By Joseph Mbazzi Muguluma (Immanuel Ben Misagga)
The death of a King may bring mourning to a Kingdom, but it cannot bring the Kingdom’s affairs to a standstill.
That is the central argument behind the Kifuuta Oracle’s counsel on royal succession: the death of a monarch marks the beginning of a political transition, not the suspension of the Kingdom itself.
In the palace, grief and governance must exist side by side. While the people mourn, the institution of the monarchy must continue to function.
The principle is simple: the King may die, but the Crown cannot.
History offers several examples of monarchies treating succession as an urgent matter rather than an issue to be addressed after burial.
In Britain, the constitutional principle is famously expressed as “The King is dead, long live the King.” When Queen Elizabeth II died on 8 September 2022, Charles immediately became King Charles III. His coronation came months later, but the succession itself did not wait.
The same principle was evident in Saudi Arabia in 2015. When King Abdullah died, Salman succeeded him immediately, while the funeral arrangements followed. The continuity of the state could not be placed on hold while the country mourned.
The Ottoman Empire offers an even more dramatic example. Succession disputes were regarded as an existential threat to the state, and Ottoman rulers developed brutal mechanisms to prevent rival princes from plunging the empire into prolonged civil conflict.
The lesson from these historical experiences is not that every Kingdom should copy another’s customs. Rather, it is that the question of who succeeds a monarch has always been inseparable from the survival of the institution itself.
And this brings the argument home to the Kingdoms of Uganda.
BUGANDA’S HISTORY SHOWS HOW SERIOUS SUCCESSION CAN BE
Buganda’s history demonstrates that royal succession has never been a matter that could simply be postponed indefinitely until mourning was complete.
The deaths, disappearances and political upheavals surrounding Kabaka Mutesa I and Kabaka Mwanga II were accompanied by intense struggles over authority and legitimacy.
When the throne becomes vulnerable, competing interests naturally begin calculating their next move.
That is why the Kifuuta elders’ metaphor of shaping steel while it is still hot carries political weight.
Once uncertainty settles into a Kingdom, removing it can become considerably more difficult.
The same logic applies beyond Buganda—to Bunyoro, Busoga and other traditional institutions where the continuity of the throne represents more than the individual who occupies it.
A Kingdom is an institution, a historical identity and a system of cultural authority. Its continuity therefore cannot depend entirely on the emotional timetable of bereavement.
THE KING MAY BE GONE, BUT THE KINGSHIP MUST CONTINUE
This is where the succession debate becomes particularly sensitive.
Those calling for immediate clarity on succession are not necessarily dismissing the dignity of the deceased monarch or the importance of funeral rites.
Their argument is that mourning the person and protecting the institution are two different responsibilities.
The people may need time to grieve.
The Kingdom, however, still needs direction.
Who assumes authority? Who protects the institution? Who oversees the traditional processes? Who ensures that the Kingdom’s interests are not captured by competing factions during a period of uncertainty?
Those questions do not disappear because a funeral is taking place.
Indeed, in traditional institutions, the funeral itself can form part of the broader transition between one reign and another.
WHY MWENDA’S POSITION HAS GENERATED SUCH A DEBATE
Against that historical backdrop, Andrew Mwenda’s intervention can be interpreted as an argument about institutional continuity rather than simply a personal confrontation over succession.
His supporters see his urgency as an attempt to force the succession question onto the table before competing interests become entrenched.
His critics may interpret the same urgency as premature or disrespectful.
But that disagreement should not obscure the larger question:
How should a Kingdom protect the continuity of its institution when its monarch dies?
That is the real debate.
The danger, according to the Kifuuta perspective, is not mourning itself. The danger is allowing mourning to create an institutional vacuum that others can exploit.
A throne left uncertain can become a battlefield.
And once rival camps begin organising around competing claims, restoring unity becomes far more difficult.
THE WISDOM OF KIFUUTA
The elders’ message can therefore be reduced to one powerful principle:
Prepare for succession before the moment of succession becomes a crisis.
The death of a King should never mean the death of the Kingdom’s institutional rhythm.
One drum may fall silent, but another must take up the beat.
That does not diminish the departed King. On the contrary, ensuring that the institution he represented survives may be the ultimate tribute to his reign.
The argument, therefore, is not mourning versus succession.
It is mourning alongside succession.
The Kingdom must grieve its King while simultaneously protecting the Crown.
Because history repeatedly demonstrates one uncomfortable truth: when power becomes uncertain, someone will move to occupy the space.
And by the time the mourners finish crying, the battle for the throne may already have been decided.
The King is dead. The Kingdom must live.
