If there is one thing people rarely stop to think about, it’s whether the world is ruled by academicians or non-academicians. In high school, particularly at the ordinary level (O’level), I was pretty good at both arts and science subjects. I never took this for granted—many of my fellow students admired me for it. I considered it a gift from God.

Despite my desire to excel in both arts and sciences, the education system eventually forced me to specialise. In advanced level (A’level), you had to be either an “arter” or a “sciencer”—an artist or a scientist. There was little room for someone like me, who wanted to straddle both worlds. I still remember struggling to choose my A’level combination. Initially, I opted for Biology, Chemistry, and Mathematics, seeing it as the perfect path to medical school. But within a few weeks, I realised I would deeply miss my dear “sweetheart.” Guess who? Physics! The thought of abandoning her left me restless, so I decided to switch to Physics, Chemistry, and Mathematics. Interestingly, this decision never materialised, though a classmate of mine, who had studied with me since S.1, made the same switch. In the eyes of teachers and peers, who had known him for over four years, he seemed nearly insane. For a time, both of us were “mad men” in the eyes of many.

Most people think you must be either a scientist or an artist—period. The idea of being both, or hovering at the edges of each discipline, seems unimaginable to them. I first encountered this possibility when I read about Leonardo da Vinci online. Later, at university, I read Steve Jobs’s biography by Walter Isaacson, amazed at how his life defied categorisation. Jobs could not be placed neatly into the “scientist” or “artist” box.

Why does this matter? For me, it’s personal: I consider myself a polymath, equally passionate and competent in both arts and sciences. For others, the reasons may differ. On a broader scale, though, the question becomes: Are scientists more important than artists? Who truly wields power—the book-smart or the street-smart?

I’ve observed many book-smart individuals living in poverty, unrecognised by society, while a few achieve what we conventionally call success: wealth, status, and material ownership. Conversely, some less academically inclined people accumulate wealth and influence, though many also struggle. Interestingly, polymaths—those who navigate both worlds—are rare in Uganda. If you know any, dear reader, we should talk.

Choosing to be an academician or a non-academician is somewhat like choosing your gender: the decision is rarely fully yours. Circumstances largely dictate it, and even when it seems like a choice, it’s often an illusion. Scientists engage in artistic activities like writing, while artists often apply scientific methods, like mixing pigments or studying acoustics. Life is complicated.

In Uganda, it is unusual to find a bookworm excelling in music or sports—or a talented musician or athlete excelling academically. During my school days, teachers rarely expected students focused on academics, especially sciences, to be strong leaders. Students themselves echoed this limiting belief. Breaking out of a single “bubble” is challenging. Pursuing both music and scientific disciplines, for instance, demands financial resources; balancing research with politics or entrepreneurship requires sacrificing ordinary experiences like leisure or relationships. Social support is minimal, and the path is hard.

I have often wondered if being an academician makes one less practical or “street-smart.” Despite their achievements, many academicians I know in Kampala rarely publish books beyond research papers, or solve pressing societal problems. For instance, why does a PhD holder in transport systems not help improve roads or traffic? Conversely, people with no formal business training, like the late Mulwana or Wavamuno, create successful businesses that solve societal problems—sometimes better than academics with PhDs in business. Perhaps this reflects how we view the purpose and utility of knowledge.

Academicians—researchers, scholars, professors, and scientists—are the builders of knowledge. I have long aspired to be among them, though over time, I developed some disillusionment. Academicians shape our understanding of the world—from physics to philosophy, AI to economics—and influence policy indirectly through research. Yet, many remain undervalued and under-funded, lacking mass influence unless they go public or become entrepreneurial, like Yuval Noah Harari, Carl Sagan, or Noam Chomsky. Too often, ideas remain trapped in the academic bubble. As Steve Jobs said, “the doers are the thinkers,” reminding us to consider whether real power lies with those who act, those who theorise, or both.

Non-academicians, in contrast, are the doers. Entrepreneurs like Elon Musk and Oprah Winfrey, politicians, entertainers, activists, and self-taught professionals drive economies, companies, and governments. They innovate, make rapid decisions, and reach millions. While their decisions often rely on academic knowledge, they are the ones visibly shaping the world. Non-academicians may misapply knowledge or act impulsively, but the world rewards action.

In terms of wealth, visibility, and influence, non-academicians dominate. In shaping the deep structure of civilisation, academicians quietly rule. Non-academicians are the billionaires, presidents, and entrepreneurs; academicians invent the internet, cure diseases, write constitutions, and define moral frameworks. Both are essential. Academicians bring depth, non-academicians bring reach. True power emerges when both collaborate. For instance, the world’s most popular search engine grew from a research project by Larry Page and Sergey Brin at Stanford, where their academic paper laid the theoretical foundation for the PageRank algorithm.

Academicians flourish more in countries that fund research, like Israel, South Korea, Switzerland, Sweden, China, and the U.S. Israel spends 5.56% of its GDP on research, South Korea 4.93%. In 2022, China published over 976,000 articles, the U.S. over 605,000. Non-academicians thrive in these countries as well, thanks to low barriers to entrepreneurship, venture capital access, and strong networks—demonstrated by the U.S.’s 82,000+ startups and 1,000+ unicorn companies. Yet, in Africa, both academicians and non-academicians struggle to thrive. This raises the question: who truly rules the world where conditions are limiting?

This debate—book smarts versus street smarts, academicians versus non-academicians—cannot be answered universally. Both are crucial. Academicians provide depth and knowledge; non-academicians convert ideas into action and influence. Together, they shape our world.