At Enen Legal World, we don’t just blog legal commentary to make laws accessible to the people. We craft stories that resonate, grounded in unyielding truth. We recently stumbled upon a sensational piece by Ono Bwino’s Sengooba Alirabaki, boldly titled “Panic At NRM Elections Tribunal As Senior Lawyer Protests Appearing Before Junior Counsel Byamazima.” It claimed Senior Counsel Caleb Alaka “stormed out” of the NRM Elections Tribunal, supposedly too proud to face “junior lawyer” Joshua Byamazima over his client’s 2026 parliamentary ticket.
Our mission? To dig deep and deliver facts with impact. What we uncovered shocked us: this story wasn’t just shaky, it trampled on the sacred principles of journalism: accuracy, fairness, and transparency.
Left, Senior Advocate, Caleb Alaka: Right, Counsel Byamazima Joshua. Images from their respective X (formerly Twitter handles)
We reached out to Senior Counsel Alaka, and his response hit like a thunderbolt:
“This is an absolute lie… I have appeared before Byamazima before without any qualm. I do not undermine institutions I am obliged to serve in my professional work.”
And then came the clincher. Alaka told us:
“It is alleged that I was representing Samuel Odongo Oledo against Samuel Okwir Odwe before the tribunal. For the record, I do not know Oledo, he has never been my client, I have never talked to him, and I have never acted for him or his opponent. I have full trust in the tribunal and have no reason to protest against any member. A judicial or quasi-judicial officer is to be respected regardless of age.”
These words obliterated the article’s narrative. Diving deeper, we found zero evidence for Alaka’s alleged protest, no trace of his input sought, and a flimsy reliance on shadowy “highly placed sources” to peddle a fabricated tale of professional scorn.
This isn’t reporting. It’s gossip draped in newsprint, a betrayal of the truth we’re sworn to uphold.
In line with our commitment to accuracy and fairness, Enen Legal World reached out to both the author of the Ono Bwino piece and Tribunal member Joshua Byamazima for their comments before going live. The author did not take our call. Mr. Byamazima declined to comment, instead referring us to a “director” without providing specifics. By the time we went live with this blog, no authorised official from the NRM Elections Tribunal had responded to our request for comment.
At Enen Legal World, where we don’t just blog legal commentary but believe in blogging with impact, and above all, with truth, we call out such failures with unrelenting clarity.
Unverified claims? They’re rumors, not stories. No right of reply? That’s a hit piece, not journalism. No transparency? That’s propaganda, not reporting.
Ono Bwino’s piece isn’t just flawed. It’s a masterclass in how to erode public trust.
To our fellow storytellers in the media world: chase bold narratives, but let truth be your compass. Verify with primary sources, amplify all voices, and lay your methods bare. At Enen Legal World, we believe a story’s power lies in its truth, not its flash. A blog full of concoctions attracts heavy legal consequences, namely, a suit in defamation with hefty awards in general damages and costs. It pits sector regulators like the Uganda Communications Commission against the authors. Most importantly, such reckless spewing of unverified claims does reputational harm to the individuals concerned. We call out such injustices plainly, publicly, and defiantly.
We don’t just write at Enen Legal World, we ignite conversations, champion fairness, and wield truth as our mightiest tool. If we can’t tell stories that stand firm on facts, we’ve got no business telling them at all.
Disclaimer:
The information provided here is only intended to spark conversations about responsible journalism and its legal consequences. It is not intended to be used as legal advice and should not be used as such. We accept no liability for use of information contained in this Blog as legal advice. Readers are encouraged to consult a qualified licensed attorney for situation specific legal advice.
Dusk cloaks a Ugandan village, the stew pot simmering under a mango tree, its steam weaving kin. Semaka, iron-fisted head of the home, strides in, his name a tremor, his spoon, greedy as a warlord’s blade, clinks against the pot, counting the meat, each jab a betrayal of trust. Jucupanti, rooted like a termite hill, stands as justice, her eyes kind yet fierce, her heart a scale balancing truth, her serenity Uganda’s beating root. Semaka’s meddling scars her, but her sons, barefoot, smoke-eyed fists like granite, rise to thrash the tyrant defiling their mother’s pot.
Jimmy James Micheal Akena, Isaac Ssemakadde, and Denis Enap
This is Uganda’s fight. The state is Semaka, its institutions, the pot, autonomy, the meat. Every clink is a power grab, every glance a wound to democracy’s soul. The sons, Uganda Law Society (ULS), Uganda Peoples Congress (UPC), the people, are its watchdogs, their fury blazing in courtrooms, civil society, public town halls and digital shadows. Institutional autonomy, the heart of democracy, pulses in their defiance, guarding Jucupanti’s pot against Semaka’s claw.
A Kampala courtroom crackles with treachery. Semaka’s chopping sticks yanked four critical ULS appeals from the Court of Appeal’s cause list for 10th July 2025. Semaka’s style and chopping sticks have no respect for decisional autonomy of the empanelled coram designated to hear those very appeals and the fact that causelisting them was already a Judicial Act which could not be reversed in a casual manner, administratively.
The affected Appeals were:
1. Civil Appeal No. 98 of 2025 ULS & Anor v Mugisha Hashim & 2 Ors.,
2. Civil Appeal No. 99 of 2025 ULS & Anor v Phoena Nabasa Wall,
3. Civil Appeal No. 102 of 2025 Isaac Ssemakadde v Mugisha Hashim, and;
4. Civil Appeal No. 111 of 2025 ULS v Brian Kirima—chaining ULS’s nomination to the Judicial Service Commission, its President Isaac Ssemakadde’s liberty, and its democratic governance. On June 30, 2025, the Registrar de-cause-listed these appeals, citing non-mandatory conferencing, followed by indefinite delays on July 3. On July 7, the Deputy Chief Justice admitted directing the move, cloaking it in Article 21(1)’s equality while alleging baseless lobbying by ULS and prioritizing decade-old appeals. This is judicial capture—Semaka’s spoon stealing the meat, shielding Hon. Justice Musa Ssekaana’s rulings (himself now a Justice of Appeal) and defying Articles 28(1) (fair hearing), 128(1)-(2) (judicial independence), and 126(1) (public interest). The cases of the State of Utta Pradesh vs. Anup Singh and Carltona Ltd vs Commissioner of Works [1943]2 ALLER 560 all stand shoulder to shoulder with the Uganda Law Society, buttressing its push back to protest the decause lisitng of the ULS Appeals as an erosion of the decisional autonomy and independence of the three justices before whom the appeals were scheduled to be heard. Of course, the ULS stood unbowed in its fight to yank Semaka’s schemes.
What followed was three days of digital town halls on X, hosted by Alfred Muyaka, ULS Head of Communications Adam Nuwamanya, and the indomitable Leonard Egesa slamming the Judiciary for institutional capture of the ULS. The stakes were so high. In between the spaces were frantic legal and diplomatic efforts to restore the ULS Appeals to the cause list and when it became clear that the Deputy Chief Justice had refused to relent as he had earlier communicated, the ULS hurled, like a rocket launcher, an official boycott of the Hon. Chief Justice, Alfonse Owiny-Dollo’s thanksgiving prayer and feast in Patongo, Agago District.
Ssemakadde’s voice, sharp as a spear, carved 17 truths, three of which yours truly brings to you in surmised form from The Observer (July 23, 2025): Patongo’s gifts—Shs 5m from an acting judge, Shs 3m from the Principal Judge—spit on the Leadership Code Act’s Shs 200,000 cap,(Sections 12(3) with a duty to report gifts in excess of the threshold to the Inspector General of Government (Section 12(4) and a duty to deposit the excess into the Consolidated fund, (Section 12(7))breeding corruption’s rot. The NRM National chairperson’s triumphalist presence (President Yoweri Tibahaburwa Museveni) while throwing jibes at the Democratic Party’s President and Minister of Justice and Constitutional Affairs Minister, Hon Nobert Mao for the destruction of the Democratic Party and cloaked in secret donations, risks political capture, defying judicial neutrality (Principles 2.2, 4.4, 4.6, Judicial Conduct Code). The tax-fueled feast mocked Ugandans begging for justice in crumbling courts, crowning the judiciary elitist, not just.
Ssemakadde’s roar is a son’s fist for Jucupanti’s honor, a war cry to seize the judiciary’s soul. The cry drifts to Kampala’s heart, where Uganda House, relic of Obote’s dreams, hums with defiance. Jimmy Akena, heir to that fire, sits, his face lit by a laptop’s glow. On July 26, 2025, police churn Kamdini’s dust, chasing a UPC National Delegates Conference that’s a ghost. The day before, Semaka’s shadow, wielding external forces bent on judicial capture, snatched an ex parte interim order—Joseph Pinytek Ochieno v Uganda People’s Congress and Jimmy Akena (Miscellaneous Application, unreported, 2025)—to halt it. Signed on a Saturday, it’s a phantom—ECCMIS, Uganda’s Electronic Court Case Management system, sleeps on weekends, servers dark as Technicians do routine maintenance, the interim order therefore unserved, a chief’s shout lost to the wind. Akena’s smirk splits the silence, fingers dancing on keys. In a Zoom call, ablaze with democratic will, 700 plus delegates, from all corners of the Country, UPC’s supreme organ, log in, screens flickering defiance. Three bolts forge their triumph: the Constitution bends, rewriting power; presidential term limits vanish, freeing Akena; a 12-month extension seals his reign to lead a peaceful handover. The delegates suspend the three-month notice with a nod, asserting their autonomy over external shackles like the Denis Adim Enap v Uganda People’s Congress and Hon. Jimmy James Michael Akena (Miscellaneous Cause No. 148 of 2025) ruling, which sought to bury Akena’s presidency. Kamdini’s police find silence, a perfect decoy of the Sandhurst trained political strategist; the war burns on screens. Semaka’s paper tiger falls to UPC’s democratic lion. For the village bars and barazas: an unserved order is a shout in a storm—dead on the wind. UPC’s digital triumph, a son’s jab at Semaka, reclaims the meat for the party’s heart, outwitting NRM’s fear of Akena on the 2026 ballot. Courts may growl, but the delegates’ will, the soul of institutional autonomy, hums by every fire. That triumph’s shadow slithers to the NRM’s war rooms, where fear flickers like a dying lamp. A secret survey sears: Akena, the Northern spark, threatens their presidential dreams, needing more than 50% of the valid votes cast, as Uganda’s 1995 Constitution, Article 103(1), demands. The National Unity Platform’s Kyagulanyi Robert Ssentamu, the Fire Base Edutainment Ghetto Gladiator tunred politician, popularly known by his stage name, Bobi Wine, locks Central and Eastern Uganda, as well as huge swathes of the Northern youth vote itself, forging a three-way clash: Museveni, Kyagulanyi, Akena. Jucupanti’s scales, the Constitution, gleam in the fray. Akena, ghost of Milton Obote’s legacy, kindles a Northern flame for a lost dawn. The Ochieno order was a desperate swipe by Semaka’s external forces to snuff it, fearing UPC’s best shot at state power. Semaka’s spoon clinks, seizing ULS cases, chasing UPC’s ghosts, clawing autonomy. But the sons—ULS, UPC, the civil society, and the people—stand fierce, eyes blazing for Jucupanti’s pot. The state’s tyranny weaves a noose, deaf to the Constitution’s call for fairness. The sons are done waiting. The fight surges to a village square, dusk heavy, the stew pot steaming. Semaka looms, his spoon a blade, scarring the soul. Jucupanti, justice’s heart, stands serene—eyes fierce, heart a scale, roots deep. Her sons, lion-hearted, rise like a savanna storm. The square pulses as ULS, UPC, the people charge, fists forged in ancestral fire. Semaka falls, his spoon shattering, the meat saved. Jucupanti’s smile is a sunrise, her pride a hearth’s glow. Semaka, humbled, bows, the family’s honour reborn. The pot is shared; trust the broth, freedom the spice, every Ugandan one. This is their democracy, Uganda’s heart, fierce with its watchdogs. UPC lit the way. Akena’s digital triumph, driven by the delegates’ supreme will, turned a court order to ash, saving the meat as Kamdini’s police chased ghosts, they brainlessly walked into the decoy. ULS, choked by lies, roars on. Ssemakadde, Jucupanti’s son, thunders on X, defying Patongo’s empty festivities. Lawyers, armed with truth and swagger, are poised to storm the gate, their constitutional petition challenging the de-cause-listing as judicial capture. If UPC’s delegates broke Semaka’s chains, ULS can crush his blade. The call blazes: ULS, all civil society, and the people wield the Constitution like a spear. Charge for Jucupanti’s pot, forge a nation free of shame. Autonomy thunders, and your triumph will light Uganda’s soul.
DISCLAIMER!
The views expressed in this Blog are public commentaries to spark crucial debates for reform. It is not intended to attack or ridicule personalities mentioned in it.
The contents of this blog do not constitute legal advice. Readers are encouraged to consult a licensed attorney for situation specific legal advice. The author accepts no responsibility for any harm, legal, financial, or otherwise arising from the use of information in this blog as legal advice
About:
Enen Ambrose, the author of this Blogis a rule of law enthusiast and a member of the inaugural Judiciary Affairs Committee of the Uganda Law Society.
When Dr. Solomon Kimera logged onto Twitter that morning, stethoscope probably still warm from ward rounds, he didn’t just post—he detonated.
One tweet about fibroids. Another swipe at tight pants and infertility. That was all it took.
Credit: Dr. Solomon Kimera’s X(formerly Twitter) post on his handle.
Boom.
Searches for “fibroids” surged. Men quietly retired their skinny jeans. Women hit the group chats first, then stormed clinics, fists full of questions. The Uganda Medical Council blinked. Then it panicked.
The backlash was volcanic. Petitions. Think-pieces. Firestorms of quote tweets yelling “misogyny!” and “strip his license!”
But something strange was happening in the noise. Beneath the outrage, something cracked open.
Because if Uganda starts policing how doctors speak—even when they sound like trolls—it’s not just Dr. Solo’s voice on the line. It’s the Constitution’s, too.
Uganda’s Article 29(1)(a) wasn’t crafted to protect polished speeches in well-lit auditoriums. It’s there for the street fights. For the blunders. For the provocateurs.
Back in 2004, Charles Onyango-Obbo v. Attorney General reminded us that true freedom of expression includes the right to shock, offend, and disturb.
Not just the right to say things people agree with—but the right to spark discomfort.
By that measure, Dr. Solo’s tweet wasn’t just protected—it was a public health campaign. It was a major public health intervention that no health ministry, world over has achieved with the highest budgetary allocation and human personnel muscle can achieve. It least, judging from history.
Credit: Dr. Solomon Kimera alias Dr. Solo’s X (formerly Twitter) post, which indicted a massive success of his radical method of delivery health concerns.
Still, legal protection doesn’t mean emotional immunity. Especially not for the women silently bleeding through extra pads at work, miscarrying dreams they never told anyone about, misdiagnosed by doctors who didn’t bother to look deeper.
So yes, his tone was brutal. Clinical. Even smug. But for some, it was the first time fibroids had been acknowledged in public—not as a whisper, but as a national scream.
Because before this, fibroids were the disease of euphemisms.
Just “that pain.” Just “heavy flow.” Just something women dealt with.
And then one loud, reckless doctor barged into the room with no filter and said what nobody else would.
Ugly, yes. But effective.
That kind of disruption—messy, jarring, necessary—is often where real change begins. Hell yes. Hippocrati’s oath binds doctor to treat you, save your life. That’s granted. The oath doesn’t bind the medics to decorum per se.
True feminism doesn’t need everyone to speak gently. It needs people to speak honestly. And if we start silencing dissent because it doesn’t sound like a TED Talk, we’re just building a quieter version of the same old oppression.
Doctors aren’t priests. They’re not politicians. They shouldn’t be expected to sugarcoat clinical truth just to stay “professional.”
If polite pamphlets and decroum protocols worked, fibroids wouldn’t still be Uganda’s shadow epidemic—affecting nearly 20% women, many of them untreated, misdiagnosed, or dismissed.
To verify these figures, at least for the Ugandan context, read here
This isn’t about defending one man’s ego. It’s about defending the right to say uncomfortable things that might save lives.
So maybe instead of cancelling Dr. Solo, we do something harder.
We ask: Why did this tweet land so hard? Why aren’t women being listened to unless someone shocks us into hearing them?
Then we turn that chaos into something real: – Fund public education. – Train doctors to listen, not just lecture. – Create space where pain isn’t minimized by decency codes.
We don’t need fewer voices. We need louder ones—with better tools, better data, and better empathy.
One rogue tweet woke up a country. Imagine what a thousand coordinated voices could do.
Maybe he was reckless. Maybe he was rude. But maybe, just maybe, he struck a nerve we’d been ignoring too long.
Say what you want about the man. Just don’t pretend this didn’t matter.
Fibroids are finally on the national radar. And it took a troll doctor with Twitter fingers to get us there.
The author is a Rule of law enthusiast, a practicing Advocate in Ugandan Courts of Judicature, a free speech Advocate and a member of the inaugural Judiciary Affairs Committee of the Uganda Law Society.
Disclaimer: The author does not endorse or encourage misogyny and other forms of violation of women’s rights. The views expressed here are purely to spark public discourse and public health awareness drives for the greater good of the whole society, women inclusive.
The Blog is for purely public discourse and is not intended to serve as a substitute for professional legal advice.
Readers are strongly encouraged to seek the services of professional legal personal for situation specific advice. No liability is accepted for harm that arises from using information contained in this Blog as a substitute for professional legal advice.
Do you have comments or feedback for us, please leave them in the comment section or reach out to us at: ambrosenen@gmail.com | 256 789856805
It’s on life support. Plugged into a system designed to kill it slowly.
Judges on Acting Terms. Courts on Probation. Justice on the Brink.
Here’s what they’ve done:
Invented a system where new judges are appointed on in an acting capacity, with the duration determined at the whims of the appointing authority—yes, like interns at a mobile money kiosk.
Given the President the power to recycle retired judges, no questions asked. No medical. No mental. No morals.
Created performance evaluations for judges like they’re applying for a promotion at a law firm.
That’s right, you’re not day dreaming, the system was rigged. In 2022, the Constitutional Court damned this shrewd “sharp practice” and threw it in our Constitutional History by declaring it unconstitutional in Dr. Busingye Kabumba and Karamagi vs Attorney General.
Good judgment, right? Damn, the government rigged it. It instead created a legal loophole which enabled it to pass these damned Regulations.
Firstly, it appealed against. Secondly the government obtained what is in effect a suspension of the independence of the Judiciary as the Supreme Court delays to decide the Government’s Appeal .
A copy of the decision which suspended the independence of High Court Judges as the government waits for a decision in its own appeal from the above case can be accessed from here:
Okay, let’s dive into the evil in the Regulations. Reg. 29–33 and 31 are the smoking guns. And what they shoot is judicial independence—straight between the eyes.
And Then There’s 2026…
Uganda’s next elections are not just around the corner—they’re rumbling like thunder.
And we know the script:
Mass arrests.
Disappearances.
Violent suppression.
Habeas corpus applications flying like confetti.
Human rights cases lined up like a firing squad.
It will take judges to hear them all.
But what kind of judges?
Not fearless ones. Not permanent ones. Not independent ones.
The Regulations guarantee this:
When the state comes for you, the judge before you may still be “acting,” “probationary,” or “awaiting confirmation.”
You don’t need a judge praying for job security.
You need a judge with balls forged from titanium alloy, ready to grab the State by its ball sac and say:
“Back off. The Constitution says this citizen walks free.”
These Regulations can’t produce that judge. They produce whispering cowards in robes.
But Wait, There’s a Recruitment Cartel Too
They didn’t just kill judicial independence at the appointment level.
They also built a Search and Recruitment Committee—and a Sub-Committee—with a quorum of TWO people.
Let that sink in: Two people can now shortlist Uganda’s judges.
Who are these people?
The Attorney General—yes, the government’s own lawyer.
The Chairperson of the JSC—currently Justice Singiza, who was once branded a “Nazi Judge” by opposition supporters for adjourning Besigye’s habeas corpus case instead of hearing it urgently.
And guess who they kicked out of this process?
The two (2) representatives of the Uganda Law Society.
The very people the Constitution says should be part of the Judicial Service Commission.
It Was Planned. Timed. Executed.
These Regulations were passed while the Uganda Law Society is in court, fighting to elect its representatives.
The plan is clear: Keep them out. Lock the process down. Staff the courts with friendly judges. Control the law from the inside out.
This isn’t just bad law.
It’s a judicial cartel in robes.
And You Think It Doesn’t Affect You?
Wait until your land is taken. Wait until your protest turns into a prison sentence. Wait until your loved one disappears. Wait until the courtroom is the only place left to cry out.
Then you’ll pray that your judge isn’t still auditioning for a contract renewal.
Here’s the Message:
Uganda’s justice system is being rebuilt—not to protect you, but to survive you.
It is no longer about law. It’s about control. It’s about loyalty. It’s about silencing justice before you can even plead for it.
This is the war. This is the moment. This is the alarm.
If you have eyes you better see, and if you have ears you better listen.
Photocredit: Team of Advocate Paul Mukiibi with their Brand: Chain breakers in the campaign to represent the Uganda Law Society at the Judicial Service Commission.
It started like a flicker—a tiny spark of defiance that should’ve ignited a roaring wildfire of rage and justice. Instead, it was smothered by the gargantuan, self-righteous boots of censorship, as if the admins of the Northern Bar-Bench Forum were playing the role of divine gatekeepers to the underworld of logic, reason, and free speech. It was the perfect storm waiting to brew, and here we were, caught in the vortex of unrelenting madness.
Imagine this: a friend—let’s call them Advocate C—dared to share a link to an article so scorching that the digital air itself trembled. The scandal? The Honorable Chief Justice, in a move so brazen it could only be conceived in the dankest corners of the power-obsessed universe, allegedly schemed to extend the retirement age for Supreme Court Justices. Why? To keep his gnarled hands on the throne, forever and ever. He also decided to appoint an Acting Principal Judge without so much as a whiff of the President’s blessing, like a schoolyard bully claiming the lunchroom as his own personal fiefdom. The legal streets of the Forum exploded in righteous fury, an inferno of truth and justice clamoring for attention.
And then… the admins. Oh, the admins. The self-crowned, self-important emperors of silence—oh yes, those power-hungry weasels. They descended like locusts, their ban-hammers blazing. Link? Gone. Criticism? Erased. “Don’t post things that make other members uncomfortable,” they decreed, as if comfort was the holy grail of democracy. What’s uncomfortable, you ask? The CJ’s alleged power grab that should’ve made every Ugandan’s blood boil? That’s what should’ve made us all “uncomfortable.” But no, not in their world. The admins had a higher calling: the suppression of truth, under the guise of “unity” and “comfort.” What a joke.
That night, at 8:43 PM, the world shook. I—Ambrose Enen—I was done. I had had enough of their charade. With the force of a thousand furious lions, I stormed into the admins’ fortress of lies. I sent them a question that cracked their gilded masks and made their self-satisfied jaws clench like desperate prey:
“Why are you strangling debates about the Hon. Chief Justice, you cowardly sycophants?”
I threw down the gauntlet, demanding they justify their pathetic, trembling submission to the powers that be, to shield His Lordship from the fire of scrutiny. The CJ had once bellowed like a lion, declaring, “If you’re not criticized, it means you’re doing nothing and the people just choose to ignore you!” And here they were, trying to shield him from even the faintest whiff of criticism. Hypocrisy? Monumental. So, I unsheathed Article 29 of the Constitution like a blazing sword and sliced through their pitiful, sanctimonious excuses with the fury of an avenging god. I invoked the speech of the Chief Justice himself when he delivered his own lead Judgment in Kabaziguruka case, where the Supreme Court put a grinding halt on the trial of civilians in the Court martial. The Chief Justice was referring to President Isaac Ssemakade’s work method, weekly public press engagements dubbed the “RNB Live” in which fireballs were hurled at the Justices of the Supreme Court for delaying to deliver that very judgment. The very Supreme Court had in an earlier judgment in the case of Charles Onyango Obbo and Andrew Mujuni Mwenda had crowned free speech as an untouchable deity, immune to the fragile egos of all public officials from the President to the Military.
I screamed at them, demanding they answer me: Had they erased the CJ’s own edict—that criticism is the lifeblood of action? Or had they buried the people’s right to challenge power under a mountain of self-inflicted fear?
I didn’t stop there. I summoned the name of the great Isaac Ssemakadde, a volcano of legal brilliance who melts the hearts of tyrants and leaves them quaking in their boots. His name sent ripples of panic through their ranks, like a shark’s fin slicing through calm waters. And I laughed—loudly—at their terrified whimpering.
The admins’ response? Hilarious. They pulled out the same tired, sanctimonious rhetoric, claiming the Forum, created in 2019 by the then “mighty” Conrad Oroya, was meant to unite “advocates” and “judicial officers” from the greater North. They paraded their so-called patrons, from the CJ down to the lowliest Magistrates, and tried to paint themselves as paragons of unity and reason. But wait—oh wait—they accused the Radical New Bar (RNB) of destroying the Forum, branding us as “scourges of the legal profession.” Apparently, our “scathing attacks” were too much for their fragile egos, too sharp for their delicate sensibilities. They shrieked that we’d turned their sacred Forum into a warzone. And that—that was their best excuse for censorship.
But, my friends, that wasn’t enough. They threatened to boot us out, to banish us from their “pious” space where only their carefully curated lies were welcome. Oh, how I laughed. I thought of Maxime Rovere’s words in his book, How to Deal with Idiots and not be one yourself: “Idiots infest every cesspool, even the loftiest halls of government.” But this wasn’t a government cesspool, oh no. This was a digital one, run by clowns in armor of “civility” and “comfort.” I held back my laughter only because it was a laugh of pure, unadulterated rage.
The admins couldn’t take the heat, and then, boom. A revolution. It didn’t come in the form of an army, no. It came in the form of words. Words sharper than a thousand blades.
A Grade 1 Magistrate—yes, a Grade 1 Magistrate—came for them, tearing through their lies like a wildfire through dry grass. “Article 29 doesn’t grovel before judicial comfort,” they roared. “You’re strangling debate about the CJ, and in doing so, you’re ripping the soul from the legal profession itself.”
Then, like a chorus of angels singing the hymn of truth, came another Magistrate. It came with fire in their belly and venom in their words. “Your fear of the Radical New Bar only exposes your cowardice,” they snarled. “You’re terrified of a few questions—questions!—about the CJ’s power plays. What kind of admins are you?”
Then came Advocate A—oh yes, Advocate A—with a fire so hot it could melt the very walls of their sanctimonious den. They came at the admins like a raging storm, laughing at their pathetic attempts to shield the CJ from the rightful fire of criticism. They mocked them for their “bootlicking” and told the admins to lick the dust. They didn’t just fight—they laughed in their faces. And their message? “You’ve earned this defeat, you glorious cowards.”
But that’s when the real rebellion began. Just after my banishment, Advocate B—yes, Advocate B—launched a tidal wave of resistance. “See you in Gulu Learned Friends,” they sneered. “But first, post that message which was deleted here!”
The forum’s demise wasn’t my banishment. Oh no. It died when it sold its soul, when it chose silence over truth, when it cowered before power. And here’s the thing—the admins? They didn’t even see it coming.
But then came the words of Isaac Ssemakadde—oh, those words, those molten words that seared their way into my soul. “Impunity’s greatest weakness is the craving it has for respectability, legitimacy, and sycophancy. Deny it one of those lubricants, and you will begin to see ‘how the mighty fall.’ So fast.” And then he said the words that would light the fuse of my rebellion for good: “Principle is always vulnerable in the face of power; especially in spaces of long-term subjugation where the legal culture is manipulative & unapologetic in defence of power. Only a revolution, grounded in principle, can reverse things now.”
I heard it. The call. The revolution, forged in fire and principle, was now in my blood. And so, like a storm that cannot be stalled, I went to battle. Unbanned. Unbowed. Unafraid.
Because here’s the truth: The Northern Bar-Bench Forum was supposed to be a crucible of ideas, a place where Uganda’s brightest minds clashed, burned away the dross, and emerged better. Instead, it became a cesspool, a sanctuary for the most dangerous thing of all: fear. Fear of truth. Fear of scrutiny. Fear of Article 29.
And in that fear, they forgot. They forgot what a forum was meant to be. They forgot that power, unchecked and unchallenged, is the very thing that devours empires.
So here’s to the outcasts, the truth-tellers, the Ssemakaddes who set the world ablaze with righteous fury! Here’s to Advocate A, Advocate B, and every single renegade who refused to bow before the gods of comfort. Here’s to Article 29 and the indomitable, damn-near-holy faith that free speech isn’t a gift from admins or judges—it’s our birthright, you small little intern Honorable WhatsApp administrator dictators!
They told us Lady Justice was blind. Yet no soul foretold us that she could be gagged, chained by red tape, or forced to perform a scripted dirge for the state—while the true conduct of justice withers in her silent grasp.
This is the tragedy of our times: On one fateful day, under the looming shadow of executive power, the Judiciary refused bail to Dr. Kizza Besigye—not because the law demanded it but because the long finger of the Executive had darkened the halls of justice. The gavel itself seemed to quiver in fear.
In a nation where the very concept of “public interest” is weaponized, such a ruling is not just injustice—it’s a full-throated political press release performed by a bench too timid to uphold the Constitution. Uganda does not merely serve up injustice; we marinate it in irony, wrap it in drama, and serve it with a side of bitter satire.
Then enters the spectacle of The Ssegirinya Case. Hon. Muhammad Ssegirinya—a brave legislator whose voice once roared in opposition—died at a hospital right here in Uganda and was laid to rest in Masaka amid national mourning. Parliament wept. The Electoral Commission hustled. A by-election crowned Counsel Nalukoola as the Honorable Member of Parliament for Kawempe North Constituency. The new MP elect was gazetted and subsequently took the oath of a member of Parliament and yet, the Judiciary clung to absurdity: “We need a death certificate to terminate the criminal case against him.”
Imagine: while Parliament already acknowledged his passing, the Chief Magistrate’s Court demand forensic proof—as if they were guarding against a zombie revival in the halls of justice. Some things, Your Worships, don’t need official state records like a death certificate; they require judicial notice. Ssegirinya is gone. No amount of legal formality can reverse that truth. To be slightly more cheeky and dramatic about it, will the Court issue criminal summons or an arrest warrant to produce the fallen legislator before Court? Yes, that is the absurdity we are talking about.
Meanwhile, within the oppressive corridors of power, a lone rebel rises. President Isaac Ssemakadde—a man both radical and resolute—was denied a podium at New Year Law Day, yet he found a way to become the voice for those silenced. Standing on a cold step outside the hallowed courtroom, he declared:
“The Uganda Law Society doesn’t exist to soothe the egos of the Judiciary but to protect it from Executive Overreach.”
That proclamation was not mere rhetoric—it was a rallying cry. No applause met his words, yet the Constitution itself, dusty and long-forgotten on a shelf, clapped with the thunder of truth.
Adding a surreal twist to this saga, the ruling that doomed Besigye’s bail came on the heels of the anniversary of President Idi Amin’s regime collapse—the day Uganda first broke free from dictatorship. And as if the fates conspired further, on that very day, Justice Gadenya granted a stay of execution for the arrest warrant against President Ssemakadde. A copy of the Ruling by His Lordship Paul W Gadenya can be found here
History, it seems, is writing its own epic: The ancient echoes of liberation mingle with our modern struggles, and even the ancestors of this Republic refuse to sleep.
In the midst of this theatrical legal circus, one voice from the depths of exasperation cut through the clamor:
“The law ceased being an ass. It’s now a pussy.”
Unfiltered, incendiary, and laughably raw—this isn’t a mere quip but a savage indictment. When courts purr in the laps of power rather than bite down on injustice, we can’t pretend neutrality. We must call the rule of law what it is: law taking orders instead of serving justice.
As we stand at the crossroads of history, our hearts burn with the hope for a future where truth rings louder than decree. Like the fabled moment when Pontius Pilate (in his own conflicted way) declared, “I find no guilt in this man,” yet allowed the crowd to dictate a cruel verdict, the Ruling of the Hon. Lady Justice Comfort denying Besigye’s bail Application even after finding that he had satisfied all the requirements reveals to all those who care to see that executive Overreach influenced the outcome of the decision. A copy of the ruling can be accessed here:
So here we are—writing not for mere record but for revolution. This is no ordinary blog post. It’s a legal thriller, a national mirror, a soaring cry that condemns mediocrity and demands accountability.
Justice, if you’re still alive—send us a signal. We’re here.
And for the record—this blog is not an attack on the personal integrity or competence of the judicial officers concerned. It is a constitutional critique—bold, unfiltered, and fully protected as free expression under Article 29 of Uganda’s Constitution. We aim not to tear down but to build a Judiciary worthy of public confidence, not executive approval.
Image: President Isaac Kimaze Ssemakade. Image Credit: Isaac Ssemakade’s X(formerly Twitter post)
Uganda’s judiciary just went full-on nuclear—and there’s no holding back. On New Law Year day, the very system that’s supposed to be the bastion of justice turned into a circus. The ULS President got stonewalled, the Chief Justice practically demanded an apology, and then came the blow—Justice Ssekana slammed down a two-year sentence on Ssemakadde for contempt of court. It wasn’t just a ruling; it was a middle finger to anyone who dared question the establishment.
And if that wasn’t enough, the entire scandal is being dragged into the international arena. The Judiciary, in a move that can only be described as a self-inflicted public relations massacre, has tried to weaponize an Interpol Red Notice for an offense as laughably flimsy and culturally controversial as “insulting the modesty of a woman.” Yes, you read that right. While Interpol is busy chasing down genuine threats, war Lords, Drug cartels, Uganda’s courts are out here acting like they’re in a personal vendetta—pursuing a man for throwing sharp words at the system.
The madness deepens: the whole legal shambles that produced the warrant is under revision in the High Court, completely unattended, like a sinking ship left to rot. And guess what? Ssemakadde isn’t going down without a fight. He’s vowed, through his legal team, to challenge any Red Notice that dares to be issued against him—an audacious promise that practically screams “bring it on!”
Meanwhile, the Executive and Parliament, both seasoned in navigating international diplomacy, stand in stark contrast to the Judiciary’s response. Having faced sanctions, blacklisting, and travel bans in the past, they are well-versed in managing the complex web of international scrutiny, asset freezes, and the like. Who doesn’t recall the free Bobi Wine protests that rocked global capitals. Who doesn’t recall a foreign affairs minister who was on global travel sanctions. Have we very quickly forgotten the backlash from Western states when the Uganda’s Anti-Homosexuality Act was passed into Law and upheld by the Constitutional Court. Experts and negotiators from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs burnt the midnight oil and the Ugandan state is still here to stay. The Judiciary, however, is primarily trained in upholding decorum, judicial conduct, and domestic legal frameworks. It is ill-equipped to handle the nuances of foreign policy, international relations, and diplomacy. So, the real question is: if the international community begins to ask hard-hitting questions about accountability and the rule of law—questions that go beyond the courtroom—will the Attorney General and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs step in to shield the Judiciary from the fallout? Or will they be left to fend for themselves, with their lack of expertise in international relations becoming glaringly apparent?
Yes, development partners like the European Union, funders of the SUPREME project, Pepperdine University behind the plea bargain project, IDLO, Amnesty International, the Democratic Governance Facility (who knows they may come back) will have key questions about transparency, accountability and Rule of Law, directly addressed to our third estate about where their Millions of Aid is going. They will not be amused if they think their resources are being deployed to fight what appears to be petty fights.
And what more, individual partner states with a long tradition of democracy may refuse to hand over President Ssemakade on grounds that the Red Notice is politically motivated and targeting free speech and dissent. Dramatically enough, interpol itself may refuse to put out the Red Notice, why? It goes against the Interpol Constitution. The offense leading up to the warrant isn’t listed as one of those for which a Red Notice can be put out and enforced.
This isn’t your everyday legal drama; it’s a blood-soaked, high-stakes showdown where the very soul of Uganda’s justice system is on trial. Ssemakadde, with the cunning of a renegade professor from Money Heist, baited the Judiciary into a carefully crafted trap. Just like the Professor orchestrated the heists with meticulous precision, Ssemakadde pulled off a legal masterstroke, using the Judiciary’s own flaws against it. His provocation wasn’t a reckless act of defiance; it was a radical surgery planned to expose the raw, festering wounds of Uganda’s ailing legal system. The Judiciary walked straight into his trap, and now the courts stand naked and vulnerable on the global stage.
So here we are, witnessing a system that once prided itself on upholding justice now doing a complete 180 into chaos. The Judiciary has thrown down the gauntlet, and if the international community decides to respond, it won’t be a pretty sight. The madness is palpable, the stakes are astronomical, and the fallout could reshape Uganda’s legal landscape forever.
At this point, there’s only one entity that can pull Uganda’s judiciary back from the brink of absolute disaster: the relevant High Court Judge. The request for a Red Notice is a ticking time bomb, and if it’s not halted right here, within the Judiciary itself, the fallout will be catastrophic. The international community is already watching, and Uganda’s fragile legal system is on the verge of being exposed in the harshest possible light. This isn’t just about one man; this is about the future of Uganda’s justice system and its credibility on the world stage.
But amid the chaos, there’s still hope. There are still clean judges, magistrates, and lawyers who believe in the integrity of the law and the values of justice. This system is not beyond redemption, but it’s going to take those who truly care about upholding the rule of law to stand up, speak out, and fight for a better, fairer future. This moment—this unprecedented crisis—can be the turning point for Uganda’s legal system if the right people step forward.
The Judiciary stands at a crossroads. If swift, decisive action isn’t taken now, Uganda’s courts will find themselves at the heart of a global scandal—a bloodbath of embarrassment from which there may be no recovery. This is the moment of truth. The question is: will the Judiciary rise to the occasion, or will it collapse under the weight of its own mistakes?
The clock is ticking, and the time for action is now. The relevant High Court Judge holds the key—let them make the right call before it’s too late.
DISCLAIMER: This Blog is not made to attack the institution of the Judiciary but to spark conversations and discourse on vital reforms.
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Uganda’s legal system has long been a fortress of impunity. For decades, it has survived every attempt at reform—not by improving, but by dismantling anyone who dares to fix it.
Enter Isaac Ssemakadde, Uganda Law Society (ULS) President.
His mission? To drag the legal profession out of the mud, rebuild public trust, and hold the entire system accountable.
His first strike? Kicking the Attorney General off the ULS Governing Council. Why? Because how does a government’s top lawyer sit in the governing body of an institution meant to be an independent watchdog? It was a classic case of conflict of interest, and Ssemakadde terminated it.
Image: Isaac K Ssemakade. Photo Credit: Insight Post Uganda
His second move? Recalling all unelected ULS representatives to the Judicial Service Commission (JSC)—a body meant to discipline errant judges. For too long, these positions had been filled by handpicked placeholders who were cozy with the very Judiciary they were supposed to regulate.
Then, the nuclear option—a ULS-led Public Commission of Inquiry into the entire Bench.
That was the moment the Judiciary declared war.
A full-scale investigation into judicial corruption, impunity, and accountability? The Judiciary saw what was coming—a public trial of the very system that has shielded the powerful for decades.
And so, they struck first.
A High Court Judge—who, it has been reported, was allegedly involved in sexual harassment allegations—injuncted the entire process and had Ssemakadde convicted of contempt of court with a two-year jail sentence.
Yes, you read that right.
A judge in a case where he was allegedly the victim, presiding over a trial that could expose him, convicted the man leading the movement for reform.
The Judiciary had gone into full-blown self-preservation mode.
And while Uganda’s legal system was busy eating its own, something very different was unfolding in the UK.
A Ugandan judge—Justice Lydia Mugambe—was convicted.
And suddenly, Uganda got a front-row seat to what real judicial accountability looks like.
No judicial gymnastics. No vanishing case files. No presidential interference.
Just a judge facing the law like any other citizen.
And here’s the real kicker—the UK wasn’t just convicting a judge.
They were sending a message.
Uganda’s human rights record had rotted beyond acceptable limits.
Opposition National Unity Platform (NUP) supporters were reportedly tortured, arbitrarily detained, and held without trial. The UK had already slapped sanctions on key Ugandan officials. And now, Uganda’s backdoor diplomatic channels in London were reportedly frozen.
Word on the street? NUP had played quiet but strategic backdoor diplomacy, exposing Uganda’s entrenched impunity to the UK foreign office—and the UK listened.
This wasn’t just about Mugambe.
It was Uganda being held accountable—one way or another.
Because in Uganda, justice serves the powerful. In the UK, it serves the law.
And so, as Judge Mugambe awaits sentencing on May 2nd, 2025, we extend our best wishes.
Not because of what she did or didn’t do, but because this entire mess is a reflection of a broken system back home.
The Hon. Lady Justice Lydia Mugambe. Photo Credit: Daily monitor
To all who still believe in the Rule of Law—even as the system crushes them—we see you.
To the ULS candidates still battling for election to represent ULS to the JSC—who have outspent resources in what was supposed to be a simple election, but turned into a never-ending war—hold strong.
The Judiciary stalled the election, an appeal halted the process, and yet—hope refuses to die.
Because one day, impunity will fall.
And when it does, it won’t be because of backroom deals.
It will be because of the fearless ones—those who refused to let injustice win.
And when that day comes, we won’t just be telling the story. We will be living it.
Disclaimer: The views expressed in this blog are based on publicly available reports and sources. Allegations mentioned are unverified and are referred to as they have been reported. This post is an opinion piece aimed at encouraging dialogue and reflection on the issues discussed. The cases mentioned are subject to ongoing legal processes and investigations, and the information presented is intended for general awareness rather than legal conclusions.
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Judicial power in Uganda is not a divine right handed down to judges in solemn robes. It is borrowed authority from the people, and when borrowed power is abused, the lenders have every right to demand accountability. That is what happened when Ugandans erupted in fury over Justice Douglas Singiza’s decision to adjourn a habeas corpus application, effectively prolonging an already illegal detention.
This was not an internet tantrum—it was a constitutional defense mission, executed in real-time by citizens who understand their rights better than some of the people wearing wigs in courtrooms. Article 126(1) of the Constitution is clear:
Judicial power is derived from the people and shall be exercised in conformity with the law and with values, norms, and aspirations of the people.”
So, when the people declare that a ruling has spat on their constitutional values, they are not just complaining—they are executing their duty to keep judicial power in check.
This is not the first time Singiza has found himself at the center of a human rights disaster. When Kakwenza Rukirabashaija, a novelist and torture victim, applied to retrieve his passport for urgent medical treatment abroad, it was Singiza—then Chief Magistrate at Buganda Road Court—who denied him. His reasoning?
👉 “Ugandan hospitals can handle his condition.”
Imagine suffering broken ribs, festering wounds, and open scars from state torture, only for a judge to declare that a hospital in Wandegeya is sufficient to handle what should be a war crimes case. This is the same judge who, three years later, sends Besigye and Lutale back to illegal detention while he thinks about their habeas corpus plea.
The pattern is now too clear to ignore—delayed justice when it benefits the state, procedural gymnastics when fundamental rights are at stake, and then a full-blown judicial meltdown when the public calls it out.
And how did Singiza react to the backlash? Like a true 21st-century authoritarian—he made the ruling about himself. Instead of addressing the constitutional chaos he created, he spent his precious obiter dicta crying about online criticism.
What’s next? Should Ugandans start seeking judicial permission before commenting on court decisions? Must all legal critiques now be submitted in triplicate, with an affidavit from a Senior Advocate?
This is a dangerous trend—a creeping attempt to criminalize judicial criticism and insulate courts from the same public scrutiny that every other arm of government faces.
The executive is insulted daily. The legislature is mocked in real-time. The military is dragged through the mud.
But the judiciary wants to be untouchable?
In Onyango Obbo & Andrew Mwenda v. Attorney General, the Supreme Court made it clear that public officials—including judges—must tolerate criticism. Free speech does not require politeness, and it is not invalidated because it offends the recipient.
Yet, here we are, watching judges compose emotional victim statements in court rulings instead of defending the Constitution.
This is not judicial independence—this is judicial fragility.
Uganda has reached a crossroads: either the judiciary remembers that it serves the people, or the people will remind it in ways it will never forget. Judicial power, like all borrowed authority, can be reclaimed when misused.
This is not a warning. This is a constitutional reminder.
DISCLAIMER: This blog is not intended to mock or attack the person of the Hon. Justice Douglas Ssingiza. It is commentary on the interesting obiter dicta in the Habeas Corpus Application of Dr. Kizza Besigye and Obeid Lutale vs. Attorney General. The Ruling in that case can be found here:
The New Law Year was supposed to be ceremonial—a chance for the Bench and the Bar to sip tea and pretend they liked each other. Instead, it became a crime scene.
Chief Justice Alfonse Owiny-Dollo, tired of the Uganda Law Society’s relentless attacks, came out swinging. He stood before the nation, fists metaphorically clenched, voice dripping with fury.
At first, he played innocent. Pretended he wasn’t the one who had gagged Isaac Ssemakadde. Then, unable to hold back, he let the truth slip.
“I am the one who ordered that the President of the Uganda Law Society should not speak.”
And then, like a man who had been waiting to explode, he thundered:
“Only a fool, and I really mean it, it is only a fool who abuses you, insults you, dehumanizes you and thinks it will be business as usual. It cannot be business as usual unless you make amends.”
Boom. There it was.
The Judiciary was officially in its feelings.
The message was clear: Bend the knee, apologize, or face consequences.
But here’s the thing—Ssemakadde doesn’t kneel. The Radical New Bar doesn’t beg. And the Uganda Law Society doesn’t send apology cards.
Ssemakadde’s response was swift, brutal, and final:
“The Uganda Law Society doesn’t exist to soothe the Judiciary or assuage its egos. The Uganda Law Society’s role is to protect the Judiciary from Executive Overreach and to ensure public trust in the Judiciary.”
Translation? Cry if you want. The Bar owes you nothing.
THE BUILD-UP TO WAR: THE JUDICIARY’S NEVER-ENDING BLEEDING
This wasn’t just an outburst. This was months of pent-up fury.
The Judiciary had been bleeding out ever since the Radical New Bar declared war on its comfort zone.
Executive Order No. 1 threw the Attorney General and Solicitor General out of the ULS Council.
Executive Order No. 2 announced a Radical Surgery on the Judiciary—no anesthesia, just raw scalpel to the bone.
Executive Order No. 3 didn’t just boycott Justice Musa Ssekana—it excommunicated him from the legal faith.
Justice Ssekana, famous for delivering controversial and contradictory rulings had crossed a dangerous line.
He had blocked ULS elections for its representative to the Judicial Service Commission. Many saw it as blatant Judicial Overreach—the Bench trying to control the Bar.
The Radical New Bar did not take it lightly.
A total boycott of Justice Ssekana’s courtroom. His rulings became legal noise—heard but never taken seriously.
The ULS plaque that once honored him? REVOKED. PUBLICLY DISOWNED. SYMBOLICALLY BURNT.
A whistleblower campaign launched, calling for evidence to have him removed for Judicial Misconduct.
Ssekana was supposed to be finished.
But Uganda’s Judiciary is like a bad magic trick—the more incompetent you are, the higher you rise.
Instead of accountability, Ssekana is now pending vetting for the Court of Appeal.
A man under public investigation for judicial misconduct is being lined up for a promotion.
At this point, the Judiciary wasn’t just bleeding—it was leaking credibility like a sinking ship.
THE KABAZIGURUKA JUDGMENT—WHEN REAL POWER SPOKE, THE JUDICIARY COWERED
But let’s talk about the elephant in the room.
The Uganda Law Society forced the Supreme Court to deliver the Kabaziguruka Judgment on January 31, 2025. It was a victory for the Rule of Law—civilians could no longer be tried in military courts.
The Radical New Bar celebrated.
And then, Gen. Muhoozi Kainerugaba entered the chat.
Uganda’s Chief of Defense Forces. The President’s son. The man who commands tanks, fighter jets, and battle-hardened soldiers.
He wasn’t impressed.
He didn’t file for a review. He didn’t even bother to hide his disgust.
He called the entire Supreme Court “clowns.”
Then, he went further.
“We are coming for you.”
A direct threat. An undeniable challenge.
If any civilian had said this, contempt of court summons would have been printed, signed, and delivered in minutes.
But this was Uganda’s most powerful General.
What did the Judiciary do?
NOTHING.
No warning. No condemnation. No outrage. Just silence.
But when Ssemakadde calls out judicial incompetence? Suddenly, the Judiciary is offended. When Sebaduka criticizes the Bench? Suddenly, they have the power to throw someone in jail.
Muhoozi tells the Supreme Court “we are coming for you,” and they act like they didn’t hear a thing.
But when the Radical New Bar speaks, the Judiciary suddenly remembers how to fight.
THE FINAL SHOWDOWN: THE PUBLIC INQUIRY IS COMING
The Judiciary thought the worst was over? Not even close.
Because Isaac Ssemakadde doesn’t just fight battles—he wages wars.
Last year, he made a promise:
The Uganda Law Society would not wait for the broken, spineless, toothless Judicial Service Commission to act.
No more fake investigations. No more endless excuses. No more allowing compromised institutions to pretend they can police themselves.
The ULS would marshal a PUBLIC COMMISSION OF INQUIRY into the entire Bench.
And he gave the Judicial Service Commission a deadline—January 15, 2025—to furnish a report on its inquiry against Justice Ssekana.
The deadline came and went.
No report. No accountability. Just the same old game of protecting the powerful.
Now, the ULS Governing Council has just completed its retreat. What were they doing? COMBING THROUGH PUBLICLY GATHERED EVIDENCE AGAINST JUSTICE SSEKANA.
Evidence gathered as a result of Executive Order No. 3.
The Judiciary wanted a fight? Now, it has a full-scale public investigation coming straight for its doorstep.
And the Chief Justice still expects an apology?
The ULS will not apologize to a judge they have been investigating for potential removal.
The Judiciary wanted a war. Now, it’s getting one.
The horns are locked. The trenches are dug. The battle lines are drawn.
And if the Judiciary thought the Radical New Bar was dangerous before?
They haven’t seen anything yet.
This is no longer just a legal fight. This is institutional. This is existential. This is irreversible.
Brace yourselves. 2025 is about to be the most explosive year in Ugandan legal history.
NO APOLOGIES. NO COMPROMISES. NO MERCY.
JUSTICE WILL PREVAIL.
DISCLAIMER: This Blog is not intended to ridicule or attack the persons of the Honorable Chief Justice Alfonse Chigamoi Owiny Dollo, the Hon. Justice Musa Ssekana. It is purely public commentary on the spat that happened at the opening of the New Law Year at the Supreme Court, Kampala.
The information contained in this Blog is not intended to be used as Legal advice. The author accepts no liability for injury arising from using the information contained in the Blog as Legal Advice. Readers are advised to seek the services of a qualified attorney in their area of Jurisdiction to deal with specific scenarios.
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