Why Uganda needs sovereignty law and how to implement it

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OPINION

By Kasule Ahmed Mukasa

Let me be clear from the outset. I have spent nearly two decades practising constitutional and public law in this country, advising the Government, civil society bodies, international organisations and private citizens. I have watched Uganda mature as a constitutional democracy, and I have also watched — with growing unease — the extraordinary latitude with which foreign interests have been permitted to shape our domestic affairs.

The Protection of Sovereignty Bill 2026 is a necessary, long-overdue instrument of governance. And the noise surrounding it, however sincerely felt, does not make it wrong. Critics have descended on the Bill with remarkable speed. Some leaders call it a “bad law.”

Civil society organisations have held press conferences urging its rejection. A Nairobi-based commentator — a foreign commentator — has branded it a “North Korea-style law” and a “suicide note.” Activists have accused the government of trying to silence the opposition and cripple NGOs. Some have raised genuine, specific concerns — about remittances, about humanitarian aid, about church donations from Ugandan relatives abroad.

Others have simply opposed the Bill wholesale, arguing that Uganda should not have such a law at all. It is this last position — that Uganda does not need such a law — that I wish to challenge most forcefully. That argument is not available to us. It never was. Every serious sovereign nation on earth already has it.

The global consensus Uganda is being asked to ignore

The US enacted the Foreign Agents Registration Act (FARA) as far back as 1938, originally to counter Nazi propaganda operations on American soil. Today, FARA requires any person acting as an agent of a foreign principal — in a political or quasi-political capacity — to register with the Department of Justice, disclose funding sources, and file periodic reports, with criminal penalties of up to five years’ imprisonment for non-compliance.

As recently as September 2024, a former senior official in New York State government was arrested and charged under FARA for acting as an undisclosed agent of China and the Chinese Communist Party. In October 2025, a campaign adviser was sentenced to four years in prison under the same law. In December 2024, the Department of Justice proposed new regulations to significantly tighten FARA’s commercial exemptions. The United States — that great champion of democracy — not only has this law; it is actively strengthening and enforcing it.

The United Kingdom, by way of the National Security Act 2023, introduced its own Foreign Influence Registration Scheme (FIRS), described by the British government as the country’s most significant counter-intelligence overhaul in decades. FIRS requires registration of all arrangements designed to influence UK politics at the direction of foreign governments or foreign political organisations, and makes failure to register a criminal offence.

As recently as April 2025, the British Parliament confirmed the inclusion of both Iran and Russia on its enhanced list, with six charges already brought against those conducting unregistered activity for or on behalf of foreign states on British soil. Britain — home of Magna Carta, the mother of parliaments — has this law. Australia enacted its Foreign Influence Transparency Scheme Act as part of a sweeping national security overhaul in 2018 — described by its Attorney General as the most significant counter-intelligence overhaul in the country’s history.

It requires annual registration by those lobbying or representing the interests of any foreign government, political organisation, or related entity in Australian political or governmental processes, with criminal prosecution for failure to comply. Canada enacted its own foreign interference accountability framework following serious and verified findings of Chinese and other foreign interference in its federal elections.

The European Union, under the banner of its Defence of Democracy package, has similarly committed to addressing covert foreign influence across member states. These are not authoritarian states. These are not countries silencing dissent. These are the very nations whose democratic credentials the critics of this Bill invoke when they oppose it — and every single one of them has enacted a law of this kind. Acknowledging the Real Concerns Without Abandoning the Principle.

I have read the critics carefully, and I do not dismiss them. There are genuine drafting concerns in this Bill that Parliament, in its wisdom, must address. The definition of “agent of a foreigner” is, as currently written, extraordinarily broad. A Ugandan pastor receiving a Bible shipment from a church in Texas; a mother receiving money from her daughter in London; a university lecturer whose research is funded by a foreign foundation — none of these people are foreign agents in any meaningful political or security sense, yet the Bill’s current text could reach them. This is a real problem, and it must be fixed.

The definition of “disruptive activities” is similarly expansive. The inclusion of “engaging or participating in a riot or unlawful demonstration” as a “disruptive activity” potentially conflates legitimate protest with foreign-orchestrated subversion. These are not the same thing and should not be treated as such in a sovereign democratic republic. The Bill’s drafters should draw a sharper line.

The penalties — up to twenty years’ imprisonment for individuals — are heavy. I would counsel Parliament to consider a tiered approach, reserving the highest penalties for deliberate, proven foreign orchestration of political and security interference, while maintaining proportionate sanctions for registration failures and administrative contraventions.

“The question before Parliament is not whether Uganda should have a sovereignty protection law. The question is what kind of law Uganda should have — and that is precisely why Parliament has invited public views.” But here is what I must say plainly: none of these drafting concerns requires us to throw the Bill away. They require us to improve it. A surgeon who discovers a tumour does not abandon the operation because the incision needs care. You make the incision carefully, and you do the work.

The sovereignty argument is constitutionally sound

The Bill roots itself in Article 1 of the 1995 Constitution, which vests sovereignty in the people of Uganda. Critics have argued that the promoters “invoked the wrong article.” With respect, that criticism misses the point. The constitutional foundation of this Bill is not narrow or technical. It is the entirety of Uganda’s constitutional architecture.

Article 1 is the correct starting point precisely because it establishes the foundational principle — that sovereignty belongs to Ugandans — and all subsequent provisions flow from it. That foreign money has been used to influence elections, fund organisations that lobby against government policy, and sustain operations whose objectives are determined in Washington, London, or Brussels rather than in Kampala, Gulu or Mbarara — is not a secret. It is openly acknowledged by many of the very organisations that now oppose this Bill.

The argument that “Uganda cannot sustain itself without foreign funding and therefore cannot regulate it” is, I submit, one of the most dangerous arguments I have heard in nearly two decades at the bar. It is an argument for permanent dependency and permanent vulnerability. Every sovereign nation, including the poorest, asserts the right to know who is funding political activity within its borders and what that money is trying to achieve. Asserting that right is not economic suicide. Refusing to assert it is.

On Remittances and Humanitarian Aid: The Exemption Architecture.

The concerns of families dependent on diaspora remittances are deeply human and deserve legislative response. But it is important to note what the Bill actually says, rather than what critics fear it might be used to do. Clause 22 places the threshold for seeking ministerial approval at twenty thousand currency points — approximately four hundred million shillings — within any twelve-month period. Personal remittances from family members abroad do not typically reach this threshold, and the Bill’s stated purpose is the regulation of political and security-relevant foreign funding, not family support.

That said, I would strongly urge Parliament to insert an explicit, clear exemption for personal family remittances and for registered humanitarian and development assistance operating within agreed governmental frameworks. This is not a concession to opponents — it is good legislative craftsmanship. Australia’s FITS Act and the UK’s FIRS both contain carefully designed exemption architectures, including explicit carve-outs for diplomats, legal practitioners, recognised news publishers, and humanitarian operators. Uganda should do the same.

To My Colleagues in Civil Society: Engage, Do Not Retreat.

I say this with the deepest respect to the many dedicated organisations that serve Ugandans: your reflex rejection of this Bill is understandable but ultimately self-defeating. If civil society is genuinely committed to transparency — and most of it is — then the registration and disclosure framework this Bill creates should not be threatening. You already know who funds you. So does the public. Making that formal is not suppression; it is accountability. The question is whether you trust the mechanism, and if you do not trust the mechanism as currently designed, then your energy should go into shaping a trustworthy mechanism — not into demanding that no mechanism exists at all.

Parliament has explicitly called for public views at this consideration stage. That is an invitation that should be seized with both hands. Submit detailed proposals. Flag specific clauses that are overbroad. Propose the exemptions you need. Suggest oversight mechanisms that guard against executive abuse. Propose an independent tribunal review of ministerial decisions rather than leaving appeals solely to the courts. This is how laws are made better in functioning democracies — not by refusing to engage.

The opposition’s argument: legitimate, but insufficient

Opposition politicians have argued that the Bill is a tool designed to silence them and their foreign-funded allies. I understand that concern in the political context from which it emerges. But the answer to that concern is not the absence of a law; it is the design of a law with robust safeguards against partisan application.

Independent oversight of the Department responsible for administering the Act; mandatory judicial review before any asset forfeiture; a statutory right of appeal to a tribunal rather than purely ministerial discretion on registration refusals; sunset review clauses — all of these are legitimate, constructive demands that opposition voices should be making at the parliamentary consultation stage.

Demanding that the law simply not exist cedes the floor entirely and leaves Uganda as one of the few sovereign nations on earth with no framework for managing foreign political influence.

A call for engagement

Parliament has done the right thing by calling for public views. I call on every lawyer, civil society actor, banker, media commentator, diaspora representative, and opposition politician who has raised concerns about this Bill to appear before Parliament, submit a memorandum, and make their case clause by clause. The door is open. Use it.

What cannot be the conclusion of this debate — and I say this as a lawyer, as a Ugandan, and as someone who has spent nearly two decades watching this country navigate the complex politics of aid dependency — is that Uganda should have no law at all. Every serious country protects its sovereignty from unregulated foreign political influence. Make the incision carefully. But make it.

The writer is a member of the Uganda Law Society/Partner, Crane Associated Advocates, Kampala