By Isaac Christopher Lubogo
“What dignity is there in applause that cannot pay rent?” – Isaac Christopher Lubogo
A friend of mine, a PhD student, has lectured at top universities, authored books, and been invited to conferences abroad—even in the United States. On paper, he is an intellectual success story: a man who burned the midnight oil, excelled in class, consumed book after book, and stood out as a diligent, sharp mind.
And yet, in his private reality, he once had to deposit his academic transcripts at a local shop as collateral—just to borrow beans and posho to feed his family. Imagine the humiliation: a scholar admired in academic circles, yet reduced to pawning the very documents that prove his brilliance. One cannot help but ask: Why? Why should the reward of years of study, discipline, and sacrifice be so far removed from the simple dignity of bread and butter on the table?
Another colleague, equally gifted, confessed that he sometimes avoids academic conferences altogether. Not because he lacks ideas, but because he cannot afford the basic costs of travel and accommodation. Yet when those same conferences publish their proceedings, his name is absent, his voice unheard. The paradox deepens: the mind is ready, but the pocket is empty.
I know of a respected author, whose writings are cited in classrooms and quoted in national debates. But behind the scenes, he struggles to pay school fees for his own children. The very society that consumes his words without question does not pause to ask how he survives. His fame feeds the public intellect, but not his private home.
This is the paradox that quietly shadows many intellectuals. On stage, we are celebrated as thought leaders. Our names appear in newspapers, our voices are broadcast on radio, and our profiles show up prominently on Google searches. We are quoted, applauded, and even envied. But applause does not pay hospital bills. Recognition does not cover rent. A glowing reputation does not guarantee dinner on the table. Behind the applause, there is often pain: the intellectual’s family struggles like any other, sometimes even more.
The intellectual lives with a fear rarely spoken aloud: to be known as brilliant but unable to survive. To be called “Doctor” but be unable to buy shoes for one’s children. To be invited to speak on panels but borrow money for transport to the venue. To be admired in public but quietly ridiculed in private. What dignity is there in a framed certificate if it must be surrendered for food? What honor is there in a title that hides empty cupboards at home?
The reasons are not personal failings but systemic injustices. Universities underpay lecturers, often delaying salaries. Consultancies go to the well-connected, not necessarily the most qualified. Books, however original or groundbreaking, rarely sell enough to sustain an author. Intellectual labor is consumed freely but rarely compensated fairly. Thus, the intellectual—who carries the burden of society’s knowledge—often carries society’s hunger as well.
Sometimes, simply telling these stories is enough. For the intellectual who feels alone, unheard, or unseen, there is comfort in discovering that this is not an individual failure but a shared dilemma. The paradox of achievement without survival is not unique—it is widespread, though seldom admitted. And perhaps therein lies the beginning of healing: not in shallow solutions, but in the recognition that the applause and the hunger coexist. To name the pain is to reclaim dignity, even before bread is on the table.
“Admiration without bread is mockery. Bread without admiration is survival. But the true task is to build a world where the intellectual can find both.” – Isaac Christopher Lubogo
