Uganda Martyrs: There’s More to the Story
I was pleased to read the balanced account of the story of St Charles Lwanga and his martyred companions, written by Günther Simmermacher and re-posted on Facebook from The Southern Cross’ website, on June 3, the martyrs’ feast day.
In two important ways, the story is often presented by others in a one-sided way which, far from celebrating the heroic acts of martyrdom, actually perpetuates violence and exclusion. And the silence of the Catholic Church in Uganda that contributes to this. I write as someone who lived in that country for two years and grew to know and appreciate the good work that the Church does there.
One aspect is the ecumenical one. 45 young men were martyred because of their refusal to deny their faith in Christ; all suffered the same awful death on the same day in the same way. As noted in Simmermacher’s article, there are two shrines to the martyrs in Uganda. One, where their baptisms took place and some of the men were killed, is at Munyonyo. It is run by the Anglican Church and commemorates all 45 of the companions who were martyred, Anglican and Catholic side by side. The more famous shrine at Namugongo is where most of the martyrdoms took place and is run by the Catholic Church. At that shrine, the 22 Catholic martyrs are listed and celebrated. But, at least when I visited it, the 23 Anglican martyrs are not even mentioned.
When Pope Paul VI added Ugandan names to the canon of saints, he included all the 22 Catholics and excluded all the 23 Anglicans. Perhaps 1964 would have been too early for a bold ecumenical gesture: though Paul VI was not generally averse to them. But, since then, the Catholic bishops of Uganda have done nothing to recognise the shared experience of persecution. Indeed, they reinforced the “Catholics only” theme in the way in which the number 22 was made a key architectural theme of the magnificent 1993 basilica.
Surely, the God in whom we believe would have crowned all the martyrs equally? I find it hard to imagine that, on June 3, 1886, when 45 young Ugandan martyrs arrived at the gates of heaven, St Peter only admitted those who had a Catholic baptismal certificate.
This perpetuates a 19th-century European view of Africa in which it was a place of competition, not just between colonial powers but also between denominations. By contrast, my experience when working there was of great integration between Catholics and Anglicans on the ground. Poverty, like persecution, can be a great way of building common cause.
But the story of the martyrs has instead been used by the Ugandan Catholic church as a way of defining itself, to include some people and exclude others. It has also been used by the Ugandan nation as a way of defining itself, to include some people and exclude others.
In his story on the martyrs, Simmermacher rightly notes: “The king was not a homosexual (the 17 wives he accumulated suggests a pansexual nature), but he was a man who enjoyed asserting his power.” This is a better understanding of King Mwanga II, and it is not just of historic importance. It has a specific and direct impact on the politics of Uganda today and the lives of innocent people.
Too often, King Mwanga is presented not as a predatory paedophile (which he was) but simply as a homosexual. That in turn is used, by politicians and Church leaders to justify Uganda’s extreme anti-gay laws. Only a few weeks ago, a bill was approved, by all but two MPs, that introduces the death penalty for certain homosexual acts between consenting adults. US President Joe Biden described this as “a tragic violation of universal human rights”.
There is an irony that one of the arguments in favour of this legislation is that homosexuality is “not African”. And yet the Lwanga story – if it is used to argue that King Mwanga II was simply a homosexual – surely is proving that this vice is absolutely also African. After all, the European missionaries in the story do not introduce homosexuality to the court but rather homophobia.
But as Simmermacher explains, there is no evidence that King Mwanga was actually interested in consensual sexual relations between men. Rather he wanted to use violence to assert dominance over those with whom he disagreed. This story is now used by a new generation of Ugandan leaders to justify vilification, scapegoating – and indeed violence – against another group of people with whom they disagree.
The Anglican Archbishop in Uganda has said he is “grateful” for the law; the Catholic bishops have remained silent.
A looming discrepancy hangs over this epic story – which remains unresolved. The story of the Ugandan martyrs is about the way in which people who have power, exploit it to exclude those who do not have power, and to undermine them in the most horrific way possible. That was King Mwanga’s sin. It can be argued that the behaviour today of Ugandan politicians, or the silence of Ugandan Catholic bishops, continue the same dreadful legacy and are versions of the same sin.
Despite honouring the great martyrs who have gone before, we have seemingly not learned the lessons enough to modify our behaviour, rules and beliefs. We add to the tragedy.
Raymond Perrier writes every month in The Southern Cross.
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