Sam Omara, the retired police commander who became famous for his tough tactics against opposition protests, has died at 64 after a long battle with prostate cancer and kidney failure. His son, Sam Omara Jr., confirmed his death, ending days of uncertainty after police had earlier denied reports that he had passed away.

Omara was best known for leading the police’s Field Force Unit during the 2011 Walk to Work protests, a series of demonstrations against rising fuel and food prices led by opposition leader Dr. Kizza Besigye. At the time, Omara became the face of the police’s “preventive arrest” strategy, where officers would detain opposition figures before they could even join protests. His unit was often stationed outside Besigye’s home in Kasangati for months, with reports that officers sometimes relieved themselves in nearby farms—a detail that drew public anger.

He was a man who seemed to enjoy the spotlight, often speaking to the media with an awkward smirk that some saw as mocking those he policed. While government supporters praised him as a strong enforcer, many ordinary Ugandans accused him of being too harsh. Years later, Omara himself admitted that things had gone too far. Before his death, he publicly apologized for the brutality under his command, saying he regretted the excesses of that time.

But his later years were not easy. After retiring from the police in 2020, he tried to stay relevant, even flirting with the idea of joining politics. Instead, he ended up working for Captain Mike Mukula’s private security company, Arrows Security Services. He often boasted about his success in this new role, claiming he was earning a seven-figure salary. Yet, despite his pride in his post-retirement life, he also spoke bitterly about feeling abandoned by the police force he had served for so long.

His death marks the end of a career that will always be tied to one of Uganda’s most politically tense periods. But it also raises uncomfortable questions about loyalty and betrayal. Omara spent years enforcing the will of the state, only to find himself forgotten when he was no longer useful. While he once had the power to detain opponents at will, he spent his final days battling illness in the same broken system he had once helped uphold.

In the end, Sam Omara’s story is more than just about one man’s rise and fall. It is a reminder of how quickly those who serve power can be cast aside—and how, in Uganda, loyalty to the system does not always mean the system will return the favor. His death closes a chapter, but the questions it leaves behind linger. What happens to those who enforce unpopular orders? And when their time comes, who will stand by them?

For Sam Omara, the answers were clear. The institution he served did not stand by him in his final days. And now, his legacy remains as complicated as the country he once policed.