In the early hours of a cold Rakai morning, as the rest of the country stirred awake, retired Maj. Gen Elly Kayanja sat in disbelief.
His sister, Asha Lubyayi Kayanja, had just lost the National Resistance Movement (NRM) primaries for Rakai Woman MP—a loss not only bitter but, in his view, rigged. For many, the NRM primaries held on July 17 were meant to be a test of internal democracy in Uganda’s ruling party.
But what unfolded instead has prompted serious concern among analysts and voters alike: allegations of widespread voter intimidation, state interference, and a flood of unregulated campaign money. According to experts and watchdog groups, the patterns surfacing from these primaries offer a troubling preview of what may await Uganda’s 2026 general elections.
“This wasn’t just political competition—it was a militarised contest,” says Dr Sarah Mugisha, a political scientist at Makerere University.
“What we saw in Rakai and other districts reflects deep institutional decay, where power—not policy—wins the day.”
“THEY SAID THEY’D KILL ME”: A GENERAL’S ALARM
Maj. Gen Kayanja’s accusations were as direct as they were disturbing. In a fiery post- election address, he questioned the integrity of the entire voting process.
“They said, ‘Kayanja is poor. He’s nothing. He’s retired.’ Yes, I retired. But do they want me to steal money like they have?” he asked, visibly emotional.
“Where did the 50 drones [Toyota Hiace vans] come from? Why were people dressed in black, being escorted by the DPC [District Police Commander]? What were they doing in Rakai at 3am. while voters waited in fear?” Kayanja—once a powerful figure at the helm of Uganda’s Internal Security Organisation (ISO)—invoked both his military past and his knowledge of state machinery to demand answers.
His voice cracked as he recalled the wounds and poisonings he endured in the past.
“I want to warn them. I’m around this time. They said they would kill me. I am ready.”
ASHA LUBYAYI’S PETITION
Following her defeat, Asha Lubyayi Kayanja filed a petition with the NRM Election Disputes Tribunal, seeking to overturn Juliet Kinyamatama’s victory and be declared the legitimate flag bearer.
She alleged systematic voter intimidation, the illegal use of drones to transport operatives, and massive vote-buying. Her petition is scheduled for hearing on August 8, but the burden of proof is high, and the precedent for successful internal reversals is rare. She’s not alone.
Across the country, more than 380 petitions have been filed by defeated candidates—from seasoned legislators to high-ranking ministers. Among them are:
• Isaac Isanga Musumba, a former minister
• Theodore Ssekikubo, MP for Lwemiyaga.
• Esther Mbayo, former minister for the Presidency
• Joyce Moriku Kaducu, minister of State for Primary Education
• Hudu Hussein, a former RDC The scale of legal challenges points to systemic dysfunction, not isolated incidents.
“This isn’t democracy—it’s controlled chaos,” said a lawyer working with one of the petitioners, speaking on condition of anonymity.
“And what happens in the primaries is bound to repeat itself on a national level if no changes are made.”
THE TRIBUNAL: A STAGE OR A SOLUTION?
In response to the deluge of complaints, the NRM Election Disputes Tribunal established eight panels of party cadres and legal experts to hear the cases. Petitioners were instructed to serve respondents by July 26, with hearings beginning July 29 and expected to conclude by August 4.
A tribunal official confirmed that failure to respond will not halt proceedings, as the process is designed to move swiftly. But swiftness, critics say, is no substitute for fairness.
“Even if the tribunal rules in some candidates’ favor, the real damage is already done,” said Dr. Mugisha.
“Ugandans are watching—and many are losing faith in the idea of meaningful elections.” While much of the national focus has been on the Rakai drama, the implications are broader— and far more dangerous. Observers say militarisation of the electoral process, especially in ruling party contests, sets a dangerous precedent for the general elections in 2026.
The growing trend of deploying state security, weaponizing local officials, and using cash to manipulate voter behavior erodes public trust not just in the NRM, but in democracy itself.
“When elections become theatre controlled by money and muscle, voters stop showing up—or worse, become complicit,” warned constitutional lawyer Peter Walubiri.
In the short term, Uganda may endure another contested election cycle. In the long term, experts fear the normalisation of violence and corruption could permanently damage institutions that are already stretched thin.
Beyond the politics, there’s a more personal toll. Communities are fractured. Allegiances are bought. And citizens—many of them poor and under-informed—become pawns in a high-stakes power game. In Rakai, Asha Lubyayi says she still receives calls from supporters crying foul.
“They say they saw the money being handed out. They saw strangers bussed in. But they are scared,” she said.
“We can’t build a country on fear.”
A DEMOCRACY AT A CROSSROADS
Uganda’s 2026 general elections will be a test not just of the Electoral Commission’s integrity, but also of the nation’s democratic identity. If what happened during the NRM primaries goes unchecked, it may not just be a ruling party’s internal crisis, it could become a national unravelling.
For now, all eyes are on the tribunal. But as Gen. Kayanja’s voice echoed through the hall that morning, the deeper question remained: If this is how we choose our leaders—what kind of future are we really voting for? As the dust settles on Uganda’s ruling party primaries, the headlines are still dominated by bruised egos, broken systems, and the bitter echoes of violence.
But beneath the familiar political noise, legal experts, activists and analysts are sounding a sharper warning: what played out in the NRM primaries isn’t just about party politics, it’s a preview of a national disaster in the making.
With over 300 formal petitions filed against the results of the July 17 National Resistance Movement (NRM) party primaries, critics say Uganda is inching ever closer to an electoral abyss where violence, bribery, and impunity are becoming not the exception—but the rule.
“What you saw in the NRM primaries is not new,” says George Musisi, a human rights lawyer and political commentator.
“It’s just bolder now. The violence, the bribery, the militarisation—it’s all happening with more confidence, and less shame.”
ARMED POLITICS AND COSMETIC TRIBUNALS
For Musisi, the current wave of petitions doesn’t reflect a maturing democracy. It’s a red flag.
“Having over 300 election petitions isn’t a sign of electoral strength—it’s a sign of institutional collapse,” he says.
“These are sham elections. The tribunal hearings are just rituals. When you schedule 100 petitions in a day, how can any of them be taken seriously?”
He pointed to the killing of a voter in Lwemiyaga by a member of the armed forces as emblematic of the impunity that now surrounds Uganda’s elections.
“Even after the inspector general of police visited the scene, no one was charged. That kind of inaction only emboldens the perpetrators. What we’re seeing now will spill over into the 2026 general elections— and likely get worse.”
Peter Walubiri, a seasoned constitutional lawyer and political analyst, has long warned that Uganda’s elections have strayed far from the framework envisioned by its 1995 Constitution.
“The Constitution mandates free and fair elections. What we’ve had—whether in the NRM or in general elections—are armed contests, driven by money, manipulation and violence,” he says.
“These aren’t elections. They’re fights.” Walubiri insists that what happened in the primaries is part of a long, degenerative trend.
“Every electoral cycle moves us further away from the rule of law and deeper into dysfunction. What you’re going to see in the 2026 elections—people maimed, killed, abducted—it’s already begun.”
He was also skeptical of the NRM’s internal tribunal process. “In the end, it’s President Museveni who acts as the tribunal. He decides who gets cleared and who doesn’t. All these so-called NRM lawyers, they’re not independent. Their livelihood depends on him.”
For Bob Kirenga, executive director of the National Coalition of Human Rights Defenders, the primaries revealed a deeper failure: a lack of institutional maturity across Uganda’s political spectrum.
“We still don’t understand how multiparty democracy is supposed to work,” Kirenga said.
“Parties are personality cults. They have no functioning policies, no clear governance, no internal accountability.”
In some districts, children under 10 were seen lining up to vote in the NRM primaries. In others, party registers were assembled last-minute, undermining transparency and fueling accusations of vote rigging.
“When you don’t have internal democracy in a party, how can you expect it to exist at a national level?” Kirenga asked.
“The result is a never-ending cycle of violence.” He said the dysfunction isn’t limited to political parties. “It’s in every institution. We’re appointing people without qualifications. That’s why we keep seeing financial scandals. That’s why state agencies like the Electoral Commission keep failing to function.”
ONE MAN, ONE PARTY, ONE SYSTEM
Kirenga argues that the NRM’s structure is so deeply fused with the state that its collapse would shake the entire system.
“Ask yourself: if Museveni left the NRM today, would it survive? The military is involved where it shouldn’t be. State resources are used to fuel internal contests. This is not a party; it’s an arm of government.”
That fusion, critics warn, is part of what makes the stakes in the 2026 election so dangerous. With no independent institutions to moderate or manage conflict, political contests become violent power struggles—and the people are caught in the crossfire.
As Uganda looks toward its next general election, the warning signs are impossible to ignore. The country is grappling with an increasingly armed political culture, where outcomes are shaped less by ideas and more by force—where guns and uniforms hold greater sway than votes.
The justice system, meant to safeguard democracy, is now viewed by many as ceremonial at best and compromised at worst. The political class appears more focused on self-preservation than meaningful reform, while the public grows weary and disenchanted, dangerously detached from a process once designed to give them voice.
“At some point,” Walubiri said, “Ugandans will say enough is enough. That hour is coming fast.”
For now, the tribunal hearings continue. Politicians file petitions. Security forces remain on the ground. But the deeper question lingers in the air—quiet, unspoken, and urgent: If this is what democracy looks like today in Uganda, what will it become tomorrow?
