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 author is a Rule of enthusiast. More in the about page.
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