Forgotten Films of a Dictator: Revolutionary Cinema in Idi Amin’s Uganda

In 2015, researchers made a remarkable discovery at Uganda Broadcasting Corporation headquarters—nearly 100 films from Idi Amin’s regime that were long presumed lost to history. Hidden away in poor storage conditions for decades, these reels provide a unique window into how the dictator’s propaganda machine manufactured revolutionary imagery to justify his brutal rule.

“The films had been kept in poor conditions, exposed to damp, humidity, dust, and other calamities,” explains Derek Peterson, one of the researchers who helped salvage the collection. Thirty-five reels have been digitized thus far at the University of Michigan, with dozens more awaiting preservation.

Amin’s government, which came to power in 1971 through a military coup, desperately needed to frame itself as revolutionary and anticolonial. The challenge for his filmmakers was substantial: how to make inhumanity look heroic, political violence appear purposeful, and arbitrary persecution seem like liberation.

“It was in state-run propaganda—film, photography, journalism, radio—that Amin’s regime made the struggle visible,” Peterson notes. “It was in media, more than anywhere else, that Uganda could be at war.”

The Uganda Film Unit, established during the latter years of British colonial rule, became the primary engine of Amin’s visual propaganda. Initially created to produce instructional films about development, the Unit was transformed under Amin into a revolutionary cinema factory.

The Economic War: Propaganda Masterpiece

The most significant film recovered from the archives is “Uganda’s Economic War,” a 29-minute color documentary created in 1972 by filmmaker Sao Gamba. The film chronicles Amin’s infamous expulsion of Uganda’s Asian community—over 50,000 people, many whose families had lived in Uganda for generations, were given just 90 days to leave the country.

Gamba’s film transforms this humanitarian catastrophe into a triumphant liberation narrative. Using solemn narration over accordion music played by Amin himself, the film opens with ordinary scenes of Kampala streets before declaring: “Uganda is at war. Economic War. The imperialists and their agents have been kicked out of their seats.”

The film’s most consequential scene shows Amin confronting foreign diplomats at a luncheon on August 8, 1972. Through careful framing and editing, this relatively mundane diplomatic meeting is presented as a dramatic turning point in Uganda’s history. The film assures viewers that when Ugandans heard about the expulsion, “the whole country grew mad with joy.”

In stark contrast to international coverage that showed the human suffering of expelled Asians, Gamba’s film depicts them waiting in orderly queues at the airport, smiling and seemingly grateful. “The general atmosphere among the British Asians was one of rejoicing,” the narrator claims, defying reality.

When “Uganda’s Economic War” was first screened in January 1973, Amin himself attended the premiere and called it “very good.” The film was later selected as one of three representing Uganda at FESTAC II, an international symposium on Black culture and art.

Filmmaking Under Fear

As Amin’s rule grew more erratic and violent, the Film Unit’s revolutionary ambitions were scaled back significantly. By 1974, they had reverted to producing safe, uncontroversial educational films like “The Use of Forests” and “Health and Child Welfare.”

Perhaps the most telling artifact from this later period is an untitled, unfinished 50-minute black-and-white film from 1975. The film documents the visit of British General Chandos Blair to Uganda, who came pleading for the life of Denis Hills, a British lecturer sentenced to death for calling Amin a “village tyrant” in an unpublished manuscript.

The film opens with a disturbing sequence of a firing squad executing a hooded man—presumably meant to suggest Hills’ fate—before showing the lecturer’s military trial. The climactic scene features Blair arriving at a small thatched hut in Arua, where he must bend low to enter. Inside, Amin sits elevated on a chair wearing a Mexican sombrero, while Blair perches on a 9-inch stool looking upward.

This humiliating image became a propaganda victory, with Uganda’s government newspaper reporting that Blair approached Amin “on their knees,” begging for mercy. Photos of the scene were published in Amin’s United Nations speech pamphlet as evidence of his triumph over former colonial masters.

Yet the film was never completed. Despite having carefully edited the footage, the filmmakers never added narration or a soundtrack. Their hesitation reveals the dangers of producing propaganda in Amin’s Uganda—the fear that audiences might laugh at the ridiculous sight of their president in a sombrero, or that any misstep in framing events could lead to severe consequences.

Legacy and Ethical Questions

Today, these films present both historical opportunities and ethical challenges. Researchers working to preserve the collection must balance making this important historical material accessible while preventing its potential misuse.

“These films were produced as works of propaganda, made to uplift the reputations and achievements of one of history’s most bloody dictators,” Peterson explains. “They include no images of the things that we know characterised the Amin years: death, degradation, loss, and mourning.”

Plans are underway to make low-resolution versions available online with interpretive frameworks that challenge the films’ propaganda narratives. The researchers hope to add contextual cues that direct viewers toward historical documents revealing the true inhumanity of Amin’s regime.

Fifty years after their creation, these revolutionary films still retain a disturbing power to impress and inspire. Their preservation provides not just a window into Uganda’s dark past, but also a cautionary tale about how visual propaganda can transform political violence into revolutionary spectacle.