Blogs
Why taking an oath has become a "Nightmare"
Bashasha says civic education by the Electoral Commission is essential, but inclusivity must remain the guiding principle.
Professor Alex Bashasha
By: Admin ., Journalist @New Vision
By Professor Alex Bashasha
Uganda’s general elections on 15 January 2026 ushered in new leaders at all levels. By May, handovers and swearing‑in ceremonies were underway.
Yet, once again, Ugandans witnessed both humor and embarrassment as elected officials struggled to take oaths written in English. Despite months to rehearse, many stumbled over words they barely understood.
The deeper issue is not preparation but exclusion: the language of the oath itself alienates leaders who operate daily in local languages.
English is the official language in courts of record, but the Constitution provides interpreters for those who do not understand it. The Local Council Courts Act even allows proceedings in indigenous languages most widely spoken in a given area.
If council deliberations can be conducted in local languages, why should councillors not be allowed to take oaths in those same languages? This challenge has been vividly documented.
In May 2026, media reports highlighted councillors across the country repeatedly stumbling over words such as “allegiance”—often pronounced as “arrogance”—and “solemnly”, rendered as “Solomon.”
What should have been solemn constitutional exercises became awkward spectacles, attracting laughter from the public and ridicule on social media. Recognising this, the Ministry of Local Government issued a circular permitting oaths to be administered in local languages.
Permanent Secretary Ben Kumumanya emphasised that this change ensures leaders fully understand their obligations and responsibilities, aligning with constitutional principles of accessibility and inclusivity.
Both the English and translated versions are now retained in official records, a move widely welcomed by local leaders. Uganda’s history shows how literacy enforcement often exposes the gap between formal language and lived reality.
If council deliberations can be conducted in local languages, why should councillors not be allowed to take oaths in those same languages? This challenge has been vividly documented.
In May 2026, media reports highlighted councillors across the country repeatedly stumbling over words such as “allegiance”—often pronounced as “arrogance”—and “solemnly”, rendered as “Solomon.”
What should have been solemn constitutional exercises became awkward spectacles, attracting laughter from the public and ridicule on social media. Recognising this, the Ministry of Local Government issued a circular permitting oaths to be administered in local languages.
Permanent Secretary Ben Kumumanya emphasised that this change ensures leaders fully understand their obligations and responsibilities, aligning with constitutional principles of accessibility and inclusivity.
Both the English and translated versions are now retained in official records, a move widely welcomed by local leaders. Uganda’s history shows how literacy enforcement often exposes the gap between formal language and lived reality.
In 1976, former President Idi Amin Dada decreed that all citizens must learn to read and write, leading many to pretend at literacy.
Elderly people who had never attended school were compelled to join community reading classes.
A famous story tells of a Mukiga man boarding a bus with the Uganda Argus newspaper held upside down—seeking to appear literate though he could not read. Fellow passengers, shocked, took the paper and read aloud its contents.
The man’s attempt at literacy became a symbol of embarrassment rather than empowerment. The colonial government had earlier introduced the Illiterates Protection Act (1918).
English was a foreign language, and the Act recognised this vulnerability, requiring documents in English for illiterate persons to be explained and witnessed.
This principle—that language should never be a barrier to civic participation—remains vital today. Examples abound of leaders who mobilised communities despite poor English.
Community development is not about English proficiency—it is about connecting with people, addressing immediate needs, and mobilising collective progress.
Around 1987, a councillor named Kyitanjoka of Rukiga County failed to take the oath in English.
At the event, the President himself remarked that leaders should be allowed to swear in their own languages, stressing that leadership quality matters more than linguistic ability. Taking an oath is not only a nightmare for councillors but also for Members of Parliament.
More often, we have seen MPs struggle with English, yet they remain effective representatives and strong advocates for their communities. In 2022, a video clip of a Member of Parliament struggling to express herself on the floor of Parliament went viral on social media.
She failed to pronounce basic English words. Should such MPs be allowed to deliberate in their languages, with interpreters translating for the House?
Civic education by the Electoral Commission is essential, but inclusivity must remain the guiding principle.
Ugandan MPs should be allowed to deliberate in local languages, supported by interpreters, so that their voices are not diminished by linguistic barriers.
Uganda must rethink the language of leadership. Oaths should be taken in languages leaders understand or with interpreters to ensure inclusivity and dignity.
The writer is the Director General of TABKEN Consults on Development and a Fellow of Unicarebean Business School
Elderly people who had never attended school were compelled to join community reading classes.
A famous story tells of a Mukiga man boarding a bus with the Uganda Argus newspaper held upside down—seeking to appear literate though he could not read. Fellow passengers, shocked, took the paper and read aloud its contents.
The man’s attempt at literacy became a symbol of embarrassment rather than empowerment. The colonial government had earlier introduced the Illiterates Protection Act (1918).
English was a foreign language, and the Act recognised this vulnerability, requiring documents in English for illiterate persons to be explained and witnessed.
This principle—that language should never be a barrier to civic participation—remains vital today. Examples abound of leaders who mobilised communities despite poor English.
Community development is not about English proficiency—it is about connecting with people, addressing immediate needs, and mobilising collective progress.
Around 1987, a councillor named Kyitanjoka of Rukiga County failed to take the oath in English.
At the event, the President himself remarked that leaders should be allowed to swear in their own languages, stressing that leadership quality matters more than linguistic ability. Taking an oath is not only a nightmare for councillors but also for Members of Parliament.
More often, we have seen MPs struggle with English, yet they remain effective representatives and strong advocates for their communities. In 2022, a video clip of a Member of Parliament struggling to express herself on the floor of Parliament went viral on social media.
She failed to pronounce basic English words. Should such MPs be allowed to deliberate in their languages, with interpreters translating for the House?
Civic education by the Electoral Commission is essential, but inclusivity must remain the guiding principle.
Ugandan MPs should be allowed to deliberate in local languages, supported by interpreters, so that their voices are not diminished by linguistic barriers.
Uganda must rethink the language of leadership. Oaths should be taken in languages leaders understand or with interpreters to ensure inclusivity and dignity.
The writer is the Director General of TABKEN Consults on Development and a Fellow of Unicarebean Business School