One year after President Yoweri Museveni signed the Anti-Homosexuality Act, the national conversation has shifted from politics to questions about how the law works on the ground. Many Ugandans still don’t know what the Act covers, which penalties still apply, or what the Constitutional Court removed in its April 2024 ruling. Much of the public debate is shaped by fear, rumours, and hurried WhatsApp summaries, not by the text of the law itself.
This explainer breaks down the main provisions, the sections the court struck out, and why so many gaps and uncertainties remain. It also follows how the law moved from Parliament to the President’s desk and why questions about its impact still show up in clinics, classrooms, workplaces, and private homes.
How the law began
Parliament introduced the Bill in March 2023, led by Bugiri Municipality MP Asuman Basalirwa. After days of heated debate, MPs passed it on 21 March 2023 with overwhelming support. The President first returned it to Parliament, asking legislators to re-examine some clauses, but MPs kept their original position. By the end of April 2023, Museveni signed it into law, and it came into force on 30 May 2023.
The speed, the unity in Parliament, and the public attention made the Act one of the most discussed laws in recent memory. Yet many Ugandans never got to read the final text.
What the Act criminalises
The Anti-Homosexuality Act creates several offences. Some expand on the Penal Code, while others introduce new and far broader rules.
1. Same-sex sexual acts
The Act criminalises consensual same-sex relations, with life imprisonment as the maximum penalty. Attempted same-sex acts carry up to 10 years. This part shaped most of the public understanding of the law, although many people still don’t know what legally counts as an “attempt.”
2. Aggravated homosexuality
This section covers cases involving minors, elderly persons, people with disabilities, situations of authority, or repeat offenders. Courts may impose life imprisonment. The original version included a death penalty clause, which drew widespread criticism.
3. Same-sex marriage or union ceremonies
Conducting, performing, or taking part in a ceremony meant to formalise a same-sex union is criminalised. The penalty is up to 10 years in prison.
4. Promotion of homosexuality
This is one of the broadest and most contested parts of the Act. It covers publishing, funding, organising, messaging, or any support seen as encouraging homosexuality. The rules apply to individuals, organisations, and media outlets. Penalties range from fines to up to 20 years in prison.
5. Facilitating same-sex acts
Landlords or property managers may be charged if they knowingly allow their premises to be used for same-sex acts. This clause has caused worry among hostel owners, guesthouse operators, and landlords who fear being held liable for tenants’ private lives.
Together, these sections form one of the strictest legal frameworks of their kind in the world.
What the Constitutional Court changed
In April 2024, the Constitutional Court ruled on petitions challenging the Act. The petitioners argued that the law violated rights to privacy, equality, health, and expression, and questioned whether Parliament followed proper procedures.
The court upheld most of the Act but removed four sections it found vague, overly broad, or inconsistent with constitutional protections. The main parts—same-sex acts, aggravated homosexuality, same-sex union ceremonies, and promotion—remained in place.
The ruling answered some legal questions but opened new ones. For many Ugandans, the simple takeaway was that the Act still stands.
What remains unclear
Even with the court ruling, several areas remain uncertain.
The first is the meaning of “promotion.”
The Act doesn’t define what counts as encouraging or supporting homosexuality. As a result, journalists, teachers, counsellors, and health workers often second-guess ordinary work. An interview, a pamphlet, or a private counselling session can feel risky if someone interprets it as “promotion.”
The second is enforcement.
Different parts of the country apply the law differently. Some officers act cautiously; others rely on community reports or misinterpretations. Some people have reported threats, extortion, or wrongful arrests linked to the Act. Most of these cases never reach court but still shape public fear.
The third is access to services.
Some NGOs scaled back programmes for key populations because they’re unsure how the law applies. Health workers say they spend more time explaining the law than delivering services. In some districts, people avoid clinics altogether because they fear being profiled.
These gaps affect many more people than the law directly targets.
How the law affects ordinary life
When Parliament passed the Act, the effects stretched far beyond speeches and political statements. Some Ugandans lost accommodation because landlords feared trouble. Others avoided clinics, youth centres, or community spaces because they didn’t want to be questioned.
In the months that followed, several people quietly left Uganda. They didn’t leave through dramatic asylum flights. They used normal travel routes such as short courses, cultural exchanges, or family visits, and later chose not to return.
“Daniel Kizito,” a graphics designer from Kampala, travelled to the Netherlands for a three-month digital-skills exchange and applied for protection after receiving threatening notes at his previous residence.
“Allan Kyomuhendo,” from Mbarara, visited his cousin in Belgium and extended his stay when tensions at home increased. “Mariam Nabakka,” a former university student, travelled to Germany after a series of life threatening events and remained with a supportive group.
“Rita Nalule,” a salon worker from Wakiso, left for a church cultural trip to France and opted not to return after warnings from neighbours. And “Joel Katabazi,” a 23-year-old student from Entebbe, travelled to Sweden for a study placement and later sought legal advice on temporary protection.
These movements were personal responses to fear and uncertainty. Human-rights groups later recorded an increase in Ugandans seeking relocation advice for Europe, often citing fear rather than formal persecution. Their stories show how a law aimed at regulating behaviour can end up shaping movement, emotions, and choices far beyond the country’s borders.
What to watch going forward
As Uganda moves into the Act’s second year, several areas will shape its future: how police interpret the remaining sections, whether new petitions or appeals emerge, how health and social-service providers adjust their work, whether Parliament considers amendments, and how communities respond as more people finally read the law itself.
For now, the Act remains one of the most influential and far-reaching pieces of legislation in the country. Understanding its actual text—not the rumours around it—remains key to navigating its impact.
Note: Some real names are withheld for privacy & safety.
