But, for all the pictures and videos we take, here’s a question few Ugandans ever stop to ask: Can this media come back and implicate me? Or better yet, did you know that one of those videos could actually land you in court?
Gone are the days when Uganda had no concrete laws governing the digital space. In 2019, the Data Protection and Privacy Act came into effect, making it illegal to collect, store, or even share someone else’s personal data (including photos, videos, or voice recordings) without their consent. On the surface, that sounds straightforward and nothing noteworthy, but let’s pause for a second.
For all the pictures you post on your WhatsApp status or Instagram story, do you ask the people in them for permission? Do you even ever consider if they wanted to appear there at all? Most of us don’t, and that’s exactly where the problem begins.
And that’s not all. Uganda also has the Computer Misuse Act of 2011, a law that covers offensive communication, cyber harassment, and misuse of electronic systems. Over the years, it has been used in numerous cases involving social media misuse, malicious communication, and even “innocent” viral content gone wrong.
We often assume that because a phone is ours, we can use it however we like. Sometimes the intention is innocent, maybe we’re capturing a funny moment, a street fight, or a video of someone doing something interesting. But legally, intention doesn’t always equal innocence.
Take, for instance, a recent case that caught national attention: Herbert Arinaitwe, a Kampala International University (KIU) law student. He found himself in court after allegedly recording High Court Judge Andrew Khauka during a session, without the judge’s consent.
The charge? Unlawfully obtaining personal data under Section 7(1) of the Data Protection and Privacy Act, 2019, and Regulation 34(1) of the Data Protection and Privacy Regulations, 2021.
Now imagine the irony, a law student standing in the dock, charged under the very principles he was studying.
The prosecution argued that the act violated the judge’s privacy and the sanctity of court proceedings. Arinaitwe pleaded not guilty and was later released on a 5 million non-cash bail, but the message couldn’t be clearer: recording someone, even in public, even in a courtroom, without consent can carry serious legal consequences.
Another example came from the Uganda Institute of Information and Communications Technology (UICT). Two students, including Savior Guma, posted a video claiming they could “clean” or hack stolen mobile phones to make them untraceable... for a fee.
They later said it was just for the views, a viral prank of sorts. But the law didn’t laugh, and by the time they voiced their intention, authorities had already arrested them, citing possible offences under the Computer Misuse Act, including public mischief and encouraging illegal activity.
The video, which they recorded themselves, became their own evidence. What they thought was clout-chasing turned into self-incrimination.
Dr. Stella Nyanzi was also once convicted under the Computer Misuse Act for offensive communication after her controversial posts targeting political figures. The late Ibrahim Tusubira, aka Isma Olaxess (Jajja Iculi), was once arrested for alleged offensive communication toward government officials. Even Joseph Kabuleta, a journalist and former presidential candidate in the 2021 Elections, was detained in 2019 for allegedly insulting the President in a Facebook post.
This is exactly how today’s digital world works. Your phone isn’t just your camera anymore. It’s also a witness, and sometimes, it’s the one pointing at you.
To understand why these cases matter, let’s break it down a bit.
The Data Protection and Privacy Act (2019) protects “personal data,” defined as any information that can identify an individual; that includes your image, your voice, and even your online behaviour. The Act prohibits collecting or sharing such data without consent.
Meanwhile, the Computer Misuse Act (2011) goes further. It criminalises unauthorised access to electronic systems, offensive communication, and the misuse of digital devices or platforms. Over the years, it has been applied in several controversial cases, from individuals insulting public figures online to people spreading harmful videos on social media.
These two laws now form Uganda’s digital code of conduct, one that governs not just hackers and scammers, but everyday citizens who use smartphones.
If you think these laws only apply to “big cases,” think again.
A friend records you at a party and posts it online without asking. That’s technically a data privacy breach.
Someone films a boda boda accident scene and uploads it; the injured person’s face is visible, making it personal data.
If you share a private video from a WhatsApp group to your Facebook timeline, you’ve just redistributed personal data without consent.
A social media user records a police officer during an argument and posts it for laughs, that could fall under both the Data Protection Act and the Computer Misuse Act, depending on the context.
What’s even more surprising is how easily intent gets misunderstood online. A funny clip could be seen as defamation. A rant could be classified as offensive communication. And a “just-for-fun” selfie could violate someone’s privacy.
The truth is, laws like the Data Protection and Privacy Act and Computer Misuse Act aren’t meant to silence people; they’re meant to protect dignity, privacy, and respect in a digital age that too often forgets both, or at the very least, that is what these laws are supposed to work.
However, not everyone agrees with how these laws are applied. Some Ugandans argue that the Computer Misuse Act, particularly the amendments passed in 2022, has been turned into a political tool to silence dissent and criticism of those in power.
Human rights groups and digital activists have repeatedly warned that the broad definitions of “offensive communication” and “unauthorised access” give too much room for interpretation. Critics even argue that ordinary citizens, journalists, and opposition figures have been disproportionately targeted for expressing opinions online.
That said, technology is powerful, and so is the law that governs it. And today, where every Ugandan carries a camera in their pocket, the line between expression and violation is sometimes subjective and borderline non-existent, depending on the angle of the parties involved. Because you might own the phone, but the image, voice, or face you capture? That belongs to someone else.
