I’m not going to lie—while I’d heard of the Uganda Law Society (ULS), I didn’t think it concerned me. I assumed it was a body for lawyers by lawyers. And while that’s true, it turns out the ULS also serves people like you and me—regular Ugandans. This became clear when the ULS entered the cultural zeitgeist through Isaac Ssemakadde, its newly elected, highly public-facing president.
Ssemakadde, an unconventional lawyer and human rights activist known for his bold “banging-the-table” approach, striking hairstyles, and unique personal style, was elected president of the ULS earlier this year. The ULS is a professional association representing and regulating legal practitioners in Uganda. Its roles include promoting the rule of law and constitutionalism, advocating for access to justice, and enhancing lawyers’ professional development through training and ethical oversight. Additionally, the ULS contributes to policy and law reform, provides legal aid to marginalized communities, raises public awareness of legal rights, represents its members’ welfare, and engages with international legal bodies to adopt best practices in the profession.
Unsurprisingly, the self-proclaimed “legal rebel” is extremely busy. Our first meeting was at a lawyers’ society dinner where he was the guest of honor. His entrance resembled that of a celebrity, complete with an entourage and murmurs from the crowd: “The president is here.” Dressed as we’ve come to expect—casually, with a scepter, scarf, and sunglasses (at night)—he commanded attention.
After delivering a no-holds-barred speech and taking countless photos, I managed to secure a few minutes to ask him about the ULS, Uganda’s legal profession, his personal style, and society at large. Unsure how much time I’d have—or if I’d get another opportunity—I dove right in.
Is the Uganda Law Society for the public or for lawyers?
During our recent elections, I was the only advocate on my campaign team; the rest were non-advocates. The ULS is yours. However, it wasn’t created specifically for you, even though its functions involve you. Sections 3(d) and 3(e) of the Uganda Law Society Act pledge to protect and assist the public while advising and assisting the government on legal matters.
Yet Sections 3(a), 3(b), and 3(c) take precedence, focusing on members’ welfare. The truth is that the legal profession operates as a state-backed cartel, unlike other professions. The most prestigious positions within the legal field—Chief Justice, Judge, or Director of Public Prosecutions—are government-created. Consequently, lawyers often aspire to political power and prestige, serving the state rather than the public. It takes a rebel lawyer to be genuinely public-minded.
So, if a rebel is in charge, what can the regular citizen hope for from the ULS?
You speak of the regular citizen as if they are some powerless, infantilized entity—erasing their agency and privileging legal authority. Citizens must regain their agency and progress without relying on the legal profession. Data shows that 90% of Ugandans navigate challenges through private initiatives, self-reliance, and cultural revival rather than engaging with legal processes.
The legal profession is a construct—a structure of oppression imposed upon people. Introduced in 1904, it was not a native institution, and no Ugandan was initially eligible to join. This legacy persists, with law graduates often excluded from the profession due to systemic barriers. The Law Council enforces a system where Africans endure struggle, pain, and delay unnecessarily. If you are qualified, let your work prove it. Bulyomu agende awoze (let everyone prove themselves).
Sylvia Tamale in Decolonization and Afro-feminism advocates for a return to pre-colonial justice systems. It sounds like you are saying the same.
We’ve never left them. What we’re calling for is renewal, rediscovery, and refinement—not a return.
Does the ULS have a role in making laws in this country?
A minor one. Typically, the ULS is invited to provide advice on legislation, often receiving requests via email with only two days’ notice. Within this brief period, the ULS must gather input from its members and submit comments. If the bill is extensive, the process becomes perfunctory and ineffective—a glaring issue that needs reform.
While there are lawyers in Parliament, they often act as politicians pursuing personal interests rather than as advocates for legal reform on behalf of the ULS or the public.
I would like to talk about the marriage bill, which was first presented more than 40 years ago. What would you advise those who present it to do in order to get it to pass?
There is a lot of grandstanding surrounding that bill. Many people who are not competent find themselves in a position to comment on it, and that fails everyone. However, the state of the bill speaks volumes about the crisis of middle-class culture. There are few married people in parliament. The marriage institution is being challenged, and neoliberalism has disrupted many aspects of society. When it comes to that bill, parliamentarians realize that law-making is serious. They understand that they are writing values for themselves. It’s easy to write values for others.
After this question, he has to leave for another engagement, so the interview comes to a temporary end.
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A few days later, I am granted a second interview at the Uganda Law Society offices. On this occasion, Isaac Ssemakadde is issuing a warning to Makerere Vice-chancellor Professor Nawangwe for suspending students for their involvement in a demonstration. He goes ahead to say he and the professor have faced off before but this time, “We have the backing of 1800 lawyers”, referring to the Uganda Law Society. Makerere students, a TV crew from a media house as well as pastor Ssempa are present. (A day after Ssemakade’s warning, Prof. Nawangwe reinstated the suspended students).
Like at our previous interaction, there are loads of photos to be taken, questions to be answered and people to talk to.
While Ssemakadde’s words are often thorny, he does not shout or raise his voice. This might be at odds with the rebel and the banging of tables persona. But make no mistake, his volume is the only misnomer. His rebellion is felt in his actions, policies, exceedingly busy schedule, even his somewhat open-door policy and most visibly, in his dress code. At ULS, everyone but him is in formal dress, including his PA Enock who is suited and tied up.
Through snippets of overheard conversation, I learn that after the press interview, a staff meeting, and another with a gentleman I found waiting, there is a meeting in Mengo for a few hours, another at 3pm and so on and so forth. This means that I don’t have a lot of time to finish up. This time however, I can begin the interview from the top.
What inspired you to pursue a career in law?
I guess lawyering suits me. I performed very well in primary school at Bright Grammar Primary School, where I was a top candidate. My principal was asked the same question: “What do you think he will be in the future?” The answer was that I would make a good lawyer or journalist. I enjoyed debates and writing, which provided me with a solid background for this career. Although when I went to St. Mary’s Kisubi, I studied sciences.
What keeps you from conforming in style and your dress code?
I came to law as a rebel; I came to make a point and to challenge groupthink. A lot of what we call law is actually just legal culture—a culture that lawyers have created for themselves and imposed on the rest of society.
Do you think lawyers inherited this culture?
Those are excuses. Much of it is created by them. You must understand that law is an industry like any other, and industry technicians create their own standards—some not in the interest of consumers. The downside is the hypocrisy: the people that society thinks are the defenders of diversity, equity, and inclusion are often very opposed to it. They have an atrocious affinity for sameness. But is that in the interest of the public or the bar?
When you dress as you do, with the sceptre and the hair, what are you trying to say?
People give meaning to how I dress, how I speak, and what cases I take on. The public gives meaning. I think the most important message I convey is one of representation. People feel represented. How I dress reflects an awareness of the privilege I have. I have been different, and I have been celebrated for it. Others, perhaps, would have faced different outcomes. It gives confidence and courage to many. It says that this field is not as stuffy and exclusionary as they thought.
You are really criticizing the legal culture in this country. Some lawyers were not on board with your election to the ULS presidency. Are you a threat?
I am a boon to the legal profession. Ultimately, society needs change, but in this neoliberal order, society understands change through winning. Whatever I want to do with the law, I have already accomplished through winning. I have won cases, campaigns, and arguments, and I am also alive.
How do you prevent what you’ve done from fading away after your tenure at the ULS?
Well, we are going to do extraordinary things, and we are going to do them well. That is the premise of the radical new bar that allows for a shift in how lawyers conceive their role in society. A big part of that is organization. For me, there are three essential factors: one is the independence of the legal profession, which requires a mindset shift from dependence to independence; the second is to clean up the judiciary; and the third is to improve advocates’ revenue, resilience, and representation.
This seems like a lot to achieve in a year. How do you prevent yourself from getting burned out?
The answer is to inspire colleagues, the bar, universities, the region and the diaspora to seize this mandate. It’s not mine alone.
On the issue of moving from dependence to independence in the legal profession, do you think lawyers are being strong-armed into doing some of these unlawful things, such as the State Attorney being absent during the march to the Parliament hearing?
This question relates to the rewards and sanctions for lawyers, which, in an undemocratic state, are lopsided. What might seem like a result of sanctions is often driven by an eagerness for reward. Lawyers do not expect to be sanctioned by the establishment; they could be sanctioned by society. Your disapproval is a sanction; imagine if that came from their boss. Egregious behavior of lawyers in government service is highly rewarded, while proper conduct is often sanctioned. Lawyers in private practice also encourage this by choosing to see themselves only as colleagues of the wrongdoers. However, as I speak, lawyers are questioning whether the cost of collegiality is too high. The public is becoming more aware of what has gone wrong, and they are questioning the silence of lawyers as a community.
Do you get tired of the photos, the press, and the interviews?
That’s called representation; I can’t get tired of it. Advocates are insisting on being represented better; they need to be seen in the pulse of society.
What are some of the most rewarding moments of your career to date?
I don’t usually talk about them, but I can say that the lawyers (the ULS) voted me as the Most Outstanding Public Interest Litigation Lawyer on March 28, 2018.
What happens after your tenure as president of the ULS? Are you eyeing political office, retirement, or a continuation?
Leadership beckons. You may resist it, but it beckons. For instance, I did not offer myself for this office on my own terms; I was cajoled into it. Society creates its leaders. You do not force yourself on people. At best, I am a consummate advocate; I will always serve the public.
Finally, we’ve seen a lot of charismatic leaders come up and become frustrated by the system. Are you going to be able to move from warnings to visible action?
There is a despicable attitude among English-speaking citizens to assign civic duties to iconic figures, and there is frustration among those icons in accepting this humongous assignment. It’s Sisyphean! (Sisyphus was punished by having to roll a heavy stone up a hill, and every time he got to the top, it rolled back to the bottom, trapping him in an endless loop.) Many Ugandans, deprived of civic education, consider themselves removed from governance issues. I am very frustrated with people who say, “Oh, Isaac can do this for us; Isaac can do this for us.” It has come to the point where there is more courage among the “stupid” and uneducated. Cowardice and selfishness are prevalent among those who have received more than a basic education, and this has a stunting effect on those we are raising—those who have to learn from our behaviour.
To answer your question, we have to focus on both mobilization and organization. Our society is good at mobilization, but organization is boring and slow work. Organization involves aggregating storytelling, one story at a time, and changing mindsets. It involves the risk of looking ridiculous now. We cannot do this until we are no longer afraid of appearing silly or ridiculous.
This seems like war, what happens when it’s over?
We will focus on raising our children to protect the gains of the war, or to avenge us by continuing the warrior tradition. We may also raise more children, all things considered.
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