By Prof Mike Ozekhome SAN

INTRODUCTION

The last installment of this series continued from where the inaugural one stopped: the analogy of each corpse buried without justice being a clause in the Constitution buried in effigy. It then explained how inequality breeds violence, before moving onto how systemic lapses in law enforcement is the hidden engine of insecurity and erosion of rights. Later, it examined the contrast between constitutional mandate and institutional reality, followed by the politicization and weaponization of law enforcement; corruption as operational culture; and finally operational weaknesses and structural management. The week, we shall continue with same theme, after which we shall delve into the failure of internal accountability; collusion with criminal networks; erosion of civil liberties through enforcement practices; the cycle of impunity; abuse of judicial power and executive lawlessness targeted at the Bench. Thereafter, we shall consider various pathways and recommendations for addressing insecurity, rights protection and institutional weakness. Enjoy.

OPERATIONAL WEAKNESSES AND STRUCTURAL MISMANAGEMENT

Nigeria’s police-to-population ratio remains alarmingly low. With about 371,800 officers serving a population of over 236 million people, the country is well below the United Nations’ recommended benchmark of 222 officers per 100,000 people. This manpower gap severely hampers the Force’s capacity to tackle crime, especially in volatile areas plagued by insurgency and communal violence. To make matters worse, many of the limited officers available are deployed to safeguard high-profile politicians and elites rather than serving the broader public. In rural communities, especially in conflict-affected northern states, residents report waiting hours, sometimes days, for police to respond to distress calls, if they ever respond at all.

Compounding this problem is inadequate training. Many recruits receive minimal exposure to forensic methods, human rights protocols, or community policing principles. As a result, investigative work relies heavily on confessions, which are frequently extracted through coercion or torture. This not only violates constitutional guarantees against inhuman treatment but also produces unreliable evidence that weakens prosecutions.

Logistical deficits are equally damaging. Many police divisions operate without functioning patrol vehicles, secure communication equipment, or modern crime labs. The Inspector General of Police has acknowledged that, outside of Lagos, forensic capability is virtually non-existent. Without scientific investigation, crimes are either left unsolved or result in wrongful arrests, further undermining public trust

FAILURE OF INTERNAL ACCOUNTABILITY

In a functioning democracy, law enforcement personnel are subject to robust oversight, both internally and through independent bodies. In Nigeria, oversight mechanisms exist in name but not in consistent practice. The Police Service Commission (PSC), which is meant to handle recruitment, promotion, and discipline, is itself politically influenced and suffers from inadequate funding. Complaints of misconduct often disappear into opaque disciplinary processes, and there is little transparency about the outcomes.

When abuses are too public to ignore, as with the October 2020 End SARS protests, Commissions of Inquiry are established, testimonies are heard, and reports are submitted. Yet, implementation of recommendations remains rare. In Lagos, for example, despite the panel’s findings implicating specific officers in excessive force and unlawful killings, few have been prosecuted. Instead, many have returned quietly to duty. This pattern sends a dangerous message to the rank-and-file officers: violations carry reputational risk but rarely legal consequence.

COLLUSION WITH CRIMINAL NETWORKS

Perhaps the most alarming dimension of enforcement failure is the documented collusion between security personnel and criminal actors. In the Niger Delta, security forces have been implicated in illegal oil bunkering, the very crime they are deployed to prevent. In parts of the North-West, reports from Amnesty International and local media allege that bandit groups pay “protection fees” to avoid military or police raids.

Such collusion transforms law enforcement from an adversary of crime into a stakeholder in it. This is not merely passive negligence; it is active participation in the shadow economy of insecurity. In these areas, communities quickly learn that reporting crimes may not only be futile but dangerous, as information shared with authorities can be leaked to perpetrators.

EROSION OF CIVIL LIBERTIES THROUGH ENFORCEMENT PRACTICES

The systemic lapses in law enforcement also directly erode civil liberties. Arbitrary arrests, prolonged detentions without trial, suppression of lawful assembly, and harassment of journalists are not isolated acts but part of an entrenched enforcement culture. The constitutional right to personal liberty under Section 35 is regularly violated under the guise of maintaining public order.

Protesters face preemptive crackdowns, often justified by vague references to national security. During the #Revolution Now protests in 2019, dozens of demonstrators were detained, some for weeks, without formal charges. In many cases, court orders for their release were ignored by security agencies, underscoring the absence of legal consequence for disobedience of judicial authority.
This disregard for civil liberties creates a chilling effect on political participation and civic engagement. Citizens learn that speaking out carries personal risk, and self-censorship becomes a survival strategy. Over time, this quietens public dissent, enabling further abuses by both government and non-state actors.

THE CYCLE OF IMPUNITY

The combination of politicization, corruption, operational weakness, and lack of accountability feeds into a self-reinforcing cycle of impunity. Officers learn that their actions are judged not by legality but by political expediency. Politicians, in turn, see law enforcement as a tool to protect themselves and punish adversaries. Criminal networks exploit these gaps, securing protection through bribery or political patronage.

Once entrenched, this cycle is difficult to break. Each unpunished violation becomes a precedent, normalizing the idea that power grants immunity from the law. This normalization spreads beyond law enforcement to other institutions, eroding the very foundations of democratic governance.

THE ABUSE OF JUDICIAL POWER AND EXECUTIVE LAWLESSNESS AGAINST THE BENCH

In a functioning democracy, the judiciary serves as the impartial referee between the powerful and the powerless. It is the last line of defence for the citizen and the final hope for justice. But what happens when that sacred institution itself becomes the object of aggression? What happens when the enforcers of state power turn their weapons not on criminals, but on the judges who interpret the law? Nigeria confronted these very questions in October 2016, when the homes of senior judges across the country were invaded by heavily armed operatives of the Department of State Services under the cover of night.

These raids, carried out in Abuja, Gombe, and Port Harcourt, targeted some of the most senior members of the judiciary, including Justices Walter Onnoghen and Sylvester Ngwuta of the Supreme Court, and Federal High Court judges Adeniyi Ademola and Nnamdi Dimgba. The DSS claimed they were investigating corruption, yet their conduct betrayed a more sinister motive. Homes were stormed in Gestapo fashion, judges were treated like fugitives, and search warrants reportedly carried incorrect names or were not presented at all. The judiciary was under siege. In Rivers State, Governor Nyesom Wike arrived at the residence of one of the judges to intervene and was reportedly shoved, injured, and threatened by DSS operatives. It was not an arrest. It was a constitutional assault.

I spoke firmly and publicly against this invasion. I said then what I still affirm now: the DSS acted outside the bounds of the law. As I told journalists and as reported by Premium Times, the operation was not only illegal and unconstitutional but a dangerous desecration of the rule of law. No agency of government, including the DSS, has the authority to arrest or search the premises of serving judicial officers without going through the National Judicial Council, which is constitutionally empowered to discipline judges. If there are allegations of corruption, there is a process. That process was willfully ignored. What we saw instead was a show of force meant to intimidate and humiliate. It was executive lawlessness under the guise of anti-corruption.

The greatest tragedy, however, was not merely that these events occurred. It was the manner in which they were received. The Bar, which ought to have risen as a united force, was sluggish in its response. Statements were issued, but no real action followed. There were no mass protests, no urgent court filings to challenge the illegality. The judiciary itself offered little more than murmurs of disapproval. That silence was deafening. It spoke to a larger issue: the slow death of institutional courage. When judges are raided in their homes and lawyers look away, then the entire legal profession stands indicted. If we cannot defend our own, how then can we defend the people?

This unfortunate episode also calls into question the internal health of the judiciary. The Nigerian Law Society recently criticized the widespread abuse of power within judicial institutions, pointing to opaque appointments, poor welfare, and inconsistent rulings. According to their statement reported by the Guardian, the lower courts remain underpaid and under-respected, leaving many judicial officers vulnerable to compromise. It is undeniable that some within the judiciary have failed in their duties, and that corruption has indeed crept into its chambers. However, even in the face of that, the remedy is never brute force. It is lawful accountability, constitutional procedure, and institutional reform. The rule of law must never be sacrificed on the altar of expediency.
When security agents raid the homes of judges without due process, they are not upholding the law, they are undermining it. And when the legal community reacts with silence or justification, it invites a repeat. What began with judges will not end there. Such violations set a precedent that can easily extend to journalists, lawmakers, academics, and eventually, ordinary citizens. Today it is the gavel. Tomorrow it will be the pen, the vote, the voice. That is how authoritarianism begins not always with a declaration, but often with silence.

It is not too late to reset the balance. But we must remember that a judiciary that submits to fear is no judiciary at all. A legal profession that only whispers in the face of injustice is unworthy of its robes. We must return to our roots, as defenders of liberty and protectors of due process. Let the judiciary regain its independence, and let the Bar reclaim its courage. Only then can we begin to restore the broken faith between the Nigerian people and the system that was meant to serve them.

PATHWAYS AND RECOMMENDATIONS FOR ADDRESSING SECURITY, RIGHTS PROTECTION, AND INSTITUTIONAL WEAKNESS IN NIGERIA

The challenges outlined in this paper reveal a complex web of governance failures, enforcement gaps and systemic disregard for constitutional rights. Addressing these issues requires deliberate and sustained action across multiple fronts. The following ten pathways provide a practical blueprint for reform.

Reform of Law Enforcement Institutions
The Nigerian Police Force, the Department of State Services, and related agencies need deep structural reforms. Recruitment should be based on merit and integrity rather than political patronage. Training should include human rights education, forensic investigation, and conflict-sensitive community policing. The practice of diverting a large proportion of officers to serve political elites must be stopped so that policing resources are redirected toward public safety.

Creation of Independent Oversight and Accountability Mechanisms

A civilian-led oversight authority should be established with the power to investigate and prosecute cases of misconduct by law enforcement officials. This body must have full access to records, the ability to compel testimony, and legal safeguards for whistleblowers. Its findings should be made public to ensure transparency and build trust. (To be continued).

THOUGHT FOR THE WEEK

“Money and corruption are ruining the land, crooked politicians betray the working man, pocketing the profits and treating us like sheep, and we’re tired of hearing promises that we know they’ll never keep” – Ray Davies

By Prof Mike Ozekhome SAN

INTRODUCTION

The inaugural installment of this treatise dealt with the scope of insecurity in Nigeria and examined its dimensions. It was followed by a discussion of the constitutional framework of the right to life graphically depicting it as “each corpse buried without justice” being a clause in the Constitution burned in effigy.

This week’s episode will continue with same theme, followed by an in-depth analysis of how inequality breeds violence as well as how systemic lapses in law enforcement are the hidden drivers of insecurity and the erosion of rights. Thereafter, we shall discuss the contrast between constitutional mandate and institutional reality of law enforcement; its politicization and weaponization; the incidence of corruption as operational culture in law enforcement and its inherent operational weakness and challenges in its structural management. Enjoy.

EACH CORPSE BURIED WITHOUT JUSTICE IS A CLAUSE OF THE CONSTITUTION BURNED IN EFFIGY (Continues).

Even the criminal justice system, meant to operationalize the Constitution, has virtually collapsed into spectacle. The police extort with impunity. The courts delay justice until justice becomes irrelevant. Prisons overflow with awaiting trial inmates while politicians accused of looting billions of our common patrimony stroll freely through airport lounges, attending graduation events where they are conferred with purchased honorary doctorate degrees. A man who steals bread is lynched. A senator who steals a nation is given a chieftaincy title. Is this the rule of law, or the rule of rot?

Let us not forget Chapter II of the Constitution, the so-called Directive Principles of State Policy. These are the clauses that outline a vision for a just and egalitarian society free education, affordable healthcare, equal opportunity, protection of the vulnerable, decent wages, access to housing, food security, and the equitable distribution of national wealth. But here lies the deception: these provisions are rendered non-justiciable under Section 6(6)(c). In plain terms, they are promises the people cannot enforce. The Constitution dreams on their behalf, but denies them the legal means to wake that dream into action.

When a State says to its citizens, “we guarantee you food, education, and health,” and then adds a footnote saying, “but you may not ask us for it,” what emerges is not democracy it is deception. And deception is the mother of despair. Despair, when left to fester, breeds defiance. And defiance, when met without justice, becomes insurrection. That is the cycle Nigeria is now trapped in a spiral of constitutional promises turned into societal wounds.

The Constitution becomes a parody in the mouths of politicians who have never read it and judges who are too timid to enforce it. For the powerful, it is a shield; for the poor, a sword turned inward. The elite recite its sections during legal battles over electoral fraud. But where are these recitations when 652 children die of hunger in Katsina? Where are the legal arguments when a woman in Makurdi loses all her children to a communal massacre? When the man in Sokoto can no longer afford petrol, food, or peace of mind, what legal relief can he seek?

It is also worth noting the performative constitutionalism that plagues Nigeria’s legislative process. Lawmakers gather to amend the Constitution every four years like surgeons with blunt scalpels. They debate the minutiae of electoral timelines, federal character quotas, and party primaries. But no one rises to demand justiciability for Chapter II. No one proposes constitutional protections for internally displaced persons. No one fights to enshrine the right to a living wage. They adjust the frame while the house is on fire.

In the final analysis, a Constitution that cannot be felt in the body of the poor, in the belly of the child, in the safety of the mother, and in the labour of the working man, is a document not of power but of pretense. A parchment without protection. A creed without consequence.

Yet, it is not too late. What is written may still be made flesh. But first, we must acknowledge the gap. We must look the failure in the face and name it for what it is: a breach of trust, a betrayal of covenant, a blood-soaked irony. For the Constitution, like the prophets of old, still cries out: “Will you honour me with your lips and deny me with your deeds?” The answer, for now is a crass denial of deeds.

HOW INEQUALITY BREEDS VIOLENCE

Poverty is not just a condition; it is an accelerant of conflict. There is a direct and growing body of empirical evidence linking economic inequality with national insecurity. A 2024 study revealed that in Benue State, each 1% rise in insecurity led to a 0.211% drop in crop production and a 0.311% drop in livestock output. This data translates into a disturbing truth: insecurity is not only the consequence of poverty it is its co-creator. In rural communities, farmers flee their land not because of market pressures, but because of fear of bandits, herdsmen, and armed militias who now prowl agricultural heartlands, maiming, killing, raping and burning.

In the same year, Reuters reported that over 31 million Nigerians nearly 15% of the population were pushed into acute food insecurity, largely due to a combination of rising prices, mass displacement, and insecurity in farming regions. Nigeria, once a net food exporter, is now reliant on imports for survival. This is not just an economic regression; it is a national humiliation, a betrayal of the very right to life itself.

Without access to these basic social services, rights such as freedom of expression, political participation, and even the right to vote become illusory. The weaponization of poverty in Nigeria is not simply an unfortunate byproduct of mismanagement. It is a system. A structure. A design. It is the very architecture of modern power. In this architecture, deprivation is used to secure obedience, silence dissent, and eliminate competition. The economically excluded are not merely poor they are disempowered, voiceless, and disposable. That is the Stalin philosophy: impoverish and demean the people and their obedience is guaranteed in the form of Stockholm Syndrome.

This is a direct affront to the Constitution, which promises in its Preamble to promote “the welfare of the people.” It is a betrayal of the African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights, ratified by Nigeria, which enshrines the right of all peoples to the satisfaction of economic, social and cultural rights essential to development (Article 22). It is a violation of the United Nations’ Sustainable Development Goals, especially Goal 1 (No Poverty) and Goal 10 (Reduced Inequality).

SYSTEMIC LAPSES IN LAW ENFORCEMENT: THE HIDDEN ENGINE OF INSECURITY AND RIGHTS EROSION

The crisis of insecurity in Nigeria cannot be understood without confronting the institutional collapse of its law enforcement architecture. While terrorism, banditry and economic collapse dominate headlines, these phenomena are but symptoms; the underlying illness is a chronic and systemic failure of the bodies meant to enforce the law. This failure is not simply operational, a matter of inadequate equipment or insufficient manpower, it is structural, political, and cultural. It shapes the relationship between the citizen and the State, corrodes the rule of law, and serves as the silent engine powering the erosion of civil liberties and the normalization of impunity.

CONSTITUTIONAL MANDATE VS. INSTITUTIONAL REALITY

Under Section 214 of the 1999 Constitution, the Nigeria Police Force (NPF) is established “for the maintenance of law and order, and for the protection of lives and property.” Supplementary security agencies such as the Department of State Services (DSS), Nigeria Security and Civil Defence Corps (NSCDC), and specialized military units exist to support this mandate. In theory, these agencies stand as the custodians of safety and justice, sworn to uphold both constitutional rights and statutory law.

In practice however, these institutions are often the very conduit pipes through which laws are brazenly violated. The gulf between the constitutional ideal and the operational reality is vast. A system intended to serve the people now often serves power, wealth and political expediency against the very people. The principle of equality before the law has been replaced by a hierarchy of enforcement, where the reach and rigour of the law depend on the identity of the suspect.

POLITICIZATION AND WEAPONIZATION OF LAW ENFORCEMENT

One of the most corrosive dynamics in Nigerian policing is its politicization. Rather than functioning as neutral enforcers of the law, security agencies are frequently deployed as instruments of partisan advantage. Opposition protests are met with rapid deployment of armed police, teargas and mass arrests. In contrast, political rallies for ruling party figures proceed with minimal security interference, but with reinforced security protection even when they breach public safety and order regulations.

This political double standard is not a matter of perception alone; it is reality evidenced by documented patterns. During the 2019 and 2023 general elections, numerous observers including the Transition Monitoring Group and international missions reported instances where law enforcement personnel either failed to intervene during ballot snatching episodes, or were directly complicit. Police units habitually provide cover for armed gangs removing election materials. In many of such cases, no officers have been disciplined, further embedding the perception that law enforcement loyalty is to political patrons, not the law or the country.

The politicization extends beyond elections. Journalists investigating corruption or security failings have been arrested and detained under dubious charges, often invoking broadly worded laws such as the Cybercrimes Act or Terrorism Prevention Act. Meanwhile, known political figures implicated in large-scale embezzlement routinely enjoy “soft landing” agreements or indefinite delays in prosecution.

CORRUPTION AS OPERATIONAL CULTURE

Corruption within Nigerian law enforcement is neither sporadic nor isolated; it is systemic. The 2019 Global corruption Barometer for Africa found that Nigerians rate the police the most corrupt institution in the country. Half of those surveyed reported paying a bribe to the police in the previous 12 months.

This corruption operates at multiple levels. At street level, officers extort motorists at checkpoints, detain individuals without charge to compel “bail” payments, and demand fees before registering complaints. At higher levels, investigators may bury case files in exchange for cash; prosecutors may dilute charges; and senior officers may shield their subordinates from accountability if they share in illicit proceeds.

Even operational deployments are shaped by rent-seeking. Officers are routinely assigned to guard private residences, businesses and political figures for unofficial payments, leaving ordinary citizens with limited police presence in their communities. This practice distorts the deployment of resources, creating a policing landscape where protection is essentially commodified.

OPERATIONAL WEAKNESSES AND STRUCTURAL MISMANAGEMENT

Nigeria’s police-to-population ratio remains alarmingly low. With about 371,800 officers serving a population of over 236 million people, the country is well below the United Nations’ recommended benchmark of 222 officers per 100,000 people. This manpower gap severely hampers the Force’s capacity to tackle crime, especially in volatile areas plagued by insurgency and communal violence. To make matters worse, many of the limited officers available are deployed to safeguard high-profile politicians and elites rather than serving the broader public. In rural communities, especially in conflict-affected northern states, residents report waiting hours, sometimes days, for police to respond to distress calls, if they ever respond at all. (To be continued).

THOUGHT FOR THE WEEK

“Money and corruption are ruining the land, crooked politicians betray the working man, pocketing the profits and treating us like sheep, and we’re tired of hearing promises that we know they’ll never keep”. (Ray Davies).

By Prof Mike Ozekhome SAN

INTRODUCTION

It was Ronald Reagan, the late American President who once said, “The first duty of government is to protect the lives and property of its citizens. If it fails in that duty, it has failed in everything.”

There are moments in the life of a nation when silence becomes complicity; when to remain unmoved is to be morally vacant. Nigeria, once heralded as the giant of Africa now lies crippled under the unbearable weight of insecurity, poverty, fear, hunger, and betrayal by successive leaderships. Conquered, not through foreign invasion, but by domestic abdication. Though the government has not fallen; yet governance has apparently disappeared. The State has not been overthrown; yet the citizen no longer feels safe and protected.

Not long ago, some law school students of the Yola Campus were easily abducted on their way back to school. The kidnappers demanded 10 million naira ransom for each of them. The recently released students narrated their heart- rending ordeal and trauma. Blood now appears to speak more loudly than ballots. From the north to the middle belt, across sleepy towns and forgotten villages, a grim and ghastly soundtrack has replaced the national anthem with gunfire, wailing, tears, blood, sorrow, pains, pangs, death, and then silence. In Benue State, the Yelwata massacre saw over 100 civilians slaughtered in their homes in a single night. Men were butchered; women raped; and children scattered aimlessly like leaves in the wind. Some years ago, the parents of kidnapped school children in Kaduna were ordered by abductors ( if they wanted their children to continue to be alive) to purchase and drop at a named location, food items such as rice, beans, millet, palm and vegetable oil, salt pepper, tatashe, tarodo, onions, and even garri and yams. This is not war by name, but war by every consequence. The soil of many communities across Nigeria is crimson red with the memory of lives unlived: gaping and unhealed lacerations on body and in heart. Nigeria has been virtually arrested by state captors who possess equal and occasionally more deadly power than the legitimate government. They have seized some swaps of land in Niger and Borno states, planting flags of sovereignty, collecting tax and issuing identity cards and passes to the natives.

But bullets alone are not the only weapons of war as shown by kidnappers, bandits, terrorists and other hoodlums. Hunger, a silent killer, now stalks the land with greater precision than any terrorists. In Katsina State, 652 children died from malnutrition in just six months. A death toll that should shake the heavens, but barely caused a stir among the ruling class. Nigeria is not a poor nation. It is a rich nation governed poorly, where oil flows like wine, yet millions go to bed tasting only sorrow. The minimum wage is a mockery. Dignity has become a luxury for the few. What do rights mean when a bag of rice costs more than the minimum wage? When a man cannot feed his family, his Constitution is a joke. Why do we wash our hands with spittle while living by the banks of a river?

The Nigerian Constitution in section 14 declares the people’s security and welfare as the primary duty of the government; yet that duty has been treated more like a mere campaign slogan, often mouthed during election campaigns, but never honoured in practice. Banditry spearheaded by Boko Haram has swallowed up whole states. ISWAP is no longer a distant threat; it is well organized, armed and expanding. The military bleeds in silence, with over 100 soldiers and 200 civilians lost in the past few months alone. Kidnappers no longer hide to operate, but now openly issue press statements. Terrorists now record documentaries with unveiled faces and release them to a now unshockable nation. And the people? They first hide and then vanish without a whimper.

The violence is not merely physical. It is also economic, mental, psychological and moral. A very tiny few elite cling tightly to obscene ill-gotten national wealth while the vast majority of the masses drown in scarcity and abject penury. The elite fly over the carnage in private jets while farmers are beheaded on their fields. Political leaders promise reforms, yet live like royalty. It is no longer corruption; it is organized looting and grand larceny; no longer negligence; but sanctioned abandonment. While advanced countries of the world plan for the next generation, Nigerian politicians plan for the next election.

To live in Nigeria today is to live in a state of controlled decay and fear. It is to watch one’s rights eroded, not by dictatorships, but by the very structures that were meant to defend them. The right to life, to dignity, to security, to housing and to economic survival are no longer guaranteed. They are gambles. And for many, losing that gamble means death.

This is not the collapse of a system. It is the system itself that is collapsing others. A system in which the powerful eat fat on the prayers of the desperate: where State budgets are shamelessly padded while emergency relief is rationed; where public office is longer service but with little harvest. Political leaders offer cheap speeches. But speeches alone do not stop bullets. Promises alone cannot feed the hungry. Press conferences do not resurrect the dead. Let this not be mistaken: Nigeria is not at peace. It is at war. A war waged not by foreign powers, but by a silent alliance of apathy, greed, corruption and neglect. And in this war, the casualty is not merely the body, it is the very soul of the Nigerian people.

THE CHALLENGE AND SCOPE OF INSECURITY IN NIGERIA

Having established the conceptual framework, the next task is to contextualize it within the Nigerian reality. Insecurity in Nigeria is multi-dimensional, taking forms such as political, health, economic/financial, food, educational, and social insecurity. Insecurity is simply the absence of security. However for our purposes, it is the political, physical and economic aspects of insecurity that will be the facts of this paper.

The key questions are: To what extent do these ills plague us? Are they existential? Have they always been part of our history, or have they worsened over time? The best way to examine this is to break it into its component parts, beginning with political insecurity.

Political Insecurity

Control of political power, especially at the centre, has always been fiercely contested in Nigeria, often resulting in violence and loss of life. Campaign rhetoric ahead of the 2025 general elections suggests a risk of history repeating itself, possibly in a worse form.

Political violence, starting with inflammatory speech, can quickly escalate to physical violence. This danger is compounded by ongoing insurgency from Boko Haram (now ISWAP), secessionist agitation by IPOB, politically-motivated shootings, and kidnapping for ransom. While kidnappings often have economic motives, they also feed political instability.

Economic Insecurity

Nigeria’s worsening poverty has earned it the label of the “poverty capital of the world.” This fuels political insecurity as unemployed youths are recruited by politicians for violent purposes. Economic hardship also drives vote-buying, where voters sell their ballots for minimal sums, leading to flawed electoral outcomes. This cycle is entrenched and unlikely to be broken before the 2027 elections.

Physical Insecurity

Pipeline vandalism and crude oil theft linked to economic insecurity have reached alarming levels, with allegations of involvement by security agencies. The loss in revenue forced the government to contract former militant leader Government Ekpemupolo (“Tompolo”) to help curb the menace.

Non-State Actors control territories in parts of the North-West, North-East, and North-Central, collecting taxes, issuing passes, planting flags and acting as parallel sovereign authorities. These areas are effectively beyond the reach of the Nigerian State.

The Constitutional Framework For Right to Life in Nigeria

A Constitution is not merely a collection of legal clauses. It is a nation’s vow, its solemn oath to the governed. It is the architecture of civil order, the map by which a society charts the moral boundaries of power. But when the Constitution becomes an artifact of aspiration rather than a living force of justice, it ceases to protect; it begins to mock. That is the Nigerian tragedy. For here is a nation that proclaims rights with poetic fervour, but practises repression with clinical precision.

Let us begin with the most sacred right of all the right to life, enshrined in section 33(1) of the 1999 Constitution. It declares without ambiguity that “every person has a right to life, and no one shall be deprived intentionally of his life.” This has been given judicial imprimatur and affirmed by Nigerian court, in several cases viz: Esabunor v Faweya, Ndubuisi v State, Azuogu v State. But what weight does this right carry in a country where a man may be shot by a bandit while returning from market; a child and mother killed in their home through a herder invasion; a villager executed by terrorists; no one is arrested; no one is prosecuted; no justice is served? The Constitution grants the right, yes, but the State withholds the protection. What use is a right to life in a terrain of death?

Each corpse buried without justice is a clause of the Constitution burned in effigy.

And consider Section 34(1) a guarantee that “every individual is entitled to respect for the dignity of his person.” It forbids torture, inhuman and degrading treatment. Yet across Nigeria’s vast terrain, dignity has become a vanishing dream. Men are paraded naked in front of cameras by vigilante groups; women stripped and whipped for so-called ‘moral offences’ by religious fanatics, citizens forced to pay ransoms for abducted relatives, while the State looks on, passive and paralyzed. Where is dignity when a woman has to sell her body to feed her children? Where is dignity when a man works six days a week and cannot afford bread?

The betrayal deepens when we examine section 14(2)(b), which declares- no, insists, that “the security and welfare of the people shall be the primary purpose of government.” This is not a metaphor. It is the constitutional essence of statehood. A government that fails to secure and provide for its people ceases, by legal definition, to be legitimate. Yet, in Nigeria today, security is a luxury. In Zamfara, Niger, Katsina, Plateau State and even more recently, Edo, entire communities live in fear and under the reign of warlords, bandits and terrorist groups. In the South-East, armed separatist groups extort, maim, kill and burn. In the South-South, pirates rule the creeks. And all the while, Abuja issues banal statements, not solutions. (To be continued).

Thought for the week
“Laws must be clear, precise, and uniform for all citizens” – Marquis de Lafayette