Weekly post editor fleeing story, the innevitable

Fleeing; Story Of Eleneus Akanga
I could see it coming: a series of articles regarded as controversial by those responsible for the payroll at The New Times; one too many clashes with the second in command; and a decline in the number of assignments
I waas being given. It was only a matter of time, I suspected, before something unfolded. An article quoting President Paul Kagame saying he never wanted to be president, another about the education ministry’s goof over teachers from neighbouring Kenya, and some stinging opinions in my Sunday column, had all put me among the cream of Rwandan journalism. So when the Chinese came looking for someone to tour Beijing, my name was suggested.



I had handled many assignments, but getting this one would be difficult, reason being Mr Ignatius Kabagambe—the then-managing editor of The New Times and a man whose position as the president’s cousin had earned him an immediate recall from Kampala—was also interested. He was looking at the five-day trip to Beijing as the equivalent of an invitation to the Lord’s Supper. wKabagambe immediately began campaigning for the assignment. He quickly arranged for me to be sent to The Nation in Nairobi for training and subsequently used my busy schedule as proof that I was unfit for the assignment.

Kabagambe believed that my one month-stay in Nairobi would keep me busy and ensure that he landed the trip of his life. He could not have been more wrong. The Banyarwanda have a saying that you can never argue with the person who is burying you and it came to pass but while at Makerere University, a Muganda friend of mine had told me that God eats no Donuts. So I banked on this.

Kabagambe dozed off and by the time he woke up, the Beijing-bound plane was on the runway without him. His acrimonious attempts to control events and gag his way into the China assignment had come to a deserved end.

Meanwhile, in Kenya my lessons went well, I learnt a lot, and even came back a better scribe.

Kabagambe never forgave me for this. Even if he had missed the plane by his own error, he was determined to ensure I never lived to celebrate or remind him later of what he had missed. Getting rid of me became his only option.

First, for him to do it in a way that no one would question, his allegations had to be strong and convincing. As second in command at the paper, Kabagambe could not just fire me on a whim. I had authority at the paper and had won fans in Kigali and across the country. In order for the boss, David Kabuye, to ratify my marching orders, I had to be portrayed not only as a threat to the progress of the company, but also as a serially incompetent journalist.

Kabagambe told Kabuye that I was lazy, a non-performer, and that I had failed to write enough stories. The idea of counting stories had become popular at the paper and what mattered most according to those in charge was not quality but quantity. My reporting had utterly disregarded this contemptible school of though; Kabagambe was sure to nick me on that account.

But despite all Kabagambe’s moaning, Kabuye believed in second chances and saw no reason to show me the exit just yet. This angered Kabagambe who wanted to be in full control and immediately started vying for Kabuye’s post. After all, his belief was that he had been brought in to head The New Times and not to play second fiddle to someone unwilling to do his bidding.

Using his position as Kagame’s cousin, he began peddling a lie to the National Security Service that I was a Ugandan spy. If incompetence at The New Times wasn’t serving his interests, the state security would certainly sell-out right away. From a darling reporter to a suspected spy, my troubles had begun.

On February 17, 2007, after a local journalist had been beaten into a coma by unknown thugs, I set out—with the blessing of Kabagambe himself—to work on a story which, little did I know, would not only cost me my job, but make me the most wanted journalist in Rwanda.

The story was about the growth in uncertainty and fear among journalists after a series of coordinated attacks against the media that included beatings, intimidating phone calls, and other similar abuses.

It was soon published, but promptly raised dust at the president’s office. Kabagambe was quick to lay the blame at my door. He summoned me into his office and told me that my story had been exaggerated and untrue. Stunned, I asked whether he had not realised as much when he edited and accepted the piece. But just as I knew at the time, you can never argue with a superior lest a warning letter become part of your possession.

With the rod heating up fast over the story, Kabuye was sent into a forced leave of absence, originally intended to be only for a month. Kabagambe then became the acting editor in chief. It was Kabagambe’s dream come true; Akanga would leave at once!

It therefore did not surprise me when, on Sunday, March 31, I was served a sacking letter. In it, I was accused of writing an unfounded and exaggerated story and of discrediting Rwanda in front of its development partners. It hypocritically ended wishing me the best of luck in my future endeavours.

A week later, I joined forces with Julius Mwesigye, a former news editor fired just two days after me, Isa Kainamura, the former webmaster who had resigned of her own accord, and Sulah Nuwamanya, the former upcountry news editor, who had also resigned in protest of the ill-treatment of friends. Together, we decided to start a weekly newspaper called The Weekly Post. I am certain we were right to do so.

With the paper’s registration complete and everything else in order, we hit the streets of Kigali, Kampala, and Bujumbura on June 4 and 5, 2007. Surprised by the move and wary that The New Times was under threat; Kabagambe rushed to Emmanuel Ndahiro, the Board Chairman of The New Times and head of National Security Service, to plead for our closure.

Permeated with enough lies and a handful of unsubstantiated evidence, Dr. Ndahiro ordered for The Weekly Post’s closure through Information Minister, Prof. Laurent Nkusi. State agents were deployed to watch our movements, who we met and who talked to.

Word went around that we had received money from both the American embassy and the Ugandan government. But realising that the America link was unlikely to hold water, especially since it is US government policy that embassies don’t give financial assistance to media outlets, it was dropped.


Grudges

wanda and Uganda have nursed grudges against each other ever since the infamous Kisangani clashes in the Democratic Republic of Congo. The two continue to accuse each other of using their nationals to spy on either side of the border in an endless cat and mouse game. Sadly, it is the innocent citizens who continue to suffer.

With the paper off the streets and pressure mounting from both within and without, the protagonists of the closure had to find legitimate reasons to shut us down. Their superiors needed answers and the quicker the answers permeated into the top circle, the fewer the disappointment.

In authoritarian states, there is nothing more important than state security. It was no wonder that it quickly went to the top of the agenda.

The image of our weekly newspaper was abruptly transformed from just a mere source of news and revenue for its founders to an incredible Ugandan government tool of infiltration. The fact that the Ugandan government had bankrolled our existence, they argued, made us more likely to be used to jeopardise the security of Rwanda.

Names of those within the weekly who looked more malleable to the interests of Kampala were put forward and their files were immediately taken to the offices of the National Security Services (NSS). With a concocted version of the story and perhaps a good number of incriminating pages inserted in our files by the detractors, the NSS boss could not avoid calling for an immediate closure.

This he did irrespective of how illegal the action was likely to be. He was not going to allow his country’s enemy to operate right under his nose and as boss to The New Times; he certainly was not in for any sort of competition.

Using Information Minister Nkusi as the scapegoat, the NSS issued an order to shut down the weekly with immediate effect. On June 6, the maverick professor famously backtracked on his earlier decision and ordered the cancellation of our operating licence.

He gave no reasons. Impeccable sources have alleged that the letter was indeed pre-written and the minister merely appended his signature.

It was such a blow, especially because it was served to us as we tried to put our heads together for the second edition. I will always remember the sad look on the face of every member of The Weekly Post as we held a crisis meeting over the infamous directive.

To make matters worse, Ignatius Kabagambe, then acting manager of The New Times, was the first to call our office. We decided on seeing his mobile phone call that he be put on a loud speaker so we could all hear what he was saying. Unfortunately for us, or fortunately for him, it was one of his journalists, Ignatius Ssuuna. He was using his boss’s mobile phone.

During my time at The New Times, I remember Kabagambe telling off reporters who requested to use his phone and instructing them to use the editorial phone instead. I still cannot find explanations as to why he was so willing this time around, to offer his mobile for the story.

Was it a big fish story, one that the Times wanted so badly? How had he suddenly known that we had just received the minister’s letter and what on earth was he confirming? We could have settled for the events as being an impeccable coincidence had he not bragged about our closure. Why did he then tell one of his reporters Joseph Mudingu, to “forget ever joining the Post because it has been effectively stopped”?


Spies
Whatever the case, this was just the beginning of a bad spell. With the letter now in our possession, we were declared official Ugandan spies. Hordes of NSS operatives, amazingly including those that we knew, were deployed with orders to follow each and every one of us, monitor who we met, when we met them, and if possible, provide feedback on such deliberations.

Our phones were put under surveillance and sometimes tapped. It became obvious that whenever we made appointments over our phones to meet anywhere around Kigali, we always found company.

As expected, we made attempts to seek justice because much as we were not sure of what was likely to happen, we always knew that we were innocent and thought that at one time, those in positions of power and influence would listen to our side of the story and be able to judge accordingly. But no one came to our rescue. Not even the High Council of the Press (HCP), an organ set up to ensure harmony between the state and the press.

On June 28, under some pressure from members of the diplomatic corps in Kigali, the HCP was forced to write to the minister after a session pointing out his mistake and advising that he rescinds his decision to close us down and ensures that justice is done.

Although the HCP action was a response to our letter seeking justice, we never got a copy of the letter they sent to the minister.

We were told on several occasions that the minister’s letter had been written in Kinyarwanda so we couldn’t get a copy because our original letter was in English. After continued pressure to have a copy, Patrice Mulama, the HCP executive secretary, came up with a spin; the copy was ready but the HCP president was nowhere to sign it. Nonetheless, at the end of the day, we were told there was no letter for us.

It was now becoming very clear that something was afoot and the more any of us inquired, the more we became the subject of debate within the NSS. I remember Rwanda Television relaying a doctored version of a press conference by Professor Nkusi where he was shown answering some of my questions, but deliberately cutting out the part where I was asking.

But the mother of all jokes was when, after a futile attempt to attend President Kagame’s monthly press conference, he told reporters that he knew nothing about the Weekly Post. If this was surprising, it was not as startling as instructing fellow journalists not to ask any questions about the Post’s closure.

That is when it became apparent that things were indeed serious.

Had it not been for a tip from a strong confidant within the NSS, my fate would have been different. And like Canadian journalist Madelaine Drohan told me, no story or situation is worth one’s life.

A spy is the last thing you want to be called in a country like Rwanda, which is extremely intolerant of even the mildest forms of critical reporting. I knew that if I did not leave, the alternative would have been worse.