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Category: EECMIS

  • From the Fireplace to the Digital Court: What Does It Mean to “Serve” Court Process?

    From the Fireplace to the Digital Court: What Does It Mean to “Serve” Court Process?

    A report from the PM Digital Law Hub Online Symposium on Electronic Service of Court Process

    On 4 June 2026, at Uganda Law Society House, I made a presentation titled “A Paperless Judiciary: Why Aren’t We Ready?
    ”

    One of the things I called for that day was a culture of digital accountability within the legal fraternity.

    I argued that our transition to digital justice cannot be reduced to acquiring systems, uploading documents or declaring that courts have gone paperless. It requires all stakeholders—lawyers, judicial officers, litigants, court administrators and technology providers—to continuously have honest, sometimes uncomfortable conversations about digital transformation.

    The question is not merely whether technology has arrived.

    The question is whether we are ready for what its arrival means for the administration of justice.

    On 28 August 2026, I had an opportunity to continue that conversation at the PM Digital Law Hub Online Symposium, where I made a presentation titled:

    “Is Electronic Service of Court Process Considered ‘Effective Service’ or ‘Deemed Service’?”

    I deliberately approached the symposium as an Ekyooto/Wi-Otem—the kind of conversation traditionally associated with gathering around the fireplace.

    The idea was simple: better conversations produce stronger justice.

    And so, rather than treating electronic service as merely another technical question, I invited participants to sit around the proverbial fire with me and ask a deceptively simple question:

    What exactly do we mean by “service”?

    From the fireplace to the courtroom

    The language of Ekyooto/Wi-Otem was not invented for the symposium.

    It came from the conversation I had begun on 4 June.

    At ULS House, while speaking about paperless courts, I called upon the legal fraternity to continuously cultivate a culture of digital accountability through regular conversations about digital transformation.

    The symposium was, in my view, a practical response to that call.

    It was another sitting around the fire.

    Only this time, the fire was digital.

    And the subject before us was electronic service of court process.

    First, what is “effective service”?

    I began by separating two concepts which are easily collapsed into one.

    Effective service asks whether the purpose of service has actually been achieved.

    In simple terms:

    Was the prescribed process effectively communicated to the person who was entitled to respond?

    I illustrated the idea as a chain:

    PROCESS → COMMUNICATION → OPPORTUNITY TO RESPOND

    Service is not merely the existence of a document.

    It is not merely the act of transmitting a document.

    Its procedural purpose is to communicate the process sufficiently to give the affected party the opportunity to respond.

    That distinction becomes particularly important when the medium of communication changes.

    Then comes “deemed service”

    I then turned to the other side of the question.

    Deemed service operates differently.

    Here, the law identifies an event which it treats as sufficient to constitute service.

    The inquiry therefore becomes:

    What event does the law recognise as sufficient to attract the legal consequence of service?

    This gives us two different questions.

    Effective service:

    What happened, and was the purpose of service achieved?

    Deemed service:

    Has the legally prescribed event occurred?

    The two concepts may produce the same legal consequence, but they do not necessarily require proof of the same thing.

    As I put it during the presentation:

    “Both require proof—but they require proof of different things.”

    The real question: how does the court know?

    This brought me to what I regarded as the more important question.

    It is not enough to ask:

    “Was it served?”

    We must ask:

    “What evidence permits us to reach that conclusion?”

    That question becomes particularly important in a digital environment.

    We can send a WhatsApp message.

    We can send an email.

    We can upload a document onto ECCMIS.

    We can obtain a system-generated notification.

    But at which point does the law say:

    That is service?

    And, more importantly, what evidence enables the court to independently verify the event upon which that conclusion is based?

    Read also: THE QUIET VIOLENCE OF PROCEDURE II: When Courts Resist Communication in the Age of E-Justice, A Reflection on Bakampa Brian Baryaguma v Bbaaka Property Consultants (U) Ltd

    The electronic service chain

    I therefore introduced what I called the Electronic Service Chain:

    SEND → DELIVER → RECEIVE → ACKNOWLEDGE

    These are not necessarily the same event.

    A document can be:

    • sent;
    • delivered;
    • received;
    • opened;
    • read; or
    • acknowledged.

    The technology may record some of these events and not others.

    The legal question is therefore not simply whether the technology transmitted something.

    It is:

    Which event, occurring through that technology, constitutes “service”?

    That question becomes especially important when we move from ordinary electronic communication to ECCMIS.

    ECCMIS changes the medium—but does it change the legal question?

    The introduction of ECCMIS represents an important step in Uganda’s transition towards digital courts.

    But I argued that the arrival of a digital system does not automatically resolve every procedural question created by digitisation.

    We are still in transition.

    That transitional reality matters.

    When a document is uploaded onto ECCMIS, it may be tempting to say that because the opposing party or their advocate is connected to the system, the procedural problem is solved.

    I was not prepared to go that far.

    My position was that we must distinguish between a document being available within the system and the purpose of service actually being achieved.

    Even where existing case law recognises a particular electronic event as sufficient to constitute service, we must remain conscious of the practical reality of a system in transition.

    The objective remains justice.

    If a hearing notice has been uploaded onto ECCMIS but the opposite party and/or their lawyer genuinely does not know that the case has been fixed, we should at least ask ourselves whether we have done everything reasonably necessary to ensure that the purpose of service has been achieved.

    Western Cable: when the system event becomes the legal event

    This was where I turned to Western Cable Company Ltd v Juliet Namuli Asiya & Others, Miscellaneous Application No. 2289 of 2025. A copy of the decision can be accessed here:

    Western Cable Company Limited v Juliet Namuli Asiya and Others 2026 UGCommC 189 (31 January 2026)Download

    The decision brought the issue into sharp focus.

    Regulation 16 of the Judicature (Electronic Filing, Service and Virtual Proceedings) Rules, 2025, SI No. 21 of 2025 provides a framework in which proof of electronic service is tied to the delivery confirmation receipt.

    The High Court reasoned that it was not mandatory for the recipient to actually receive an email or SMS where the relevant delivery confirmation receipt existed.

    That reasoning produces a significant proposition for digital litigation:

    The system event becomes the legal event.

    In other words, once the legally recognised technological event occurs, the law attaches the consequence of service to that event.

    That is a form of deemed service.

    And it is precisely here that the distinction between effective service and deemed service becomes important.

    And then there was Gazonja Andrew v Registered Trustees of Tororo Diocese, which brought an important complication to the discussion. In that case, the Court of Appeal found that the mere appearance of a hearing date on ECCMIS was not enough to establish effective service where the appellant’s advocates had not been properly notified. The Court found that the relevant advocates had been omitted from the hearing notice and that the notification record did not demonstrate that an electronic notification had actually been sent to them; it consequently reinstated the dismissed appeal. Gazonja therefore brings us back to the central question: it is not enough for the system to contain the information; we must be able to establish that the legally relevant notification event actually occurred. This naturally flang me into the discussion about practice during our current transition.

    Read also: The Quiet Violence of Procedure: When Digital Service Serves No One

    But we are still in transition

    This is where I sounded a note of caution.

    I did not argue that lawyers should simply disregard the legal effect attached to an electronic event.

    Rather, I argued that we are still navigating the transition from paper-based practice to digital practice.

    Our systems, our habits and our professional culture have not necessarily transitioned at the same speed.

    There is therefore a difference between asking:

    “What does the law deem to be service?”

    and asking:

    “What should a responsible lawyer do to ensure that the opposing party actually knows?”

    For me, the second question remains important even when the first has a legally prescribed answer.

    The problem of “Digital Bad Manners”

    I also introduced what I described as Digital Bad Manners.

    The expression was deliberately provocative, because the behaviour itself is not new. Technology has simply given it a new medium.

    In real life, a Defendant may be served with summons but refuse to receive a copy. They may even refuse to acknowledge receipt on the return copy.

    Digital bad manners is exactly the same behaviour—only digitised.

    The Defendant who once refused to take the paper may now refuse to open the message.

    The lawyer who once refused to sign the acknowledgement return may now receive the email, read it, but later insist that there was no acknowledgement of receipt.

    The person who once avoided signing the process server’s return can now turn off WhatsApp read receipts and say:

    “I never saw it.”

    The technology has changed. The human behaviour has not.

    And that creates a particularly interesting problem for digital justice.

    A person can receive a notification and deliberately avoid opening it.

    They can turn off read receipts.

    They can deliberately avoid creating an electronic record that demonstrates that they have seen the process.

    When the matter later comes before court, the position can become:

    “I was never served.”

    This is why I argued that digital transformation requires digital accountability.

    The problem is not necessarily that the technology has failed.

    Sometimes, the problem is that the human being has learned how to behave badly within the technology.

    Is WhatsApp substituted service?

    Towards the end of the presentation, I addressed another question that naturally arises:

    If I serve someone through WhatsApp, am I engaging in substituted service?

    My answer was no—not necessarily.

    I rejected the idea that the mere use of WhatsApp automatically transforms the service into substituted service.

    We deal with WhatsApp primarily through our personal handset devices. My argument was that service via WhatsApp complied with baseline requirement for personal service under Order 5 Rule 10 of the Civil Procedure Rules which provides that:

    Wherever it is practicable, service shall be made on the defendant in person, unless he or she has an agent empowered to accept service, in which case service on the agent shall be sufficient.

    I argued that all forms of communication or media sent to us via WhatsApp comes directly to our handsets and that there is nothing more personal in the digital arena than service on WhatsApp. I cheekily even said, “at the risk of sounding morally bankrupt, what the Gen Z call noodles even reaches us via WhatsApp”, nobody burns at on a CD and delivers it to us via postal address. It arrives to us through our personal handsets”

    That is fundamentally different from a situation in which communication is made through something like a public payphone.

    The fact that the medium is digital does not, by itself, make the mode of communication “substituted service.”

    But I immediately added an important qualification.

    Until the transition is complete, do both

    Because we are still transitioning—and because of the possibility of digital bad manners—I said that, as a matter of practical safety, I prefer to do both.

    In the case of a hearing notice, for example, my own practice is to:

    physically serve the opposite Counsel on WhatsApp; and

    serve physical copies at their chambers.

    This is not because I necessarily regard WhatsApp service as legally incapable of standing on its own.

    It is because, during a period of technological and procedural transition, redundancy can protect justice.

    If the electronic trail is challenged, there is a physical trail.

    If the physical service is disputed, there is an electronic trail.

    And, most importantly, there is a much stronger likelihood that the person who needs to know actually knows.

    The bigger issue is not WhatsApp, email or ECCMIS

    This was ultimately the point I wanted the symposium to confront.

    The debate should not become a simplistic contest between:

    paper versus WhatsApp;

    WhatsApp versus email;

    email versus ECCMIS.

    Those are merely mediums.

    The deeper question is:

    What event does the law regard as service, and what evidence proves that event?

    Different technologies may generate different events.

    The challenge for courts and practitioners is to understand those events and determine which ones carry legal significance.

    From “Was it served?” to “What proves it?”

    That, for me, is the conceptual shift required by digital justice.

    In the paper world, we became accustomed to particular physical indicators of service.

    Digital systems replace some of those indicators with electronic events.

    That requires us to become much more precise.

    Who sent it?

    What was sent?

    Through what medium?

    When was it sent?

    Was it delivered?

    Was it received?

    Was it opened?

    Was it acknowledged?

    Which of those events does the law recognise?

    And what evidence will the court have when the fact of service is challenged?

    These are not merely technological questions.

    They are questions of procedural justice.

    The conversation continues

    That is why I called the symposium Ekyooto/Wi-Otem.

    We are not finished.

    Uganda’s justice system is still moving from one procedural environment into another.

    ECCMIS will continue to evolve.

    Lawyers will continue to learn.

    Judicial officers will continue to adapt.

    And the law itself will inevitably have to respond to questions that could not have been imagined when many of our traditional rules of service were developed.

    The answer cannot simply be to resist the technology.

    Nor can it be to blindly assume that whatever the technology records must automatically satisfy every demand of justice.

    We need the conversation.

    We need the uncomfortable questions.

    We need the lawyers who are willing to interrogate the system.

    We need judicial officers willing to explain what the system means for procedure.

    And we need technology designed with the realities of litigation in mind.

    That was the spirit in which I approached the PM Digital Law Hub symposium.

    It was, in essence, another Ekyooto.

    Another Wi-Otem.

    Another opportunity for the legal fraternity to sit around the fire and ask:

    When the court goes paperless, what exactly happens to the meaning of “service”?

    And perhaps the most important question of all:

    Are we merely transmitting court process—or are we actually ensuring that justice has been communicated?

    Better conversations. Stronger justice.

    DISCLAIMER

    This article is published for general information, educational, commentary and public-interest discussion purposes only. It is not intended to constitute, and should not be relied upon as, legal advice, legal opinion, or professional advice on any particular matter.

    The views, observations and interpretations expressed in this article are those of the author in his capacity as a blogger, advocate and legal-tech enthusiast, and are presented in the context of a broader conversation on digital transformation, electronic service of court process and the future of legal practice.

    References to legislation, regulations, judicial decisions, court procedures, technology platforms or the practices of legal and judicial institutions are intended to facilitate discussion and should not be taken as a substitute for reading the applicable law, the relevant judicial decision, current procedural requirements, or obtaining independent professional advice.

    Electronic service is an evolving area of practice. The applicable legal framework, judicial interpretation, technological functionality and institutional practice may change. Practitioners and litigants should therefore independently verify the law and applicable procedures as they stand at the material time before acting on any information contained in this article.

    Nothing in this article creates an advocate-client relationship between the author and any reader, nor should any reader rely upon the article as a basis for making a legal, procedural or litigation decision without obtaining appropriate advice concerning the particular facts and circumstances of their matter.

    Enen Legal World accepts no responsibility for any loss, prejudice or consequence arising from reliance upon this article as legal advice.

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    Enen Ambrose
    Advocate | Blogger | Legal Tech Enthusiast

    Founder — Enen Legal World
    Member, Judiciary Affairs Committee, Uganda Law Society

  • ENEN’S SECOND LETTER TO THE RADICAL NEW BAR: CHAPTER THREE

    The Third Witness

    The Digital Public Square: When the People Began Seeking Justice Before the Crowd

    “The voice of the people is often the first signal that institutions must examine themselves.”

    Beloved,

    History teaches that every generation discovers its own public square.

    There was once the village beneath the great tree.

    There was the marketplace where elders settled disputes before assembled neighbours.

    There came the newspaper.

    Then the radio.

    Then television.

    Today, another public square has emerged.

    It possesses no walls.

    It knows no closing hour.

    It recognises neither geography nor rank.

    It is carried within the pockets of millions.

    It is called social media.

    Whether we welcome it or lament its influence, we cannot honestly deny its power to shape public conversations about justice.

    A New Forum Without Formal Jurisdiction

    The digital public square pronounces no legally binding judgments.

    It issues no warrants.

    It cannot imprison.

    It cannot award damages.

    It cannot compel witnesses to testify.

    Yet it possesses something no justice institution can safely ignore.

    It commands attention.

    Sometimes,

    it commands sympathy.

    Frequently,

    it commands public confidence.

    And in matters of confidence,

    its influence increasingly extends beyond the boundaries of the smartphone into boardrooms, courtrooms, political offices and commercial enterprises.

    A Contemporary Illustration

    Permit me to illustrate.

    When the dispute involving the musicians Cinderella Sanyu who goes by the stage name Cindy Sanyu, the King Herself and Shamim Murerwa who goes by the stage name Omega 256 captured public attention, many observed something remarkable.

    The controversy did not initially unfold through pleadings, affidavits or cross-examination.

    Instead, it unfolded before the court of public opinion.

    Millions watched.

    Millions discussed.

    Millions evaluated competing narratives.

    Whatever one’s view of the merits of that dispute, one fact remains difficult to ignore.

    Cindy’s Tiktok Post.

    Public pressure became an important part of the story.

    The episode invites reflection.

    Not because social media replaced the law.

    It did not.

    But because it demonstrated that, in contemporary society, many grievances now pass first through the digital public square before they ever reach formal institutions, or instead of reaching them at all.

    The Search for Recognition

    Justice is not merely about legal remedies.

    It is also about recognition.

    Many citizens long first to be heard.

    To be believed.

    To have their suffering acknowledged.

    Sometimes the courtroom eventually provides those things.

    Sometimes it cannot.

    Sometimes it is too distant.

    Too costly.

    Too slow.

    Or too procedurally constrained to satisfy the immediate human need to be seen.

    The digital public square responds to that need with extraordinary speed.

    Within moments, a voice may travel across an entire nation.

    That speed explains part of its attraction.

    It does not necessarily establish its wisdom.

    But it does explain its appeal.

    The Blessing and the Danger

    Here we must exercise caution.

    The digital public square is neither angel nor demon.

    It has exposed corruption.

    It has amplified voices long ignored.

    It has mobilised communities in support of vulnerable persons.

    It has sometimes prompted institutions to revisit decisions that deserved renewed scrutiny.

    Yet it has also spread misinformation.

    It has condemned without hearing.

    It has rewarded outrage over evidence.

    It has encouraged the rapid circulation of accusation before investigation.

    For these reasons, this Letter does not celebrate social media as a substitute for the administration of justice.

    Neither does it dismiss it as a passing distraction.

    Rather, it recognises it as one of the many arenas in which public confidence is now formed, contested and sometimes transformed.

    The Behaviour Remains the Same

    Recall our first witness.

    When confidence weakened, the people sought another path.

    Recall our second witness.

    The Judiciary itself recognised that justice may travel along more than one constitutional pathway.

    Now observe our third witness.

    The mechanism remains unchanged.

    Only the setting has altered.

    The village gathering has become a digital community.

    The community meeting has become a livestream.

    The neighbourhood conversation has become a national discussion.

    The instinct, however, is remarkably familiar.

    People continue seeking forums in which they believe their grievances will be heard.

    A Humbling Lesson for the Legal Profession

    This chapter does not diminish the dignity of the Advocate.

    Nor does it lessen the constitutional authority of the Courts.

    Instead, it presents us with a humbling question.

    If citizens increasingly seek recognition in places beyond the courtroom, what does that reveal about the expectations they now carry into our institutions?

    Do they seek only judgments?

    Or do they also seek understanding?

    Do they seek only procedure?

    Or do they also seek participation?

    Do they seek only legality?

    Or do they also seek legitimacy?

    These are uncomfortable questions.

    Yet institutions mature not by avoiding uncomfortable questions, but by answering them honestly.

    The Third Proposition Quietly Emerges

    At this point, a pattern becomes difficult to ignore.

    Citizens do not simply compare institutions by their legal authority.

    They compare them by their ability to satisfy deeply human expectations.

    Accessibility.

    Visibility.

    Responsiveness.

    Fairness.

    Dignity.

    Timeliness.

    Trust.

    The institution that best embodies these qualities increasingly becomes the institution to which people first turn.

    Not because the law commands it.

    But because confidence invites it.

    A Bridge to the Fourth Witness

    Thus far we have listened to communities.

    We have listened to the Judiciary.

    We have listened to society.

    One witness remains.

    Perhaps the most unexpected of all.

    It neither belongs to tradition nor to social media.

    It writes no judgments of its own.

    Yet every day it assists lawyers, students, judges, journalists and ordinary citizens in understanding the law.

    It is neither human nor institution in the ordinary sense.

    It is a technology.

    Artificial Intelligence.

    If the first witness teaches us where people went when institutions disappointed them, and the third teaches us where they gather today, the fourth asks an even more unsettling question:

    What happens when justice itself becomes conversational?

    It is to that witness that we now turn.

    JOIN THE UNDERGROUND AND FUEL THE MOVEMENT

    We have created a dedicated fans WhatsApp Channel. Don’t miss the latest updates, get early bird access to our latest blog posts and more, so much more. Click the following link to follow the Channel: https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029Vb9BQqw5a246bWVsLl3j

    Independent institutional critique and advocacy for a radical overhaul of legal culture require time, deep research, and uncompromised independence. If these narratives bring value to your legal journey or challenge your perspective, please visit our HOME PAGE to see how you can support this platform directly and keep the critique fierce and relentless.

    Enen Ambrose. Advocate

    Member, Judiciary Affairs Committee,

    Uganda Law Society

    & Founder–Enen Legal World

    Justice Ignited. Courage Unleashed.

    www.enenlegalworld.com | enen@enenlegalworld.com

  • ENEN’S SECOND LETTER TO THE RADICAL NEW BAR: CHAPTER TWO

    The Second Witness

    When the Judiciary Began Listening: Alternative Justice Systems and the Recognition of Legal Pluralism

    “Wisdom crieth without; she uttereth her voice in the streets.” — Proverbs 1:20

    Beloved,

    Every institution reveals its deepest convictions not merely by what it declares, but by what it chooses to reform.

    For reforms are confessions.

    When an institution reforms itself, it quietly admits that yesterday’s methods alone are no longer sufficient for tomorrow’s challenges.

    It is in this spirit that we now call our second witness.

    Unlike the first witness, this witness does not come from the villages of Lango.

    Neither does it come from the observations of an academic.

    It comes from the Judiciary of Uganda itself.

    A Quiet Admission

    For many years, the public imagination regarded justice as something that happened almost exclusively inside courtrooms.

    The architecture of justice appeared simple.

    A dispute arose.

    A lawyer was instructed.

    A case was filed.

    A judge decided.

    Justice was done.

    Or so we believed.

    Yet institutions, like people, learn.

    And when they learn, they sometimes change direction.

    The Judiciary’s increasing embrace of Alternative Justice Systems was not merely an administrative innovation.

    It was an acknowledgement that the administration of justice in Uganda has always been richer, broader and more diverse than formal litigation alone.

    The Language of Recognition

    Alternative Justice Systems are sometimes misunderstood.

    Some imagine that they are rivals to the courts.

    Others fear they diminish the rule of law.

    Such fears misunderstand their true significance.

    The Judiciary did not embrace Alternative Justice Systems because courts had ceased to matter.

    It embraced them because justice itself cannot be reduced to one procedural pathway.

    Long before the Constitution established courts of judicature, communities had developed ways of restoring relationships, resolving disputes and rebuilding fractured societies.

    The modern constitutional state did not erase those traditions.

    It inherited them.

    The question therefore became not whether they existed.

    The question became how they might coexist with constitutional guarantees of fairness, dignity and human rights.

    A Profound Institutional Realisation

    Permit me to state what I believe is the great significance of this development.

    The Judiciary’s recognition of Alternative Justice Systems is not merely about mediation.

    Nor is it simply about reducing case backlog.

    Those are important objectives.

    But beneath them lies something even deeper.

    It is the recognition that citizens do not experience justice through institutions in identical ways.

    Some disputes require authoritative judgments.

    Others require reconciliation.

    Some demand punishment.

    Others demand restoration.

    Some require legal certainty.

    Others require social healing.

    Justice, therefore, is not impoverished by recognising multiple pathways.

    It is enriched.

    The Constitutional Conversation

    Some may fear that recognising Alternative Justice Systems weakens the authority of the courts.

    I respectfully suggest the opposite.

    An institution demonstrates confidence not by denying reality, but by engaging it.

    The Judiciary did not surrender its constitutional role by acknowledging legal pluralism.

    It strengthened that role.

    For constitutional authority is not threatened by recognising the existence of other mechanisms.

    It is strengthened when it confidently defines the principles within which those mechanisms may operate.

    The Constitution remains supreme.

    But supremacy need not mean exclusivity.

    The Lesson Hidden Within Reform

    Here, beloved, we begin to perceive a pattern.

    Professor Agea observed that citizens sought justice through alternative mechanisms when confidence in formal institutions weakened.

    The Judiciary, through its own reforms, acknowledged that multiple pathways to justice already formed part of Uganda’s legal landscape.

    These two witnesses have never met.

    One speaks through ethnography.

    The other through institutional reform.

    Yet they testify to the same reality.

    Justice has never travelled by only one road.

    The Second Proposition Begins to Take Shape

    At this stage, another observation quietly emerges.

    Institutions do not preserve legitimacy by pretending alternatives do not exist.

    They preserve legitimacy by remaining the most trusted among them.

    This is an important distinction.

    Alternative Justice Systems do not necessarily diminish the Judiciary.

    They remind it continually of its constitutional vocation.

    To remain worthy of the confidence reposed in it by the people.

    Confidence, once again, quietly enters our discussion.

    Not yet as doctrine.

    Only as observation.

    A Gentle Warning

    Every reform carries within it an unanswered question.

    If citizens increasingly value accessibility…

    If they increasingly value participation…

    If they increasingly value restoration…

    If they increasingly value speed…

    Then every justice institution must continually ask itself:

    What qualities are drawing people towards alternative pathways?

    For reforms are not merely responses.

    They are mirrors.

    Sometimes they reveal not only where society is going,

    but also what society believes has been missing.

    A Bridge to the Third Witness

    The first witness listened to rural communities.

    The second witness listened to constitutional reality.

    Our third witness listens to something different altogether.

    Not villages. Not institutions.

    But millions of citizens connected through a device small enough to fit inside the palm of a hand.

    For in our own generation another forum has quietly emerged.

    It issues no summons.

    It possesses no judges.

    It keeps no court record.

    Yet powerful institutions increasingly find themselves compelled to answer there.

    It is called social media.

    Whether we celebrate it or lament it, we cannot honestly ignore it.

    To that witness we now turn.

    JOIN THE UNDERGROUND AND FUEL THE MOVEMENT

    We have created a dedicated fans WhatsApp Channel. Don’t miss the latest updates, get early bird access to our latest blog posts and more, so much more. Click the following link to follow the Channel: https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029Vb9BQqw5a246bWVsLl3j

    Independent institutional critique and advocacy for a radical overhaul of legal culture require time, deep research, and uncompromised independence. If these narratives bring value to your legal journey or challenge your perspective, please visit our HOME PAGE to see how you can support this platform directly and keep the critique fierce and relentless.

    Enen Ambrose. Advocate

    Member, Judiciary Affairs Committee,

    Uganda Law Society

    & Founder–Enen Legal World

    Justice Ignited. Courage Unleashed.

    www.enenlegalworld.com | enen@enenlegalworld.com

  • ULS Raises Alarm Over “Opaque E-Justice” in Besigye Case Directions

    ULS Raises Alarm Over “Opaque E-Justice” in Besigye Case Directions

    The Uganda Law Society (ULS) has raised concerns over what it describes as a growing shift towards “opaque e-justice,” warning that recent electronic case management directions issued in the high-profile Besigye case risk undermining constitutional guarantees of fair hearing, open justice and equality of arms.

    In a press statement released on Tuesday, the Society criticized the case management directions issued on 17 July 2026 by Justice Simon Peter M. Kinobe in High Court Miscellaneous Application No. 0248 of 2026, involving Dr Kizza Besigye and Hajji Obeid Lutale against Gen Muhoozi Kainerugaba and the Attorney General.

    A copy of the Press Statement can be accessed here:

    ULS Raises Alarm – Besigye’s Case Exposes Judiciary’s Drift into Opaque E-JusticeDownload

    According to the ULS, the directions impose stringent electronic filing deadlines under the Judiciary’s Electronic Court Case Management Information System (ECCMIS) while failing to account for litigants who may lack reliable access to computers, internet connectivity, legal representation or other basic resources required to participate effectively in digital proceedings.

    The Society argues that such requirements disproportionately disadvantage vulnerable litigants, particularly incarcerated applicants, and risk transforming technology from a tool that expands access to justice into one that restricts it.

    The statement further links the concerns to the Society’s earlier advisory issued on 4 June 2026 in response to the Chief Justice’s Administrative Circular No. 1 of 2026. In that advisory, the ULS questioned whether the Judiciary’s digital transformation framework sufficiently safeguards constitutional principles of transparency, public accountability and open justice.

    According to the Society, the latest case management directions reinforce those concerns by emphasizing administrative efficiency without corresponding safeguards for public and media access to court proceedings and records.

    Read also: A Paperless Judiciary: Why Aren’t We Ready?

    The ULS also questioned the practicality of requiring incarcerated applicants to comply with tight electronic timelines while the respondents—senior government officials represented by the State—enjoy significantly greater institutional resources.

    The Society maintains that this imbalance threatens the constitutional principle of equality of arms and may compromise the right to a fair hearing guaranteed under Article 28 of the Constitution.

    Beyond timelines, the statement criticizes the absence of mandatory pre-hearing scheduling conferences in complex constitutional litigation and warns that the Judiciary has yet to establish adequate contingency protocols for power outages, internet disruptions and system failures that could affect electronic proceedings.

    The Uganda Law Society called upon the trial judge to review the directions and adopt realistic procedural timelines that ensure meaningful participation by all parties.

    It also renewed its call for the rescission of the Chief Justice’s Administrative Circular No. 1 of 2026 and urged the Judiciary to develop a revised digital justice framework that expressly subordinates electronic court administration to constitutional guarantees of openness, fairness and equal access to justice.

    The statement concludes with a warning that digital innovation must remain a servant of justice rather than its master.

    “Justice that cannot be seen or accessed by the people is no justice at all,” the Society said.

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    Member, Judiciary Affairs Committee,

    Uganda Law Society

    & Founder–Enen Legal World

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  • A Paperless Judiciary: Why Aren’t We Ready?

    A Paperless Judiciary: Why Aren’t We Ready?

    A speech I presentd at the 18th RNB Live on 4th June, 2026 at ULS House, Kampala

    Paperless Judiciary: Why Aren’t We Ready?

    A speech presented by Enen Ambrose, blogger at www.enenlegalworld.com at the 18th RNB Live on 4th June, 2026 at ULS House, Kampala

    The President of the Uganda Law Society, Isaac K. Ssemakadde SC, the Most Perpendicular Vice President, Anthony Asiimwe, my Northern Uganda Representative to the ULS Governing Council, Egaru Emmanuel Omiat, who I believe is following this discussion online,the General Secretary Salim Babu, together with fellow members of the ULS RNB Governing Council — whom I prefer to call the ULS RNB High Command — the highly distinguished members of the medical fraternity present with us today, colleagues, fellow officers of the court, distinguished guests, and fellow citizens both here in the hall and watching us online:

    I was invited to speak in my capacity as a blogger at www.enenlegalworld.com on the theme: A Fully Paperless Judiciary — Why Aren’t We Ready?

    I stand before you today with deep humility and sincere concern. As a technology enthusiast who believes that technology must facilitate access to justice rather than impede it, I have witnessed firsthand the challenges that arise when we rush into a fully paperless system without adequately preparing the people it is meant to serve.

    What I have observed is not mere technical inconvenience. It is something far more serious — a subtle but damaging form of harm which I prefer to call “the quiet violence of procedure” being done to the very people we are sworn to serve.

     Part I: The Quiet Crisis

    This is not the violence of guns or angry mobs. It is the quiet, daily violence of a system that pretends everything is working when it clearly isn’t.

    Just three days ago, on 1st June 2026, the Judiciary’s deadline for crossing into full paperless operations came and went. Yet the Judiciary’s ICT Director confirmed that the system will only be rolled out to 49 courts — just 20% of the total.

    Imagine a magistrate who cannot access a bail application because the network has failed. The system coldly declares “the file is not before court.” Yet the accused — whether a poor market vendor, a struggling farmer, or a respected professional — stands right there in the dock.

    When this recently happened to an advocate, that person was remanded to Luzira Prison.

    We have always been told that justice delayed is justice denied. But what do we call justice that has simply disappeared from the screen?

    We are rushing into a paperless judiciary while many citizens, and even many lawyers, still cannot navigate it. If a poor person cannot understand their case without a single sheet of paper, have we really advanced, or have we simply replaced one barrier with a more expensive, more frustrating one?

     Part II: The Evidence on the Ground

    My concerns are not theoretical. A recent survey by the PM Digital Law Hub revealed worrying numbers:

    – 87% of judicial officers and advocates have experienced frequent system disruptions. 

    – 78% say technical support is unreliable. 

    – 67% were not confident we would be ready for the June 1st deadline. 

    – 59% have received no formal training at all.

    Let me give you a picture of what these numbers mean. My firm once sent a bright, confident legal assistant to the Gulu branch of the Uganda Registration Services Bureau. His task was to certify company records we needed as evidence in court. He knew the registry. He knew the clerk. He was polished and fully prepared.

    But when he arrived, the physical counter was still there — yet the records had already moved online. The staff of URSB turned him back empty-handed. That day, we had no choice but to force ourselves to adapt to the new technology.

    That, colleagues, is exactly where many of us are today with ECCMIS. We are still walking the old path, trusting the old counters, while the world has moved on.

    Let me tell you another story — one that has not happened yet, but will happen if we are not careful. I want you to meet a lawyer. She is experienced. She has practised for fifteen years. One afternoon, she receives an urgent call. A client is about to be evicted. A temporary injunction must be filed before 5:00 p.m. She knows the High Court Registry well. She has done this a hundred times. But when she arrives, the counters are gone. The clerks point to a sign: “All filings electronic. Use ECCMIS. No paper accepted.” She does not have her laptop. The courthouse Wi‑Fi is down. Her phone battery is low. She tries to log in — she has forgotten her password. She calls her clerk. No answer. The clock shows 4:47 p.m. Her client will be evicted tomorrow. And there is nothing she can do. Colleagues, come July 2026, if the paperless mandate is fully enforced without the changes we are demanding, this will happen. I guarantee it. Our lady lawyer will stand in that registry, fully unarmed and disempowered. In that moment, like our legal assistant at URSB, she will learn the hard way: how she was trained for the profession is no longer relevant. She must upgrade her digital skills — or risk being rendered irrelevant.

    In 2026, we still have judicial officers reaching for the Civil Procedure Rules of 1929 to determine the validity of a summons delivered through a WhatsApp message, while the entire body of laws enacted to facilitate the digital transformation of the Judiciary gathers dust.

    Without a clear Practice Direction from the Chief Justice, and without digital competence forming part of performance evaluation, even this limited rollout to only 49 courts risks a spectacular failure.

     Part III: The Human Cost

    The Nocturnal Lawyer

    Our advocates are now working at 2:00 a.m. not because they are dedicated, but because the system is too slow and congested during the day. We have, in effect, outsourced government server problems to the sleep and mental health of lawyers.

    This is not digital transformation. It is like constructing a magnificent house without laying a proper foundation — impressive on the surface, but unsustainable and harmful to those who must live in it.

    A new digital underclass

    As Advocate Madira Jimmy from Arua warned me, many lawyers in the North risk being reduced to “local assistants” for Kampala-based lawyers who have better internet and support.

    The same law degree, the same oath, but a completely different playing field. This is creating a dangerous hierarchy inside our own profession.

    The Vanishing File

    Under the old physical system, a file could be traced. Today, an urgent application can simply “disappear” in the ECCMIS system.

    A judicial officer who does not wish to attend to a matter no longer needs to hide a physical file. They can simply say, “The system shows nothing.” And who can argue with a screen they cannot see?

    We recently experienced this when the Uganda Law Society filed an urgent Human Rights Application concerning the Ggaba trial. That application was effectively not attended to.

    In my humble view, this incident points not only to a potential case of misconduct against the concerned judicial officers, but more importantly, to a deeper and disturbing lack of accountability in our digital justice system.

    If this can be done to the Uganda Law Society itself, one wonders: who else is suffering the same fate — ordinary citizens who have no voice and no remedy at all?

    Part IV: What We Must Do

    I am not here to condemn the Bar or the Bench, nor am I here as a doomsayer. My critique is directed across the board — at all of us who have a role to play in the successful adoption of digital transformation in the administration of justice.

    1. Mandate Offline Functionality — Every court computer must be able to pre-cache daily files and work when the network fails. Our banking, email apps, file backup systems like Google Drive already do this.
    1. Mandatory Training — No more “learning on the job.” Every judicial officer, clerk, and advocate must undergo verifiable digital training.
    1. Recognise Modern Communication — Issue a Practice Direction accepting service via WhatsApp and SMS to verified numbers. The court can always set aside service where injustice is shown.
    1. True Hybrid System — Do not treat paper as the enemy. A genuine hybrid approach beyond the current 20% rollout is wisdom, not weakness.
    1. Citizen-Centred Design — The system must work for the widow in Amudat who has never opened a PDF.
    1. Cultivate a Transformed Legal Culture — Digital transformation without a corresponding culture of accountability and citizen-centred justice is merely digitising the old bad manners. We must deliberately build a new legal culture where technology serves justice rather than concealing injustice.
    2. Embrace Technology at Individual and Institutional Level — We must consciously cultivate a new culture of embracing technology at both personal and institutional levels. A lawyer who boasts that they never read their emails or deliberately switches off their WhatsApp blue ticks is no different from a judicial officer who conveniently claims “the system shows nothing.” True digital transformation demands personal responsibility from all of us.

     Part V: A Call to Action

    To my fellow advocates: We must continue having honest and regular conversations about digital transformation and the development of a new digital legal culture. Our shared goal is to ensure that technology truly enhances access to justice for all. Let us speak up constructively, with one voice, for the good of our clients and the future of our profession.

    To judicial officers: My clarion call to you today is this — many of you are working under very difficult conditions. Let us join hands and fight together for better tools, better infrastructure, and better support.

    As the ancient proverb teaches us — and I have merely adapted it here — “the roots of accountability are bitter, but the fruits are sweet.” (A variation of Aristotle’s famous saying on education). Let us therefore courageously cultivate, at both personal and institutional levels, a new legal culture of accountability and genuine digital transformation.

    To the people of Uganda: Walk with us. The widow in Amudat — who has never opened a PDF — the accused in Luzira, whose bail application vanished from a screen, and the nocturnal lawyer, awake at 2am fighting a congested server — they need us to get this right.

    The spirit is willing. Let us now strengthen the flesh of this system.

    Thank you.

    I remain Enen Ambrose of Enen Legal World, a legal literacy blog which you can find at www.enenlegalworld.com and I say this for God and My Country.

    ENEN AMBROSE

    www.enenlegalworld.com

    A copy of the speech can be found here:

    20260604_A_PAPERLESS_JUDICIARY_WHY_AREN’T_WE_READY_A_SPEECH_BY_ENEN_AMBROSE_SIGNEDDownload

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    Enen Ambrose. Advocate

    Member, Judiciary Affairs Committee,

    Uganda Law Society

    & Founder–Enen Legal World

  • Chronicles of His Worship Mulyanyama — Episode 4

    Chronicles of His Worship Mulyanyama — Episode 4

    When the Accused Becomes an Ornament

    A procedure that turns courts into shrines of injustice, where freedom is a fairy tale and land is lost

    Author’s Note: The Chronicles of His Worship Mulyanyama is a serialized literary commentary designed to constructively critique the institutional and structural implications of the Magistrates Courts (Amendment) Act, No. 6 of 2026. This work is a creative exploration of the human infrastructure behind public service and is not intended to ridicule, embarrass, or undermine the integrity of the Judiciary.

    The stack of criminal files had not moved in eight years.

    One hundred of them.
    One hundred human beings.
    One hundred stories of land, hunger, and a law that refused to die.

    His Worship Mulyanyama picked the top two files.

    File No. 67 – Yokoyadi Okello. Charge: Aggravated Robbery.
    File No. 68 – Emmanuel Odongo. Charge: Murder.

    The State had never filed committal bundles. The accused had been on remand since before the last census. Neither could be granted bail – not by Mulyanyama. Only the High Court could do that. And the High Court had done nothing.

    Yokoyadi’s Hoe – Eight Years

    Yokoyadi was the elder brother of Ocen Okello – the bean supplier who had been chasing a school’s debt for four years. When their parents died during the LRA insurgency, Yokoyadi dropped out of school. He worked as a porter, a brickmaker, a night guard. He never went to court. He only wanted to protect the three acres their grandfather had cleared with a machete.

    Then Majutu arrived. An urban elite. A man who bought land after the war and spoke of “development.” Majutu wanted Yokoyadi’s plot. He offered a pittance. Yokoyadi refused.

    One morning, Majutu’s workers came to mark the boundary. Yokoyadi ran out with his hoe. He did not swing it at anyone. He struck the ground between them. He shouted: “Either you kill me first, or I die on this land. It will not leave my family.”

    That evening, Majutu called a police officer he knew. He reported aggravated robbery. He claimed Yokoyadi had threatened him with a deadly weapon – the hoe – and attempted to steal his mobile phone. There were no witnesses except Majutu’s own workers.

    Yokoyadi was arrested. Remanded. The State never filed proper committal papers. The case did not move.

    Eight years later.
    Majutu had erected a fence. He had built a guest house. He had planted eucalyptus where Yokoyadi’s father was buried.

    Yokoyadi had not seen a judge in five years. The file sat on Mulyanyama’s desk – a monument to a hoe that had become a life sentence.

    The Pastor’s Form – Eight Years

    Micaki was a widow. She could not read or write. She trusted people in uniforms – including Pastor Solomon, who ran a Pentecostal church in the trading centre.

    One afternoon, Pastor Ayak visited Micaki. He told her the government was giving free money to elderly vulnerable persons. He had a form. He just needed her thumbprint. She was grateful. She dipped her thumb in the stamp pad.

    Just as she was about to press it on the paper, her son Emmanuel walked in. He had returned from Lira for a visit. He saw the form. He yanked it from the pastor’s hand. He read it. It was not a government grant. It was a gift inter vivos – a transfer of ten acres to the pastor’s church foundation entirely for free!

    Emmanuel shouted. He demanded that the pastor leave. He chased him out of the compound. He did not touch him. He did not threaten his life. He simply raised his voice and pointed to the road.

    Two weeks later, a vagrant was found dead near the pastor’s church – a man known to drink at the local bar. Pastor Ayak went to the police. He told them Emmanuel had threatened him, that Emmanuel was violent, that Emmanuel must have killed the vagrant in a robbery.

    There was no evidence. No witness placed Emmanuel near the body. But the pastor was influential. His church had friends in the district. Emmanuel was arrested. Charged with murder. Capital offence. No bail.

    Eight years later.
    Pastor Ayak had built a primary school and a church on Micaki’s land. A banner read: “New Hope Pentecostal School – Transforming Lives.”

    Micaki sat on the roadside, watching children play where her cassava used to grow.

    Emmanuel had never been tried. The State had no witnesses. The file would not die.

    The Attempt

    Mulyanyama could not grant bail. He could not dismiss the charges. The law said he could only communicate the charges and call up the file for mention – to track the status of police inquiries or investigations. He could not provide any effective remedy for freedom – even though the law said every suspect was innocent until proven guilty or until conviction.

    He was not a magistrate. He was a warehouse for human beings.

    So he bundled the 100 files. He wrote a cover letter to the Resident Judge of the High Court Circuit. He asked for supervisory intervention. He personally drove the files to the High Court registry.

    A week later, his phone rang. He did not recognise the number. He answered.

    “Worship Mulyanyama.”

    The voice was tired. Not cruel. Tired.

    “This is the Resident Judge.”

    Mulyanyama straightened. “Good afternoon, my Lord.”

    “I am looking at your letter. The one about the committal files.”

    “Yes, my Lord. The accused have been on remand for eight years. The State has not filed commital papers. I cannot grant bail. I cannot dismiss the charges. I was hoping your Lordship could exercise supervisory –”

    The Judge cut him off.

    “I have murder sessions across four districts. I have bail applications from two prisons. I have a donor‑funded SGBV session starting next week. I do not have time for one hundred twenty one files that should have been dealt with at your level.”

    Mulyanyama: “With respect, my Lord, the law does not permit me to –”

    “Then the law is an ass.”

    Silence.

    “Listen to me, Worship. I am not your appeal court. I am not your clerk. Those files are your problem. Deal with them.”

    The line went dead.

    Mulyanyama stared at his phone. He understood now: the Judge was not cruel. He was simply drowning. And the 100 files were the first to sink.

    The Interns

    One afternoon, a group of internship students from Gulu University arrived at Omwonyo‑le. They were bright, eager, and armed with notebooks. Their supervisor had assigned them to sensitise remand inmates about their rights – the right to be presumed innocent, the right to legal representation, the right to a speedy trial.

    Mulyanyama allowed it. He had no power to refuse. He also had no power to help.

    The students sat with Yokoyadi. They explained Article 28 of the Constitution. They spoke of bail, of committal, of the State’s duty to file papers.

    Yokoyadi listened. Then he asked: “If all that is true, why have I been here eight years?” ,”Is there anything you can do to assist me?“

    The students had no answer. They were not qualified advocates. The law did not permit them to file anything, to apply for anything, to demand anything. They could only teach rights – not enforce them.

    They visited Emmanuel. He did not speak. He stared at the wall. One student tried to hold his hand. He pulled away.

    That evening, the students sat outside the court, silent. Their supervisor told them: “You have seen the gap between the law on paper and the law in practice. Now you must decide if you still want to be lawyers.”

    Mulyanyama watched them leave. He thought of the innocence of these brilliant Bachelor of Laws Degree students and what the future of Law and Legal practice probably held in store for these “emiti emito”– Luganda, his mother tongue’s proverbial expression of “children”. He thought of the 100 accused persons who had appeared before him for periods ranging between 7 to 8 years.

    He did not write in his diary that night. There was nothing left to say.

    Before you ask why justice delays… ask these questions:

    How many Yokoyadis are waiting in your local prison – eight years, ten years, twelve? How many Emmanuels are on remand because a wealthy, influential, highly connected and malicious complainant whispered a lie? And why does the law still force a magistrate to hold a hearing that serves no purpose?

    Eight years is not a delay.
    Eight years is a sentence – served without conviction.

    Enen Ambrose. Advocate. Member: Judiciary Affairs Committee of Uganda Law Society.

    If you missed the start of this journey, you can catch up on the systemic breakdown of the Magistrates Courts in Chronicles of His Worship Mulyanyama — Episode 3

    Legal Disclaimer Fiction & Non-Defamation Notice:

    This post is a pure work of fiction and creative literature. The characters, dialogue, specific incidents, and settings—including the character of His Worship Mulyanyama and the location of Omwonyo-le Magistrates Court—are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance or exact matches to actual persons, living or dead, real-life judicial officers, or specific ongoing cases is entirely coincidental. This text is created solely for the purpose of systemic legislative critique and systemic advocacy; it is not maliciously constructed, nor should it be interpreted as an attempt to defame, misrepresent, or malign any living individual or public office holder.

    The legal references in this Series is for information purposes only and is not intended to be used as a substitute for legal advice. The author does not assume responsibility or admit liability arising from the use of the contents of this blog as legal advice.

    The author strongly encourages readers to consult a licensed attorney for specific context related legal advice.

    JOIN THE UNDERGROUND AND FUEL THE MOVEMENT

    We have created a WhatsApp Channel. Don’t miss the latest updates, get early bird access to our latest episodes and more, so much more. Click the following link to follow the Channel: https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029Vb9BQqw5a246bWVsLl3j

    Independent institutional critique and advocacy for a radical overhaul of legal culture require time, deep research, and uncompromised independence. If these narratives bring value to your legal journey or challenge your perspective, please visit our HOME PAGE to see how you can support this platform directly and keep the critique fierce and relentless.

    Enen Ambrose. Advocate & Founder–Enen Legal World

  • THE QUIET VIOLENCE OF PROCEDURE III: When the System Sleeps, Justice Goes to Luzira. Reflections on ECCMIS, Offline Caching, and the Agony of an Unprepared Court

    THE QUIET VIOLENCE OF PROCEDURE III: When the System Sleeps, Justice Goes to Luzira. Reflections on ECCMIS, Offline Caching, and the Agony of an Unprepared Court

    Enen Legal World Logo.


    I. Gethsemane, 33 AD

    There is a moment in the Gospel of Mark that haunts every leader, every judge, every system builder.

    Jesus goes to the Garden of Gethsemane to pray. He takes Peter, James, and John. He is sorrowful, troubled, facing the cross. He asks them to stay awake, to watch with him.

    Then he walks away, prays, returns – and finds them sleeping.

    “Simon, are you asleep? Could you not keep watch for one hour?” (Mark 14:37)

    He warns them: “Watch and pray, so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.” (Matthew 26:41)

    They sleep again. Then the mob arrives. Jesus is arrested. And the disciples flee. Peter denies him three times out of fear.

    The consequence of sleeping? Failure at the moment of testing.

    II. Gethsemane, Buganda Road Court, 2026

    On 21 May 2026, an advocate appeared before a Magistrate at Buganda Road Chief Magistrate’s Court. His client had been charged with obtaining 600 million shillings by false pretence. The Advocate had uploaded bail application documents onto ECCMIS – the Judiciary’s flagship electronic case management system.

    The Advocate asked to be heard on bail.

    The Magistrate tried to access the uploaded documents.

    The network failed.

    ECCMIS would not display the files. The magistrate could not see the bail application. And instead of invoking the fallback provisions of the law – instead of assisting the advocate under Rule 9(4) and Rule 24(5) of the Judicature (Electronic Filing) Rules, 2025 – the Magistrate declined to hear the application.

    The Advocate was remanded to Luzira Prison until 4 June 2026.

    The system slept. And justice went to Luzira.

    Image: Buganda Road Court. Photo Credit, Nile Post, a member of the Next Media Company.


    III. The Spirit Is Willing – But the Flesh Is Weak

    The Judicature (Electronic Filing, Service and Virtual Proceedings) Rules, 2025 (S.I. No. 21 of 2025) are, on paper, remarkably progressive.

    Rule 24(5) of the Rules provide thus:

    The court may, in its discretion, adjust the schedule for responding to any affected filings, postpone the next court event, or provide other relief. It is my view that “others relief” includes a fall back position to actually hear the bail application manually, the network failure notwithstanding.

    The spirit of these Rules is willing. No judiciary transitions from paper to digital systems without friction, uncertainty, or implementation failures – and Uganda is no exception.

    But the flesh – the actual ECCMIS software and the training (or lack thereof) of judicial officers – is weak.

    The magistrate did not invoke Rule 24(5) Did not provide other relief i.e. a fall back position to actually hear the bail application, Why?

    Two possibilities – and both point away from individual malice and toward systemic failure.

    IV. Why Did the Court Sleep? Two Systemic Failures

    First: No offline caching in ECCMIS.

    If ECCMIS had an automatic local cache, the Magistrate’s computer would have downloaded all documents for that day’s matters the night before – or upon morning boot, or periodically. Even if the live network failed, the cached documents would remain accessible. The bail application would have been visible. The hearing could have proceeded.

    But ECCMIS, as currently deployed, appears to depend heavily on live connectivity. When the network fails, the court becomes blind. That is not a user error. That is an architecture flaw – though I write as an external observer, not as someone with access to internal design documents.

    What is needed: A software update that configures ECCMIS to:

    · Pre‑cache all case files for matters listed on a given day.
    · Update the cache every morning or whenever internet is available.
    · Allow offline access with a clear timestamp (“cached as of [time]”).
    · Sync back to the central system once connectivity is restored.

    This is not rocket science. Email clients do it. Mobile banking apps do it. Google Drive, One Drive and other online file back-up systems do it. Even WhatsApp caches messages offline. The Judiciary’s ECCMIS can do it – if the builders prioritise resilience over assumption of constant connectivity.

    Second: Inadequate training of judicial officers.

    Rule 60 of the 2025 Rules commands:

    The court shall, in collaboration with stakeholders, periodically undertake training for court users, judicial officers, unrepresented litigants and the public on use of ECCMIS.

    Where is that training? If Magistrates do not know they can assist under Rule 9(4), if they do not know they can order a paper fallback – then the Rules are dead letters. The fault is not primarily the Magistrate’s. The fault is the system that failed to prepare her.

    The Magistrate in Buganda Road was not malicious. She was unprepared. She was left alone with a broken network and no institutional backup. And like Peter in Gethsemane, she found herself in a situation where the institution had not equipped her to watch – the failure was systemic, not merely personal.

    V. The Blame Must Shift

    Public anger after the Buganda Road incident has, predictably, focused on the Magistrate. Some have called her incompetent. Others have suggested bias.

    I disagree.

    The Magistrate is the front‑line foot soldier of a digital transformation that was rolled out without full readiness. She was given a system that struggles offline, and no training on what to do when it fails. She was handed a beautiful set of Rules (S.I. 2025 No. 21) but not the practical tools to implement them.

    The real responsibility lies with:

    · The architects of ECCMIS – who designed a system that assumes perpetual internet connectivity in a country where power and data are unreliable.
    · The Judiciary’s leadership – who rolled out the paperless mandate without ensuring that every Magistrate understands Rules 9 and 24, and without installing basic offline caching.
    · The training units – who have not conducted the mandatory training required by Rule 60.

    Yes, the Magistrate could have done more. She could have read the Rules. She could have asked for an adjournment. She could have called the registry. But when a system fails, we do not blame the soldier alone. We also examine the armour and the General who deployed him and gave the orders.

    VI. A Concrete Way Forward

    The solution is not to abandon ECCMIS. It is to fix it.

    1. Technical fix: offline caching.
    The Judiciary’s ICT team must implement automatic local caching on all court computers. This is a one‑time software upgrade that pays for itself within weeks by eliminating network‑related adjournments.

    2. Training fix: mandatory, periodic, verifiable.
    Every judicial officer and court clerk must undergo hands‑on training on:

    · How to use offline mode.
    · How to invoke Rule 9(4) to assist litigants.
    · How to grant relief under Rule 24(5).
    · How to handle network failures without remanding people, especially when the question of Bail, which touches on the liberty and presumption of innocence of an accused person comes up for consideration.

    3. Accountability fix: a practice direction.
    The Chief Justice should issue a practice direction reminding all courts of their obligations under Rules 9 and 24, and requiring that any refusal to hear a matter due to ECCMIS failure be accompanied by a written explanation of why Rules 9(4) and 24(5) for fall back positions could not be followed.

    VII. Gethsemane, 2026 and Beyond

    Jesus did not condemn the disciples for sleeping. He warned them. He told them to watch and pray – because the flesh is weak.

    The flesh of ECCMIS is weak. The network fails. The cache is absent. The training is insufficient. But the spirit of the Rules is willing.

    The question is whether the Judiciary will watch – or continue to sleep.

    Because every time a Magistrate refuses to assist a litigant when ECCMIS fails, every time an Advocate or his client is remanded because the network is down, every time justice is delayed or denied not by malice but by unpreparedness – that is not a technical glitch.

    That is the agony of an unprepared court.

    And the consequence is always the same: those who came seeking justice flee. Their rights are denied. Their liberty is lost. And the system that was meant to protect them becomes the very instrument of their suffering.

    “Could you not keep watch for one hour?”

    The hour is now. The network will fail again. The question is not if – but when, and how the court responds.

    Will we equip our Magistrates (and in fact all judicial officers) to stay awake? Or will we keep sending accused persons to Luzira because the cache was empty and the training never came?

    The spirit is willing. Let us finally strengthen the flesh.

    DISCLAIMERS:
    This blog is not an attack on the Magistrate who handled the Buganda Road matter. Magistrates work under enormous pressure with limited resources. The critique here is directed at systemic failures: the architecture of ECCMIS, the inadequacy of training, and the absence of offline preparedness. Fair commentary is not personal attack.

    This blog is not legal advice. Readers should consult qualified attorneys for case‑specific guidance.

    Enen Ambrose
    Member, Judiciary Affairs Committee, Uganda Law Society
    For comments or feedback: enen@enenlegalworld.com

  • THE QUIET VIOLENCE OF PROCEDURE II: When Courts Resist Communication in the Age of E-Justice, A Reflection on Bakampa Brian Baryaguma v Bbaaka Property Consultants (U) Ltd

    THE QUIET VIOLENCE OF PROCEDURE II: When Courts Resist Communication in the Age of E-Justice, A Reflection on Bakampa Brian Baryaguma v Bbaaka Property Consultants (U) Ltd

    Enen Legal World Logo


    There is another kind of quiet violence in procedure.

    Not when the law assumes communication where none exists.
    But when communication eventually occurs, and the law still struggles to recognise its procedural legitimacy because it arrived through unfamiliar technological form.

    Days ago, in my earlier critique, The Quiet Violence of Procedure: When Digital Service Serves No One, I warned against a growing procedural danger within Uganda’s evolving E‑Justice architecture. I argued that a notice uploaded into ECCMIS is not necessarily a notice received; that “deemed service” is not always effective service; and that digital systems may satisfy procedural form while silently excluding the very litigants whose rights stand at risk.

    The concern then was technological presumption.

    This time, the concern is technological distrust.


    The Case and Its Difficulties

    In Bakampa Brian Baryaguma v Bbaaka Property Consultants (U) Ltd (Misc. Cause No. 0033 of 2023, 22 May 2026), the High Court held that service through WhatsApp, without prior leave for substituted service, was improper. The Applicant, self‑represented, sent the application to the Respondent company director’s WhatsApp number on 24 February 2023. The director only saw the message weeks later, on 4 April 2023, before instructing counsel who filed a response on behalf of the company.

    The Court struck out the affidavit of service, holding that the Applicant was not authorised to effect service under Order 5 rule 7 of the Civil Procedure Rules and had not first obtained leave for substituted service. The Court further struck out the Applicant’s supporting affidavit for being argumentative and containing matters of law (contrary to Order 19 rule 3 CPR), and dismissed the application with costs.

    A copy of the decision can be downloaded below:

    Bakampa Brian Baryaguma v Bbaaka Property Consultants (U) Ltd 2026 UGHCCD 154 (22 May 2026)Download


    I do not defend every aspect of the Applicant’s filings. The supporting affidavit may well have been defective under Order 19. The Applicant also admittedly did not first attempt conventional corporate service under Order 29 rule 2 CPR, nor did he obtain prior leave before resorting to WhatsApp. Those are genuine procedural weaknesses.

    But this reflection is not about the affidavit ruling. It is about the service holding – and the deeper jurisprudential questions it raises for Uganda’s digital transformation. I earlier posed the question “Uganda’s Courts are going paperless, the only question left is…are you?“

    I raised a critical concern about the preparedness of lawyers for paperless transition come June 2026. This blog inverses that question back to the courts themselves. With a ruling which effectively rolls back all the gains in the courts’ E-justice and digital transformation journey, I equally ask, “are our courts really ready for a fair, meaningful and realistic digital transformation?“


    The Conceptual Problem

    The real issue is not whether procedural safeguards around electronic service should exist.
    The question is: should courts continue treating direct electronic communication as inherently inferior to conventional physical service, even where actual notice is eventually achieved and no prejudice is demonstrated?

    Historically, substituted service existed because direct communication with a litigant had become impossible, impracticable, or evasive. Newspaper advertisements, affixing summons to premises, or leaving documents with third parties were indirect approximations designed to create the possibility of awareness where direct access could not be achieved.

    WhatsApp communication to a litigant’s verified personal number occupies a very different space.

    It is direct. It is individualised. It is traceable. And in many modern contexts, it may be more personal than conventional physical service itself.

    Traditionally, courts have accepted service where documents are left with receptionists, secretaries, guards, clerks, or relatives – all based on the assumption that the communication will eventually reach the intended recipient. A WhatsApp message arrives directly on the litigant’s personal handset, often with timestamps, delivery indicators, and sometimes read receipts.

    Ironically, historically accepted physical substituted service may sometimes be less direct than modern electronic communication.

    That forces an uncomfortable question:
    In the smartphone era, why should communication sent directly to a litigant’s verified personal number automatically be treated as procedurally inferior to leaving papers with a receptionist, such that prior leave for substituted service is required?”

    The Delay Problem – And Why It Is Not Decisive

    Of course, the facts of this case reveal an important caution. The Respondent director did not see the message immediately. Weeks passed before the communication came to his attention. That delay cannot simply be ignored.

    But the existence of delay does not necessarily establish that the medium itself was defective.

    Physical summons may equally sit unread on office desks for weeks. Letters may remain unopened. Receptionists may misplace documents. The proper procedural inquiry cannot merely be whether awareness occurred instantly, but whether the chosen method was reasonably calculated to bring the proceedings to the attention of the affected party.

    Here, the communication eventually did exactly that.
    The Respondent became aware. Counsel was instructed. An affidavit in reply was filed. Participation followed.

    Which raises another important constitutional question: What actual prejudice was ultimately suffered?

    That question becomes particularly pressing under Article 126(2)(e) of the Constitution, which requires courts to administer substantive justice without undue regard to technicalities – especially where the litigant is self‑represented and navigating complex procedural terrain without legal assistance.

    Even if the Court was correct that service was technically defective, one may still ask whether striking out the affidavit of service, striking out the supporting affidavit, and dismissing the entire application with costs was proportionate. Could the Court instead have directed proper service and allowed rectification, particularly in a human rights enforcement application?

    Uganda’s Own Jurisprudence Already Points Forward

    Long before this dispute arose, Uganda had already begun integrating technology into adjudication. The Constitution (Integration of ICT into the Adjudication Processes for Courts of Judicature) (Practice) Directions, 2019 encouraged the use of technology to improve efficiency and expedition. The Judiciary’s ongoing embrace of ECCMIS, electronic filing, virtual hearings, and paperless procedure reflects an unmistakable institutional movement toward digitally facilitated justice.

    More importantly, Ugandan jurisprudence has already recognised technologically facilitated service itself.

    In Male H Mabirizi K. Kiwanuka v Attorney General, Justice Ssekaana Musa expressly acknowledged that service through “email or facebook or whatsApp or any other technologically advanced means” are methods calculated at bringing proceedings to the attention of parties. The Court further recognised that personal service is required only “wherever practicable” before concluding that service was effective because participation followed.

    A copy of that decision can be accessed below:

    Male Mabilizi v Attorney General (Miscellaneous Application No 918 of 2021) 2022 UGHCCD 50 (27 January 2022)Download


    That reasoning shifts procedural legitimacy away from ceremonial delivery and toward communicative effectiveness.

    And that is where the Bakampa ruling becomes difficult to reconcile with the Judiciary’s broader digital trajectory.

    A Concrete Way Forward

    What is needed is not a revolution, but a practice direction.

    The Chief Justice should issue guidance clarifying that electronic service via WhatsApp, SMS, or similar direct messaging platforms – when sent to a verified number and followed by reasonable confirmation (such as a follow‑up call or text) – may be recognised as valid service without prior leave, provided that:

    · The sender proves actual notice (e.g., delivery receipt, screenshot, or acknowledgment);
    · No prejudice is caused to the recipient (e.g., sufficient time to respond);
    · The court retains power to set aside service if injustice is shown.

    This would bring Uganda’s procedural law into alignment with its own constitutional commitment to substantive justice and its declared embrace of digital transformation.


    Conclusion

    Uganda’s courts now stand between two procedural imaginations. One remains rooted in paper legitimacy and inherited analog assumptions. The other recognises that constitutional fairness depends not on the medium, but on whether proceedings actually come to the attention of the affected party.

    That tension is no longer merely technological. It is jurisprudential.

    In Geoffrey Gatete & Another v William Kyobe, the Supreme Court distinguished between “deemed service” and “effective service,” warning that procedural law may presume notice without proving actual awareness. The Bakampa difficulty inverts that concern: awareness eventually existed, participation followed, yet the communication remained procedurally suspect because it arrived through a medium still viewed with doctrinal caution.

    This is not an argument against procedural safeguards.
    It is an argument for procedural realism in the age of digital justice.

    Because justice does not only fail when communication never reaches.
    Sometimes, it also falters when the law hesitates to recognise communication after it has already arrived.

    DISCLAIMERS:

    This blog is not an attack on the Learned Judge in the Bakampa decision.  It is fair commentary intended to foster a discussion and self reflection on the Judiciary’s forthcoming paperless transition to fully digital courts, for E-justice and digital transformation must serve justice rather than suffocate or truncate it.

    This blog is not intended to be used as a substitute for legal advice. The author accepts no liability or responsibility for any losses that arise from use of information as legal advice. Readers are encouraged to consult a licensed attorney of their choice for situation specific  legal advice.

    Enen Ambrose
    Member, Judiciary Affairs Committee, Uganda Law Society.

    For comments or feedback, write to: enen@enenlegalworld.com 

  • Uganda’s Courts Are Going Paperless. The Only Question Left Is… Are You?

    Uganda’s Courts Are Going Paperless. The Only Question Left Is… Are You?

    Enen Legal World Logo


    In a matter of days, somewhere in Kampala, an advocate will walk into chambers carrying a file.
    A real file.
    Bound in cardboard.
    Stuffed with pleadings.
    Scarred by coffee stains.
    Held together by registry stamps, handwritten notes, and the quiet traditions that have shaped Uganda’s legal profession for generations.
    He will place it on his desk.
    He will call his clerk.
    He will ask about the service.
    He will ask whether the registry finally responded.
    He will ask whether the ruling was uploaded.
    He will ask if tomorrow’s matter still appears on the court list.
    And without fully realizing it…
    He may already be practising history.

    Because on 17 February 2026, Uganda’s Chief Justice signed an administrative circular that quietly accelerated what many had long assumed was still years away.

    And on 1 June 2026, every advocate practising before courts integrated into ECCMIS will begin to feel the reality of it.
    Paper files, as we know them, begin to lose their dominance.
    Not theoretically.
    Not academically.
    Not someday.
    This June.

    Suddenly, a question that once sounded futuristic now feels deeply personal:
    Is the Ugandan legal profession actually prepared for digitally operational courts?
    Not on conference banners.
    Not in panel discussions.
    Not on LinkedIn posts celebrating innovation.
    In chambers.
    In active files.
    In client communication.
    In deadlines.
    In operational reality.
    And if we are being honest, this conversation did not begin with me.

    The Judiciary has moved.
    ECCMIS has moved.
    The Uganda Law Society has moved.
    Developers have moved.
    Institutions have moved.
    The only chambers left to convince… may now be our own.
    Because if we are being painfully honest, many firms are still operating through fragmented systems held together largely by human effort.
    Some clerks still physically chase court lists.

    Some advocates still log into ECCMIS repeatedly “to check.”
    Some clients still travel to court only to discover their matter was adjourned hours earlier.
    Some managing partners still call chambers late in the evening, asking whether rulings were uploaded.
    Some firms still lose valuable hours searching through paper trails for information that should already be accessible instantly.
    None of this reflects incompetence.
    It reflects transition.
    And in June, transition becomes unavoidable.
    Because nostalgia will not file pleadings.
    Sentiment has never uploaded a PDF.
    And operational inefficiency increasingly carries reputational consequences.

    Days ago, in my previous article, The Quiet Violence of Procedure, I argued that justice does not always fail loudly. Sometimes it fails quietly – inside missed notifications, delayed communication, inaccessible records, and systems that store information without truly delivering it to the people who need it.
    Technology alone does not solve that problem.
    Preparedness does.

    Shortly after publishing that article, I received a phone call from a Ugandan technology company, Riyale Tech Solutions. I assumed the conversation would be defensive. Instead, the invitation was remarkably simple:
    “Counsel… come and see.”
    So I went.
    And what I encountered forced me to confront an uncomfortable possibility:

    What if the profession is not facing a technology problem at all… but a preparedness problem?

    Because what I saw was not merely software in the conventional sense. It was an attempt to redesign how legal practice operationally functions in the ECCMIS era.
    Imagine chambers operating from one secure digital environment where drafting, filing, billing, scheduling, client communication, and court updates exist together rather than in disconnected fragments.

    A matter moves in ECCMIS – and the Advocate knows immediately.
    A notice is issued, and the chambers know immediately.
    More importantly, the client knows too.
    Automatically.

    Through WhatsApp.
    Through SMS.
    Through email.
    No chasing.
    No uncertainty.
    No “let me first call my clerk.”

    For years, lawyers adapted themselves to court systems.
    For the first time, platforms are beginning to adapt around lawyers.

    And perhaps most surprisingly, this is not imported software retrofitted for Uganda. It is Ugandan-built technology designed specifically around the operational realities of Ugandan legal practice.

    A client in Kampala, Gulu, Arua, Mbarara, Nairobi, London, or Dubai can securely monitor the progress of their matter in real time.
    Invoices are generated systematically.
    Records organize themselves.
    Court updates synchronize automatically.
    Internal workflows become visible.
    Communication becomes traceable.
    In that moment, a law firm stops functioning merely as a paper-dependent physical office and begins operating as a modern legal institution.

    This article is not an advertisement.
    It is an observation about where legal practice in Uganda appears to be heading.
    Because in the ECCMIS era, legal excellence may still win cases – but operational efficiency will increasingly win client confidence.
    And that reality raises difficult questions.
    Which firms will adapt fastest?
    Which firms will attract the next generation of clients?
    Which chambers will build operational resilience?
    Which firms will continue spending valuable hours managing paperwork while competitors focus on strategy, advocacy, and growth?
    Technology itself does not threaten the legal profession.
    Irrelevance does.
    Paperless courts alone do not create digital justice.
    Prepared lawyers do.
    Over the past week, conversations around legal technology have intensified – among advocates, managing partners, clerks, judicial officers, and law students alike, all asking versions of the same question:
    “What does readiness actually look like?”
    For the first time, I may now have at least one answer.
    Because on June 1st, paper may begin leaving Uganda’s courtrooms.
    But excuses may begin leaving the profession, too.

    Riyale Tech Solutions offers a comprehensive legal management system integrated with ECCMIS, designed to support law firms transitioning into Uganda’s digital court environment. It centralises case management, client records, document handling, billing, scheduling, and daily operations into a single structured system.
    Through real-time synchronisation with ECCMIS, case updates are automatically reflected without requiring repeated manual logins.
    The platform also delivers instant notifications via email and WhatsApp, ensuring that both advocates and clients remain informed as matters progress.

    Now let me be equally clear. I hold no equity, ownership, employment, or decision-making role in Riyale Tech Solutions or any affiliated legal technology provider discussed in this article.
    Any professional introductions that may arise between practitioners and technology providers do not influence the opinions expressed here, which remain independently formed.

    Enen Ambrose

    Battle hardened RNB Ethusiast; deliberately pushing #Digital Transformation, one of the 4Ds of the RNB Back on track Mantra.
    Member, Judiciary Affairs Committee
    Uganda Law Society
    For feedback or questions:
    enen@enenlegalworld.com

  • When Courts Confuse Asymmetry with Injustice: Kenya’s AI Ruling and the Fear of the Machine

    When Courts Confuse Asymmetry with Injustice: Kenya’s AI Ruling and the Fear of the Machine

    A comparative East African reflection on artificial intelligence, procedural fairness, and the future of legal drafting

    Enen Legal World Logo.


    A self-represented litigant in Nairobi used artificial intelligence to draft his pleadings. He reviewed, edited, and adopted every word. He swore no fabricated cases, no false citations. He acted transparently, disclosing his use of AI tools.

    Then the High Court of Kenya at Milimani set aside his judgment, called his conduct an abuse of process, and barred him from ever filing any “machine‑generated” pleading in any Kenyan court – unless Parliament first passes a law explicitly allowing AI‑assisted drafting.

    That is not judicial caution. It is judicial anxiety in the face of technological disruption.

    The Ruling in Brief

    In Republic of Kenya, High Court at Nairobi County, Milimani High Court, HCJRMISC/E120/2025 (ruling delivered 16 April 2026), Justice J. Chigiti (SC) considered whether it is legal to draft pleadings using artificial intelligence tools. The respondent/ex parte applicant admitted using what he described as ordinary digital tools, including legal research tools, to assist in writing. He maintained that he had personally reviewed, edited, and adopted every document and remained personally responsible for all factual statements on oath and legal citations. He argued that his pleadings contained no fabricated cases, false citations, or invented quotations, and that, being self‑represented, he had used lawful tools to participate effectively in court.

    The Court disagreed. It held that:

    · The use of personalised drafting tools, structures and methodologies not provided for under the rules of drafting was “deplorable”.
    · Allowing such departures would create a “litigation disaster” leaving judges with no guiding beacons.
    · Generating pleadings through unknown tools or AI gives an unfair advantage to the user, amounting to an affront to access to justice under Article 48 of the Constitution.
    · The fact the applicant admitted using such tools amounted to an abuse of court.
    · The applicant could not “vouch for or verify for the court the truthfulness or accuracy” of AI‑generated pleadings, because that would mean he acted as a judge in his own case, violating natural justice.

    On that basis, the Court barred the applicant from filing any other pleadings in any court that are machine‑generated, unless a law is passed in Kenya allowing or providing for drafting using artificial intelligence tools.

    The Court did observe that technology is a powerful socio‑economic growth tool when harnessed within a legal framework, and invited the Rules Committee to consider amending the Civil Procedure Rules through public participation to embrace technology and AI drafting rules. But the prohibition stands.



    The Flaws in the Judgment

    Respectfully, the ruling cannot withstand serious scrutiny. I identify four fundamental errors.

    1. The “Procedural Integrity” Error

    The Court reasoned that because the Civil Procedure Rules do not mention AI, using AI is unlawful. But the Civil Procedure Rules do not mention laptops, either. They do not mention word processors, grammar‑check software, the delete key, or the backspace button. No judge has ever struck a pleading for being typed rather than handwritten.

    Silence in the rules is not a prohibition. It is a gap that the rules themselves empower courts to fill – reasonably, proportionately, and with an eye to justice, not to ritual.

    2. The “Unfair Advantage” Error – This One Is Fatal

    The Court held that a litigant using AI has an unfair advantage over one who does not, and that this violates equality of arms.

    Let us apply that logic consistently.

    · Google vs. Law Reports – A lawyer with a smartphone and an internet connection can find authorities in seconds. Another, relying on a dusty shelf of hardbound law reports, takes hours. Is that unfair? No judge has ever said so.
    · AfricanLii / KenyaLii – These digital databases make case law searchable, cross‑referenced, and instantly accessible. A litigant without them is at a disadvantage. Has any court called that an affront to Article 48? On the contrary, the Judiciary itself promotes these tools.
    · Ulii (Uganda Legal Information Institute) – It now uses AI to summarise judgments. No judge in Uganda has condemned it. No advocate has been barred for citing an AI‑generated summary. The tool is public, free, and welcomed.
    · Modern medicine – A patient in a Nairobi teaching hospital has access to MRI scans, robotic surgery, and AI‑assisted diagnostics. A patient in a remote clinic does not. That inequality is real. But no court has banned MRI machines because not everyone can afford them. The answer is to spread the technology, not to ban it.

    The Court confused asymmetry with injustice. An asymmetry is unjust only when it is arbitrary (only one side gets the tool), hidden (use is not disclosed), or undermines a core right (such as the ability to test evidence). None of those conditions applied here. The litigant disclosed his AI use. The tools are widely available. And the core right – to present a truthful, coherent pleading – was enhanced, not undermined.

    If the Court’s logic were applied consistently, we would still be filing pleadings in quill and ink. The unfair advantage is not in the tool. It is in the refusal to adapt.

    3. The “Judicial Capacity” Error

    The Court said it cannot “verify” AI‑generated content, so the safer course is to ban it entirely.

    But courts never “verify” how a human wrote a pleading. They do not audit pen strokes, interview secretaries, or review dictation logs. They look at the final document. If it contains lies, fake cases, or false citations, they sanction the filer. That same framework works perfectly well for AI.

    The Court could have required disclosure, a personal verification oath, and a statement that no fabricated content is included. That is governance, not prohibition. Instead, it chose the nuclear option.

    4. The “Parliament’s Prerogative” Error

    The Court held that only Parliament, not the courts, can authorise AI use in legal process.

    Artificial intelligence is not a controlled substance. It is a tool. Courts do not need a statute to permit the use of search engines, word processors, or online databases. They do not need an Act of Parliament to allow a lawyer to take a typing class.

    Mandating a legislative framework for basic productivity software is not judicial restraint. It is jurisdictional abdication.

    —

    A Constitutional Mirror: Article 159 of the Kenya Constitution

    The ruling’s approach sits uneasily with Kenya’s own constitutional framework. Article 159(2)(d) of the Kenya Constitution 2010 commands that “justice shall be administered without undue regard to procedural technicalities.”

    Procedure exists to serve justice – not to imprison it. A prohibition on an entire category of drafting tools, without any evidence of misuse, elevates form over substance. That is precisely what Article 159 warns against.

    If a self‑represented litigant files a pleading that is truthful, coherent, and personally verified, does the mere fact that an AI assisted in its composition make it less worthy of consideration? The Constitution suggests the answer is no.

    —

    What the Court Could Have Done – And What Others Are Doing

    A more thoughtful, proportionate approach is not only possible; it is already being implemented elsewhere.

    In Kenya itself, Justice Bahati Mwamuye recently struck out an AI‑assisted filing – but for procedural defects (missing notice statements, non‑compliant affidavits), not for AI use itself. He gave the litigant leave to refile. That is proportionate. (See AllAfrica, 11 March 2026)

    Internationally, Singapore’s State Courts have issued a detailed Guide on the Use of Generative Artificial Intelligence Tools by Court Users (effective 1 October 2024). Lawyers may use AI but remain fully responsible for all content; must fact‑check; must not fabricate evidence; violations may lead to sanctions. No prohibition. Just governance. (Registrar’s Circular No. 9, State Courts of Singapore)

    In Estonia, small contract disputes below €7,000 can be decided by an AI judge that proposes a decision; a human judge then reviews and may modify or set it aside. That system has reduced backlog without sacrificing due process. (Law Society Journal, Australia, August 2024)

    Even Kenya’s own Chief Justice, Martha Koome, announced in August 2025 that the Judiciary is developing an AI Adoption Policy Framework to guide integration of AI tools while safeguarding judicial independence, data privacy and due process. (Judiciary of Kenya official website, 11 August 2025)

    The Chigiti ruling is swimming against the tide of its own institution’s planning.

    The correct path is clear:

    · Disclosure – A litigant or lawyer using AI to draft pleadings should disclose that fact.
    · Verification – The filer must personally review and adopt all content, swearing to its truthfulness.
    · Accountability – False citations, fabricated cases, or misleading content remain sanctionable, whether written by a human or generated by a machine.
    · No prohibition – The tool itself is not the offence. Misuse is.

    The Legal Profession Responds

    Prominent Kenyan lawyers have reacted with dismay.

    Ahmednasir Abdullahi, SC, one of Kenya’s most respected advocates, wrote on X: “What an absurd decision. Does it matter whether one drafts pleadings using AI tools or uses a typewriter? It is none of the court’s business.” (Nairobi Law Monthly, 21 April 2026)

    Steve Biko Wafula, senior counsel, published a detailed critique: “This ruling reads less like modern jurisprudence and more like a judicial panic attack in the face of technological change… The court had a first‑rate jurisprudential problem in its hands and squandered it, trying instead to drag the administration of justice back into the pre‑digital age.” (Soko Directory, 21 April 2026)

    These are not fringe voices. They are the heart of the Kenyan bar.

    A Word to My Ugandan Colleagues – And to Our Judges

    I write from Uganda, where we have not (yet) seen a ruling of this kind. Our judges have quietly tolerated – perhaps even welcomed – the steady digitisation of practice. We use e‑filing, and we cite Ulii’s AI‑generated summaries without panic.

    But the same instinct that produced the Chigiti ruling lives everywhere: the fear that the machine will replace the judge, that the algorithm will swallow the advocate, that technology will dissolve the profession’s hard‑won exclusivity.

    That fear is misplaced.

    AI does not abolish judgment. It does not abolish ethics. It does not abolish the court’s ultimate authority. What AI abolishes is inefficiency – hours spent searching for authorities that software can locate in seconds, repetitive drafting, and the false prestige built around scarcity of technical knowledge.

    And perhaps that is what truly frightens some corners of the profession. When information becomes democratised, gatekeepers begin to sweat.

    But justice does not belong to the gatekeepers. It belongs to the public. And the public does not care whether a pleading was drafted by candlelight, typewriter, Microsoft Word, or artificial intelligence. The public cares whether justice is accessible, affordable, timely, intelligible, and fair.

    If AI helps achieve that mission, then resisting it is not conservatism. It is obstruction. And obstruction disguised as professionalism remains obstruction.

    Conclusion: The Future Cannot Be Injuncted

    History is littered with institutions that initially resisted the printing press, telephones, computers and the internet – only to later embrace them as essential tools.

    Did the world wait for a complete legal framework before embracing mobile money? Did banks issue a constitutional petition before M‑Pesa rewired African commerce? Did Western Union obtain an injunction against digital wallets because “money transfers” had traditionally been their sacred territory? Of course not.

    Technology arrived. Society adapted. Regulators followed. That is how civilisation has always moved.

    The same will happen with AI in the legal profession. The only remaining question is: will courts lead this transformation – or become footnotes in it?

    To our Kenyan brothers and sisters: this ruling is a warning for all of us. Not because Kenya is wrong, but because the same instinct – to fear the machine, to reach for a prohibition when a guideline would suffice – lives in every jurisdiction, including ours. The question is not whether Uganda will face this debate. The question is whether we will face it more wisely.

    And to any judge reading this: thank you for your service. But please, do not ban the future. Regulate it, guide it, human‑oversight it – but do not pretend that a tool becomes an abuse simply because it is new.

    This time, let us not make the same mistake.

    ― END ―

    Disclaimer: This blog is a critique of a judicial ruling and a contribution to the conversation on technology and legal practice. It is not intended as legal advice, nor as an attack on any judicial officer or institution. The author remains committed to the rule of law, judicial independence, and the responsible integration of technology into the administration of justice.

    Enen Ambrose.  (File photo)


    Enen Ambrose

    Member: Judiciary Affairs Committee

    Uganda Law Society

    For feedback or questions, write to: enen@enenlegalworld.com