The Oracle

The Oracle: Tinubu’s Forest Guard: Who Will Guard the Guard?

Published

10 months ago

July 4, 2025

Eric

By Prof Mike Ozekhome SAN

INTRODUCTION

WHEN THE FOREST HIDES MORE THAN TREES

To paraphrase an old African proverb, “when the forest is silent, beware, it may be plotting”. Nigeria’s forests are no longer just a canopy of trees sheltering wildlife and whispering winds; they have become a theatre of terror. Armed bandits, kidnappers and insurgents have “discovered” what ancient wisdom already knew: that the forest is the perfect hideout. In response, President Bola Ahmed Tinubu has proposed a bold and ostensibly visionary plan, the deployment of a national forest guard corps. This move has since sparked hope, skepticism, and fierce federalism-versus-unitarism debates.

At the heart of this strategy is the ambition to reclaim over 1, 129 forest reserves scattered across Nigeria’s sprawling terrain, most of which now serve as havens for terrorists and criminal syndicates. With over 130,000 armed operatives to be recruited and deployed, it is easy to view this initiative as the long-overdue solution to Nigeria’s security woes. But this move is not just about logistics and boots in the bush; it is about sovereignty, legality, and local legitimacy. Is Tinubu’s forest guard plan a federal solution to a national emergency, or is it an ill-fated centralization of local security challenges, enabling the federal government to breath down the necks of State governments?

To answer this, we must examine the legal, constitutional, and operational frameworks of Tinubu’s initiative, evaluate historical precedents, and analyze the potential risks of imposing a federally controlled paramilitary force in forests that historically and legally belong to the states. We must also interrogate whether security can be bought with arms alone; or whether it grows from the grass roots up.

But before we venture into the thicket of policy and power, let us consider the context that birthed this proposal. Nigeria’s forests, which were once ecological sanctuaries, have gradually degenerated into lawless zones of bloodbath. The green expanse that should echo with bird calls and animal grunts now reverberate with gunfire. Insecurity in rural and agrarian communities has reached such alarming heights that farmers have virtually abandoned their lands, leading to food insecurity, economic stagnation, and mass displacement. The forests no longer nurture life; they generate death.

BETWEEN POLICY AND IMPLEMENTATION

The government’s decision to respond with a large-scale recruitment of forest guards may indeed seem intuitive, after all, it aligns with the global trend of ecological militarization in fragile states. Yet, the structure of implementation matters deeply. If the architecture of this plan disregards Nigeria’s federal nature, it risks exacerbating the very crisis it was intended to solve. Forests may be rooted in soil; but the guardianship of that soil is rooted in law, identity, and community ownership. The principle of quic quid plantatur solo solo cedit applies. Forest guards who do not share the language, culture, history or kinship of the terrains they are sent to police will surely be seen as outsiders. And such outsiders in the forest may become either victims or villains.

Furthermore, this proposal arrives at a critical moment in Nigeria’s democratic evolution. Debates over state and community policing, restructuring, devolution of powers and regional autonomy are no longer intellectual abstractions; they have become national imperatives. See sections 215 and 216 of the 1999 Constitution. Tinubu’s plan whether deliberately or inadvertently, intersects with these gaping fault lines. To superimpose a federally-managed forest force without recognizing the nuanced relationships between state, land and community is to risk uprooting fragile peace and replacing it with more severe antagonism.

Now, are we really a federation in truth or merely in name? I dare say what we operate in the guise of federalism is actually a unitary form of government. Can national unity be enforced through uniformed patrols, or is it better than it be cultivated through shared values and governance? As we delve deeper, the question is not just who guards the forest, but who decides who guards the forest, and in whose name. Indeed, a deeper question: Who will guard the Guard?

THE FOREST, THE FEDERALIST AND THE FEDERATION

CONSTITUTIONAL REALITIES: THE POWER OF THE STATES OVER FORESTS

In any federal system, the distribution of power especially over land and internal security is a defining hallmark. Nigeria’s federalism is no exception. The country’s current structure, codified under the 1999 Constitution (as amended), clearly delineates the powers of federal, state and local governments.See sections 2(2),3(1-6) of the 1999 Constitution. A close reading of section 7 and the Fourth Schedule ( paragraph 2( b) to the Constitution highlights the responsibilities of Local Government Councils, including the control and regulation of agricultural and natural resources and by extension, includes forest land not reserved to the Federal Government. This immediately places forests, by default, under the control of the states, unless specifically designated otherwise,since Local Governments are located in states.

Furthermore, the Land Use Act,1978, which is incorporated into the Constitution by reference (section 315), gives state governors control over all lands within their territory, excluding those under federal use, to hold them in trust for the people of their States. The Act empowers governors to allocate land in urban areas to individuals and organizations, and to oversee the use of non-urban land through Local Government Councils. Consequently, the direct implication is that any forest or land not classified under national parks, Federal Reserve zones, or military controlled areas, falls squarely under the jurisdiction of the state.

FEDERAL V. STATE POWER

Of Nigeria’s 1, 129 officially gazetted forest reserves, the vast majority are managed by state forestry departments under their ministries of agriculture, rural development or environment. These include large forest blocks in states like Cross River, Ondo, Ogun, Taraba, and Ekiti, many of which are vital to local economies, ecological sustainability, and food security. The federal government only controls forest areas designated as National Parks(such as Gashaka-Gumti National Park, Kainji Lake National Park, Cross River National Park, and Old Oyo National Park), administered under the National Park Service, an agency of the Federal Ministry of Environment.

Attempts to impose direct federal recruitment and control over forest guards in state-managed forests without legislative amendments or formal agreements risk violating both the spirit and letter of the law. Even within the federal legislative framework, forest policing is not explicitly listed on the Exclusive Legislative List, meaning that it falls under either the Concurrent List (shared responsibilities between the federal and states) or, in most practical scenarios, the Residual List, which is left to states’ discretion.

UNITARISM IN DISGUISE?: THE DANGER OF A FEDERAL PARAMILITARY FORCE

Unitarism masquerading as federal security cooperation is a deeply sensitive issue in Nigeria, where ethnic plurality, historical grievances, and political mistrust run deep. The idea that over 130,000 armed operatives could be centrally recruited, trained, and deployed under federal command while ostensibly operating within state territories is understandably alarming to many stakeholders. It evokes painful memories of other federally-controlled agencies that have operated with little or no regard for local dynamics and often with tragic consequences.

The Special Anti-Robbery Squad (SARS) is a case in point. Established as a unit within the Nigeria Police Force, SARS was accused of gross human rights violations, including extra-judicial killings, torture, and extortion. Its federal command structure meant little accountability to state governments or communities. The #EndSARS protests of 2020, which began as youth-led demands for police reforms, quickly morphed into a broader call for systemic change, highlighting the dangers of over-centralized security control architecture.

Similarly, the Nigeria Security and Civil Defence Corps (NSCDC), while useful in its community protection mandate, has often been accused of operational inefficiencies and jurisdictional clashes with state authorities. Cases of NSCDC operatives acting with impunity or engaging in power struggles with local law enforcement agents are well documented.

Against this backdrop, Tinubu’s forest guard plan raises critical concerns. How can a federal command effectively manage such a force across diverse terrains, languages, and cultures without falling into the same trap of over-centralization and under-accountability? What happens when these guards act outside the law, or when federal and state authorities disagree on deployment priorities? Who investigates complaints of misconduct, especially in remote rural areas? Who has the final say?

These questions are not merely theoretical. In countries with similar federal structures, such as India and the United States, forest protection and environmental policing are almost always handled at the state or provincial level, often under decentralized bureaucracies with state-specific laws and enforcement mechanisms. For instance, India’s Forest Protection Committees are embedded in local governance structures, while U.S. State Park Rangers operate independently of federal policing units unless specific interstate or federal crimes are involved.
Nigeria’s own federal structure should offer no less sophistication. The creation of another federal paramilitary force, especially one that operates deep in the natives’ forests without local allegiance or accountability, risks becoming not a solution but a security liability and worse, a political tool in the hands of a powerful centre.

INDIGENOUS SECURITY MODELS: THE CASE FOR LOCAL RECRUITMENT

The wisdom of local recruitment is both practical and cultural. Insecurity in Nigeria’s forests is not just about guns and patrols, it is about intelligence, relationships and trust. Bandits and criminal syndicates thrive in environments where locals are alienated from the security structure. Conversely, they are more easily repelled when local vigilantes, hunters and indigenous operatives form part of the security fabric.

The Nigerian Hunter and Forest Security Service (NHFSS), which operates across the 36 states and the FCT Abuja, provides a compelling model. Comprised largely of traditional hunters and forest dwellers, the NHFSS brings a unique blend of tactical expertise and cultural affinity. In states like Kogi, Kebbi and the FCT, NHFSS operatives have been instrumental in intercepting kidnap gangs, uncovering illegal encampments, and collaborating with security agencies. Their effectiveness is rooted not in superior weaponry, but in their deep understanding of their peculiar terrain, their loyalty to the community, and the trust they command from locals.

A retired Army General, Peter Aro, hailed the development as a critical step in addressing rising insecurity within Nigeria’s forested regions, particularly the scourge of banditry, kidnapping, and insurgency. Forest guards must possess field survival skills, terrain literacy, and community integration. These are not qualities one can mass-produce in Abuja through crash course training programmes. Furthermore, security should be intimately linked to traditional institutions, such as village heads, district councils, and traditional rulers, who provide crucial intelligence and moral authority.

Security analyst Chidi Omeje has also pointed out the danger of sending “fresh recruits with basic firearms” into forest zones where criminal elements are known to possess military-grade weapons. He advocates for a dual-layered model, where locally embedded forest guards work alongside the military and police but under local command structures.

There are also precedents for success. The Amotekun Corps in the South West, and the Benue Community Volunteer Guards, are examples of locally-driven initiatives that have shown promising results. While not without their challenges, these corps are better attuned to the local environment and have the legitimacy to act swiftly in ways that federal forces cannot.

Furthermore, a decentralized approach would stimulate local economies. Recruitment of indigenes provides employment, instills civic pride and strengthens the social contract bond. It also ensures that the guards see themselves as protectors, not as occupiers, a distinction that is vital in volatile communities where the line between security agent and aggressor is often thin.

In summary, while the federal government has a legitimate role in coordinating national responses to threats, its approach must be that of a facilitator, not a commander. Support through training, funding, surveillance technology (e.g., drones, forest mapping systems), and standard setting is invaluable. But command and control must remain at the state level, rooted in the soil, culture, language, idiosyncrasies and rhythms of the communities the guards are sworn to protect.

Between The Forest And The Firepower: Finding The Right Strategy

The Forest As Nigeria’s New Battlefield
Nigeria’s forests, once treasured for their ecological richness and environmental contributions, are increasingly viewed through the lens of national security. Spanning over 10 million hectares which is about 10% of the total land area of Nigeria, Nigeria’s forest reserves are now being infiltrated by violent actors and used as operational bases for bandits, insurgents, arms traffickers, and cross-border criminal networks. These reserves especially those in Kwara, Niger, Benue, Taraba, Zamfara, Kaduna, and Oyo have morphed into de facto war zones, where traditional policing is rendered ineffective and the military often finds itself in reactive mode.

One particularly troubling example is the Kainji Lake National Park, a protected area that spans the borders of Kwara and Niger States. Though it is officially under federal protection, its vast and difficult-to-monitor terrain makes it a prime corridor for terrorist and bandit movements. According to security reports from the Nigerian Army’s 8 Division, several armed groups have taken advantage of the park’s proximity to Nigeria’s northwestern and central states to establish hidden bases, smuggle arms, and coordinate attacks.

Similarly, the Old Oyo National Park, which straddles Oyo, Kwara, and Niger States, has become a hotspot for criminal activity. Local intelligence from communities surrounding the park indicates that bandit groups expelled from Zamfara and Katsina have found refuge in this forest. These criminal elements exploit the remoteness of the area and the absence of a permanent security presence to regroup and launch attacks on nearby settlements.

Beyond national parks, numerous ungazetted forests especially in the Middle Belt serve as strategic hideouts for Fulani militia groups, foreign mercenaries, and rogue elements linked to organized crime. In Benue State, Governor Hyacinth Alia has repeatedly warned of incursions by foreign terrorists, allegedly linked to cross-border herder militias. The Upper Ogun Forest Reserve, a large forest block in Kwara, has also come under scrutiny following reports that Mahmuda terrorist group members used it to transit between Nigeria and the Republic of Benin.

The implications of these developments are profound. Without forest security, Nigeria not only risks losing its forests to environmental degradation but also ceding large swaths of land to non-state actors, thus turning forest reserves into breeding grounds for violent extremism. Yet, while the urgency to act is undeniable now, the quality of response matters more than its speed.

Deploying undertrained or poorly equipped forest guards into these volatile environments would be akin to sending lambs into a lion’s den. The intelligence, terrain mastery, and firepower required in such engagements go far beyond the remit of conventional paramilitary forces. You cannot send men with shotguns into a forest ruled by terrorists with RPGs. This is not hyperbole, it is a stark reality, backed by recurring video evidence of bandits showcasing sophisticated weaponry, satellite communication tools, and, in some cases, armored vehicles.

Military Might Vs. Paramilitary Prowess: A Strategic Dilemma

At the heart of Nigeria’s forest security conundrum lies a fundamental strategic mismatch. On one side is the proposal to deploy lightly armed forest guards; on the other is a threat landscape populated by insurgent groups with military-grade capabilities. Nigeria remains one of the most affected countries by terrorism, with Boko Haram, ISWAP, and multiple bandit groups shifting focus from urban bombings to rural forest insurgency.

Reports confirm that many of these groups are now entrenched in forests stretching from Zamfara to Taraba, taking advantage of limited surveillance and sluggish security response. These criminal outfits reportedly employ rocket-propelled grenades (RPGs), improvised explosive devices (IEDs), drones and night-vision equipment, a sophisticated arsenal far superior to the basic AK-47s or pump-action rifles many forest guards are expected to wield. This power disparity raises a serious question: Can forest guards, even in significant numbers, hold their ground against such adversaries?

A Desirable Narrative

The answer, quite evidently, is no, at least not alone. This does not render the forest guard model irrelevant, but it necessitates a reimagining of their role. Forest guards should not be conceptualized as primary combatants but as intelligence operatives, terrain scouts, and first responders. Their role must be complementary, not confrontational, with local guards. Embedded within local communities, they are best positioned to detect unusual movements, provide early warnings, and assist in planning police or military interventions.

Such integration would mirror the highly successful model employed by the Civilian Joint Task Force (CJTF) in the North-East, which supported the Nigerian military in combating Boko Haram. The CJTF did not go to war with terrorists alone. Rather, they provided community intelligence, identified suspects, and enabled smoother military operations.

The same should apply to forest guards. Deployed as community embedded liaisons, their greatest strength lies not in brute force but in proximity, familiarity, acculturation and adaptability. They must work in synergy with the local guards, Army, Police, DSS, and NSCDC, ensuring that information gathered at the grassroots level informs strategic planning at the federal level.

Another vital element is equipment and communication infrastructure. In many rural areas, mobile networks are poor, and emergency communication is non-existent. Forest guards should be equipped with satellite phones, GPS trackers, surveillance drones, and bodycams. Training must include combat survival, hostage negotiation, and tactical withdrawal protocols. It’s not enough to train them how to fight; they must also learn when, where and how not to fight.

The Path Forward: A True Federal Partnership

While President Tinubu’s forest guard initiative is ambitious and well-intentioned, its execution must be shaped by constitutional fidelity, operational pragmatism, and community trust. Nigeria’s diversity requires policies that are locally adaptive but nationally coordinated. A strategic roadmap should therefore include the following:

Legislative Reform and National Forest Security Act

This act should define the parameters of forest security across the federation. It must empower states to create, manage, and control forest guard units while providing room for federal assistance in the form of funding, training standards, and interoperability protocols with federal security services. The act should also clarify jurisdictional boundaries, ensuring there’s no operational conflict between federal and state forces.

Indigenous Recruitment and Decentralized Command

Only indigenous recruits, drawn from host communities, should serve in forest guard units. This principle ensures language proficiency, cultural awareness, and community acceptance. State governments, in partnership with local traditional rulers, should drive recruitment processes, with background checks vetted by local police and DSS operatives. This will mitigate risks of infiltration by criminal elements.

Technology-Driven Surveillance Infrastructure

Equipping forest guards with modern tools is not optional; it is imperative. Drone surveillance, motion-triggered cameras, satellite-linked walkie-talkies, and forest mapping systems should be deployed. The National Space Research and Development Agency (NASRDA) and Nigerian Communications Commission (NCC) can play a supporting role in developing and deploying such technologies.
Strategic Federal Support, Not Operational Control

The role of the Federal Ministry of Environment and Office of the National Security Adviser must be clearly coordinative, not administrative. Federal agencies should support states through centralized training academies, logistics depots, and intelligence sharing platforms, but the command structure should remain domiciled in state ministries or specially created state security commissions.

Community Accountability and Oversight Boards

Every state should establish Forest Guard Oversight Committees composed of community leaders, the youth, civil society groups, religious figures, and security agencies. These committees would track operations, address complaints, and ensure that forest guards act within the bounds of law and ethics. Regular town hall reports and audits should be mandated.

Integrate Environmental Protection and Counter-Insurgency Goals

One major flaw in Nigeria’s security strategy is the siloed approach to environmental policy and national security. The forest guard initiative offers a unique opportunity to bridge this divide. Forest guards should be cross-trained in both environmental protection and tactical field surveillance, thereby serving a dual purpose: preserving Nigeria’s biodiversity while countering environmental crimes that fund insurgent activities.

Illegal logging, poaching, and charcoal trading are multi-billion-naira black-market economies that fuel insecurity in rural areas. According to the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime, environmental crimes in West Africa generate funds that are often funneled to criminal cartels and armed groups. A forest security force that understands these dynamics can better dismantle such networks.
It is imperative to partner with the Federal Ministry of Environment, Nigerian Conservation Foundation, and international organizations like UNEP to embed environmental crime detection into forest guard training modules.

Establish a Centralized Forest Intelligence Command

Given the complexity of forest based criminal operations and their links to wider terrorism and transnational crime, it is essential to build a dedicated forest intelligence infrastructure. This unit, the Centralized Forest Intelligence Command (CFIC), should be a joint inter-agency platform bringing together the Police, NCDC, DSS, Military Intelligence, Nigerian Immigration Service, local guards and Forest Guard Commanders from each state.

CFIC would use advanced tools such as geospatial intelligence (GEOINT), signals intelligence (SIGINT), and drone reconnaissance to provide real-time threat mapping, track insurgent movements, and anticipate forest-to-urban migration of threats. Such an initiative would vastly improve response time and prevent security breaches before they happen.
The CFIC should be integrated into Nigeria’s National Security Architecture under the supervision of the National Security Adviser, but operated through a state federal coordination model with joint personnel and interlinked command centres.

Promote Cross-Border Forest Security Cooperation

Given that Nigeria shares porous forest borders with Benin Republic, Niger, Chad, and Cameroon, it is vital to recognize the transnational dimension of forest insecurity. Bandits and militants frequently move across these borders, exploiting weak surveillance and diplomatic inertia.

Nigeria must lead in establishing a Regional Forest Security Pact in collaboration with ECOWAS and the African Union (AU) security platforms. This pact would promote joint patrols, shared intelligence, coordinated raids, and the establishment of joint forest monitoring stations in border regions like Borno, Taraba, Cross River, and Sokoto.

The Ministry of Foreign Affairs should work with ECOWAS to initiate bilateral and multilateral forest security agreements, underpinned by joint training programs and extradition protocols for forest-based offenders.

Conclusion

Where The Trees Stand Tall, So Too Must The Constitution

In the final analysis, Nigeria’s forest guard initiative under President Bola Tinubu offers more than just a policy experiment; it presents a litmus test for the country’s commitment to federalism, local empowerment, administration and smart security strategy. The forests in question may be dense with trees, but the issues surrounding them are denser still: constitutional authority, operational viability, regional identity, and national unity.

We have seen how the forests have evolved from mere ecological zones into the dark sanctuaries of insurgents, traffickers, and mercenaries. We have seen how well meaning central interventions, if not delicately structured, can become bulldozers flattening both local agency and constitutional principles. And we have seen how a locally grounded, technologically equipped, and constitutionally-compliant model can actually work transforming the forest guard idea from a controversial headline into a security legacy.

But let us be clear, you do not fix a leaky roof by installing a chandelier. You do not solve rural insecurity with a flood of centrally deployed gunmen unfamiliar with the peculiar terrain or the tongues spoken therein. Instead, Nigeria must adopt a model that blends local trust with federal muscle, traditional knowledge with modern technology, and constitutional wisdom with operational pragmatism.

The forest is watching, as are the communities who live by it, feed from it, and now fear it. Let us ensure that the guardians we appoint are not strangers in camouflage, but sons and daughters of the soil; trained, trusted, and tethered to the trees they are sworn to protect. After all, if we cannot see the forest for the law, we may end up losing both. And in that case, the trees would not be the only casualty left standing in silence; our Democracy may also be.

The Oracle

The Oracle: Human Rights: Our Everyday Essentials (Pt. 1)

Published

6 days ago

April 11, 2026

Eric

By Prof Mike Ozekhome SAN

INTRODUCTION

Human rights are the basic freedoms and protections that belong to every person by virtue of their humanity. They are not favour to be granted by governments, nor luxuries to be afforded by wealth, but guarantees essential for dignity, justice, and peace. They follow us into classrooms, marketplaces, courts, homes, voting booths, and hospitals. They are embedded in our everyday lives often unnoticed until they are violated.

Yet, across the world today and particularly in Nigeria these rights are under pressure. Millions are deprived of quality education, clean water, fair trials, and safety from violence. Inequalities persist across gender, ethnicity, ability, and economic status. Authoritarian tendencies are growing. Youths are rising to protest brutality. Women are demanding equality. Minorities are seeking inclusion. Human rights, once considered universal, are increasingly contested.

We shall take a deep dive into the current state of human rights, globally and locally, with a sharp focus on Nigeria’s complex terrain. It begins by tracing the historical evolution of rights, then explores the challenges of our age from digital surveillance to climate displacement and highlights the voices of the marginalized. We will also examine the legal and institutional mechanisms of enforcement and end with a call to collective action to build a just, inclusive, and equitable world.

THE ORIGINS AND EVOLUTION OF HUMAN RIGHTS

Human rights did not appear suddenly in history. They evolved through centuries of philosophical thought, political revolutions, social struggles, and legal innovations. They were shaped by ancient traditions, redefined through war and rebellion, and finally enshrined into the legal frameworks that now govern modern societies. To understand why they are so essential today, we must trace their origins.

Though the modern language of “human rights” emerged in the 20th century, the quest for dignity and justice is as old as civilization (Sheeba Malik, ‘Evolution of Human Rights from Ancient Times till 20th). Early African societies had customary laws that emphasized communal welfare and fairness. Ancient Egyptian law promoted justice (Ma’at), while Yoruba traditional systems emphasized collective responsibility and moral order (Emmanuel J. Udokang, ‘Traditional Ethics and Social Order: A Study in African Philosophy’ (2014) Cross-Cultural Communication 10 (6)).

One of the earliest landmarks in the journey toward human rights was the Magna Carta, signed in 1215 by King John of England under pressure from rebellious barons (Britannica, ‘Magna Carta’ <https://www.britannica.com/topic/Magna-Carta> Accessed on the 4th of December, 2025.). At the time, kings ruled with near absolute authority. The Magna Carta was revolutionary because it introduced the idea that even the monarch was subject to the law. Though its original intent was to protect the privileges of the English nobility, it contained principles that would echo through history. Clause 39 of the document states:
“No free man shall be seized or imprisoned… except by the lawful judgment of his equals or by the law of the land.”

This was the seed of the concept of due process, the idea that justice must follow legal procedures and not be based on arbitrary power. Over time, the Magna Carta inspired later legal developments such as habeas corpus (the right to challenge unlawful detention), and even modern constitutions (Chertsey Museum, ‘Magna Carta: Freedom under Law’ <https://chertseymuseum.org/magna_carta> Accessed on the 4th of December, 2025.). In essence, it was one of the first formal rejections of unchecked authority.

Centuries later, in 1789, the French Revolution gave rise to the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen (Déclaration des droits de l’homme et du citoyen), another cornerstone of modern human rights thought (Yale Law School Library, ‘Declaration of the Rights of Man – 1789’ <https://avalon.law.yale.edu/18th_century/rightsof.asp> Accessed on the 4th of December, 2025.). Inspired by Enlightenment thinkers like Jean-Jacques Rousseau and Montesquieu, and influenced by the American Declaration of Independence (1776), this document was a powerful assertion that rights belonged not just to nobles or monarchs, but to all citizens. It declared, in Article 1:
“Men are born and remain free and equal in rights.”

The Declaration emphasized liberty, property, security, and resistance to oppression. It proclaimed freedom of speech, the presumption of innocence, and the sovereignty of the people. Importantly, it broke from feudal traditions and asserted the universal nature of rights. These ideas would later influence the constitutions of many nations, including Nigeria.

While these early documents were monumental, they were not perfect. The Magna Carta did not protect women or peasants, and the French Declaration did not extend full rights to women or enslaved people in French colonies. But they signaled a new era one where rights were no longer gifts from rulers, but entitlements grounded in human dignity.

However, the greatest leap came after World War II, when the world, shocked by the Holocaust and widespread atrocities, convened under the United Nations to craft a global framework of human dignity.

In 1948, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) was born (Wikipedia, ‘Universal Declaration of Human Rights’ <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Universal_Declaration_of_Human_Rights> Accessed on the 4th of December, 2025.). It declared that “all human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights.” It introduced the world to 30 rights including freedom from torture, freedom of speech, the right to work, and the right to education. Though not legally binding, it inspired over 60 international instruments, including the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR) and the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (ICESCR).

Nigeria, having gained independence in 1960, is a signatory to most major international human rights treaties (Wikipedia, ‘Human rights in Nigeria’ <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human_rights_in_Nigeria> Accessed on the 4th of December, 2025.). The 1999 Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria enshrines many of these rights in Chapter IV from the right to life (Section 33) to freedom of expression (Section 39) and movement (Section 41). However, these rights are too often suspended in practice not through law, but through silence, impunity, and neglect.

As we trace this historical evolution, a painful irony becomes clear: never before have human rights been more recognized, yet so routinely violated. The gap between theory and reality continues to widen.

NIGERIA AND THE GLOBAL HUMAN RIGHTS CRISIS

Human rights lose their power when they are not equally applied. While laws may proclaim that all people are equal before the law, reality often reveals a very different picture especially in societies like Nigeria, where social, economic, and cultural divisions determine whose rights are truly respected. The most dangerous threat to human rights is not always violent abuse, but silent exclusion. Across gender, ethnicity, disability, and sexual identity, many Nigerians are systematically denied full citizenship in the realm of rights.

Women, who make up nearly half of Nigeria’s population (STATISTICAL REPORT ON WOMEN AND MEN IN NIGERIA (2022) <https://www.nigerianstat.gov.ng/pdfuploads/2022_Statistical_Report%20on%20Women%20and%20Men_%20in%20Nigeria.pdf> Accessed on the 4th of December, 2025.), continue to face entrenched discrimination. The 1999 Constitution guarantees equality under Section 42 (1) A citizen of Nigeria of a particular community, ethnic group, place of origin, sex, religion or political opinion shall not, by reason only that he is such a person…, and Nigeria has ratified key international instruments like the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW) (Eseni Azu Udu et al., ‘Evaluating the Enforcement of the Rights of Women under the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women (CEDAW) 1979: The Nigerian Experience’ (2023) Beijing Law Review 14 (2). However, the Gender and Equal Opportunities Bill, which seeks to domesticate CEDAW into Nigerian law, has been rejected multiple times in the National Assembly (Femi Falana, ‘Condemnation of the National Assembly’s rejection of bills seeking gender equality by Funmi Falana’ Vanguard News <https://www.vanguardngr.com/2022/03/condemnation-of-the-national-assemblys-rejection-of-bills-seeking-gender-equality-by-funmi-falana/> Accessed on the 4th of December, 2025.). Women’s rights to inheritance, land ownership, education, and protection from gender based violence remain severely compromised, especially in rural and northern regions.

According to the Nigeria Demographic and Health Survey (NDHS 2018), 31% of women aged 15 to 49 have experienced physical violence (*FIDA, ‘PRESS STATEMENT BY FIDA NIGERIA ON THE COMMEMORATION OF INTERNATIONAL WOMEN’S DAY 2025’ <https://fida.org.ng/author/lern/page/6/#:~:text=Accordingly%2C%20across%20Nigeria%2C%20millions%20of,states%2C%20leaving%20many%20women%20unprotected.> Accessed on the 4th of December, 2025.), while about 1 in 4 Nigerian girls are married before age 18 in violation of the Child Rights Act (2003). Although this law prohibits child marriage, it has not been adopted in several northern states where religious or cultural practices override federal statutes. The result is a two tiered legal system that fails to offer equal protection to all Nigerian children.

The rights of persons with disabilities are similarly neglected. After years of advocacy, Nigeria passed the Discrimination Against Persons with Disabilities (Prohibition) Act in 2018, which mandates accessibility, education, and protection against discrimination (Anietie Ewang, ‘Nigeria Passes Disability Rights Law; Offers Hope of Inclusion, Improved Access’ Human rights watch <https://www.hrw.org/news/2019/01/25/nigeria-passes-disability-rights-law> Accessed on the 4th of December, 2025.).

However, enforcement remains minimal. Many public buildings, schools, and health centers are still inaccessible, and employers routinely exclude disabled persons from job opportunities, despite Section 6 of the Act requiring equal employment access. The National Commission for Persons with Disabilities, established to oversee compliance, remains under resourced and under recognized.

Religious minorities, too, face threats to their basic freedoms. Nigeria’s constitutional guarantee of freedom of religion under Section 38 of the 1999 Constitution of Nigeria (As Amended) is often tested in regions where religious laws are enforced to the detriment of minorities. In 2022, the killing of Deborah Samuel, a Christian student in Sokoto accused of blasphemy, drew national and international outrage. Despite video evidence, few arrests were made, and no prosecutions followed (Aljazeera, ‘Mob kills student over ‘blasphemy’ in northern Nigerian college’ <https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2022/5/12/mob-kills-student-over-blasphemy-in-northern-nigerian-college> Accessed on the 4th of December, 2025.). This case shows the dangerous intersection of mob justice, religious extremism, and weak rule of law.

Ethnic marginalization also remains a major fault line in Nigeria’s political and social fabric. From the historic exclusion of Igbo people after the Biafran War, to the neglect of minority communities in the Niger Delta and Middle Belt, political power and resource allocation are often shaped by ethnic favoritism. The execution of Ken Saro-Wiwa and eight other Ogoni activists in 1995 for protesting environmental degradation in the Niger Delta remains one of Nigeria’s most infamous human rights violations. Though the Niger Delta Development Commission (NDDC) was created to address the region’s neglect, corruption and underperformance have kept many oil-producing communities impoverished and polluted.

These realities expose a hard truth: the majority of Nigerians live on the margins of their own rights. Legal recognition means little without enforcement, and equality on paper is meaningless without access, inclusion, and accountability.

A human rights framework must address not only individual liberty but also systemic inequality. If justice is to have real meaning in Nigeria, it must start by amplifying the voices of those pushed to the edges women, children, persons with disabilities, ethnic minorities, and sexual minorities. These are not special interest groups; they are citizens of equal worth, entitled to the same protections, dignity, and opportunities as anyone else. (To be continued).

THOUGHT FOR THE WEEK

“To deny people their human rights is to challenge their very humanity”. – Nelson Mandela.

The Oracle

The Oracle: The New Digital Colonialism: Navigating AI Policy Under Foreign Tech Dominance (Pt. 5)

Published

2 weeks ago

April 4, 2026

Eric

By Prof Mike Ozekhome SAN

INTRODUCTION

In our last outing, we continued from the dangers of weak localization and disproportionate influence of foreign technology on African ecosystems. Followed by an in-depth analysis of the issues generated by AI policy and later at what African States needs to do to tackle the challenge-using Nigeria as a case study with special emphasis on the pen in the trans-continental transformation of AI technology and later x-ray the need for technological sovereignty and for crafting an indigenous AI policy agenda. We shall then conclude with an overview of lessons from abroad including the US, EU and China. Today, we shall take a look at the Future of African Digital Sovereignty, starting from Lagos to Accra, Cape Town to Cairo, Dakar to Dares Salaam, and in fact all fifty-four nations of African continent. We shall thereafter conclude with how the choices made by the African nations today with respect to AI governance, data sovereignty, and technological infrastructure will determine whether the continent will remain passive a consumer of foreign systems or emerges as an active shaper of global digital futures. Enjoy.

THE FUTURE OF AFRICAN DIGITAL SOVEREIGNTY

Imagine this: the year is 2050. From Lagos to Accra, Cape Town to Cairo, Dakar to Dares Salaam, all fifty-four nations of our beloved continent stand as co-authors of a shared digital destiny. The pen that once wavered in the hands of fragmented states has become steady, guided by unity, foresight and the vision to craft a future defined not by dependence, but by sovereignty, equity and innovation.

Across Africa, technology is no longer imported as a foreign product but created, nurtured and exported as a global standard. In Lagos, young engineers design energy-efficient AI chips that rival and surpass those made in Silicon Valley. In Kigali, a hub once celebrated for its early smart city experiments, Africa’s first quantum computing centre now powers healthcare breakthroughs across continents. Nairobi has become the headquarters of the Pan-African AI Ethics Council, an institution that sets the global benchmark for human-centred artificial intelligence. Accra, Addis Ababa and Johannesburg anchor Africa’s digital economy with data centres that rival those of Europe and Asia, ensuring that Africa’s data never again flows outward without reciprocity.

The transformation began with a recognition: technology is not neutral. Africans understood that algorithms, data systems and biometric technologies are instruments of power. Instead of uncritically adopting systems that excluded the rural, the poor, the disabled or the linguistically diverse, the continent chose a different path: technology that reflects African values of dignity, community and justice. The lessons of early missteps, such as exclusionary ID systems and exploitative data mining by foreign corporations, were not forgotten. They became rallying points for reform.

By 2035, every African nation had adopted a binding Digital Bill of Rights, enshrining privacy, dignity, transparency and accessibility as constitutional guarantees. Consent is no longer a perfunctory box to be ticked but an active and meaningful right, accessible even to citizens with low literacy or those living in remote communities. Algorithms deployed in courts, schools, banks and hospitals are explainable, accountable and open to independent audit. Citizens are not passive subjects of technology but active shapers—through participatory platforms that allow them to influence how data is collected, how AI is used, and how rights are protected.

The institutions that guard this ecosystem are robust, independent and trusted. The African Data Protection Commission; born out of a coalition of all fifty-four nations, operates with technical excellence and political autonomy. It not only oversees compliance but actively invests in capacity-building across the continent. Local regulators are no longer captured by external interests; they are guardians of sovereignty. Civil society, academia and entrepreneurs are embedded in digital governance as co-creators, not outsiders. The result is an ecosystem where technology is democratized and trust is the currency of digital life.

Infrastructure, once the Achilles’ heel of African development, is now its greatest strength. Universal broadband covers the continent, powered by a mix of green energy grids, solar satellites and fibre networks woven through deserts, forests and cities. Every village is a node in Africa’s digital constellation. Data centres, built and managed by Africans, ensure that information flows within Africa before it flows outward. These infrastructures are interoperable, resilient and sovereign.

Economic life thrives within this digital ecosystem. The African Continental Free Trade Area has blossomed into the world’s largest digital single market, seamlessly integrating fintech, e-commerce and cross-border innovation. A farmer in Mali can sell directly to buyers in Morocco using blockchain-backed platforms that guarantee fair prices, transparency, and security. A nurse in Uganda consults instantly with a doctor in Tunisia through AI-powered telemedicine networks. Start-ups in Lusaka or Ouagadougou scale as easily as those in Paris or Singapore, because Africa’s venture ecosystem is rich, connected and self-sustaining.

Yet the utopia is not measured by economic prosperity alone. Africa’s digital future has become a moral compass for the world. By embedding Ethics by Design into every innovation, Africa proved that technology could uplift rather than exclude. AI systems in Africa are trained on diverse datasets that reflect the continent’s multitude of languages, cultures, and histories, ensuring that bias is minimized and inclusion maximized. Assistive technologies empower people with disabilities to thrive. Rural communities once disconnected are now innovators, shaping tools that respond to their own realities—tools built in Hausa, Wolof, Amharic, Zulu and hundreds of other African languages.

Education has been re-imagined. Many children across the continent now have access to quality, personalized, AI-driven learning, designed with local contexts in mind. Universities collaborate through the Pan-African Digital Knowledge Network, pooling resources to create world-leading research in AI, biotechnology, renewable energy and cyber security. Brain drain has reversed—talent flows into Africa, not away from it.

Crucially, Africa’s rise did not come through isolation but through strategic partnership. Unlike the extractive digital colonialism of the past, today’s partnerships are forged on reciprocity and respect. Africa sits at the table of global digital governance as an equal, co-drafting the ethical frameworks that guide the use of AI, biotechnology and space technologies. Where once it was a consumer, Africa is now a producer, standard-setter and exporter of innovation and ideas.

This Africa is not utopia because it is flawless. It is utopia because it has embedded resilience, justice and inclusion into the fabric of its digital transformation. It has proven that sovereignty is not about closing borders but about opening opportunities, not about resisting technology but about owning it, shaping it, and ensuring it serves humanity.

CONCLUSION

Africa stands at a crossroads. The choices made today about AI governance, data sovereignty, and technological infrastructure will determine whether the continent remains a passive consumer of foreign systems or emerges as an active shaper of global digital futures. To avoid a new wave of digital colonialism, African states must embed ethics, sovereignty, and inclusion into their AI policies, invest in indigenous innovation, and strengthen regional collaboration. Only then can Africa wield the pen of authorship—crafting a digital destiny rooted in dignity, justice, and self-determination. (The end).

THOUGHTS FOR THE WEEK

“Historically, privacy was almost implicit, because it was hard to find and gather information. But in the digital world, whether it’s digital cameras or satellites or just what you click on, we need to have more explicit rules – not just for governments but for private companies”. – Bill Gates.

“Social media is changing the way we communicate and the way we are perceived, both positively and negatively. Every time you post a photo, or update your status, you are contributing to your own digital footprint and personal brand” – Amy Jo Martin.

The Oracle

The Oracle: The New Digital Colonialism: Navigating AI Policy Under Foreign Tech Dominance (Pt. 4)

Published

3 weeks ago

March 27, 2026

Eric

Prof Mike Ozekhome SAN

INTRODUCTION

The last episode of this treatise concluded our examination of the preferences of the Western (US, EU) and Eastern (China) hemispheres on the subject after which we considered the dangers of weak localization and disproportionate influence of foreign technology on African ecosystems. This was followed by an analysis of the issues generated by AI policy and later we looked at what African States needs to do to tackle the challenge-using Nigeria as a case study. Today, we shall continue with same with special emphasis on the pen in the trans-continental transformation of AI technology and later x-ray the need for technological sovereignty and for crafting an indigenous AI policy agenda. We shall then conclude with an overview of lessons from abroad including the US, EU and China. Enjoy.

AI POLICY AND DIGITAL TRANSFORMATION IN AFRICA, WHO WIELDS THE PEN?

In one sentence, we wield the pen. Our governments, independent state actors, entrepreneurs, African men, women and youth all share in this responsibility. The future of Africa’s digital transformation depends on whether we choose to author our own story or allow others to continue writing it for us.

Africa is witnessing an increasing call for technological sovereignty: the ability to control our own infrastructure, data and innovations. This idea, central to decolonial frameworks, insists that we must move away from being a passive consumer of technologies and reclaim control of its digital future. Kwame Nkrumah emphasized the importance of pan-African cooperation for achieving sovereignty. That vision today extends to the digital realm, where regional collaboration and homegrown solutions are critical for breaking dependency on Western corporations. Achille Mbembe further argues that Africa should leverage indigenous knowledge systems and local resources to create technologies that reflect African values, rather than merely importing Western tools ill-suited to its unique needs.

The digital divide between Africa and the West is not merely technical; it is rooted in structural and historical inequalities. The continent’s persistent reliance on foreign technologies reflects centuries of global imbalances that continue to shape how resources and knowledge flow. A central issue is technological dependency: Africa consumes technologies made elsewhere instead of shaping them (Tyler Robinson, ‘Navigating Digital Neocolonialism in Africa’ (cigionline.org) < www.cigionline.org/static/documents/DPH-paper-Stevenson_1.pdf > Accessed on 16th September, 2025).

Global tech giants dominate Africa’s digital landscape, extracting vast amounts of data without adequate investment in local infrastructure or people. Data extraction not only perpetuates Western dominance but also strips Africa of sovereignty over its own digital futures. Without robust regulations or sufficient local technological capacity, African nations remain vulnerable to these external forces.

NEED FOR TECHNOLOGICAL SOVEREIGNITY

Against these challenges, the need for technological sovereignty becomes undeniable. Africa must not remain a passive participant in the global digital economy. We must take proactive steps to build our own technological infrastructure and policies. Sovereignty in the digital age is not just about access but about authorship: designing systems that align with African values, priorities and aspirations. Some progress is already visible. Many governments are beginning to reclaim data oversight by establishing national data centres, such as those in Benin and Togo. These centres enable local data governance and prevent exploitation. Even when international institutions provide support, African states are increasingly insisting on local ownership and oversight (ibid).

Partnerships and trade agreements have also played a role in shaping Africa’s digital transformation, sometimes limiting, sometimes enabling. The Policy and Regulatory Initiative for Digital Africa (PRIDA), funded by the European Union and implemented by the African Union, supports broadband access, harmonized digital policies, and the capacity to implement them. While the framework is influenced by European legislation, it ensures stronger protections for African citizens. The Pan-African e-Network Project, originally launched in India but now African-led, connects countries via satellite and fibre, enabling teleeducation and telemedicine across borders. It demonstrates that partnerships can succeed when they are driven and managed by Africans. Similarly, the Smart Africa Alliance was established to transform the continent into a collaborative digital market. By centring ICTs within socio-economic development agendas, the alliance promotes sustainable policies, digital infrastructure, and affordable access across its member states.

TOWARD AN INDIGENOUS AI POLICY AGENDA: RECOMMENDATIONS

While significant progress has been made, more must be done to ensure that Africa wields the pen in shaping its digital destiny. Recommendations emerging from this discussion are clear:
1. Prioritize investment in indigenous technologies and local innovation rather than relying primarily on foreign solutions.

2. Expand digital literacy and capacity-building across the continent to empower citizens to participate meaningfully in the digital economy.

3. Strengthen regional collaboration by developing a unified digital strategy that reflects Africa’s collective interests and unique needs.

4. Establish and enforce robust regulatory frameworks to protect data, safeguard citizens, and curtail exploitative practices of global tech corporations.

5. Pursue strategic partnerships with external actors only on terms that guarantee local ownership, oversight, and long-term autonomy.

6. Operationalise Ethics by Design across all AI and digital identity systems by embedding impact assessments, fairness audits, user consent, and accountability mechanisms at every stage—from policy formulation to system deployment.

7. Mandate algorithmic explainability and independent auditing for all AI models impacting critical sectors such as healthcare, credit, policing, and education, ensuring transparency and bias detection.

8. Localise and secure data within national borders by requiring sensitive national datasets to be stored in certified local data centres, supported with investments in infrastructure and cybersecurity.

9. Extend NDPA protections to vulnerable and marginalised communities by enabling inclusive identity verification methods, community-based registration agents, and exemptions for hard-to-reach populations.

10. Establish a Public Interest Technology Task Force composed of ethicists, technologists, civil society, and legal scholars to provide oversight and human rights evaluations before new systems are rolled out.

11. Prioritise national capacity building in data ethics and digital rights through mandatory training for government agencies, judiciary, MDAs, and law enforcement bodies.

12. Make digital consent comprehensible, accessible, and verifiable by requiring plain-language terms, local translations, audio/visual options, and legal avenues to revoke consent.

13. Decentralise and democratise identity systems by adopting a federated model where local governments, trusted institutions, and community actors can verify identity, reducing exclusion and dependency on centralised systems.

14. Enforce mandatory Data Protection Impact Assessments (DPIAs) for high-risk public projects, with findings made public and subject to independent review; impose strict penalties for non-compliance.

15. Create civic engagement pathways in digital governance through open consultations, citizen assemblies on AI ethics, participatory monitoring, and data literacy campaigns to treat citizens as democratic stakeholders.

Only by embracing these recommendations can Africa move from dependency to sovereignty. This continent must wield the pen herself, authoring a digital future rooted in African values and aspirations and ensuring full participation in the global digital economy on our own terms.

LESSONS FROM THE EU, US AND CHINA

THE EU

1. The European Union’s AI Act provides a tiered, risk-based approach to regulating artificial intelligence, distinguishing between unacceptable, high, limited, and minimal risk. Obligations such as transparency, oversight, and outright bans are matched to the level of risk. For Africa, this model illustrates how to avoid over-regulating low-risk tools while ensuring strict oversight of high-risk applications.

2. Closely tied to this is the EU’s privacy-by-design approach, anchored in the General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR). Here, privacy safeguards, data minimisation, and “by default” protections are integrated from the outset of system design. Africa can adopt this holistic model by embedding privacy and data rights into both law and practice, with strong enforcement mechanisms.

3. The EU also prioritises transparency, accountability, and liability. High-risk systems must undergo conformity assessments, independent audits, and documentation processes. Liability frameworks are being expanded to ensure that citizens can seek redress when harmed by AI systems. This provides a template for Africa to hold developers, deployers, and regulators accountable.

4. In addition, the EU AI Act prohibits certain practices outright, such as social scoring, manipulative techniques, and some forms of biometric surveillance. Setting non-negotiable boundaries protects citizens while providing clarity for innovators.

5. Finally, the EU demonstrates the value of operational readiness and compliance infrastructure. GDPR compelled companies to build compliance units (e.g., privacy officers, auditing mechanisms), which now serve as the foundation for AI oversight. Africa should similarly invest early in institutions, regulators, and technical capacity to ensure that laws are enforceable in practice.

THE UNITED STATES

1. The United States illustrates how rapid executive action can shape emerging technologies even before legislation matures. For instance, Executive Order 14110 (2023) on AI mandated agency risk assessments, civil rights considerations, and workforce planning. Africa can similarly use presidential or ministerial directives to establish immediate governance frameworks while legislative processes catch up.

2. The Blueprint for an AI Bill of Rights (2022) articulates citizen protections, including transparency, fairness, privacy, and the right to opt out. This offers a model for Africa to enshrine AI-related rights in constitutional or statutory instruments, ensuring that protections are not left as policy afterthoughts.

3. The U.S. also underscores the importance of equity and non-discrimination. Policies emphasize audits, training, and oversight in areas such as employment, housing, health, and policing to prevent algorithmic bias. Africa should follow this lead by embedding protections for marginalized groups into its AI strategies, addressing gender, ethnic, and rural-urban disparities

4. At the same time, the U.S. demonstrates how innovation and competition can be promoted alongside regulation. Federal agencies such as NIST, together with grant schemes and research funding, stimulate startups and infrastructure growth. For Africa, combining protective regulation with incentives for local innovation will ensure that governance does not stifle creativity or competitiveness.

CHINA

1. China’s national AI strategy highlights the power of entrepreneurial hubs and incubators as engines of innovation. Africa can adapt this model by building regional AI hubs that connect academia, industry, and startups while attracting diaspora talent.

2. China also leveraged digital financial inclusion by integrating AI into mobile payments and lending platforms. With Africa’s mobile money infrastructure already strong (e.g., M-Pesa), scaling digital finance to directly support entrepreneurs could accelerate indigenous innovation.

3. Through initiatives like Made in China 2025, China has pursued indigenous innovation and self-sufficiency, investing in local chip design, cloud infrastructure, and AI frameworks. Africa, too, must localize its data, develop homegrown AI models, and reduce dependence on foreign technology.

4. The country’s advances in AI for healthcare: diagnostics, wearables, predictive analytics, demonstrate how technology can bridge systemic service gaps. Africa could apply similar solutions to leapfrog chronic shortages in health systems.

5. China’s Digital Silk Road shows how digital exports can extend influence abroad. Africa can flip this approach by creating an African Digital Corridor, exporting its innovations and setting standards based on African values.

6. At the same time, China’s struggles with semiconductors underscore the risks of supply chain dependency. Africa must build resilience through semiconductor R&D, local cloud infrastructure, and open-source software ecosystems.

7. Finally, China shows how standards and regulation can be tools of global influence. By actively shaping AI governance in developing regions, it is carving out international leadership. Africa, through the AU and AfCFTA, can harmonize its own AI standards, strengthening its voice in global digital policy debates. (To be continued).

THOUGHT FOR THE WEEK

“Over time I think we will probably see a closer merger of biological intelligence and digital intelligence”. (Elon Musk).