By Adonis Byemelwa
In a move that has stirred both legal debate and public unease, Tanzania's Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) has announced that Chadema—the country’s main opposition party—will not participate in this year’s General Election or any by-elections for the next five years. The reason? The party refused to sign the newly drafted Electoral Code of Conduct during a ceremony held in Dodoma on April 12, 2025.
Ramadhani Kailima, INEC's Director of Elections, stated that since Chadema didn’t append its signature to the document, it effectively excluded itself from the entire electoral cycle. According to him, this includes the General Election scheduled for October, as well as all subsequent by-elections until 2030.
But what might sound like a straightforward procedural consequence quickly turns murky when examined against the backdrop of Tanzania’s legal framework—and its complex political history.
Chadema’s Secretary-General, John Mnyika, made it clear on his Twitter account and in media engagements that he neither attended the signing nor appointed anyone to represent the party.
“I have not gone to Dodoma. I haven’t appointed anyone to go. That’s the story,” he said bluntly. When pressed on why no representative was sent, Mnyika added, “Write this clearly: I didn’t go, and I didn’t send anyone.”
Yet, beneath these sharp responses lies a deeper discontent—one that speaks to years of disillusionment with what the opposition views as an increasingly lopsided political arena.
Edison Kilatu, a legal counsel who has been following electoral reforms closely, points to the Elections Act of 2024, particularly Section 162. He explains that while the Act empowers INEC to draft the code in consultation with political parties and the government, it does not impose any specific punishment for not signing it.
“The Constitution guarantees every citizen and political party the right to participate in elections,” Kilatu said. “That right can’t be undone simply because a party hasn’t signed a code of conduct. Even the law itself doesn’t say that.”
He added that the term "signing" isn’t limited to putting pen on paper. “The legal interpretation of ‘signing’ is broader. It can mean any formal agreement or acknowledgment of the rules, such as submitting nomination forms or agreeing to campaign guidelines.”
In his view, what's playing out is a dangerous blurring of legal procedures and political power. “This is a legal grey area that’s ripe for exploitation,” Kilatu warned. “And when the law isn’t clear, it’s usually the opposition that ends up paying the price.”
That sentiment echoes loudly in the words of Bishop Benson Bagonza of the ELCT Karagwe Diocese, who reacted to the news with a pointed moral critique. Referencing scripture, Bagonza challenged the logic behind locking out a party that’s already marginalized.
“If you lock out those who were willing to lock themselves out, what do you gain?” he asked. “If you imprison those who want to be imprisoned, aren’t you imprisoning yourselves too? Even the prison guard shares in the prisoner’s suffering—both are exposed to the same cold, the same sun.”
In a country where opposition politics often feels like walking a tightrope in the dark, Bagonza’s words resonate beyond the pulpit. His message is not just about fairness; it’s a call to return to dialogue, to justice that’s rooted in empathy, not exclusion.
Chadema’s deputy chairperson, John Heche, didn’t hold back either. He dismissed the entire signing ceremony as an “empty formality,” arguing that the process lacked legitimacy from the start.
“This whole thing is a sham,” he said. “Look at the people overseeing it. The former Minister of Home Affairs, Ramadhan Mapuri—who is tied to CCM—is one of them. So is Ramadhani Kailima, whose old photos show him with CCM bigwigs. You can’t tell us this is neutral.”
Heche's frustration is more than personal. It reflects a broader exhaustion within opposition circles, where efforts for real reform have often been met with symbolic gestures and procedural traps.
“If signing meant anything,” Heche continued, “we would have started by addressing the real issues—electoral fraud, state interference, media bias. But if all we’re doing is signing papers while nothing changes, then it’s just theatre.”
And in a moment that struck a chord with many watching the unfolding drama, Heche concluded, “If you think Chadema is dying, then let it die. But let it die with dignity, fighting for real change. Not some staged version of democracy.”
At the heart of all this is a bigger question: What does democracy look like when participation becomes conditional, when laws are interpreted selectively, and when calls for reform are brushed aside as inconvenience?
The code of conduct may have been signed by other parties. It may soon be published in the Government Gazette, as Kailima noted. But in the eyes of many Tanzanians—especially those who have lived through the country's shifting political tides—it’s not about signatures. It’s about sincerity. It’s about trust. And in a democracy, those are the only real signatures that matter.
