By Isaac Christopher Lubogo
1. The American Ten-Year Testament
When the Speaker of the U.S. House remarked that “it takes about ten years to amend the Constitution,” he was not simply describing a bureaucratic inconvenience — he was speaking to a civilizational ethic: that power, in a democracy, must mature slowly.
In America, an amendment is a national pilgrimage.
It begins in the halls of Congress, crosses the ideological wilderness of fifty states, and ends only when three-quarters of them agree that the Constitution — that sacred covenant of the republic — should yield to change.
The 22nd Amendment, which limited U.S. presidents to two terms, took four years (1947–1951) to ratify.
The 26th, lowering the voting age to 18, was lightning-fast — three months — but only because the Vietnam War had ignited moral consensus across the political spectrum.
Otherwise, the rhythm of American amendment is slow, deliberate, and almost spiritual.
It is not mere procedure; it is the constitutional embodiment of humility before history.
The American understands that haste is the language of tyranny, but patience is the poetry of democracy.
2. The African Ten-Minute Amendment
Cross now to Africa — the land where constitutions are written in ink but amended in appetite.
Whereas the American Constitution has endured since 1789 with only 27 amendments, many African constitutions, younger by two centuries, have been amended more times than their presidents have faced elections.
In Uganda, it took barely two nights in December 2017 for Parliament to lift the presidential age limit, effectively allowing President Museveni — already in power for over three decades — to extend his tenure indefinitely.
It was not a decade-long debate across fifty states; it was a 10-hour session across a crowded Parliament where dissenting voices were beaten, dragged out, and silenced.
In Rwanda, constitutional change came with a smile. The 2015 referendum that allowed President Paul Kagame to run again was conducted with near-total approval — but in a context where dissent was a whisper, not a vote.
Burundi, Cameroon, Chad, Togo, and Congo-Brazzaville followed the same script: constitutional elasticity in the service of eternal incumbency.
3. The Philosophy of Time and Power
What America does in ten years, Africa often does in ten minutes — and therein lies the tragedy.
Because constitutional amendment in the African context is not a dialogue with posterity but a negotiation with mortality.
The American amends to protect the system.
The African amends to protect the self.
Where the U.S. Constitution resists change to preserve liberty, the African constitution embraces change to preserve leadership.
It is the difference between institutional foresight and personal fear — between a people that trusts its structures and one that trusts only its strongmen.
In Uganda, each amendment has carried a democratic invoice — the removal of term limits in 2005, the lifting of age caps in 2017 — all presented as reforms, but all payable in political permanence.
What takes America years of hearings, debates, and ratifications takes Uganda one night of “aye” and “no” choruses, often accompanied by the symphony of police sirens outside Parliament.
4. Constitutional Speed as Economic Symbolism
Interestingly, the pace of amendment mirrors the pace of economic maturity.
The United States’ constitutional patience has produced a predictable investment climate — one where political risk is calculable, and the rule of law forms the backbone of the dollar’s stability.
No wonder that while America debates amendments over decades, its currency remains the global benchmark.
Contrast that with Uganda — whose currency recently outperformed its East African peers — a temporary triumph built on macroeconomic resilience, yes, but shadowed by constitutional volatility.
An economy cannot sustain its flight when its constitution is constantly redesigned midair.
For as I once observed, you cannot industrialize a nation faster than you constitutionalize it.
Even a “sweeeiiihh” economy — as the Minister of Finance once joyfully exclaimed — can stall midair if its political runway keeps being shortened by legal improvisation.
5. The Moral of the Constitutional Tale
The ten-year American delay is not inefficiency — it is institutional sobriety.
The ten-minute African rush is not efficiency — it is institutional insecurity.
The difference is not chronological but philosophical.
One believes that power belongs to history; the other believes that history belongs to power.
Until African leaders learn that a constitution is not a menu for self-extension but a mirror of collective restraint, our economies will continue to experience the paradox of currency strength in the morning and democratic weakness by nightfall.
Final Reflection
So yes — in America, it takes ten years to amend the Constitution.
But in Africa, it takes ten minutes to amend destiny.
And that, my friends, is why the American Constitution remains a living document, while many African constitutions remain dying documents — rewritten not by necessity, but by narcissism.
