When Yusuf Nsibambi, the outgoing Member of Parliament for Mawokota South, walked into the weekly press conference of the Uganda Law Society’s Radical New Bar, he did not come as a triumphant politician.
He came as a reflective one. Recently defeated in the January presidential and parliamentary elections, and having crossed from the Forum for Democratic Change (FDC) to the ruling National Resistance Movement (NRM) led by President YoweriMuseveni, Nsibambi used the platform to do something many politicians rarely attempt: explain himself.
He spoke at length — about political prisoners, opposition politics, internal party dysfunction, the conduct of the 2026 elections, the judiciary, and the exile of Uganda Law Society President Isaac Ssemakadde.
At every turn, he framed his views as personal convictions shaped by law, experience, and what he repeatedly called “the name of the people.” “We feel like we are orphans,”
Nsibambi began not with party politics, but with a direct appeal to Ssemakadde, who is currently outside the country.
“You cannot have such a brain out of the country on matters which are really principle-based,” Nsibambi said. “We feel like we are orphans.”
He described Ssemakadde not only as a former student but as someone he consulted on human rights matters. While careful to note that he had no formal instructions to act on his behalf, he urged him to return.
“He should not die a hero outside his own country,” Nsibambi said. “We want you here.” He distinguished Ssemakadde’s case from what he described as a separate category of detainees whom the President refers to as criminals but whom others consider political prisoners. “I have a list here called political prisoners,” he said.
“The President calls them criminals. And virtually over 120 will be released soon if it is not for the blockage, the roadblocks created by their respective parties and their lawyers.”
He argued that the exercise of the presidential prerogative of mercy requires some form of admission.
“The President is saying, ‘These are young men who are misled. Let them just come and say we are misled.’ And that is it,” he explained. “Because he cannot exercise the prerogative of mercy without admission.” To lawyers handling such cases, he offered pointed advice: avoid procedural rigidity where detainees lack access to legal services. “If you volunteer, you should do it really without coming up with technicalities,” he said, cautioning that insisting on apologies from the government before engagement may frustrate potential releases. A Constitution “in the name of the people.”
From there, Nsibambi shifted to constitutional philosophy. He invoked the late Dr. Khiddu Makubuya, one of the architects of the 1995 Constitution, describing him as both mentor and friend. “This is not an ordinary constitution; it’s a living document,” he said.
“Power belongs to the people and whatever authority must be exercised… in the name of the people.” That principle — power exercised in the name of the people — became the lens through which he examined elections, political parties, and even the conduct of lawyers.
Disputing the “worst election” narrative
He argued that the 2026 elections were not Uganda’s worst, blamed internal opposition disorganization and “protest vote” rhetoric for escalating tensions, and questioned post-election rigging claims made without agents or tally structures. “I want to disagree… that this is the worst event we have had in such elections,” he said, referencing his long experience as a lawyer in previous presidential petitions, including those of Dr. Kizza Besigye. During the campaigns in Mawokota South, he said, he experienced little interference. “The entire campaign, I was not even invited at a police station. I was not stopped to campaign,” he said. “Incidentally, things were moving on smoothly.” His concern, however, arose from within the opposition itself.
“Protest to vote” and the politics of confrontation
Nsibambi questioned the opposition slogan “protest to vote.” “When they say protest to vote, I got a dictionary. I also googled,” he said. “It showed that now we are going for elections, but some bit of confrontation and resentment.”
For him, elections should not be framed as protest actions. “If you go for elections, how can it be now a protest vote? Protesting against what?” He argued that such framing cultivated tension rather than persuasion and may have contributed to radicalization on the ground.
The rise of “egali” and intra-opposition conflict
Perhaps his most vivid account concerned the emergence of youth groups, which he called “ebigali” that accompanied candidates during campaigns.
“If you don’t have a egali … young men, vigilantes with machetes, with stones… you must have 40 people to protect you,” he said.
After suffering a spine injury and undergoing surgery during the nomination period, he returned to find campaign dynamics transformed.
“I also recruited a egaali of 40 and another one of 30,” he admitted. “So instead, I had 100 youth I had to pay in the evening.”
This militarization, he argued, made substantive campaigning nearly impossible.
“The manifesto was useless,” he said. “For you to address, you needed it. And I had to pay.”
He also criticized infighting among opposition formations, referencing tensions between FDC and breakaway groups.
“Now the government just looked on when FDC is fighting PFF. PFF is fighting FDC,” he observed. “They’re almost on the same side of the aisle.”
In such circumstances, he questioned whether the executive alone could be blamed for electoral outcomes.
On evidence and electoral claims
Nsibambi was particularly critical of post-election claims of rigging without structural preparation. “Apart from my constituency, where I had agents, most of the parts in the country… we had no agents,” he said of FDC.
He noted that in some polling stations, his party’s presidential candidate polled as few as 20 votes. “If the sample shows the highest votes you got at a polling station is 20, how can you claim to have won when you don’t have even a DR and you didn’t have a national tally centre?”
For him, legal and institutional preparedness must precede public declarations. “You cannot call that kind of excitement and anxiety in a society,” he said.
Opposition politics and the problem of “cult”
Nsibambi also raised concerns about what he described as cult-like tendencies within some political formations, where leaders cannot be questioned and internal systems are weak. “Can you really allow a political party without a registered constitution even to field a candidate?” he asked. Political parties, he argued, are not private clubs. “They are national institutions. That’s why they are funded by the nation.” He called for stronger scrutiny of party compliance with legal requirements and insisted that institutions — not personalities — must anchor democracy.
The judiciary and the rule of law.
Turning to the judiciary, Nsibambi addressed the Chief Justice, whom he described as a former student and “a very good man as an individual,” urging greater assertiveness.
“The judiciary is supposed to be number three, but actually… it’s supposed to be number one,” he said. He warned against perceptions that the judiciary operates under executive influence and stressed that rule of law must protect the voiceless. Referencing recent public debates involving lawyers and vendors, he cautioned against mob pressure. “We are being taken hostage by the mob,” he said, recounting personal experiences involving violent boda boda cyclists. “Without the cooperation of the judiciary, you cannot talk about… protecting these vendors, because they have no capacity at all to read the law or even to hire a lawyer.”
A political exit — for now
Nsibambi offered a personal note. He signaled that his days in elective politics may be over. “When you come to Mawokota, you’ll not see me again as a politician,” he said.
“Politics is also not an easy game. However, I can serve in another political capacity, but not in elective politics.”
It was not the voice of a man retreating in bitterness. Nor was it the language of defiance. It was, instead, an attempt to explain a controversial political crossing, defend a contested election, critique his former allies, and call for institutional reform, all through the prism of constitutionalism. Whether his explanations will persuade critics is another matter.
But at the Radical New Bar, Yusuf Nsibambi did not speak in slogans. He spoke in argument, inviting Uganda’s legal fraternity, and the country at large, to examine not just who wins elections, but how politics itself is being practiced “in the name of the people.”
