl, and interviewed several students in their presence. They confirmed that the teacher had approached them, and some named classmates who had been victims but had never spoken up.

I went back to The Monitor and wrote the story without my byline, and without naming the teacher. About six months later, I bumped into that same teacher on the street. He looked at me and asked whether I worked for the Monitor newspaper. Another teacher, who clearly understood where the question was heading, quickly stepped in, insisting that I was a science student with no connection to journalism, and sent me off on an errand. That was the moment I learnt that nothing had been done. No investigation. No consequences. Life had simply carried on.

It would be dishonest to suggest this is only about male teachers and female students. When I was in secondary school, there was a female teacher who took advantage of boys with shocking ease. She targeted those who seemed lonely or who were struggling academically, promising them better marks. Tragically, she was HIV positive. On her deathbed, she wrote a note apologising to the students and men she had slept with for possibly infecting them. Rumour had it that the note named names, and the school was thrown into chaos, with fear spreading among both students and staff.

These stories may seem unrelated, separated by years and by schools. But together they reveal a painful truth about our society. Sexual abuse is real, it is widespread, and too many of us have quietly accepted it as normal.

Our cultural and community values teach us that such matters should not be spoken about. Victims are shamed, doubted and blamed, while perpetrators are left free to do as they please, protected by their offices, their power and their money. Those resources are used to silence accusers and bury complaints.

Today, it is even easier. When someone finds the courage to speak out, all it takes is a handful of paid influencers to change the narrative, paint the victim as a liar or an opportunist, and move on. The institution will also send out a press statement about how they take any abuse seriously, call for evidence without giving a timeline of action, which ensures that the discussion dies off as fast as it started. The accused continues to work. The victim carries the scars.

A society does not become developed simply because its middle class is growing. It is measured by how it treats and protects its most vulnerable: the children, the students, the poor and those without a voice.

We do not need to tear down our foundations to change this. We need to show, clearly and consistently, that when abuse is reported, something is done.

I am reluctant to hold up developed countries as the model for everything, but there are lessons worth learning. In many of them, people still try to beat the system, but strong safeguards exist to protect the vulnerable.

Before securing a job, applicants undergo a criminal record check. Anyone who will work with children must also pass an additional Working with Children Check, which assesses whether they are fit to be trusted with young people. This process also screens against sex offender registers, where convicted offenders are monitored by police and potential employers are warned of the risk they pose.

Such a system may feel like a distant dream for Uganda. But it does not have to be. The Ministry of Education and Sports and the Ministry of Gender, Labour and Social Development, which is responsible for children and youth, can begin with practical steps: vetting teachers and lecturers, creating safe and confidential reporting channels, investigating complaints properly, and ensuring that those found guilty never return to a classroom or lecture room.

The truth is that we already know what needs to be done. What is missing is the will to do it. Victims do not need more sympathy on social media. They need to see that those responsible for protecting them actually care and will act.

We always react strongly when abuse hits close to home; that is when we awaken and ask lawmakers and all other people to act, but how good will it be if we protected them from all this trauma by taking action now?

Maybe taking the right action will mean less trauma for your sons and daughters in the future.

The Baganda say that if you do not close the door because you sleep farthest from it, you never know how hungry or how many lions might come in, and you might also become a victim.