Pavements vs People: Who wins in the Trade Order U-Turn?

By Muteesa Daniels Mukasa

On April 24, 2026, the Minister of State for Industry, David Bahati, solemnly informed Parliament that the Trade Order had been suspended. He explicitly stated that a final meeting would take place at the end of June, with a “refined way of operating” expected to begin in early July.

Resuming enforcement on April 28—just 96 hours later—renders that parliamentary statement meaningless. It suggests that the initial suspension was not a genuine attempt at consultation, but a temporary tactical retreat to quieten public outcry from religious leaders and lawmakers.

For those reading between the lines, this U-turn prompts a disturbing question: was the four-day pause merely a calculated diversionary tactic? It feels like a political smokescreen designed to shift public attention away from Parliament and onto the streets. While vendors were distracted by a temporary reprieve, an Shs84.3 trillion budget was passed with minimal scrutiny during a late-evening session. It appears that while the public debated tomatoes, critical national decisions were being finalised behind closed doors.

This erratic “pause-and-play” strategy is more damaging than consistent enforcement.

When the suspension was announced, many traders—desperate for daily income—returned to their usual spots in cities such as Jinja, Mbale, and Kampala. By abruptly resuming enforcement on April 28, the government exposed these traders to renewed confiscation of goods and potential violence. This is not “restoring order”; it is manufacturing chaos that disproportionately affects the most economically vulnerable.

Was the April 24 suspension partially an apology only to religious leaders whose places of worship were affected by aggressive evictions?

While the Local Government Minister, Raphael Magyezi, has said the resumption includes “adjustments” for places of worship, it ignores the Inter-Religious Council’s broader plea to safeguard the livelihoods of thousands of families. It signals that the government is more responsive to organised institutions than to the individual citizen’s right to earn a living.

Watching a mother scramble to collect her scattered tomatoes as she is chased from a pavement is not “urban planning”—it is a struggle for survival. We are sanitising our streets at the cost of empty stomachs, treating poverty as a nuisance to be swept away.

History offers a warning. In 2005, Zimbabwe’s “Operation Murambatsvina” forcibly cleared informal markets in an effort to “clean up” cities. The result was catastrophic, with more than 700,000 people losing their homes and livelihoods, triggering a humanitarian crisis that crippled the nation for years. Closer to home, Uganda risks similar social fractures if it continues to prioritise urban aesthetics over human survival.

Other countries have taken a different path. In India, the Street Vendors Act recognised that vendors are not obstacles but essential contributors to urban economies. Instead of constant evictions, authorities introduced designated vending zones and licensing systems. Cities in Mexico have adopted similar approaches, acknowledging that a city with clear walkways but hungry citizens is not progressing.

To end this cycle of confrontation, government must shift from enforcement to solutions. Rather than treating the informal sector as a nuisance, it should be recognised as a partner in economic development. Properly regulated street vending can improve both urban order and revenue generation.

Urban spaces are dynamic, and their use can be managed more intelligently. Certain streets could be designated “No Vending” zones during peak morning hours (7:00am–10:00am) to ease traffic, before transitioning into “Active Markets” in the evening (5:00pm–9:00pm). In Bangkok, for instance, city authorities have long implemented time-based street markets that allow vendors to operate during specific hours without disrupting daytime traffic.

This approach provides predictability, reduces conflict, and protects livelihoods.

With an estimated 230,000 traders in Kampala alone depending on informal trade, a four-day “consultation” is clearly insufficient. By failing to honour the promised July timeline to develop alternative markets and micro-stalls, the government is effectively admitting it has no immediate plan for these citizens beyond removing them from public spaces.

This reversal undermines the social contract. When government acts first, promises dialogue, and then reverses course within days, public trust erodes. This is not the foundation of a “Smart City,” but rather a “Silent City” where the voices of the vulnerable are pushed aside.

We must not mistake quiet streets for successful ones. A city that prioritises polished pavements over the survival of its people is not advancing—it is losing its humanity. True urban development begins with the people who already inhabit those spaces. Any city that looks good in photographs but fails its most vulnerable is not “smart”—it is soulless. And order without empathy is simply another form of oppression.