In Uganda’s political theatre, a meeting with the President increasingly resembles an audience with a generous patron. At the recent Jazz With Jajja gathering at Kisozi Ranch, that dynamic played out once again when a prominent Ugandan content creator stepped forward with an unusual request. Daniel Katende, also known as Kasuku, a prominent Ugandan YouTuber and influencer, stepped up to the microphone and asked the President for money. He argued that some people were asking him for a “share” following his earlier meeting with the President on January 4, 2026. The fountain of Honor inquired whether the group was well organised. Kasuku confirmed that they were, noting that they operated under a SACCO. The President subsequently pledged UGX 5 billion to their SACCO.
The moment quickly made headlines and spread across social media, celebrated in some circles as recognition of the growing role of digital creators in Uganda’s economy. Yet beyond the applause lies a more uncomfortable question: what does it mean when entire sectors begin seeking solutions through personal appeals to the President rather than through institutions and policy?
Uganda’s creative economy is undeniably expanding. Content creators today command audiences that rival those of traditional media outlets. Their platforms shape conversations, influence public opinion, and in many cases generate significant advertising revenue. Supporting this sector is not inherently misguided. Around the world, governments are exploring ways to nurture creative industries that contribute to employment and economic growth.
The problem is not the idea of supporting content creators. The problem is the method.
Across the world, public funds are typically channelled through structured programs, transparent grants, or institutional frameworks designed to ensure accountability. In Uganda, however, financial pledges made during highly publicized presidential interactions have increasingly become a recurring feature of political life. Artists, youth groups, boda boda associations, and other interest groups often leave such encounters with promises of financial support running into billions of shillings.
While these gestures are presented as empowerment, they also raise questions about sustainability and transparency. Uganda already has a long history of youth empowerment initiatives and revolving funds that struggled to deliver lasting impact. Schemes such as Emyooga and similar programs were launched with ambitious promises but have frequently been criticized for weak oversight and limited accountability.
A pledge of UGX 5 billion to a content creators’ SACCO risks following the same trajectory unless it is anchored in clear structures, professional management, and transparent oversight.
There is also an undeniable political dimension to the moment. In the digital age, influence has shifted dramatically from traditional mobilization networks to online platforms. Young Ugandans increasingly consume information through YouTube, TikTok, X, and other social media channels where content creators hold considerable sway. Their ability to shape narratives makes them a powerful constituency in their own right.
Against that backdrop, financial support directed toward influencers may be interpreted by some as an attempt to cultivate goodwill within a demographic that is often critical of political authority. Whether intentional or not, such gestures blur the line between economic empowerment and political patronage.
This raises another question of priorities.
Uganda continues to grapple with persistent challenges in critical sectors. Medical workers have repeatedly raised concerns about salaries and working conditions. Teachers frequently strike over delayed payments and inadequate resources. In many rural areas, classrooms remain overcrowded or improvised.
For citizens navigating these realities, the spectacle of billions pledged during a ranch gathering inevitably invites scrutiny. Public resources are finite, and every allocation reflects a set of priorities about how national development should proceed.
More broadly, the pattern reinforces a political culture in which the President is positioned as the ultimate problem-solver for nearly every sector of society. Instead of strengthening institutions capable of addressing economic challenges through policy, regulation, and investment, the system increasingly encourages groups to seek personal intervention from the highest office in the land.
This approach may generate short-term political goodwill, but it comes at a long-term institutional cost. When economic sectors rely on presidential pledges rather than structured policy frameworks, institutions are weakened and accountability becomes harder to enforce.
Uganda’s creative industries deserve serious support. Fashion designers, filmmakers, musicians, digital creators, and visual artists are already contributing to the country’s cultural identity and economic potential. With the right policies, they could become an important driver of job creation and export growth.
But meaningful support for the creative economy should come through institutions, not improvised pledges.
Otherwise, the country risks transforming economic development into a recurring spectacle in which citizens line up with proposals and personal stories, hoping their moment before the President will unlock the next billion-shilling promise.
In the end, Uganda’s youth deserve something more durable than applause at a ranch gathering. They deserve systems that allow talent to flourish without requiring an audience with power.
Five billion shillings later, the deeper question remains unresolved: is Uganda building a creative economy, or simply extending its long tradition of political patronage into the digital age?
