What happened to Counsel Lukwago strikes at the heart of justice. Arresting and intimidating a lawyer for _preparing to serve court papers_ is a direct attack on the rule of law. If advocates can’t file and serve process safely, the courts themselves are under siege.
I hope this time the Judiciary will apply its Constitutional Duty under Article 126(1), of The Constitution of Uganda. _“Judicial power is derived from the people and shall be exercised by the courts… in the name of the people and in conformity with law and with the values, norms and aspirations of the people.”_
When an officer of court is “abducted” for doing his job, the Judiciary must: – Issue a statement The Chief Justice or DCJ or PJ should publicly condemn any interference with legal process. Silence reads as consent or complicity. – Demand immediate disclosure: Courts have inherent power to require security agencies to produce a detained advocate and state where he is he is especially where messages shared are distressing like what we are seeing-
Post by Erias Lukwago on X
Protect the process: No person is above service of process. – Judiciary has been put on trial by these events as to whether it will protect the judicial process or not.The whole world is watching I believe. – As for Ugandans ,its difficult to know what they think: New Normal has arrived for them. – Secondly Uganda Law Society must defend its members and the rule of law. They should file an-
Emergency petition in High Court for Lukwago’s production and safety. They should not wait for end of 48 hours. ULS should Call for judicial inquiry Into the “basement” photo, the arrest, and likely torture. Surely the Provisions of the Constitution particulatly Article 24 of the Constitution protects people from torture as “No person shall be subjected to any form of torture, cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment.”. It is mandatory.
I saw members on LDC Legal Alerts forum supporting Torture of suspects, and these were both Judicial Officers and Advocates, I hope they have seen the dangers of tolerating torture of anyone arrested I hope ULS will be serious on formally bringing this to the attention of the International community because independence of the judicial officers and lawyers has been terribly affected. They are now siezed with fear.
Lawyers who would persue this matter might be the next victims. No one is safe.
If ULS does not rise up and take practicable steps, the rights of their members to practice under Article 40(2) – Every Ugandan has a right to practice their profession will seriously be affected. 2. Independence of lawyers under UN Basic Principles on the Role of Lawyers must be upheld. _“Governments shall ensure that lawyers are able to perform all of their professional functions without intimidation, hindrance, harassment or improper interference.”_ 3. There can be no justice without Access to courts. If lawyers are arrested for serving papers, you’ve shut the court doors there by violating Article 28– Right to a fair hearing.
Every person regardless of the nature of his or her case has a right to legal representation. Harrassing lawyers should be condenmed in the strongest terms and action taken.
Even the Holy Word of God provides for legal services. Proverbs 31:8-9: _“Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, for the rights of all who are destitute. Speak up and judge fairly; defend the rights of the poor and needy.”_ Isaiah 1:17: _“Learn to do right; seek justice. Defend the oppressed.”_
A reign of terror starts when advocates are punished for representing particular clients or filing papers in court. It ends when the Judiciary says _“No. Not on our watch.”_ That is why Judiciary and ULS has to work together to end this foolishness and impunity
What should happen next 1. Immediate production: Lukwago must be brought before a judge within 48 hours per Article 23(4). 2. Medical examination: If the photo shows distress, an independent doctor must assess him for torture. 3. Protective orders: Court should bar security agencies particulary UPDF, from interfering with lawyers serving process in any case filed in Ugandan courts. 4. The judiviary should come out to condenm illegal ingazetted basements for this is not the first time its happening Everything goes back to the Judiviary as an arm of Government. Terror cannot rule where law stands. Judiciary should apply the law as it is. Their current complicit is allowing terror to stand. Eddy Mutwe, and others would not be in jail now if _Judiciary was exercising its Judicial independence. I know the word of God says: “Tyranny will be far from you; you will have nothing to fear” Isaiah 54:14 But that promise requires judges, lawyers, and representatives of citizens in Parliament to act and citizens themselves. Silence means you have consented to Terror. Is that so for Ugandans? Let Lukwago’s case open our eyes. No one is safe .
From Enen Legal World:
This Blog foreshadows for a high ranking Judicial Officer who prefers to remain anonymous for fear of “the basement” which is nolonger a secret.
Constitutionalism, Deterrence and the Price of Violating Non-Derogable Rights
Constitutional courts shape legal culture. Some decisions expand the reach of rights. Others contract it. Some become monuments to constitutional progress. Others become warnings from history.
Indeed, it may come to be remembered as one of the most consequential constitutional regressions since the promulgation of the 1995 Constitution.
The judgment has already generated intense debate. Supporters praise it as a restoration of balance between the rights of accused persons and society’s legitimate interest in the prosecution of crime. Critics view it as a retreat from the robust protection of non-derogable rights that Ugandan courts painstakingly developed over the last two decades.
I count myself among the latter.
Not because I underestimate the importance of criminal accountability.
Not because I believe every constitutional violation should automatically free every accused person.
But because I believe the Court has fundamentally misunderstood the constitutional function of consequences.
At its heart, Faruku is not a case about criminals.
It is a case about incentives.
It is a case about deterrence.
It is a case about the price the State must pay when it violates the Constitution.
And once one understands that, the implications become profoundly unsettling.
The provision was never principally about rewarding accused persons.
It was never principally about frustrating criminal trials.
Nor was it intended to create technical escape routes for the guilty.
Its purpose was institutional.
Its purpose was preventative.
Its purpose was deterrent.
Every legal system creates incentives.
A police officer deciding how to obtain evidence responds to incentives.
An investigator deciding whether to respect constitutional safeguards responds to incentives.
A security agency deciding whether compliance is worth the inconvenience responds to incentives.
The genius of Section 11(2) was that it altered those incentives.
It communicated a simple message:
If you violate non-derogable rights, you may lose the prosecution altogether.
That message did not exist to protect criminals.
It existed to discipline power.
It existed to ensure that constitutional compliance became the cheapest option available to the State.
The Court has now substantially weakened that discipline.
THE DOCTRINAL ERROR: WHEN A DETERRENT BECOMES A SUGGESTION
The central problem with Faruku is doctrinal before it is political.
Section 11(2) was not merely a remedy available to an accused person after a violation had occurred.
It was a prophylactic rule.
A constitutional deterrent.
A bright-line consequence designed to influence institutional behaviour before violations occurred.
The provision did not merely compensate victims.
It regulated power.
By emphasizing alternative remedies such as compensation, civil suits, administrative sanctions and criminal proceedings against offending officers, the Court transformed a deterrent into a suggestion.
That distinction matters.
A deterrent commands compliance.
A suggestion invites balancing.
A deterrent changes behaviour.
A suggestion merely expresses disapproval.
The practical consequence is that the constitutional cost of violating non-derogable rights has been reduced.
Rights rarely disappear overnight.
More often, they remain on paper while their practical force is quietly diminished.
That is why Faruku is so significant.
The issue is not whether rights still exist.
The issue is whether violating them has become cheaper.
ARTICLE 44 WAS WRITTEN IN BLOOD, NOT THEORY
Perhaps the most troubling feature of the judgment is its apparent detachment from the constitutional history that produced Article 44 itself.
Article 44 did not emerge from academic theory.
It did not emerge from abstract constitutional philosophy.
It emerged from Uganda’s encounter with arbitrary power.
It emerged from detention without trial.
It emerged from torture.
It emerged from disappearances.
It emerged from constitutional crises that taught painful lessons about what happens when power operates without meaningful restraint.
The framers of the 1995 Constitution understood something simple:
Power rarely restrains itself.
That understanding explains why certain rights were elevated beyond ordinary balancing exercises.
The Constitution does not merely describe freedom from torture as important.
It describes it as non-derogable.
That distinction is critical.
A right that may be balanced against competing interests is fundamentally different from a right that may not.
The Court repeatedly invokes society’s interest in prosecution.
But Article 44 itself represents a balancing exercise already undertaken by the framers.
They considered the demands of security.
They considered public order.
They considered law enforcement.
They nevertheless chose to place certain rights beyond derogation.
The question therefore is not whether courts should rebalance those interests today.
The question is whether courts are free to rebalance what the Constitution has already balanced.
That question deserves far greater attention than it has thus far received.
LEGAL CULTURE: A PERSONAL OBSERVATION
Years ago, I appeared before a Chief Magistrate in a criminal matter that had stagnated for nearly three years.
I argued that the accused person’s constitutional right to a fair and speedy trial had been violated.
The Magistrate looked at me and asked:
“Are you sure the Constitution says the hearing must be speedy?”
I answered in the affirmative.
A copy of the Constitution was produced.
The word was found.
The Magistrate then asked:
“But Counsel, why are you over-lawyering?, I thought you are in a hurry and have other things to do? Me I want to adjourn my matters today and travel for the weekend”
Many younger lawyers would find that exchange difficult to believe.
That is precisely the point.
For the last two decades Uganda’s legal culture has been evolving.
But together they built something larger than individual precedents.
They built a culture.
A culture in which State actors increasingly understood that constitutional violations carry consequences.
Faruku teaches a different lesson.
THE COURT’S BALANCING EXERCISE
To criticize the judgment honestly, one must first acknowledge its strongest argument.
Society possesses a legitimate interest in the prosecution of crime.
Victims possess rights.
Public safety matters.
Few reasonable people would celebrate a system in which serious offenders automatically escape accountability because constitutional violations occurred during investigation.
That concern deserves respect.
I do not pretend the question is easy.
There are undoubtedly hard cases at the margins.
But the answer to a difficult question is not to abandon deterrence altogether.
The Court’s solution effectively transfers the cost of constitutional violations away from the State and onto the victim of those violations.
The Court assures us that alternative remedies remain available.
Compensation.
Civil litigation.
Administrative sanctions.
Criminal prosecution of offending officers.
In theory, this appears balanced.
In practice, it appears detached from reality.
How many torture survivors successfully litigate compensation claims after years of detention, trial, imprisonment, poverty and trauma?
How many possess the resources necessary to commence fresh proceedings against the very institutions that violated their rights?
The remedy exists on paper.
Life exists in reality.
The two are not always the same.
THE REALITY PROBLEM
Constitutional theory cannot be divorced from constitutional reality.
Uganda is not debating torture in a vacuum.
Uganda is not debating arbitrary detention in a vacuum.
Uganda is not debating abuse of power in a vacuum.
We are debating these issues within a society where allegations of torture remain common, where unlawful detention continues to generate public controversy and where citizens routinely question whether constitutional safeguards are sufficient to restrain State power.
Perhaps the most chilling symbol of this reality is linguistic.
Ugandans now speak of “drones” not as aircraft but as a particular form of feared encounter with power.
Think about that.
Think about how much constitutional failure must occur before a society casually incorporates the language of disappearance into everyday conversation.
That normalization did not happen by accident.
It happened because constitutional safeguards increasingly appeared uncertain.
The question is whether Faruku strengthens those safeguards or weakens them.
In 1896, the United States Supreme Court decided Plessy v Ferguson.
The Court did not abolish equality.
It merely reinterpreted it in a manner that dramatically reduced its practical force.
Rights remained on paper.
Their effectiveness diminished in reality.
Fifty-eight years later, Brown v Board of Education repudiated that approach.
The lesson is not about race.
The lesson is about constitutional trajectories.
Constitutional progress is not inevitable.
Rights expand.
Rights contract.
Courts advance liberty.
Courts retreat from it.
Faruku does not abolish Article 44.
It does something more subtle.
And therefore potentially more consequential.
It preserves the right while reducing the consequences of violating it.
That is the structural similarity.
In neither case was the constitutional right formally erased.
Instead, the practical cost of ignoring it became negotiable.
That is how constitutional regressions often occur.
Not through dramatic declarations.
Not through open hostility to rights.
But through incremental reductions in consequence.
History teaches that constitutional decline rarely begins when courts announce that rights no longer matter.
It begins when courts assure us that rights still matter while simultaneously reducing the cost of violating them.
CONCLUSION
The Supreme Court may reverse Faruku.
It may not.
That question will be answered in due course.
The more profound question concerns constitutional culture.
For two decades Uganda appeared to be moving toward a constitutional order in which rights carried consequences and power carried limits.
Faruku signals movement in the opposite direction.
Whether that signal becomes a turning point or merely a temporary detour remains unknown.
History will answer that question.
The rest of us must live through it.
If future generations inherit a stronger constitutional culture, Faruku will be remembered as a wrong turn that was eventually corrected.
If they inherit a weaker one, where torture remains illegal but increasingly inexpensive for the State, they may remember it differently.
Not as the day constitutional rights disappeared.
But as the day violating them became cheaper.
Not as the day the Constitution died.
But as the day it was asked to whisper where once it could roar.
DISCLAIMER:
The contents of this Blog are not intended to be used as a substitute for legal advice. The author shall not accept liability for use of the contents of this Blog as legal advice. Readers are encuraged to consult qualified advocates for real life situations for legal advice.
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You move from police station to police station looking for him.
Nobody tells you where he is.
Nobody tells you what he has done.
Nobody tells you when he will come home.
Then one morning, somebody calls.
“He is being produced in court.”
You rush there.
He arrives limping.
His mother begins to cry.
Even before he speaks, everybody in court can see that something happened.
The State says he is a criminal.
He says he was tortured.
The Court agrees that his rights were violated.
But the trial continues anyway.
That is why the Constitutional Court’s decision in Faruku Muhamed and 2 others v Attorney General matters. A copy of the judgment can be accessed here
Many Ugandans will never read the judgment.
Many will never understand the legal arguments.
But every Ugandan should understand what is at stake.
Because this case is not really about criminals.
It is about power.
For nearly twenty years , in cases like those of Uganda Law Society and the famous Kayunga riots Uganda’s courts had been slowly teaching the State a simple lesson:
There are some lines you do not cross.
Some rights are so important that violating them comes at a heavy price.
That principle was not created to protect criminals.
It was created to protect citizens.
It was created because Uganda knows what happens when people in power stop fearing the Constitution.
Our Constitution was not written in paradise.
It was written after years of arbitrary arrests.
Years of torture.
Years of disappearances.
Years of constitutional crises.
Years in which the ordinary citizen stood almost naked before the power of the State.
The framers understood something simple.
A government should never be allowed to break the law in order to enforce the law.
That is why some rights were declared non-derogable.
Untouchable.
Non-negotiable.
Beyond convenience.
Beyond politics.
Beyond excuses.
The Faruku decision changes that conversation.
The Court has not legalized torture.
The Court has not abolished constitutional rights.
The Court has done something more subtle.
It has reduced the cost of violating them.
And history teaches us that constitutional decline rarely begins when rights are abolished.
It begins when violating them becomes cheaper.
Supporters of the decision ask a fair question.
Should a murderer walk free because he was tortured?
Should a terrorist escape punishment because his rights were violated?
Those questions sound persuasive.
Until we ask another.
If the State already had enough evidence to convict, why was torture necessary in the first place?
Why break the ribs?
Why remove the fingernails?
Why apply electric wires?
Why violate the Constitution at all?
That is the question Uganda should be asking.
Instead, we are being encouraged to focus on what happens after the violation.
Sue for damages.
File another case.
Seek compensation.
But every Ugandan knows the reality.
The person who emerges from years of detention, trial, imprisonment, poverty and trauma rarely possesses the energy, resources or influence required to start another legal battle.
The remedy exists on paper.
Life exists in reality.
And those two things are not always the same.
Perhaps the most frightening symbol of this reality is a single word.
“Drones.”
There was a time when a drone was something that flew in the sky.
Today, many Ugandans hear that word and think of something else entirely.
Think about how abnormal that is.
Think about how much had to happen before an entire country accepted that vocabulary.
Think about how many stories are hidden inside that single word.
The abnormal has become normal.
The shocking has become routine.
The unacceptable has become familiar.
And when that happens, constitutional erosion is already underway.
Some people will say these concerns are exaggerated.
They will say rights still exist.
They will say courts remain independent.
Perhaps.
But constitutional history is filled with societies that discovered too late that rights on paper are not the same thing as rights in practice.
A Constitution is not tested when it protects the popular.
It is tested when it protects the unpopular.
It is not tested when it restrains the weak.
It is tested when it restrains the powerful.
The true measure of constitutionalism is not how the State treats those it likes.
It is how the State treats those it fears, suspects, opposes or despises.
That is why this moment matters.
Not because a criminal might benefit.
But because power always expands into spaces where consequences disappear.
Today it may be a suspected criminal.
Tomorrow it may be a journalist.
The next day it may be a businessman.
The day after that it may be an opposition supporter.
One day it may be your son.
Or your daughter.
Or you.
The Supreme Court may yet reverse this decision.
History may yet correct it.
But the real answer will not be found in law reports.
It will be found in what follows.
If State agencies become more respectful of constitutional rights, perhaps the Court’s faith in alternative remedies will be vindicated.
If they do not, future generations may look back upon Faruku as the moment Uganda’s Constitution was not destroyed—
but the moment it was asked to stand aside while power carried on with business as usual.
Our Constitution was meant to be a fence around the citizen.
A fence is only as strong as the dog that guards it.
If the dog can no longer bite, only the thief has reason to celebrate.
That is why some of us are mourning today.
Not because the Constitution is dead.
But because it has been asked to whisper where once it could roar.
DISCLAIMER:
The contents of this Blog are not intended to be used as a substitute for legal advice. The author shall not accept liability for use of the contents of this Blog as legal advice. Readers are encuraged to consult qualified advocates for real life situations for legal advice.
JOIN THE UNDERGROUND ANDFUEL 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.
In the dead of night, in the shadow of suburban homes, a quiet crisis unfolds—a crisis so pervasive, so searing, that its scars are too often ignored. It’s the story of the forgotten, the unseen: the domestic workers who scrub our floors, cook our meals, and care for our children. But behind their tireless work lies an underbelly of exploitation, a cycle of pain and resentment that breeds unimaginable cruelty.
Photo Credit: Daily Monitor, Uganda
Imagine a child, no older than a toddler, helplessly crying out as a maid—someone entrusted with their safety—lashes out in violence. It isn’t fiction. It’s the stark reality of Uganda today. Jolly Tumuhiirwe, the maid filmed mercilessly torturing a toddler in 2014, became the face of a brutal phenomenon. Her face, twisted in anger, her hands raised to strike—captured in grainy footage that would haunt us forever. It was not just the horrifying sight of a child being brutalized. It was the image of a system so broken, it allowed this cruelty to flourish in the first place.
Tumuhiirwe’s vile act was far from an isolated incident. In 2017, Juliet Nanyonjo, another maid, was caught on camera strangling a six-month-old infant she was hired to look after. The infant’s desperate gasps for air were a harrowing cry for help from a child unable to protect themselves from the violence of someone whose very job was to nurture and care. This was not an isolated act of brutality; this was the outcry of a broken system, where the emotional toll on domestic workers pushed them to lash out at the most vulnerable—children who had no voice, no power.
But why do these workers, often women themselves, turn to such extremes? Why is it that some—just a few—feel the need to vent their anger and frustration on children? To truly understand this, we must peel back the layers of systemic failure that lead to these horrors.
A System That Breeds Violence: How Abuse is Manufactured
At the core of this problem lies a system that has long neglected the rights and humanity of domestic workers. These women—many of them mothers, daughters, and sisters—are tasked with the most sensitive of duties: caring for our families. Yet, their labor is often undervalued, their working conditions unbearable, and their voices silenced.
Imagine working 12 to 16 hours a day, with no set break, no proper compensation, and no respect. Picture living in overcrowded, unkempt quarters, with no privacy or dignity. And for those who dare speak out, the threat of being replaced by another desperate soul looms large. This is the grim reality for many domestic workers. They are often invisible—seen only as tools to be used and discarded at will.
And when their bodies and spirits are worn thin by exhaustion and mistreatment, it is the children who bear the brunt of their anger. Those innocent beings, who trust in the adults around them, become the objects of misplaced rage. When a maid tortures a child, it is not just an individual act of cruelty—it is the product of years of exploitation, neglect, and emotional trauma. Workers who are constantly under pressure, constantly treated as subhuman, inevitably break. The violence is not a reflection of their inherent nature but a symptom of a broken system that has pushed them to the edge.
The Minimum Wage Debate: A Dead End for Reform
The absence of a minimum wage in Uganda is more than just a legal issue—it’s a crisis in human dignity. Domestic workers are paid a pittance for the backbreaking work they perform. Often, they receive far less than a living wage, and their hours are unregulated. This leaves them vulnerable not only to economic exploitation but also to psychological and emotional abuse. With little hope of earning a decent living, many domestic workers are forced to stay in situations that drain them of their energy, their spirit, and their will to continue.
The Employment Bill, which was meant to address this issue, has been languishing in Parliament for years. Despite proposals for minimum wages, regulated working hours, and better working conditions, the bill has failed to pass into law. This failure is not just a legislative oversight; it is a moral failure—a failure to protect the most vulnerable members of our society.
Without a legal framework that guarantees fair wages and basic protections, domestic workers are left at the mercy of their employers. And when an employer turns a blind eye to their well-being, or worse, exploits them for financial gain, the worker becomes a ticking time bomb—her anger and frustration building to a breaking point. The result is often tragic.
How Other Jurisdictions Have Tackled the Issue
The abuse of domestic workers is not a problem unique to Uganda. Countries around the world have struggled with similar issues, but many have taken significant steps to address the systemic exploitation of domestic workers. And while no system is perfect, these reforms serve as a reminder that change is not only possible—it is necessary.
1. The Philippines: As one of the largest exporters of domestic labor, the Philippines has long grappled with issues of abuse against domestic workers. In response, the country passed Republic Act No. 10361 (the Domestic Workers Act), which provides protections for workers, including fair wages, regulated working hours, and the right to safe working conditions. This law also mandates that workers receive at least one day off per week, paid holidays, and protection from abuse.
2. United Arab Emirates (UAE): The UAE has a significant population of migrant domestic workers, many from Southeast Asia and Africa. In 2017, the UAE introduced the Domestic Workers Law, which provides workers with a minimum wage, regulated hours, and protections against physical and verbal abuse. The law also requires that workers’ salaries be paid on time, and that they receive rest periods during their shifts.
3. South Africa: In 2013, South Africa passed the Basic Conditions of Employment Act (BCEA), which extended labor protections to domestic workers. This legislation set limits on working hours, mandated paid leave, and established a minimum wage for domestic workers. This law has been a landmark victory in the fight for labor rights, ensuring that domestic workers are no longer treated as second-class citizens.
4. Brazil: In Brazil, the Domestic Workers’ Law of 2013 was a groundbreaking reform that extended labor protections to domestic workers. This law guarantees workers the right to a minimum wage, paid leave, overtime pay, and a regulated workweek. It was a significant step forward in recognizing the rights of domestic workers and ensuring their dignity and well-being.
These examples show us that meaningful reforms are not only possible—they are essential. By enacting similar laws in Uganda, we can begin to create a system that values domestic workers, protects them from abuse, and provides them with the dignity they deserve.
ILO’s Role and International Legal Framework
Uganda is a signatory to several international treaties that address the rights of domestic workers. Among these is the International Labour Organization (ILO) Convention No. 189 on Domestic Workers, adopted in 2011. This treaty sets out comprehensive labor rights for domestic workers, including the right to decent working conditions, protection from abuse, and the right to fair pay. It requires member states to implement laws that regulate working hours, establish minimum wages, and provide protections against exploitation.
Uganda, like many countries, has yet to fully integrate these protections into its national laws. While the Employment Bill has been proposed, the failure to enact it into law leaves domestic workers vulnerable to mistreatment and exploitation. The ILO Convention No. 189 calls on governments to ensure that domestic workers enjoy the same rights as other workers, and Uganda must live up to these obligations.
The Universal Declaration of Human Rights also provides a framework for protecting the dignity and rights of all workers, including domestic workers. Article 23 of the declaration states that everyone has the right to work in favorable conditions, receive equal pay for equal work, and enjoy the right to rest and leisure. Uganda must heed these global standards and enact reforms that protect domestic workers from abuse and ensure that their labor is properly valued.
Empathy Over Abuse: How We Can Break the Cycle
The cycle of abuse must end. But to break it, we must address the root causes. We must recognize that domestic workers are not disposable. They are not invisible. They are human beings deserving of the same rights, the same respect, and the same protections as any other worker.
To the employers of Uganda: How long will we continue to dehumanize the very individuals who care for our children, cook our meals, and clean our homes? How long will we let the vulnerability of these workers be exploited for our benefit? Empathy cannot be an afterthought. It must be the foundation of our treatment of domestic workers. They are not machines to be used and discarded. They are women, mothers, daughters, sisters. Their pain is real, their anger justified. When they lash out, it is because they have been ignored for far too long. The time for kindness, respect, and justice is now.
To Hon. Betty Amongi, the Minister of Gender, Labour and Social Development, and the Parliament of Uganda: The time to act is now. The Employment Bill must no longer be allowed to gather dust in the corridors of Parliament. We demand that this bill be passed into law, that it provide a minimum wage, regulated working hours, and comprehensive protections for domestic workers. If we continue to let these workers be exploited, we are complicit in their suffering. The stories of maids breaking down, of children tortured, of lives shattered, will not fade. They will only grow louder. **
About Author.
ENEN AMBROSE
The Author is a Rule of Law enthusiast, an Advocate of the Courts of Judicature and a believer in progressive realization of full enjoyment of social, political and economic rights by all peoples.
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