I love drums. I love that drums come in varied shapes and sizes. I love the big, bold bass drums with their deep, low pitch. I love the small, slender ones that sing with sharp, high notes. Each produces a unique sound —shaped by its form, its purpose, and its place in the ensemble. A good drummer does not favour one over the other; they embrace the full range, recognizing that it’s the harmony between these different voices that makes an orchestra whole. 

I like to think of the forces in the struggle for a better world as a great collection of drums. Young people like myself — we’re often the smaller, louder drums. Our voices are sharp and insistent, calling attention to the urgency of now. And yet, in the orchestra of social change, these beautiful drums of transformation are too often excluded or muted. Oh, what a tragedy. 

Rushing through the sprawling maze that is Brussels Airport was not an experience I would have imagined three years ago, when I first joined the inaugural cohort of the International Society for Human Rights (ISHR) Ambassadors Program. Back then, I was a firebrand ideological student leader, rounding off my term as President of the Makerere Law Society. And here I was now, on a Friday afternoon, standing in the airport lobby en route to Bonn, Germany, to attend the International Council Meeting of the ISHR. 

Around me swirled a sea of travellers, each hurriedly moving towards their gates, their destinations, their missions. It was such a fast world. But amid the rush, I felt the weight of a quieter, inescapable reality: not many people looked like me. It was my first flight to Europe — my first time leaving Africa. The moment felt massive. The words often attributed to Arsenal legend David Rocastle echoed in my mind: “Remember who you are, what you are, and who you represent.” 

I am a young, gifted, and Black man from Uganda. I was on this journey not just as an individual, but as a symbol — a pioneer ambassador in the ISHR’s Human Rights Ambassadors Program. I carried with me the stories, the dreams, and the defiance of young voices from the Global South. Before the trip, the ever-resourceful Ms. Irene Bonjeh reached out to ask if I could write a poem to be presented at the Council Meeting. What followed was a double struggle: fighting the pressure of an approaching deadline and wrestling with the writer’s block that had inconveniently set up camp in my mind. But eventually, both were conquered. I submitted a poem entitled We Sound the Drum of Freedom — my ode to the often-ignored voices of youth in the global struggle for justice. 

At the ISHR Council Meeting, I experienced what felt like the world gathered in one room. Brave activists spoke for Ukraine, refusing to let its cause be buried under the rubble of war. Others shared stories from Africa, Asia, and the Americas, each testimony a drumbeat of resistance and resolve. It was a heartening sight: a community bound not by geography, but by shared purpose. When Mr. Matthias K. Boehning, the Secretary-General of ISHR, called on me to present my poem, the moment hit me with full force. The ISHR had not only invited all drums to the orchestra — it had handed the smaller ones the baton. 

As I looked around the room, I couldn’t help but reflect on how rare this space was for someone like me. Young people are too often seen as a demographic to be spoken about rather than with. But here, my voice was not only heard — it was welcomed, centered, and amplified. That experience affirmed something I’ve always believed: when you give young people space, they don’t just speak — they sing. Our rhythm may be different, our urgency sharper, our language more restless, but our truth is no less valid. Youth is not a barrier to impact; it’s a beating drum that announces the future. 

I carry this experience with me — like a rhythm learned by heart. The ISHR Council Meeting was more than just a professional milestone; it was a call to action, a reminder that change needs every voice, every drum. Mine included. And so, I return home with my head high and my heart louder. I return not just to Uganda, but to the ongoing struggle — still drumming, still dreaming, still believing that even the smallest drum, when placed in the right hands, can change the music of the world. 

Percy Christopher Mpindi