To the Comfortable and Untouchable,

I’m done. I’m no longer going to pretend that we all live in the same country, or face the same risks. I can’t sit in silence while you keep pretending your wealth will protect you from the consequences of failed leadership. It won’t.

Rajiv Ruparelia is dead. He didn’t die in war. He didn’t die from a disease. He died on a road that was never finished because someone in the government got paid to abandon it. Because the people who were supposed to care didn’t. Because when you have private drivers and choppers, what do you care about a broken road?

This is not just a tragedy. It’s a warning. It’s what happens when corruption is left to rot every inch of the country while the privileged hide behind walls and tinted glass. Our roads are death traps. Our hospitals are empty shells. Our schools are barely functioning. And it’s been like this for years. But you never feel it, because you fly your kids out to study. You fly yourselves out to heal. You live in Uganda, but not with us.

And now one of your own is gone. Maybe now you’ll finally see that no one is safe from this decay, not even those with money and a big last name. Maybe now you’ll understand that ignoring bad governance doesn’t keep it from reaching your doorstep. It just delays the knock.

Rajiv’s death isn’t just a loss, it’s the cost. The cost of silence. Of turning away. Of thinking you’re above it all. Enough. We should all be angry. We should all be demanding answers. And if you’re still comfortable in your silence after this, then you’re part of the reason we keep burying potential.

I won’t be part of this charade anymore. I refuse to pretend that this is normal. Uganda deserves better. Rajiv deserved better.

I’m out.