The family of former Kampala Lord Mayor Erias Lukwago says armed security operatives stormed his home, beat relatives, confiscated phones and took him away without a warrant.
By the end of the day, neither his lawyers nor his family said they knew where he was being held. Police publicly claimed they were unaware of the arrest. Yet the country’s top military officer appeared to celebrate it on social media.
The disconnect between those accounts is at the heart of a case that raises uncomfortable questions about trans- parency, due process and the relationship between political power and the rule of law in Uganda.
According to Lukwago’s family, the operation unfolded at his residence in Wakaliga, Lubaga Division, where soldiers allegedly jumped over the perimeter fence, held occupants at gunpoint and demanded to know his whereabouts.
One family member described an atmosphere of fear in which everyone present was slapped; Lukwago’s wife was assaulted after asking to see an arrest warrant and mobile phones were seized. If those allegations are accurate, they point to more than a routine arrest.
They suggest a security operation carried out without the procedural safeguards that normally protect citizens from arbitrary detention. The absence of any immediate official explanation only deepens that concern.
The timing has fuelled further speculation. Lukwago is the lead defence lawyer for opposition figure Dr Kizza Besigye and Hajj Obeid Lutale in an ongoing treason and national security case.
His family believes the arrest is connected to efforts to serve Chief of Defence Forces Gen Muhoozi Kainerugaba and other military officers with High Court documents over alleged social media threats. Hours before he was taken away, Lukwago himself described an unusual security deployment outside his home.
“I was also stunned to wake up and find two minibuses, commonly known as ‘drones,’ outside my gate. There are people in civilian clothes and others in army uniforms all over the place. I can’t get out of the house,” he said, adding that no agency had explained why officers were there or what they wanted.
That account stands in sharp contrast to the response from police spokesperson Kituuma Rusoke, who told journalists he was unaware of the alleged arrest. Then came the posts from Gen Muhoozi. Without explicitly naming Lukwago at first, the Chief of Defence Forces wrote on X that he had “captured a FOOL and taken him to the basement. This one will learn Kiswahili.”
He later issued further messages stating, “I have captured a fool and taken him to the basement! This one will learn Kiswahili. We are still warming up the fool. Pictures soon.”
He went on to claim, “We are on diaper number two. The more we slap him, the more he seems to understand,” while also declaring, “I’m proud of ALL the hurt and pain I will inflict on the ‘CRIMINAL LUKWAGO’.”
Those statements matter because they appear to move beyond political rhetoric into descriptions of treatment allegedly inflicted on a person in custody. They also emerge while Lukwago is serving as counsel in litigation directly involving the CDF himself.
The overlap creates an unavoidable perception problem. A lawyer attempting to serve court papers on a senior military official is arrested, after which that same official publicly boasts about capturing and mistreating someone identified as Lukwago.
Even without additional facts, the sequence invites scrutiny over whether legal processes are being insulated from political and military influence. The episode also highlights a broader institutional contradiction.
Uganda’s justice system depends on lawyers being able to represent clients without intimidation and courts being able to hear disputes without interference. When an advocate involved in a politically sensitive case is detained under controversial circumstances, questions inevitably arise about whether legal representation itself is becoming a source of personal risk.
The incident also exposes a wider pattern in Uganda’s security landscape: public uncertain- ty over who is responsible for high-profile operations. Family members point to soldiers and armed personnel, police say they have no knowledge of the arrest, while military leaders communicate through social media rather than formal statements.
That fragmentation makes accountability difficult and leaves citizens relying on competing narratives instead of clear institutional explanations. Ultimately, the significance of Lukwago’s detention extends beyond one individual.
It tests whether legal rights can be meaningfully exercised when politics and security intersect, whether advocates can represent controversial clients without fear, and whether state institutions speak with transparency when liberty is at stake.