By Lawel Muhwezi
At a recent Makerere University School of Law lecture on criminal procedure, an ordinary exchange turned into a moment of reflection on Uganda’s legal system.
Constitutional scholar Prof Christopher Mbazira was discussing basic principles guiding the administration of justice: lawful arrest, presumption of innocence, the rights of suspects and courts’ role in checking state power within the limits of the law. These are the foundations of any system that claims to operate under the rule of law. Students learn that no one should be arrested without lawful cause, that suspects must be brought before a court within a reasonable time, and that the judiciary exists as a safeguard against abuse of power.
In the middle of the lecture, a student raised his hand and asked a question that many in the room had probably wondered about before but had never voiced so directly. “If the things we are learning are not the reality, then what exactly are we studying?” The question drew nervous laughter, but forced a pause. Professor Mbazira first responded with a question of his own: asking the student why he had come to school in the first place. But almost immediately acknowledged something deeper. The tension between what is taught in law school and what many students observe in the world around them.
Throughout the lecture, as he explained the principles of criminal procedure, he kept adding the same caveat: the law provides one standard, but the reality on the ground can often look different. This is what triggered the student’s question. In fact, he was using the Luganda trending phrase “ku ground bi’lalamu,” meaning in the real world, things are different. This brief exchange captures a dilemma many Ugandan law lecturers confront: the gap between legal principles and practical reality.
Law schools teach the rule of law’s architecture: constitutional principles, legal safeguards, and judicial doctrines meant to protect citizens from arbitrary power. But outside, classrooms students encounter a complicated reality. They read in textbooks that arrests must follow strict procedures, but hear stories of long detentions before trial.
They study constitutional protections surrounding personal liberty, yet see public debates about civilians being tried in military courts. They learn that courts must be independent and impartial, but follow public controversies surrounding judicial appointments and politically sensitive cases.
The gap between doctrine and practice is unsettling, raising questions about law’s role in guiding power. This tension surfaces in public commentary by legal scholars. is the law truly guiding the exercise of power, or is it sometimes struggling to keep up with it?
Constitutional lawyer Busingye Kabumba recently wrote an article published in “The Observer” following the appointment of Flavian Zeija as Deputy Chief Justice.
Kabumba suggested he’d little left to say, conveying fatigue about debates on judicial independence, rule of law and constitutionalism. The article’s tone was seen as criticism and exhaustion, implying arguments may no longer make a difference or, literally, as he put it, there’s nothing to say.
This commentary’s significance lies not in its content but in its source: respected legal scholars expressing unease signals deeper concerns within the legal community. Lecturers at Makerere University and other law faculties across the country face a balancing act: teaching law as it exists in statutes, judicial decisions, and the Constitution, while acknowledging societal realities.
Law students must understand the principles that structure legal systems. Without that foundation, legal education itself would lose its meaning. At the same time, students are not studying in isolation from the society around them. They read newspapers, follow court cases, and engage in political discussions. Students notice tensions between legal doctrine and public events.
Ignoring these tensions makes education feel detached from reality; focusing on failures of institutions risks producing deep cynicism.
The result is that lecturers often find themselves navigating a narrow path between realism and idealism, explaining rule-of-law ideals while acknowledging they’re not always realised.
In many ways, this reflects Uganda’s broader conversation. The 1995 Constitution set out an ambitious framework for democratic governance and rights protection. It established institutions designed to restrain arbitrary power and protect citizens.
Over the years, however, the country has also experienced political tensions, contested elections, and public debates about the independence of state institutions. Critics have raised concerns about corruption within parts of the justice system, delays in court processes, and and political influence in certain legal decisions.
Supporters of the system, on the other hand, often point to the continued functioning of courts, the existence of constitutional litigation, and the gradual development of legal doctrine as evidence that the rule of law remains alive.
For law students watching these debates unfold, the picture can feel confusing. They are taught that courts are guardians of the Constitution, yet see caution in confronting powerful political actors. They study legal safeguards meant to protect personal liberty, but observe uneven application.
It is within this context that the student’s question during Professor Mbazira’s lecture takes on broader significance. It reflects uncertainty felt by many young people about the role of the law role in a society with evolving institutions.
reflected the uncertainty felt by many young people trying to understand the role of law in a society where institutions are still evolving.
Yet classrooms remain key spaces for grappling with these questions. Legal education preserves principles that systems should uphold. Even in societies where institutions face pressure, those principles matter. They serve as the benchmark against which power is judged and the standard by which reforms are imagined.
History shows that many legal systems have gone through periods of tension and institutional strain. In such moments, universities and law schools often become the places where the language of constitutionalism and justice continues to be studied, debated and preserved.
The students who ask difficult questions in those classrooms are not necessarily rejecting the law. In many cases, they are taking the law seriously enough to notice when reality falls short of its promises.
Perhaps that is why the question “If the things we are learning are not the reality, then what exactly are we studying?” remains powerful, driven by a desire for law to meet its ideals.
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