On a crisp October morning in 2000, the mahogany tables of the United Nations Security Council in New York witnessed a historic shift. The adoption of Resolution 1325 was more than just a bureaucratic milestone; it was a formal recognition that war is not gender-neutral. For the first time, the international community codified the fact that women and girls experience conflict differently and, more importantly, that they are indispensable to the process of ending it. This birthed the Women, Peace, and Security (WPS) agenda, a global framework designed to ensure women are not merely seen as victims of instability, but as the architects of its resolution.
However, the distance between the grand halls of Manhattan and the rugged terrains of rural Uganda is measured in more than just miles. It is measured in the gap between high-level policy and the lived reality of a woman in a refugee camp or a remote village. The true test of any international resolution is its ability to cross that threshold. In Uganda, this transition from paper to practice is not happening through top-down mandates alone. Instead, it is being driven by a groundswell of local leaders, advocates, and survivors who are proving that for peace to be sustainable, it must be grown from the soil of the community.
The Kasese District, bordering the Democratic Republic of the Congo, has long been a flashpoint for tension. Here, the threat of violent extremism and cross-border instability is a constant shadow. For Juliet Mbambu, the Executive Director of the Bwera United Women with Disabilities Association, peacebuilding is an exercise in radical inclusion. Mbambu, a social worker and mother of three, contracted polio at the age of ten. In many traditional settings, such a diagnosis could have been a life sentence of isolation. Yet, through the fierce advocacy of her sisters and friends—who literally carried her on their backs so she could attend school—Mbambu defied the expectations of her community.
Today, she applies that same resilience to the WPS agenda. Mbambu’s philosophy is simple: “Nothing for us without us.” She argues that attempting to build peace without the input of those with lived experience is as futile as building a ramp for a wheelchair user without consulting them. “If you do not understand their lived experience, you could make things harder for the people you’re trying to help,” she explains. In her view, poorly designed interventions don’t create paths; they create “mountains” for the marginalized to climb.
Through support from UN Women and the Coalition for Action on 1325 (CoACT), Mbambu has transformed from a survivor into a sophisticated mediator. She leads community dialogues specifically aimed at preventing the spread of violent extremism. Her focus is often on the youth—the demographic most targeted for recruitment by extremist groups. By meeting these young people in safe spaces and facilitating honest discussions, Mbambu empowers them to recognize the signs of radicalization. The results are tangible: at the end of these dialogues, the participants often draft their own action plans, committing to serve as ambassadors of peace among their peers.
While Mbambu works at the intersection of disability and security, others are focusing on the generational shift required to sustain peace. Angel Musiime, a 26-year-old parish chief and peace mediator in the Kyegegwa Town Council, represents the rising tide of young Ugandan women who refuse to be sidelined by traditional gender roles. Musiime’s journey to leadership was fraught with the kind of obstacles that often derail young women in East Africa: the loss of her mother and an unplanned pregnancy while she was still a university student.
In many local settings, these challenges are seen as the end of a woman’s professional aspirations. “They say this is the end of you,” Musiime recalls. “‘Get married, give birth to babies, and that’s life. Live like an African woman. Don’t work, be home.’” But Musiime was driven by a different internal compass, a voice that told her to honor her mother’s memory by seeking a larger life. When the opportunity arose to train as a peace mediator in 2023, she didn’t hesitate. She balanced the demands of motherhood—breastfeeding her baby before heading to training sessions—with the rigorous demands of conflict resolution education.
For Musiime, the WPS agenda is about more than stopping physical violence; it is about “extending leadership to others.” She now spends her days navigating the complex social fabric of Kyegegwa, intervening in cases of domestic abuse and school dropouts. By convincing young boys to return to the classroom and helping women in abusive relationships find their voices, she is addressing the structural inequalities that often serve as the precursors to broader social conflict. Her ambition is clear and unwavering: “I want to be a great woman of peace.”
The logistical reality of this work is often unglamorous. It requires a level of dedication that transcends professional duty. Sharon Kabugho, a Communications Officer with the Kasese District Local Government, knows this better than most. To reach the remote areas where land disputes and gender-based violence (GBV) are most prevalent, Kabugho often has to improvise. “When there’s no space in the car, you just jump on the back of someone’s pickup,” she says. “You have to get there.”
Uganda’s strategy for implementing the WPS agenda is unique in its emphasis on Local Action Plans (LAPs). While the National Action Plan provides the framework, the LAPs allow individual districts to tailor their priorities to their specific contexts. For Kabugho, this means engaging with cultural and religious leaders who hold immense sway over community norms. It is a process of “enlightening” these stakeholders to understand that peace is not merely the absence of war, but the presence of justice and equality.
Kabugho admits that the training she received fundamentally changed her own perspective. “I came to appreciate that things I had accepted as normal actually violate women’s peace,” she reflects. This realization has fueled her use of modern tools—radio broadcasts, emergency hotlines, and social media—to reach women who are undergoing physical, emotional, or financial abuse. Her message to other stakeholders is a call to persistence: “Let us keep the candles up. Let us keep fighting until we are there.”
The impact of these individual efforts is reflected in the national data. Adekemi Ndieli, the UN Women Deputy Country Representative for Uganda, notes that a society that guarantees the safety of its women is one that guarantees its own stability. The statistics back this up. With the support of the Government of Norway, UN Women has facilitated the development of 16 Local Action Plans across Uganda. The transformation in representation has been dramatic: in targeted districts, women’s participation in local peace committees has surged from 17 percent in 2022 to 46 percent today.
The sheer volume of work being done at the grassroots level is staggering. In 2024 alone, women mediators across the country successfully resolved or mediated approximately 500 community-level conflicts. These are 500 instances where a land dispute didn’t turn violent, where a domestic situation was de-escalated, or where a youth recruitment drive was thwarted.
This is the true legacy of Resolution 1325. It is not found in the archives of the UN, but in the actions of women like Juliet, Angel, and Sharon. By reclaiming their right to lead, these women are not just participating in peace processes—they are redefining what peace looks like for the next generation of Ugandans. They are proving that while a resolution might be signed in a suit, it is fulfilled in the dust of the village, on the back of a pickup truck, and in the quiet, persistent dialogues that change the world, one community at a time.
