Edited like an action film, framed within a clearly designed narrative, and shot with a startling level of intimacy and access, you could be forgiven for mistaking Bobi Wine: The People’s President for the latest blockbuster epic. Frankly, however, this approach does nothing to detract from a thoroughly gripping and vitally important two hour dive into the life and times of Bobi Wine: the face of hope for a new generation of Ugandans.
★★★★✰
Bobi Wine, the stage name-cum-political persona of Robert Kyagulanyi Ssentamu, is a name not particularly widely known outside of Eastern Africa—something that the making of this documentary is a clear attempt to rectify. Jointly directed by Christopher Sharp and Moses Bwayo, The People’s President can be more accurately understood as a call to arms to the international community than an impartial biopic of Uganda’s most beloved personality.
Despite this apparent rejection of impartiality however, The People’s President is an undoubted triumph. It may be edited like an action blockbuster, with campaign trail map graphics ripped straight from an Indiana Jones film and fonts that would be more at home in the Bourne franchise, and it might also be clearly framed to fit neatly into the David versus Goliath narrative, but the evidence would suggest that this is not an inaccurate representation. The reality of the situation is that the current Ugandan president, Yoweri Museveni, is fronting a brutal regime that—just since 2020—is responsible for the abduction and torture of almost 3000 people. And, despite being a pop star first and foremost, Kyagulanyi has emerged as the most likely candidate to challenge him.
The People’s President is a rallying cry for aid. If Bobi and his National Unity Platform (NUP) are going to win the next election, they’re going to need more than just votes. As it turns out, getting the most votes doesn’t always guarantee you win an election. The 2016 U.S election is the obvious example, where Donald Trump managed to storm to victory with just 62,985,106 votes -almost 3 million less than Clinton’s 65,853,625. The extent to which this should arouse outrage is of course debatable, but In the case of Bobi Wine’s defeat in 2021, the flaws are less the result of a flawed electoral system, and more so out-and-out fraud.
According to his regime, Museveni’s National Resistance Movement (NRM) secured a resounding victory in the 2021 general election, with almost double the support that Kyagulanyi’s NUP achieved. 409 polling stations reported a 100% turnout, with 94% of the vote in those constituencies going to Museveni. It is not hard to see why the election was declared “fundamentally flawed” by the US State Department; and this is not where the regime’s crimes against democracy end.
Co-director Moses Bwayo found himself charged with unlawful assembly during the filming of the documentary, when authorities alleged that his work constituted subversion of the Ugandan government. While those in power may want to frame The People’s President as little more than political propaganda seeking to undermine Museveni’s government, others, such as the Clooney Foundation for Justice and the American Bar Association determine that “Bwayo’s arrest, detention, and prosecution for speech that was wholly non-violent and that concerned political matters violated his right to freedom of expression.”
Praise for The People’s President should not only be reserved for the objective of its creation. For one, the sheer achievement in the scope and content of the footage captured is simply astounding. There are times throughout the documentary when you begin to become dubious of the tale of Bobi Wine. You think: surely it can’t be this clear cut. Did he really do nothing to warrant arrest? Did he really suffer such torture that he had to flee to the US to receive medical treatment—helpfully fitting in some well-planned press appearances in the process—after his detainment?
And then they go and show you receipts. Somehow the cameras manage to make their way into a detention centre, where a man is beaten simply for wearing a Bobi Wine T-shirt. At a rural rally, they capture the moment where Bobi cries out “Let them be violent, we are not violent”, as he is pepper sprayed and stuffed into a van. “I am not a criminal, I am a presidential candidate”, we hear, as state-authorised violence erupts all around. State-sponsored assassination attempts, grenades aimed at Kyagulanyi’s personal security detail, police firing live rounds indiscriminately at civilian protestors—all are unflinchingly captured on film.
Despite this diligence to the omniscience of the camera, there are several glaring omissions of vital context. Sharp and Bwayo seem to expect their audience to be well-versed in both Kyagulanyi’s personal history, as well as the wider political history of Uganda. We are treated to an introduction to a young Kyagulanyi performing on stage in his college years, but somewhat bafflingly, his entire music career pre-politics is avoided. Most telling, is the absence of any mention of how a Kyagulanyi government might look. “Museveni used to be my favourite revolutionary, and now I’m at war with him,” Kyagulanyi tells a reporter. “I would love to have a frank and honest conversation with him. Mr President, what happened to you?” It begs the question, what is to stop Kyagulanyi suffering the same fate? Ultimately, The People’s President fails to offer any legitimate reason to prove that he won’t, a clearly missed opportunity considering that a quick google can.
The Verdict
Once again, however, how detrimental can a few moments of sparse contextualisation be to the impact of such a documentary? Bobi Wine: The People’s President has the potential to bring the plight of Uganda to the attention of the world, and more so, it packs enough of a punch to maybe, just maybe, inspire some action from that attention. What more can you wish to achieve with film?
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