Amin, King of Scots (An Imaginary Narrative)
First Impressions of Kampala
When I first stepped off the plane in Kampala, the air was heavy with both humidity and tension. Uganda was a nation in flux, and at its center of power stood the newly installed Idi Amin, a towering figure whose presence seemed to dominate every conversation, every corridor of power. As a Chinese envoy, my mission was clear: to extend an invitation to Amin to visit Beijing, to strengthen ties between our nations at a time when Africa was redefining its place in the world.
I remember the drive from Entebbe Airport vividly. Posters of Amin lined the streets, his image painted as both protector and father of the nation. Tanks rolled to guard against possible threats remaining after the coup, to hunt down loyalists to the old regime. Soldiers patrolled with stern faces, and ordinary Ugandans spoke cautiously, measuring every word. For me, this trip was just another diplomatic mission for our two fledgeling nations, yet it could be so much more.
In those first days, I observed Amin’s charisma. He was magnetic, commanding attention in every room, drawing immediate attention upon speaking. But I also sensed volatility, a man who thrived on unpredictability and did not quite know what to do with Uganda or his newfound power simply. To invite him to Beijing meant navigating this duality, I sensed the need to appeal to his pride while reassuring him of China’s respect for Uganda’s sovereignty and acknowledgement of its independence.
The State House Meet
Kampala’s State House was a place of grandeur, yet it carried an undercurrent of unease. When I met Amin, he greeted me with a booming laugh and a handshake that nearly crushed my fingers. He spoke of his military triumphs, his vision for Uganda, and his desire to be seen as a global statesman. For Beijing, this was an opportunity: Amin wanted recognition, and China sought allies in Africa to counter Western influence at that Cold War era.
Our conversations were complex. Amin admired China’s revolutionary spirit, its defiance of colonial powers, and its rapid transformation. He asked pointed questions about Mao’s leadership, about how China had mobilised its people. I responded carefully, framing China as a partner that respected Uganda’s independence while offering friendship and solidarity. After all, the Foreign Ministry’s policies weren’t clear regarding African nations then, we were all instructed to “get on friendly terms” with all Third World countries.
Get KW Luk’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
Reports of disappearances, of political opponents silenced, reached my ears even as Amin spoke of unity. As a diplomat, I had to compartmentalise to focus on the mission, to see Amin not only as a controversial figure but as a leader whose cooperation could reshape Uganda’s relationship with Asia. My personal aides and the other diplomats had no issue with Uganda’s human rights problems, and all joyfully did their part in expressing their admiration and praise.
The Invitation Ticket
When the moment came to extend the invitation, I chose my words with precision. I spoke of Beijing’s admiration for Uganda’s resilience, of the shared struggle against imperialism, and of the opportunities for cultural and economic exchange. Amin’s eyes lit up. He leaned forward, intrigued by the prospect of standing alongside Chinese leaders, of being welcomed on the world stage not as a pariah but as a partner. He wanted validation desperately, which he could not get in full from the West for his ambitions.
For me, the invitation was more than a diplomatic formality. Amin accepted with enthusiasm, promising to bring Uganda’s spirit to Beijing. I knew the visit would be symbolic, more a chance for China to showcase its solidarity with Africa, and for Amin to bolster his image internationally.
As I left the State House that evening for a humble little guesthouse outside the city, I reflected on the value of my mission. To invite Amin was to embrace both opportunity and risk. Yet in diplomacy, certainty is rare. What mattered was the gesture, the willingness to engage, and the hope that dialogue could temper regional and geopolitical volatility, giving Maoist China a much needed ally. Through the eyes of my Chinese envoys, Amin was not simply a dictator; he was a man seeking recognition, and Beijing was ready to provide it.
A Personal Touch
In the end, with Mao’s ailing health and other geopolitical variables, the deal never worked out. Amin’s own policies and strategic calculations pressured both sides to stop discussing the matter, with only limited cooperation remaining due to China’s support of all African liberation efforts.
For China, the invitation was strategic. For me, it was personal. I had seen Amin’s laughter, his temper, his hunger for respect. And I had seen the faces of Ugandans who lived under his rule, cautious yet hopeful. In the end, diplomacy is about navigating such contrasts, finding common ground even when the terrain is uneven, and not simply leaning one-sided, upholding idealistic/unrealistic standards.
