Amin's Forced March

Uganda celebrated the tenth anniversary of its independence from Britain last week. It was hardly an occasion for rejoicing. Under its unpredictable military ruler, General Idi ("Big Daddy") Amin Dada, the country has drifted closer and closer to chaos. It was an especially bitter holiday for Uganda's 10,000 Asian citizens, who have watched helplessly while Amin ordered the expulsion of tens of thousands of other Asians with British or Indian passports. Last week, after Amin "suggested" that they take part in the anniversary parade, the Asians responded with a pathetic gesture of "loyalty" to the regime that has set out to destroy them. TIME's Peter Hawthorne was on hand to witness the event. His report:

A 21-gun salute set the pied crows to wheeling and wailing in the sky above Kololo Stadium in Kampala, Uganda's beautiful capital. As 2,000 soldiers led the British-style trooping of the colors, and the crowd sweated in the searing equatorial sun, General Amin flamboyantly conferred an array of honors on his distinguished visitors. The First Class Order of the Source of the Nile went to Somalia's General Mohamed Barre, while the Second Class Order of the same medal was bestowed upon the Sudanese Vice President, Major General Mohamed El-Bagir. Then Big Daddy decorated members of his own armed forces for meritorious service during the recent border skirmishes with Tanzania, handing out a seemingly endless number of "Distinguished Service Orders," "Military Crosses," and "Victorious Service Crosses." During the lengthy ceremony an elderly Asian fainted and was carted off to an ambulance, betel-nut juice dripping like blood from his slack mouth.

While the crowd swayed and roared "Dada! Dada!" Amin barreled along, beaming as he inspected his troops, as well as boy scouts and youth leaguers. The Asian marchers brought up the tail end of the parade. As they shambled past, trying to get into step to the band's rendition of Old Folks at Home, African spectators laughed derisively.

There is a sort of Evelyn Waugh-torn atmosphere in Kampala. While a vast crowd of Africans swarmed up Acacia Avenue toward the stadium, a lone white man carried on unperturbedly with his golf game on the course near by, his black caddy trotting dutifully by his side. Foreign journalists are definitely not welcome in the capital these days, and the few whites in the streets get curious stares, particularly if they are carrying cameras.

Many Asian families have moved into city hotels while they wait for flights to London or Bombay. Women and children are swathed in silk saris and wear whatever jewelry they own in order to prevent it from being stolen or confiscated; even the smallest child wears pearls in her ear lobes or nostrils. The men have developed a reflex of patting breast pockets to make sure their passports are still there. Strangers identify themselves to one another by mentioning the names of companies they were associated with. "National Trading," says one woman, referring to one of the country's largest wholesale merchants. "Desai Bros., General Dealers," says another.

At the East African Airways terminal, an Asian boy says proudly that he is going to Leicester, England. His exhausted father explains that he has read a warning from the city of Leicester that there is no more room for Asians. But what can he do? His only relatives are in Leicester, he says, so he must go there too. Another young man, an engineer, declares that he is going to Chicago, U.S.A.--he pronounces it "Shee-cago,"--where he has an uncle who is a "medical practitioner."

The exodus of the Asians has already had an obvious effect on the economy of Kampala. Jobless Africans are clamoring for work at the city's hotels, which are running short of bread, soap and even gin; one must drink vodka to immunize oneself against the mosquito bites. Restaurants guard their menus like gold: most of the printing in the city was done by Asians. In the commercial sector of Kampala, nearly 80% of the shops are now shut and barred; in some the stock can be seen gathering dust behind the steel mesh placed across the windows. There has been very little looting up to now, probably because the "duka-wallahs" (Asian shopkeepers) have always secured their stores as if they were Fort Knox.

But there will be looting soon, one departing storekeeper told me, as he padlocked his shop for the last time. "I'm leaving $40,000 worth of stock in there," he said. "I can't eat it, I can't take it with me, so I leave it." He gestured down the street. "Already, see, there are the unemployed. I employed four Africans in my shop and two in my home. Now they have no jobs. Soon they will be hungry. Then they will find a way into my shop, if the soldiers don't get there first."

The Asians keep their eyes lowered--and perhaps their fingers crossed--as they pass the police and army roadblocks on the way to Entebbe Airport. It is little consolation to them to know that their forced departure is creating an economic crisis with which Amin's government is obviously incapable of coping. "I give the place three months," declares a Kenya businessman who can find no qualified Ugandan to run his Kampala-based company. "Amin may still have a country, but the country will have nothing." The Kenyan adds bitterly: "The general will probably only realize it when he finds he can't get any medals minted any more. The Asians even did that."

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