Uganda's Gaza gambit: Military deployment tied to UN Secretary-General ambitions

Uganda's Parliament voted on August 6 to send soldiers to Gaza, and the decision reveals something about how smaller nations navigate the world's biggest power struggles. The government, led by Defence Minister Kiryowa Kiwanuka, framed the deployment as a straightforward commitment to international stability. But the real calculation runs deeper: Uganda has nominated Olara Otunnu, a veteran diplomat, for the position of UN Secretary-General, and military officials believe that showing willingness to shoulder global security burdens could persuade powerful nations to back their candidate.

This is not Uganda's first time using military deployments as a tool of statecraft. Since 2007, Ugandan forces have been central to the African Union's mission in Somalia, fighting al-Qaeda-affiliated al-Shabaab and becoming, in the words of one military official, "the anchor of stability in a sea of turbulence." The country has since deployed troops across South Sudan, the Democratic Republic of Congo, and Equatorial Guinea. These missions have cemented Uganda's reputation as a reliable security partner for Western powers, particularly the United States, which has extensively trained and supported Ugandan forces. The Gaza deployment would extend this pattern into a new region and a far more volatile political landscape.

The Gaza mission is part of a broader US-backed plan called the Board of Peace, backed by President Donald Trump's administration. Five countries—Albania, Indonesia, Kazakhstan, Kosovo, and Morocco—have already been formally identified as founding contributors to the International Stabilisation Force. Uganda would become the sixth. Other regional powers, including Egypt, Jordan, Turkey, Saudi Arabia, Qatar, the United Arab Emirates, and Pakistan, have engaged with the wider peace initiative but have not committed combat troops. The force is meant to protect civilians and facilitate humanitarian access in a territory where millions have been displaced by conflict.

Yet Gaza presents a diplomatic minefield that Somalia never did. Uganda maintains relationships across the Middle East, including with the Palestine Liberation Organisation, and holds membership in the Organisation of Islamic Cooperation. Joining a US-backed force risks being perceived as an extension of American policy rather than a neutral peacekeeper—a distinction that could prove fatal if Hamas or other armed groups view Ugandan troops as legitimate targets. Emma Belinda Were, head of international relations at Uganda's Government Media Centre, acknowledged the delicate balance required. She warned that clear communication about Uganda's objectives would be essential, and that military deployments alone cannot resolve the underlying conflict rooted in more than a century of competing claims, wars, and failed peace efforts.

Defence Minister Kiwanuka has sought to draw a sharp line between Uganda's military role and the political questions that define Gaza. Ugandan troops, he said, would remain neutral, comply with international humanitarian law, and protect civilians without taking sides. Their operations would be governed by clearly defined rules of engagement. But this framing glosses over a harder reality: any force operating in Gaza will inevitably confront questions about who controls territory, who provides security, and what political future Palestinians are offered. A military presence cannot answer those questions.

Opposition legislators raised practical concerns that cut to the heart of the risk calculus. Jamal Ayagalaki, MP for Bukooli County North, asked who would finance the mission and what would happen to Ugandan soldiers and their families if troops were killed or injured. He questioned whether the strategic returns justified the exposure to new security threats, asking why Uganda would involve itself in a conflict that was not its own. These were not abstract objections. Ugandan soldiers have returned from previous deployments with complaints about their welfare, and some have not returned at all.

Uganda's relationship with Israel adds another layer of complexity. Since the 1976 Entebbe raid—when Israeli commandos rescued hostages from a hijacked plane during Idi Amin's era—the two countries have grown closer. Last month, Uganda installed a statue of Yonatan Netanyahu, the Israeli Prime Minister's brother who died in that rescue mission, at Entebbe International Airport. Yet the modern conflict in Gaza has created an acute humanitarian crisis and displaced millions. Supporting a stabilisation force backed by Israel's closest ally, while maintaining credibility with Palestinian and Muslim constituencies, requires a diplomatic skill that even experienced nations struggle to master.

What Uganda is betting on is that the diplomatic returns—a stronger position for Otunnu's UN bid, deeper ties with Western security partners, and continued relevance in global affairs—will outweigh the risks of becoming entangled in a conflict where military solutions have repeatedly failed to produce lasting peace. Whether that gamble pays off depends not on Uganda's soldiers or its diplomats, but on forces largely beyond Kampala's control: the trajectory of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, the stability of the broader Middle East, and the willingness of powerful nations to reward military loyalty with political support.