They say fear can make even strong men silent. There was a day in Uganda when silence almost changed history.
According to a widely shared political anecdote, the former Ugandan leader Idi Amin once summoned an emergency cabinet meeting without warning or explanation. No agenda was circulated and no minister knew why they had been called. They arrived anxious and confused, fully aware that meetings under authoritarian rule rarely ended casually.
When everyone was seated, Amin rose confidently and announced what he believed was a grand national vision. He declared that Uganda would change its name. From that day forward, he proposed, the country would be known simply as “IDI.”
The room fell into a heavy silence, not the ordinary silence of contemplation but the tense quiet of people carefully measuring their reactions. In such environments, hesitation could be dangerous.
One minister began clapping cautiously. Another quickly followed, louder this time. Within moments, the entire room erupted in applause, each official eager to demonstrate enthusiasm. Compliments followed immediately. Some praised the brilliance of the idea, others described it as visionary leadership, and one even suggested it would confuse the nation’s enemies.
Yet in one corner sat a minister named Walyamungu, quiet and thoughtful. He did not clap. He appeared more concerned with consequences than with survival through flattery.
Amin noticed.
Pointing directly at him, the president asked why he was not applauding and whether he disagreed with the proposal. The atmosphere instantly froze. Every person present understood the risk behind such a question.
Walyamungu stood slowly and respectfully requested permission to ask a question before the decision was finalized. Amin agreed.
The minister asked whether the president knew of a country called Cyprus. Amin confirmed that he did. Walyamungu then explained that the people of Cyprus are known as Cypriots.
After a brief pause, he added calmly that if Uganda were renamed Idi, its citizens would logically be called Idiots.
The room descended into complete silence. No one moved. No one spoke. Time seemed suspended as everyone waited for the president’s reaction.
Amin stared at him for several long moments. Then, unexpectedly, he burst into laughter. Pointing at Walyamungu, he reportedly declared that the two of them were the only intelligent men in the cabinet and announced that the country would remain Uganda.
Relief swept across the room. This time, the applause that followed was genuine.
Whether told as political folklore or moral illustration, the story endures because of the lesson it carries. Fear allows poor ideas to survive unchallenged, while courage creates space for reason. Silence, especially among capable people, can permit foolishness to grow unchecked. Yet a single thoughtful voice, spoken at the right moment and with wisdom, can redirect the course of events.
Sometimes the bravest act is not confrontation or rebellion but simply the willingness to speak when everyone else chooses silence.
