2026 poll: Politicians need Shs 1bn to win

With the 2026 general elections drawing closer, Uganda is entering another heated season of campaigns and political maneuvering.

But as new faces prepare to challenge incumbents, a stubborn question persists: who can actually afford to run? The reality of Uganda’s political landscape is starkly clear: running for office has become a game for the wealthy. While posters, pledges and party flags will soon line every street, the real contest is already underway, waged not in ideas or policies, but in shillings.

Money, not merit, increasingly determines who holds power. The seeds of this reality were planted over two decades ago, but it was the emergence of Dr Kizza Besigye in 2001 that ignited a new era of costly political campaigning. Since then, Uganda’s elections have never come cheap.

A telling 2011 Afrobarometer survey revealed that 41 per cent of Ugandans reported being offered food, gifts or money in exchange for their vote. That figure hasn’t improved. Uganda currently leads the East African region in vote buying. In comparison, only 14 per cent of Tanzanians and 32 per cent of Kenyans reported similar experiences in their respective elections.

In the eastern Kalaki district, a prospective parliamentary candidate estimates that mounting a viable campaign now requires at least Shs I billion. Even a bid for district chairperson demands around Shs 500 million. These figures reflect a political economy that leaves candidates without deep pockets— or wealthy backers—at a severe disadvantage.

In one instance, party leaders summoned a grassroots candidate they believed had strong local appeal. When asked how much money he could raise, he said, “I have a piece of land which, if sold, could fetch Shs 2 million.”

The response reportedly shocked the party’s power brokers, especially when it emerged the land wasn’t solely his, but community land inherited from a grandfather. Such stories underscore the harsh reality: Uganda’s political terrain is not just competitive; it is capital-intensive.

Candidates with wealth or access to financiers are already buying influence. Some have fundraising teams in place, while others are tapping local tycoons and diaspora connections.

EVELYN ANITE SPEAKS

Sitting down with NTV’s Sudhir Byaruhanga last April, Evelyn Anite Kajik, Uganda’s state minister for Investment and Privatization, revealed something most voters have long suspected—but few politicians have dared admit: politics in Uganda runs on money, and often, on reckless, unaccountable spending.

“I used to find it very easy to just wake up, go to the bank, withdraw Shs 100 million, drive to Koboko, and within two days, I had blown the money—and I wouldn’t even know how to account for it,” she said, almost in disbelief at her own past.

Anite’s confessions peel back the veil on the personal financial toll and general dysfunction within Uganda’s political machinery, where handouts and informal “support” have come to define the practice of representation.

Before her ouster in the 2020 NRM primaries, Evelyn Anite served as the elected member of parliament for the Youth Northern Region from 2011 to 2016 and for Koboko Municipality in Uganda’s West Nile sub-region from 2016 to 2021.

In the 2020 National Resistance Movement (NRM) primary elections, Anite lost her seat to Charles Ayume, the son of the late Francis Ayume, a former speaker of the Ugandan parliament.

GIVING WITHOUT ASKING

Anite didn’t stop at that first figure. She later revealed spending Shs 500 million in just one week in her West Nile constituency of Koboko Municipality.

“That very evening [after arriving in Koboko], people would come to me. And by the time they approach, your mind is already conditioned to assume they are coming to ask for money. Even before they speak, you’re already reaching into your pocket to give them something.”

She went on to describe how the money was spent: road openings, support to women’s groups, boda boda riders, education initiatives, and random handouts to individuals along the roadside.

“I remember putting Shs 5 million in my bag and just walking from my home… At every stage, I’d hand out about Shs 50,000 to different people—and I did it all willingly.”

Today, Anite looks back with a mix of regret and clarity.

“Now I think to myself—Oh my God, could I ever go back and do that again, knowing what I know now about the value of money? I wouldn’t. If I ever go back into politics, I would do it very differently.”

WEAK ELECTORAL LAWS

Despite existing electoral laws that prohibit the monetization of campaigns, enforcement remains weak. The combination of widespread poverty and insufficient oversight means that vote buying thrives. Justice Simon Byabakama, chairperson of the Electoral Commission, earlier this year called on parliament to pass legislation to curb political spending. His appeal has so far gone unanswered.

Candidates with financial muscle are already out in the field, strategically distributing handouts and promises. Others rely on networks of loyal fundraisers or wealthy sponsors eager to secure influence through a proxy. In this system, money buys visibility, allegiance and access.

Yet, not everyone believes that cash always wins. Kalaki district chairperson Samuel Okello, now contesting for a parliamentary seat, argues that the will of the voters still matters.

“Money does play a big role, but voters will still ask, ‘What have you done for us?’” he said.

Okello believes incumbents have an edge only if their track record matches their rhetoric. One delegate at the recent Kalaki district NRM chairperson elections echoed this sentiment. “People were given money, but many already knew who they wanted. The winning camp had far less money but still came out on top.”

It’s a story that adds nuance to the narrative: while money dominates politics, it doesn’t guarantee victory. Still, the system is deeply entrenched. Since Uganda’s first multi-party elections in 1996, the cost of running for office has ballooned.

A 2020 report by the Westminster Foundation for Democracy noted, “Politics and democracy cost money.”

Factors driving up the cost in Uganda include poor enforcement of campaign laws, lucrative parliamentary perks, voter ignorance, and entrenched patronage. The ruling National Resistance Movement (NRM) exemplifies how state resources can be leveraged to reward political loyalty.

Its members, often appointed to lucrative posts, enjoy access to public funds, which inevitably seep into campaign activities. This undermines both voter autonomy and democratic accountability.

The everyday impact of vote buying is perhaps most visible in Uganda’s villages. It has become commonplace for politicians to distribute cash at burials or offer gifts that fall outside their legal mandates.

Today’s MPs are not only expected to legislate, but also to buy ambulances, fund school construction, and pay tuition fees—all in a bid to retain popularity. As election season ramps up, sitting MPs already benefit from institutional access to resources, giving them a financial head start.

This has created a political environment where many aspirants enter races not to represent the people, but to get rich. Political hopefuls now chase after local tycoons, pitching themselves in exchange for campaign funding.

For the financiers, these candidates are potential pawns who, if elected, will prioritize private interests over public service. This cycle breeds corruption. Leaders who spend recklessly during campaigns often feel compelled to recoup their losses once in office. That means raiding public coffers, cutting backroom deals, or ignoring oversight mechanisms—all at the expense of ordinary citizens.

Even Uganda’s religious leaders, once trusted voices of moral clarity, have increasingly been drawn into the fray. Instead of challenging voter bribery, some have reportedly been co-opted by political actors, further blurring the line between righteousness and self-interest.

So, who will save Uganda from this culture of money-fueled politics? That remains the burning question. As long as campaign financing remains unregulated and enforcement toothless, the cost of politics will continue to rise, and governance will remain the preserve of the rich.

For now, Uganda’s political stage is set. But whether the 2026 elections will bring change or simply reward those with the deepest pockets is a decision that rests, ultimately, with the voters.

Additional reporting by Geoffrey Serugo.

jodeke@gmail.com

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