Will the world mourn when Dr Besigye Rests?

There is a tragedy in the way humanity often celebrates its heroes. We wait until they are gone before rushing to write glowing obituaries, laying hundreds of roses at their feet, filling memorial halls and extolling their courage, sacrifice and conviction.

Yet all they ever longed for was to hear those words, receive those flowers and know they were valued while they were still among us.

Lately, Dr. Kizza Besigye, one of Uganda's opposition leaders, has been on my mind.

If the day were to come when Dr. Besigye breathed his last, will the world mourn? Will Africa weep for one of its sons? Will we gather at memorial services and on discussion panels to recount how he dedicated decades of his life to challenging power, often at immense personal cost? Will we finally consider him a patriot, a hero, a man whose fidelity to his convictions superseded his own comfort? Will messages of condolence flow from across Africa, praising his resilience and commitment to his beliefs?

This conversation is not about whether one agrees with Dr. Besigye's politics or supports his vision for Uganda. Democracies across the world have been built on differing views and political competition, where the majority has its way and societies move forward. The question here is about our sense of humanity.

At what point do we cease to see a human being and only see a political problem? What does it say about us when prolonged detention, deteriorating health and persistent concerns over due process no longer shock our conscience?

The modern world prides itself on an international order founded on the rule of law. The Universal Declaration of Human Rights, the African Charter on Human and Peoples' Rights, and countless national constitutions all proclaim that human dignity is inherent and inalienable.

Their position has been that justice must not only be done but must also be seen to be done. Yet, when competing interests emerge, these noble principles often remain just but words on paper.

We have witnessed governments invoke sovereignty when they choose not to align themselves with these principles.

We have seen international partners weigh strategic alliances and geopolitical interests before speaking boldly against human rights violations and injustice in other countries. Regional bodies have largely turned their faces away in the interest of good neighbourliness.

But of what good are these relationships if they cannot protect the sanctity of life, the very essence of our existence?

Every time the world goes quiet in the face of serious injustice and grave human rights concerns, it reveals just how easily the value of a human life becomes entangled in calculations of power, and how little regard we sometimes have for the sacredness of life itself.

Dr. Besigye's case extends far beyond Uganda. It challenges the African Union, regional institutions, governments, civil society and ordinary citizens alike.

It is collectively testing our commitment to human dignity and our willingness to speak truth to power when political interests stand in the way of justice.

The world will mourn when Dr. Besigye rests. We will dedicate acres of newspaper space to tell his story.

Lectures and vigils will be held to celebrate one of Africa's gallant sons. Maybe, someday, even a monument will be erected in an attempt to immortalise him. But it need not be this way.

Our heroes should not have to exit the stage before we exhaust ourselves in acknowledging their sacrifice and contribution to society.

Even as we need them in our history books, we need them to read about themselves while they are still here.

We need to honour them by raising our voices when theirs become feeble with age or illness. We need to let them know that their worth and their place in society are just as valuable today as they will be when they are gone.

We should refuse to become the generation that is eloquent in writing obituaries but silent when those we wish to honour are still here to read our words, hear our voices and know that we stood with them when justice still had a chance and when our voices could still make a difference.