Parliament’s Appointments Committee holds one of the most powerful mandates in Uganda: deciding who serves as minister, ambassador, or heads key government agencies.
Yet its deliberations remain behind closed doors, a secrecy that is increasingly fueling public mistrust, accusations of favoritism, and persistent speculation.
It is time for Uganda to consider opening the vetting process to the media and the public, taking a cue from Kenya. Transparency is not a threat to Parliament; it is its strongest defence.
Currently, when the Appointments Committee vets nominees, Ugandans only see two outcomes: a short press release and the final “approved” or “rejected” list. What happens in between remains largely unknown.
That vacuum is quickly filled with speculation. “That nominee was favored because of tribe.” “This one was blocked for political reasons.” “Deals were made in the boardroom.”
A senior MP who serves on the committee acknowledged the cost of secrecy: “We do a thorough job, we ask tough questions, we reject unqualified nominees. But because the public doesn’t see it, they assume the worst. We are judged for a process they never witness.”
Another civil society voice was more direct: “Closed vetting turns Parliament into a black box. Ugandans pay the salaries, but they’re locked out when we decide who runs their ministries. That is not accountability.”
Kenya’s Parliament shifted its approach in 2011. Today, the National Assembly’s Committee on Appointments vets Cabinet Secretaries, principal secretaries, and other nominees live on television, radio, and social media.
The results, advocates argue, have been significant.
Public trust has improved, as citizens watch MPs question nominees on education, health, and integrity in real time.
Accusations of bias have reduced, because when a nominee is rejected, Kenyans hear the reasons directly rather than relying on rumours.
Nominee quality has also improved, with some candidates withdrawing before public hearings due to the prospect of rigorous scrutiny.
Kenya’s Senate Speaker has defended the approach, saying, “Open vetting has made Kenyans believe in Parliament again. They see us work. They see us say no to mediocrity. Sunlight is the best disinfectant.”
When proceedings are closed, every decision is vulnerable to interpretation as a deal. When MPs question unexplained wealth, academic credentials, or past scandals on live broadcast, the public is able to judge competence for themselves. It reduces room for narratives of protection and backroom influence.
As one voter in Arua put it, “If I can watch my MP grill a ministerial nominee on TV, I will trust Parliament more. Right now, I only hear rumours from WhatsApp.”
Closed-door vetting, critics argue, also risks lowering standards. Open scrutiny raises them. Nominees who know millions are watching are less likely to exaggerate qualifications or evade questions on corruption. MPs themselves are also likely to be more prepared and more rigorous.
Vetting sessions can also serve as civic education. Citizens learn what makes a competent minister: policy knowledge, understanding of budgets, and commitment to public service. It shifts public debate away from identity politics and toward competence and integrity.
The goal, supporters of reform argue, is not public humiliation but public accountability. A person fit to run a ministry should be able to withstand scrutiny in the open.
Parliament’s legitimacy ultimately depends on public trust, and trust cannot grow in secrecy. Uganda’s Appointments Committee may already be doing serious work, but work done behind closed doors will always be subject to doubt.
Opening the vetting process would not weaken Parliament. It would strengthen it, silence speculation, expose unqualified nominees, and demonstrate that leadership appointments are based on merit rather than backroom influence.
As the NRM says, “Accountability is not a slogan. It is a practice.”
“If we have nothing to hide, we should have nothing to hide from the cameras. Open vetting is the next step in Uganda’s democracy,” said a constitutional lawyer.