Let’s not sugarcoat it: Uganda’s legal profession is in chaos. President Isaac Ssemakadde, the firebrand leader of the Uganda Law Society (ULS), has declared war—on the judiciary, on government interference, and, if necessary, on tradition itself. This isn’t your grandfather’s bar association anymore; it’s a Radical New Bar, blazing through a tired, creaking legal system with orders that feel less like bureaucratic memos and more like the opening shots of a revolution.
It began with Executive Order No. 1 of 2024, a political earthquake that saw the Attorney General and Solicitor General expelled from the ULS Council. Yes, you read that right: expelled. Not asked to step aside politely, not nudged toward the door—expelled. President Ssemakadde called their presence a colonial hangover, an outdated relic that kept the Bar shackled to government influence.
“The AG cannot serve two masters!” Ssemakadde thundered, and just like that, the most senior government lawyers were tossed out of the Council, their titles no longer recognized in what Ssemakadde calls “the House of Justice.” It was a raw, messy, unapologetic power move, the kind that made half the room cheer and the other half gasp. Love him or hate him, the man is not here to play.
The Call to Boycott: Executive Order No. 3—A Legal Bloodbath?
And now here we are, riding the shockwaves of Executive Order No. 3 of 2024, where the stakes have climbed even higher. This time, it’s not just government lawyers feeling the heat—it’s the advocates. All of them.
The ULS has called for a boycott of Judge Musa Ssekaana’s court. Advocates are being ordered—yes, ordered—to stay away. The revolution demands solidarity. The revolution demands sacrifice. But here’s the burning question twisting every lawyer’s stomach: what happens when revolution clashes with professional duty?
Imagine this: you’re an advocate with a client who’s been waiting months, maybe years for their day in court. They’ve sold their land, borrowed money, staked their entire future on this case. And now, because of the boycott, you’re supposed to turn to them and say: “Sorry, justice is on hold this month. We’re making a point.”
Your professional ethics scream at you to stand by your client. The Advocates Act tells you that your duty to your client is sacred, almost holy. But the ULS says otherwise. The ULS says that this fight—this boycott—is bigger than you, bigger than your client, bigger than this one case.
And if you defy the ULS? If you walk into Judge Ssekaana’s courtroom and do your job? Then what? Are you a traitor to the cause? A sellout? Will the ULS come for you next?
This is not just a professional dilemma. This is a moral crucible, a test of loyalty, a trial by fire. Will you risk your client’s future, or will you risk your career? Isaac Ssemakadde has thrown down the gauntlet, and every lawyer in Uganda must decide where they stand.
A Law Society Without Teeth? The ULS’s Fight for Power
But here’s the twist that turns this legal thriller on its head: Can the ULS actually enforce any of this?
Let’s step back for a moment. Under the Uganda Law Society Act, the ULS is tasked with upholding professional standards and improving the conduct of lawyers. But there’s a catch: the ULS can’t legally punish anyone. Not really.
Disciplinary power lies with the Law Council, a separate government-anchored body. The ULS can yell, it can shout, it can issue Executive Orders with the fire and fury of a thousand revolutions—but at the end of the day, it cannot fine you. It cannot suspend you. It cannot strip you of your right to practice law.
What it can do is drag your name through the mud, isolate you, and question your loyalty to the cause. And in a profession where reputation is everything, that’s no small threat. The ULS may not have teeth, but it has a loud voice, and right now, it’s shouting for all the world to hear.
So what happens if an advocate defies the boycott and the ULS tries to discipline them? The answer is a legal nightmare. The accused advocate would challenge the ULS’s authority in court, and—oh, the irony!—they’d find themselves stuck in the very judiciary the boycott condemns.
Justice delayed? Oh, yes. Justice delayed for years. That’s Uganda’s court system for you: clogged, slow, and sometimes deliberately obstructive. By the time the courts decide who’s right and who’s wrong, the boycott will be ancient history, and the ULS’s revolution will either be a roaring success or a long-forgotten whisper.
The Bigger Battle: A Fight for Autonomy
When Ssemakadde expelled the Attorney General and Solicitor General, he wasn’t just flexing muscle—he was making a declaration of independence. He wants the ULS to be a fully autonomous Bar, like those in Canada, South Africa, and other legal systems where the profession regulates itself, free from government influence.
Take Canada’s Law Society of Ontario. There, the Bar has real power: it disciplines lawyers, sets standards, and protects the profession’s integrity. No government official sits at their table, holding sway over decisions that affect the legal profession.
In Uganda, the presence of government lawyers on the ULS Council undermines that independence. Critics have long argued that the Attorney General and Solicitor General, as government agents, represent a conflict of interest—how can they serve both the executive and the profession simultaneously?
By kicking them out, Ssemakadde ripped off the bandage and exposed the wound. But the wound is far from healed. Until the ULS is given real disciplinary authority, until it can act without begging the Law Council for enforcement, the revolution will remain just that: a revolution, full of fire but not yet law.
The Chaos and the Choice
The ULS has lit the match. The lawyers of Uganda now face the fire.
Do they comply with Executive Order No. 3 and boycott the court, risking their clients’ cases, their livelihoods, and their professional ethics?
Or do they stand up and say no, risking isolation, humiliation, and the fury of the Radical New Bar?
This isn’t just a battle for the courts. It’s a battle for the soul of Uganda’s legal profession.
Isaac Ssemakadde has made it clear: there’s no room for compromise. You’re either with the revolution or against it. And if you’re against it, you’ll have to answer not just to the ULS but to the future of justice in Uganda.
The system is broken, yes. The courts are failing, yes. But will boycotts and expulsions fix it? Or are they just adding more chaos to the madness?
What happens next is up to Uganda’s advocates. The storm is here, and every lawyer must decide: Will you stand in the rain, or will you bring the thunder?
The revolution has begun. Where do you stand?
My about me on my other blog posts and other useful disclaimers








