In a constitutional democracy committed to free and fair elections, transparency around voter data should not provoke panic unless the State fears scrutiny. Sarah Bireete’s arrest is not about data protection; it is a classic case of political persecution masquerading as law enforcement.
On Tuesday, December 30, 2025, the Uganda Police Force arrested and detained Sarah Bireete, a prominent human rights activist and Executive Director of the Centre for Constitutional Governance (CCG), on vague charges relating to electoral data. The State purportedly charged her with unlawful obtaining or disclosure of personal data, contrary to Section 35(1) and (2) of the Data Protection and Privacy Act, Cap 79.
The charge sheet alleges that Sarah Bireete and others still at large "unlawfully obtained or disclosed data, to wit, National Voters' Information, controlled or processed by the Electoral Commission."
The State's disproportionate reaction to the alleged disclosure of voters' information raises a fundamental question: what exactly is being protected, and from whom? In a constitutional democracy committed to free and fair elections, transparency around voter data should not provoke panic unless the State fears scrutiny. Sarah Bireete's arrest is not about data protection; it is a classic case of political persecution masquerading as law enforcement.
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During her pre-trial detention at Nateete Police Station in Kampala, Sarah Bireete was interrogated not about data protection or electoral processes, but about regime-critical video clips, social media posts, and even her views on the use of the national flag by ordinary Ugandans. This line of questioning exposed the true motive behind her arrest: punishment for her political opinions and expression.
Jailing individuals for their political beliefs or expression is patently unconstitutional. Article 29 of the Constitution guarantees freedom of expression, while Article 38 protects civic participation. Yet political detentions have become routine. The Constitution is violated daily with impunity, as more Ugandans are funnelled into police cells and prisons for expressing dissent. Silence in the face of this injustice is complicity.
Sarah Bireete's arrest, police detention, arraignment before the Chief Magistrate's Court of Kampala at Buganda Road, and her subsequent perfunctory remand to Luzira Prison evokes not only her widely followed TikTok critiques of bad governance, but also a long-standing sentiment among Ugandan prisoners and sections of the public: that every lawyer--whether in private practice, government service, or the judiciary--should be required to serve time in prison as part of their legal training.
The sentiment is not without logic. Too many judicial officers treat questions of personal liberty with alarming casualness, routinely ordering remand, granting lengthy adjournments in cases involving accused persons on remand, and denying bail on flimsy grounds. Political detainees and environmental activists are treated with particular severity. As a result, countless supporters of the National Unity Platform remain incarcerated on trumped-up charges for nothing more than expressing support for their party's political positions.
Environmental human rights defenders face a similar pattern of repression. Individuals who peacefully protest oil projects such as the East African Crude Oil Pipeline, or demonstrate against the destruction of wetlands, are routinely arrested and detained. In some cases, it takes ninety days or more for judicial officers at Buganda Road to grant bail to peaceful protesters. In such circumstances, detention ceases to be a procedural safeguard and becomes punishment.
Worse still, delays or denials of bail are sometimes driven by more sinister motives: to coerce guilty pleas from activists who are promised freedom in exchange for admissions of guilt and light sentences, often reduced to mere cautions. Due process begins to resemble a transaction because, in reality, it has become one.
On Friday, January 2, 2026, I watched a video of Grade One Magistrate Her Worship Winnie Nankya Jatiko remanding Sarah Bireete to prison. Despite the presentation of substantial and credible sureties, the magistrate declined to grant bail on the pretext of allowing the State time--until January 21, 2026--to respond to the application.
This was a serious error. Bail exists to secure liberty, not to accommodate prosecutorial convenience. Courts are duty-bound to hear and determine bail applications immediately unless the State demonstrates exceptional circumstances sufficient to override the constitutional presumption of innocence. No such circumstances were presented.
There was no justification for remanding Sarah Bireete. What occurred was judicial capitulation in a politically sensitive case where the State's interest was direct, obvious, and overwhelming.
Judicial officers would do well to heed the guidance of former Chief Justice Wako Wambuzi and Justice of Appeal Frederick Martin Stephen Engonda-Ntende, both of whom have consistently held that there should be no adjournments for bail rulings. Adjourning a bail ruling defeats the very purpose of the application for the duration of the adjournment.
In Sarah Bireete's case, the bail ruling was deferred for weeks, well beyond the January 15, 2026 presidential and parliamentary elections about which she had been particularly vocal. This was politically engineered remand time designed to silence a critical civil society voice. It was judicial silencing of dissent.
I recently spoke with Sarah Bireete, who told me she had not visited me during my three-month detention at Kitalya Mini-Max Prison--following illegal orders of a military tribunal--because she suffers from prison trauma. She did not need to explain. I, too, avoid prison visits for the same reason.
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Long after the physical torture I endured healed, the psychological trauma associated with detention persists. My experience is not unique. A colleague recently told me that a mutual friend--an activist briefly detained by police during the 2021 elections--has never fully recovered from that short episode of detention.
I recount this to educate judicial officers who underestimate the gravity of detention. Even brief incarceration can permanently alter a person's psychological landscape. Detention is a denial of liberty, the most precious of human pursuits. As Patrick Henry famously declared, "Give me liberty, or give me death." It is also an assault on mental health.
Detention must remain a measure of last resort, reserved for genuine criminality. It must never be weaponised to punish dissent or suppress political expression.
If courts continue to treat liberty as expendable in politically inconvenient cases, they will not merely have abandoned the rule of law and judicial independence; they will have surrendered their moral authority and relevance.
Mr Eron Kiiza is a human rights lawyer | @kiizaeron
