The Electoral Commission (EC) this week revealed that only 2 of the 38 presidential aspirants have so far managed to return the required nomination signatures. On the surface, this might sound like a simple administrative update. But beneath the figures lies a troubling story of a political process being deliberately strangled by opacity, delay, and selective efficiency.
Presidential aspirants in Uganda are required to collect signatures from a minimum of 100 registered voters in at least two-thirds of the districts. It is a daunting task—expensive, time-consuming, and logistically challenging. Yet even for those who brave the odds and submit their forms, the EC has moved at a snail’s pace in verifying and returning feedback. Weeks after submissions, most aspirants remain in the dark about whether their signatures have been approved, disqualified, or misplaced. Only two have been cleared to proceed.
This delay is not an innocent hiccup. In a country where elections are a ritual of managed outcomes rather than genuine competition, slow feedback becomes a powerful political weapon. Time lost waiting for the EC is time aspirants cannot spend campaigning, mobilizing, or contesting rejections in court.
By withholding timely responses, the Commission effectively kneecaps challengers while shielding the incumbent from scrutiny. It is a tactic as old as authoritarianism itself: create a maze of procedures, then control the clock.
The EC will, of course, plead caution. They will claim they are merely ensuring accuracy and compliance. But accuracy is not a license for silence. The Commission has had decades to perfect its systems. Digital tools and a well-funded bureaucracy should make the verification of signatures a matter of days, not weeks. The fact that only two aspirants have received feedback at this late hour is less an administrative failure than a political statement: the gatekeepers will decide when, and if, the gates open.
The pattern is familiar. In past elections, we have seen last-minute disqualifications, sudden rule changes, and opaque decisions designed to frustrate opposition candidates. The slow-drip approach we are witnessing now raises the specter of a similar script in 2026: a ballot shaped not by the will of the people, but by the invisible hands of those determined to maintain the status quo.
Ugandans should not be lulled into thinking these are mere technicalities. The EC’s mandate is not only to conduct elections but to inspire confidence that the process is free, fair, and transparent. Every unexplained delay erodes that confidence. Every unanswered phone call to an aspirant is a silent vote against democracy.
The opposition must not wait passively for the EC to finish its games. They should demand a public timetable for verification, real-time updates, and independent oversight of the process. Civil society and the media, too, must shine a relentless light on this slow-motion sabotage.
The tragedy of Ugandan politics is not just the predictable outcome of its elections, but the way in which the process is weaponized long before a single vote is cast. When only two out of thirty-eight hopefuls can even get a receipt for their effort, it is not merely a logistical delay—it is an early warning. The referee is not just slow. The referee may already have chosen a side.