OPINION
One of the fundamental principles of governance is that institutions must grow in harmony with the responsibilities they are designed to perform. When growth occurs without planning, institutions become victims of their own expansion. Uganda's Parliament presents a compelling case study of how political decisions, made over decades without corresponding infrastructural and economic planning, can produce a legislature that has outgrown the very house built to accommodate it.
The Parliament of Uganda traces its origins to the Legislative Council (LEGCO) established during the colonial era. As Uganda prepared for self-government and eventual independence, a new Parliament building was constructed on Parliament Avenue in Kampala. The foundation stone was laid in 1956, and construction commenced in 1958, before the country attained independence in October 1962. The building was conceived at a time when Uganda was a vastly different country in terms of population, administrative units, and political representation. The original design was intended to accommodate a much smaller legislature than the one existing today. Indeed, Parliament's own historical records acknowledge that the design had to be altered considerably to suit a larger assembly than was initially intended.
At independence in 1962, Uganda's population stood at approximately 6.5 million people. The country was divided into a limited number of districts and administrative units, and the number of parliamentary representatives was correspondingly modest. Representation was designed to reflect the realities of a young nation whose population, administrative structures, and fiscal capacity were still developing.
Fast forward to today, and the picture has changed dramatically. Uganda's population has grown to well over 45 million people. Districts have multiplied from fewer than 20 at independence to well over 100. Constituencies have expanded continuously, and Parliament has grown from a relatively lean legislative body into one of the largest legislatures on the African continent. The current Parliament consists of more than 500 legislators, with some official records placing the number at 527 elected and special-interest representatives, while the inclusion of ex officio members pushes the total to approximately 555.
How did Uganda arrive at this point?
The answer lies in a mixture of social, economic, and political considerations.
Socially, advocates of increased constituencies have often argued that population growth necessitates greater representation. As communities expanded and previously remote areas demanded a voice in national affairs, Parliament responded by creating new constituencies. The argument was that smaller constituencies would bring leaders closer to the people and improve service delivery.
Economically, some proponents believed that creating new districts and constituencies would decentralize government services and stimulate local development. New administrative centres were expected to create jobs, attract public investment, and bring government closer to ordinary citizens.
Politically, however, another reality emerged. The creation of constituencies increasingly became intertwined with electoral calculations. New constituencies often translated into new political offices, new centres of influence, and new opportunities for political mobilization. Constituency creation became not merely an administrative exercise but also a political tool.
The challenge is that growth in representation was not matched by proportional planning. Successive Parliaments approved new districts and constituencies with remarkable enthusiasm, yet little attention appears to have been paid to the physical capacity of Parliament itself. Every new constituency implied another Member of Parliament. Every new district implied another district woman representative. Yet the question of where these legislators would sit seemed to receive far less consideration than the political benefits associated with their creation.
The result is visible today. Uganda has reached the unusual situation where the legislature has, in practical terms, outgrown its chamber. Parliamentary business has, on several occasions, required the use of temporary arrangements and overflow spaces. Images of legislators conducting parliamentary affairs under large tents have raised an uncomfortable question: how can a permanent constitutional institution conduct some of its most important business in structures commonly associated with temporary functions and ceremonies?
This is not merely an architectural problem. It is fundamentally a planning problem.
Good governance requires leaders to think several decades ahead. Before increasing the number of legislators, policymakers ought to have asked whether the infrastructure, administrative systems, and national budget could sustainably support such expansion. Capacity planning is not an afterthought; it is an essential component of responsible governance.
The economic implications are equally significant. Legislators are not cost-free. Every additional Member of Parliament attracts salaries, allowances, security, staff, office facilitation, committee expenses, and other operational costs. In a developing country facing persistent challenges in healthcare, education, youth unemployment, infrastructure, and agricultural modernization, citizens are justified in asking whether the increasing size of Parliament represents the best use of scarce public resources.
Indeed, a difficult but legitimate question arises: at what point does increased representation cease to improve democracy and instead become an expensive administrative burden?
Representation is undoubtedly essential in a democratic society. No reasonable observer would argue that citizens should be denied a voice. However, representation must be balanced against efficiency, affordability, and institutional effectiveness. A Parliament that continually expands without corresponding improvements in legislative output, oversight quality, or public service delivery risks creating the perception that growth serves political interests more than public interests.
This raises another question directed at both Parliament and the Head of State. If the creation of new constituencies and representative positions was foreseeable, why was the expansion of parliamentary infrastructure not planned simultaneously? Why were new seats continually created while the chamber remained largely unchanged? Why should a legislature that prides itself on making laws for a modern state find itself improvising accommodation for its own members?
History teaches that institutions decline not merely because of bad intentions but often because of inadequate planning. Uganda's Parliament was designed for a different era, a different population, and a different scale of representation. What has changed is not merely the number of citizens but the political appetite for creating new representative positions.
The true measure of leadership is not the ability to expand institutions, but the wisdom to expand them sustainably. A nation cannot indefinitely increase the size of its legislature without asking difficult questions about cost, efficiency, and capacity. The challenge facing Uganda today is therefore not simply how many legislators it should have, but whether representation has been allowed to outgrow reason itself.
As Parliament debates the future of Uganda's democracy, perhaps the most important question is not how many more constituencies can be created, but whether the country has finally reached the point where planning must catch up with politics.
About the Author
Evan Sande Ndahura is a Ugandan political and legal commentator, columnist, poet, and social justice advocate whose writings focus on governance, constitutionalism, democracy, and the political economy of power in Africa. He writes extensively on judicial accountability, electoral justice, human rights, and institutional reform, examining the relationship between state power and the lived realities of ordinary citizens. Ndahura believes that the liberation of Africa will occur through the mighty power of the pen rather than the gun.