Category: Opinion

-By Abdul Mahmud

The reported death of Faith Alayande, a 23-year-old female student of the Nigerian Law School who was found dead after a fall from the rooftop of a hostel at the School’s Lagos Campus in the early hours of Friday, 7 August 2026, should not be reduced to another tragic piece in the daily news cycle. The Nigerian Law School has confirmed the death and said that it is investigating the circumstances, while the police have also commenced inquiries.

Reports that Alayande was undertaking an externship at the Lagos Campus after being enrolled at the Enugu Campus make the circumstances particularly deserving of careful examination, especially because movement between campuses and placement environments can separate students from the support structures upon which they normally depend. No responsible person should presume, before the investigation is completed, what caused Faith to die, and certainly no institution should be condemned for a failure that has not been established by evidence. The question that her death nevertheless forces upon us is larger than the circumstances of one morning: what duty does a tertiary institution owe to the psychological welfare, physical safety and general wellbeing of the young people placed in its care?

Nigeria has become accustomed to treating tertiary education as though the institution’s responsibility begins with collecting fees, conducting lectures and examinations, and ends when the student walks out of the examination hall. Such a conception of education is dangerously narrow, particularly in institutions where students are subjected to intense academic pressure, professional uncertainty, financial strain, separation from family and the demands of transition into adult life. A student is not simply a candidate for an examination; a student is a person whose wellbeing can affect the capacity to learn, perform and remain safe.

British universities provide a useful point of comparison, not because Britain has eliminated student mental-health crises, or because its universities are incapable of institutional failure, but because student welfare has increasingly been incorporated into the formal responsibilities of university life. The NHS states that most universities in the United Kingdom provide free and confidential counselling services staffed by professionally qualified counsellors and psychotherapists, while many institutions also have mental-health advisers who help students obtain additional support.

Students experiencing low mood, anxiety, stress or other difficulties can seek assistance without first having to establish that they have a diagnosed psychiatric condition. The point goes further: a student does not have to reach the point of psychiatric crisis before an institution considers intervention appropriate. A student struggling with anxiety before examinations, deteriorating emotionally after a family crisis, becoming overwhelmed by academic demands, or showing signs of persistent low mood may be referred for counselling or other support long before the circumstances become an emergency. The institutional philosophy is preventive rather than purely reactive.

Some British universities go further by connecting university-based support with the National Health Service. The University of Cambridge and Anglia Ruskin University, for example, have access to an NHS-linked mental-health student service providing psychological support and clinical care. Universities in the UK have also recognised that students undertaking placements may face particular mental-health risks because they can be separated from familiar support structures, and has urged universities and placement providers to maintain appropriate support before, during and after placements. Such arrangements should make Nigerian educational administrators uncomfortable, because they expose how little of our institutional conversation about student welfare is concerned with the student as a whole human being.

The Nigerian Law School is not an ordinary institution of learning; it is a professional institution whose students arrive after years of undergraduate legal education and are placed under considerable pressure as they prepare for entry into one of the most demanding professions in the country. The Bar Final examinations carry enormous consequences for young people who have already invested years of study and substantial financial resources in becoming lawyers. Expectations are high, competition is real and failure can carry a heavy emotional burden. An institution operating within such an environment should have a welfare structure commensurate with the pressures imposed upon its students.

Counselling should therefore not be treated as an ornamental service, brought into existence to satisfy an administrative checklist. There should be professionally trained counsellors or psychologists whom students can approach confidentially, without fear that seeking help will be interpreted as weakness. There should be clear procedures for identifying students in serious distress, mechanisms through which lecturers, hostel officials and fellow students can raise concerns, and a pathway for referring students requiring specialised psychiatric care to appropriate medical services.

Physical safety requires the same seriousness. If a hostel permits students access to a rooftop from which a person can fall to her death, questions about the design, access controls, barriers, surveillance and emergency procedures should form part of the investigation.

The answer cannot simply be that the student should not have gone there. Institutions have a duty to anticipate foreseeable risks within facilities under their control, particularly where young people live, study and spend substantial periods away from their families. The larger problem is the culture of Nigerian tertiary education, where students are frequently expected to endure almost everything in silence. Poor accommodation, inadequate welfare facilities, administrative hostility, financial pressures, overcrowding and academic stress are often treated as unavoidable features of student life. Fees rise, while the quality of the services provided frequently fails to rise with them. Students are charged for accommodation, development, registration and other institutional services, but the language of consumer responsibility is rarely accompanied by an equally serious understanding of institutional responsibility.

A university or professional institution is not absolved of responsibility because students are adults. Adulthood does not make a person immune to emotional distress, and intellectual maturity does not make a person immune to depression, anxiety, despair or psychological crisis. The NHS itself recognises that students with ordinary life difficulties can benefit from counselling and that support should be accessible before a diagnosed mental-health condition develops. The lesson from Britain is therefore not that Nigeria should reproduce the British university system; it is that student welfare must become part of the core business of education rather than an afterthought to academic administration.

Faith Alayande’s death should prompt the Nigerian Law School to ask difficult questions of itself, and the answers should not be confined to the immediate circumstances of her death. Was there an accessible counselling service? Did students know where to seek confidential psychological assistance? Were hostel personnel trained to recognise signs of distress? Were there adequate procedures for responding to students considered vulnerable? Was the hostel physically designed with suicide prevention and general safety in mind? Did students undertaking externships retain meaningful access to welfare support from the institution? Nigerian universities and professional institutions should also be asking themselves the same questions.

There is also a danger in allowing the language of suicide prevention to become detached from the broader question of institutional care. A university or professional institution cannot prevent every tragedy, and no responsible analysis should suggest otherwise. Mental-health crises arise from complicated circumstances that institutions cannot always see or control. The obligation is to create an environment in which distress can be recognised, help can be reached without stigma, and obvious physical risks are taken seriously. Faith’s name should therefore remain in this discussion not as an accusation against an institution before the facts are established, but as a reminder of what can be lost when education is reduced to examinations, fees and certificates. The Nigerian Law School trains people who will spend their professional lives arguing about rights, duties and accountability. So, its own treatment of student welfare should reflect the seriousness of those principles.

A point to note here: the law school cannot guarantee the outcome of every student’s struggle; but it can, however, ask whether a student in distress can reach appropriate help and whether the conditions in which students live reflect a serious commitment to their welfare. Faith deserved an institution that kept watch over her more than her academic performance.

The question now is: did the law school keep the faith?

By Elsie Onubogu 

“Rwanda did not begin with a million dead. Srebrenica did not begin with mass graves. Yugoslavia did not disintegrate in a single day. They are the result of accumulated catastrophes. May Nigeria not happen”.

The danger facing Nigeria is not simply that:

• The 2027 elections may be rigged, manipulated or stolen;
• Courts and election tribunals may be compromised;
• Opposition parties may be intimidated and harassed;
• Media and journalists may lose their independence;
• Citizens may be disenfranchised;
• ⁠Political violence may claim lives;
• Votes may not be counted, ballot boxes snatched, or
• The Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) manipulated; or
• Legislature and the Judiciary reaffirm its incapability to maintain its independence, or
• Impunity, corruption, intolerance, exclusion and insecurity is worsening – catastrophes.

The deeper danger is the normalization of all these failings—to the point where a majority of Nigerians have become convinced that nothing they do can change the political order.

This is passive nihilism: the surrender of hope and agency, and the abandonment of the belief that collective action can make a difference.

That mindset is already taking hold among millions of Nigerians.

People feel exhausted, disillusioned, powerless and increasingly apathetic.

When life feels meaningless and change seems impossible, people stop fighting back.

They stop demanding accountability.

Eventually, they may stop caring about freedom itself.

That is the environment in which authoritarianism flourishes.

Democracy does not always die with tanks in the streets.

Yet, in that moment, a dangerous silence, like a whirlwind before a storm, gathers.

Democracy dies quietly — through the steady destruction of institutional restraints, the politicization of state power, the intimidation of opponents, the manipulation of elections, the erosion of judicial and legislative independence, and terrorization of the public, resignation and political apathy – as witnessed in today’s Nigeria.

The objective of authoritarian rule is often more insidious than the outright abolition of democracy:

it is to preserve the appearance of democracy while emptying it of meaning.

Elections (or the semblance) hold. Institutions function with limitations, but accountability disappears.

When institutions collapse, rights are violated, and citizens lose faith in peaceful political participation.

In Nigeria, this danger is increasingly captured in the political expression, “standing on Bola’s mandate” — a phrase that has turned what ought to be constitutional authority into a justification for impunity – eroding democratic values.

The consequences extend beyond politics to national stability, security, and trust.

Nigeria’s warning signs must therefore be assessed in its totality.

It is a national security concern – with regional, continental, and global implications.

Such warning signs places Nigeria in a precarious state.

History has shown that- the most dangerous moment is not necessarily when people take to the streets in anger.

It is when they become convinced that nothing they do matters.

That is when democracy begins to die — not with a bang, but with resignation.

It is also when a little flicker can trigger an uprising.

That little flicker – is usually the spark that sets off the storm.

Most recently, this was witnessed in Tunisia (2010 – The Arab Springs) – a spark by a street vendor named Mohamed Bouazizi, who set himself on fire to protest police abuse, corruption, and economic hardship.

Bouazizi dealing with hunger and abject poverty had his fruit hawking cart seized by the Police against street ‘hawking.’ Unable to tolerate the hardship, he set himself on fire in front of a government building. His desperate act set off a wave of anger that eventually toppled the Tunisian government and spread across the entire region.

Nigeria stands on a dangerous precipice — and it may take only a spark to ignite it. This precipice is double-edged.

1) Against the haunting lessons of Rwanda and Srebrenica, one can only say: ‘May Nigeria never happen.’

2) Yet there is another, troubling reality: impunity, corruption, injustice, abuse and state capture has become deeply entrenched, Nigerians’ pent-up anger may eventually reach a breaking point – to usher in transformative change.

It may come at a cost – and there’s the danger! For a society repeatedly denied accountability does not remain indefinitely passive. When institutions fail, justice becomes inaccessible and peaceful avenues appear closed, frustration can harden hearts into desperation — which can spiral out of control.

For instance, the lessons of Rwanda and Srebrenica is not that societies suddenly descend into catastrophe.

It is that warning signs accumulate, institutions weaken, impunity takes root, hatred and divisions deepen, opportunities for prevention are repeatedly ignored and missed.

Beyond Rwanda, Srebrenica, and Somalia – the lesson of “missed opportunities” compelled the United Nations to emphasize that – the critical challenge is to act before warning signs (sparks) become mass graves. In digress, that spark may come as a consequence of recent ‘hate speeches’ recorded last week.

Nigeria’s National Human Rights Commission warned that hate speech constitutes a direct threat to Nigeria’s peace, unity and democratic development, particularly as the country approaches another major electoral cycle.

Both political actors and religious leaders have a responsibility not to employ speech that incites hatred, hostility or violence.

This past week, two (2) Islamic clerics (Sheikh Sani Yahaya Jingir, and Sheikh Shafiy Adeba) publicly declared Nigeria a Moslem country where people of other faiths – ‘infidels’ are not welcomed. Both clerics asked anyone unwilling to accept that fact to leave Nigeria. Such public statements are not mere rhetorics but ‘HATE SPEECH.’

As the then Special Adviser to the United Nations Secretary General on the ‘Prevention of Genocide’ Alice Ndelitu, pointed out, “Violence does not start when physical attacks are launched. Violence often begins with words. Words of hatred spread intolerance, divide societies, promote and endorse discrimination, and incite violence.”

Nigeria’s religious diversity is a strength and a sensitive fault line — politicians often exploit this as election approaches. Statements suggesting that Nigeria belongs exclusively to one faith, or that citizens of another faith are less entitled to belong, cannot be dismissed as harmless rhetoric. In a country deeply scarred by sectarian conflict, the normalization of religious supremacy is dangerous.

Nigeria belongs to Nigerians—not to Muslims, Christians, political parties, ethnic groups or ruling elites. Any attempt to make citizenship conditional on faith strikes at the constitutional foundation of the Nigerian state.

This is why the National Human Rights Commission’s warning on hate speech must be taken seriously. In a polarized society, hate speech is not merely offensive language; it can help categorize, dehumanize and mobilize citizens against one another.

The Tinubu administration (if responsive) must act decisively. The fact that similar inflammatory remarks have previously been made by Sheikh Gumi cannot justify silence. Tinubu government’s consistent failure to respond plays into the narrative that hate speech is acceptable when politically convenient. You know this because the usual defenders of the indefensible did not utter a word.

These warnings must not be viewed with religious or ethnic lens, or dismissed as routine noise of Nigerian politics – particularly when the credibility of Nigeria’s democratic process is already strained and stained.

As the Catholic Bishops recently told President Tinubu, there is growing disenchantment with electoral manipulation and a widespread belief that votes do not count.

Declining voter turnout reflects this deepening distrust and political apathy – particularly after the Mamood Yakubu’s claim of ‘IREV’ malfunctioning during the presidential results in 2023. .

Against this backdrop, the Osun governorship election slated for August 15, 2026 had recorded allegations of violence, intimidation and attempts to undermine citizens’ participation.

The Osun State Government accused senior APC figures, including Senator Adenigba Fadahunsi, of encouraging political violence. Such allegations should be independently and transparently investigated.

The Inspector-General of Police – Olatunji Disu, addressing the violence in Osun, reportedly offered a crucial reminder:

“This is an election, not a war.”

That principle should resonate beyond Osun as Nigeria prepares for 2027.

An election is not a war. A political opponent is not an enemy combatant. A ballot is not an act of hostility. It is a civic responsibility. Political victory does not confer the right to intimidate, persecute or silence those who vote differently.

When political competition adopts the language and methods of warfare, democratic values are compromised. When religious or ethnic identity is added to this explosive mix, the danger becomes even greater. Unequivocally, Nigeria must reaffirm that; Nigerian’s citizenship, dignity, security or political rights does not depend on religious or ethnic filiation.

When exclusionary rhetoric precedes persecution; political violence turns into communal violence; communal violence morphs into organized conflict – leading to full blown war – ethnic cleansing, etc.

The movie with such exclusion is ‘Déjà vu.’ Rwanda did not begin with a million dead. Srebrenica did not begin with mass graves. Yugoslavia did not disintegrate in a single day. They are the result of accumulated catastrophes.

In the final analysis, catastrophes are often preceded by weakened institutions, political violence, demonization, impunity, propaganda, intolerance, divisions, identity-based mobilization and the erosion of public trust.

This is followed by the normalization of political violence, the demonization of opponents, and impunity by perpetrators.

The Tinubu administration has a profound responsibility: to stop striking, fueling or permitting the spark that could ignite a storm. Its constitutional duty involves preservation of Nigeria’s unity, defense of rights and dignity, uphold the rule of law, and safeguard institutions and values of democracy.

But the responsibility does not rest with government alone. The Nigerian people must stand firm. We must refuse to surrender our voice, rights and democracy to fear, apathy or political intimidation.

What I know for sure is, the warning indicators are not hypothetical — they are already present and increasingly visible in Nigeria.

Nigeria must act before these warning signs become tomorrow’s tragedy.

#MayNigeriaNotHappen!

ElsieOnubogu.NomM©15August2026. Email:Elsiedavis2025@gmail.com

The All Progressives Congress (APC) in Nkanu West Local Government Area has begun moves to strengthen its grassroots structure ahead of the 2027 elections, with party leaders urging members to unite and take the party’s message and the achievements of the Peter Mbah administration to communities across the council.

The resolve was made at the party’s monthly meeting in Nkanu West, attended by the Executive Chairman of the council, Hon. John Chukwuma Ogbodo; his deputy, Engr. Friday Nnam; the Secretary to the Local Government, Barr. Onochie Igwesi; party leaders, stakeholders and members.

The APC chairman in Nkanu West, Hon. Chinedu Nnaji, commended Governor Peter Ndubuisi Mbah for his leadership and praised Ogbodo for what he described as uncommon leadership and commitment to the development of the local government.

Nnaji also appreciated the support of the council chairman and other stakeholders for the party, urging members to remain committed to the growth and unity of the APC.

Victor Okechukwu, who also addressed the meeting, encouraged party members to remain dedicated to the party’s progress. He conveyed greetings from Ben Nwoye, APC National Vice Chairman, South, and Dr. Amaka Ngene, Chairman, STVSMB, who also supported party faithful with a cash donation.

Hon. Desmond Iloabuchi Aniagu, member representing Nkanu West Constituency in the Enugu State House of Assembly, and Hon. Barr. Nwabueze Ugwu, Chairman of the Governing Council of the Enugu State College of Education (Technical), also commended the party and local government leadership, urging members to sustain their support.

The Chairman of the Enugu State Council of Presidents-General, Hon. Chief Arinze Nnia Ogbodo, commended Governor Mbah for his achievements across the state and praised the leadership of Hon. John Chukwuma Ogbodo in Nkanu West.

Ogbodo reaffirmed the support of Presidents-General across the state for the governor, saying it was time for the people to reciprocate his efforts.

Representing Distinguished Senator Kelvin Chizoba Chukwu, Hon. Cyprian Chukwu (Obele Nwa Ogboogu) also commended Governor Mbah and Ogbodo, disclosing that the senator would soon return to interface with his constituents.

The Enugu East APC Zonal Chairman, Hon. Nnamdi Nwafor, said Ogbodo was replicating at the local government level the purposeful leadership being demonstrated by Governor Mbah at the state level.

Nwafor urged residents to continue supporting Ogbodo, whom he described as a “working mayor”, while encouraging party members to remain united and committed to the success of the APC and the Mbah administration.

In his remarks, Ogbodo thanked party leaders, stakeholders and members for their continued support.

He urged members to take the party’s message and the achievements of the Mbah administration to their respective towns and communities, stressing the need for stronger grassroots engagement ahead of 2027.

Ogbodo described the Mbah administration as “second to none” and expressed confidence that the APC would work collectively to deliver Governor Mbah and all its candidates in the 2027 elections.

He also charged ward chairmen to strengthen their respective party structures and remain focused, saying “the time has come for serious work and constructive engagement rather than creating unnecessary problems within the party.”

The meeting ended with a renewed commitment by the party leadership and members in Nkanu West to strengthen the APC’s grassroots structure, promote unity and work collectively towards electoral success in 2027.

-By Sir SNC Nwagu

Nigeria is neither an Islamic nor a Christian state. It is a constitutional republic in which citizens are entitled to equal rights irrespective of religion. Our citizenship is Nigerian before it is religious. Section 10 of the 1999 Constitution explicitly prohibits the adoption of any state religion.

Christianity teaches the dignity of every human being, created in the image of God. Jesus Christ taught love of neighbour, mercy and reconciliation—not the expulsion of people because they belong to another faith.

But this principle must work both ways. If a Christian cleric declared that Muslims should leave Nigeria because Nigeria belongs to Christians, we would rightly condemn it as dangerous and unacceptable. The same standard must apply when such a statement comes from a Muslim cleric. Religious authority does not confer political ownership.

So, when anyone says that Nigerians of another faith should leave, the obvious question is: Leave Nigeria and go where?
If we accept that logic, we will not solve Nigeria’s problems. We will turn Nigeria into a permanent contest over religious eviction.

The Real Challenge Is Religious Supremacism and Political Instrumentalization

Nigeria’s crisis is fundamentally a crisis of governance, citizenship and national purpose. Yet we must also recognize that religion has been instrumentalized by political elites to mobilize support, distribute resources, and legitimize power. Religious supremacy often functions less as pure theology and more as the expression of political identity in contests over land, offices, and state resources. This reality demands more than moral exhortation—it requires structural reforms.

Religious leaders should therefore be building bridges, not walls. The Nigerian state must enforce constitutional secularism more rigorously, promote interfaith civic education in schools, impose legal consequences for clerics inciting religious expulsion, and create national dialogue frameworks that include traditional religious leaders alongside Christians and Muslims.

The Same Standard Must Apply to Everyone

There must also be moral consistency on the Christian side. We cannot condemn religious extremism when it comes from Muslims and excuse it when it comes from Christians. If a Christian preacher calls for Muslims to leave Nigeria, Christians should reject the statement with equal force. The answer to Islamic supremacism cannot be Christian supremacism. The answer is equal citizenship under the law.

The Nigerian state must therefore be clear: no religious leader has the constitutional authority to expel Nigerian citizens because of their faith. Nigeria has enough wounds. Reckless religious rhetoric can deepen suspicion and turn neighbours into enemies.

While this article focuses on Christian–Muslim tensions, it is important to acknowledge that adherents of traditional African religions whose spiritual heritage predates both Islam and Christianity on this land have often been marginalized in public discourse dominated by the two major faiths. A truly inclusive vision of Nigerian citizenship must protect and respect these indigenous spiritual traditions as well, recognizing their contributions to our cultural identity and social cohesion.

And for these, I will defend the right of a Muslim Nigerian to live peacefully in Nigeria because, by the same principle, I expect the right of a Christian Nigerian to be defended.

That is not weakness. That is civilisation.

Nigeria belongs to neither Christians nor Muslims. Nigeria belongs to Nigerians.

The future of Nigeria should therefore not be determined by the question, “Which religion owns Nigeria?” but by a more fundamental one: “How do we build a Nigeria in which every citizen—Christian, Muslim, traditional believer, or none—can live, worship and belong without being threatened with expulsion from home?”

This is not a Christian rejoinder. It is a civic call for equal citizenship, constitutional patriotism, and a shared commitment to human dignity. Only by answering this call can we transform Nigeria from a battleground of religious supremacy into a home for all its children.

Nkanu East stands at a defining moment that requires visionary, transparent, and people-focused leadership to deliver meaningful development. Engr. Mike Chikosolu Ogbuekwe, popularly known as Mmiri Ọma, is committed to driving inclusive governance and sustainable progress across every community in the local government.

His vision prioritizes youth empowerment, quality healthcare, education, agriculture, infrastructure, security, and economic growth to improve the lives of all residents. More than a campaign, Mmiri Ọma represents a collective movement for unity, shared prosperity, and transformational leadership that leaves no ward behind.

A Technocrat with Unmatched Experience

Engr. Ogbuekwe brings a wealth of experience that sets him apart as the candidate best equipped to lead Nkanu East. A Mechanical Engineering graduate of the University of Nigeria, Nsukka (UNN) with an MBA , his career spans the private sector and high-level public administration.

His professional journey began at Baker Hughes Incorporated, a global energy technology company, where he worked as a Measurement While Drilling Engineer in Nigeria and the United States. This exposed him to global best practices and leadership training in Houston, Aberdeen, Paris, and Seoul.

In public service, Engr. Ogbuekwe has served at the highest levels in two states—a rare feat that speaks to his competence and integrity. In Anambra State, he was Senior Special Assistant on Agriculture, Secretary of the Anambra State Economic Think Tank, and later Director General of the Project Management and Monitoring Office (PMMO), where he saved the government over two billion naira through rigorous project monitoring. He also served as Secretary of the Roads Design Review Committee and the Standards and Modernization Committee.

Returning to Enugu State, he was appointed Special Adviser to the Governor on Agriculture and subsequently became the General Manager/Managing Director/CEO of the Enugu State Marketing Company Limited. In these roles, he drove transformative agricultural initiatives, including the “Buy Now, Pay Later” Workers’ Food Scheme targeting 20,000 civil servants, and the development of branded products such as Enugu Garri, Enugu Rice, Enugu Cashew, and Enugu Palm Oil. He also sponsored over 260 youths for modern agricultural training in Nasarawa State, reaffirming his commitment to youth empowerment.

His contributions have earned him recognition, including the Distinguished Agbebite Award from UNN’s Faculty of Engineering in April 2026.

A Blueprint for Nkanu East’s Transformation

As the APC Chairmanship Candidate for Nkanu East Local Government Area, Engr. Ogbuekwe is poised to replicate this success at the grassroots level. His agenda is anchored on repositioning Nkanu East as an agricultural powerhouse through farm clusters, irrigation support, and partnerships with agro-processing companies. He will also focus on inclusive development across infrastructure, healthcare, education, and youth skill acquisition programs .

His track record of accountability, transparency, and results-driven leadership makes him the ideal candidate to ensure that the dividends of governance reach every community in Nkanu East.

Together, the people of Nkanu East have the opportunity to build a brighter future by supporting a leadership committed to purposeful service and lasting development.

Support Engr. Mike Chikosolu Ogbuekwe for Chairman, Nkanu East Local Government Area.

-By Sebastine Okafor, Ph.D.

When Nigerians hear the words “security agency”, they expect protection, justice, discipline, and professionalism. They expect institutions that stand between law-abiding citizens and criminals. Yet, a growing number of verified incidents over the past few years have painted a disturbing picture: while thousands of security personnel continue to serve honourably, a small but dangerous minority has turned the authority of the State into a weapon against the very people they swore to protect.

This investigation does not suggest that every police officer, soldier, correctional officer, road safety official, or intelligence operative is corrupt. Such a conclusion would be false and unfair. Rather, it examines a troubling pattern of abuse that continues to damage public confidence in Nigeria’s security institutions.

One of the most visible examples remains the Nigeria Police Force. Years after the #EndSARS protests exposed allegations of police brutality, extortion, unlawful detention, torture, and extrajudicial killings, reports of misconduct continue to emerge. In April 2026, the country was again shaken after a police officer in Delta State was accused of killing a restrained suspect, Mene Ogidi. The incident, captured on video and widely circulated, forced the Inspector General of Police to order the arrest, disciplinary proceedings, and criminal prosecution of the officers involved.

The question many Nigerians continue to ask is simple: if cameras had not captured the incident, would justice have been pursued with the same urgency?

The Federal Road Safety Corps, an agency created to promote safety on Nigerian roads, has also faced allegations involving some personnel. In 2026, the Corps publicly acknowledged complaints of extortion and misconduct by some officers and announced measures to investigate and address such practices. The fact that the leadership openly recognised the problem demonstrates that misconduct is not merely a social media narrative but a challenge requiring institutional action.

The Nigerian Correctional Service has perhaps experienced one of the most comprehensive official investigations in recent years. An Independent Investigative Panel established by the Federal Ministry of Interior examined allegations of corruption, torture, abuse of power, extortion, inhumane treatment of inmates, and other violations across correctional centres. The panel’s report prompted the Federal Government to promise reforms and disciplinary action where wrongdoing is established.

Even before the latest report, disciplinary actions had already been taken against hundreds of correctional personnel for various forms of misconduct, including dismissals and other sanctions.

Within the Nigerian Army, allegations involving excessive use of force, assault, and violations of military discipline have also resulted in internal investigations in recent years. Although military institutions maintain strict disciplinary mechanisms, such cases remind the public that accountability must apply equally to those in uniform.

These incidents may appear unrelated, but they reveal recurring themes.

The first is the abuse of authority. Power intended to protect citizens is sometimes converted into an instrument of intimidation, extortion, torture, or personal enrichment.

The second is institutional silence. In many cases, action is taken only after public outrage, viral videos, or intense media scrutiny. This creates the impression that accountability is reactive rather than proactive.

The third is the culture of impunity. Citizens frequently complain that influential officers escape sanctions while junior personnel become convenient scapegoats. Whether this perception is always accurate or not, it continues to erode public trust.

Another disturbing trend is the infiltration of criminal interests into public institutions. Security experts have repeatedly warned that criminal syndicates often rely on insiders to leak operational information, facilitate illegal activities, compromise investigations, or frustrate prosecutions. Whenever this occurs, the damage extends beyond a single crime. It weakens the entire security architecture.

The consequences are profound.

Victims become afraid to report crimes. Witnesses refuse to cooperate with investigators. Communities lose confidence in security agencies. Criminals exploit this distrust to expand their operations. The result is a dangerous cycle in which insecurity grows because public confidence continues to decline.

Yet, this investigation also found another reality that deserves equal attention.

Across Nigeria, thousands of police officers, soldiers, correctional officers, road safety personnel, intelligence officers, and civil defence operatives continue to risk their lives daily. Many have died confronting terrorists, kidnappers, armed robbers, bandits, and other violent criminals. Their sacrifices should not be overshadowed by the misconduct of a minority.

This is precisely why accountability matters. It is a known fact that every corrupt officer protected by the system destroys the reputation of hundreds of honest officers; every act of extortion at a checkpoint weakens respect for the uniform; every unlawful detention undermines confidence in justice; and every extrajudicial killing strengthens public fear instead of public trust.

Nigeria cannot build a secure nation without first rebuilding confidence in its security institutions. Lots of reforms are required, but they are not mysterious. This is where independent oversight must become stronger to enhance trust and reassure confidence in the system.

Complaints from citizens must be investigated promptly and transparently by every security agency, with or without evidence. There is also an urgent need to start introducing body-worn cameras as standard operational equipment for all the security agencies. There is also an urgent need to make recruitment prioritise integrity as much as physical fitness, while officers who abuse power are made to face swift administrative and criminal consequences, regardless of rank or influence.

Above all, security agencies must remember that authority belongs to the people and is merely entrusted to public officers. The uniform is not a licence to intimidate. The firearm is not a licence to kill unlawfully. The office is not a licence to enrich oneself. The badge is a symbol of service and not oppression.

Nigeria deserves security institutions that inspire confidence rather than fear. Achieving that goal requires more than speeches and press releases. It requires leadership, accountability, transparency, and an uncompromising commitment to justice.

Until then, the greatest threat to Nigeria’s security may not only be the criminals outside the system, but also the few bad ones within it who continue to betray the trust placed in them.

-By Abdul Mahmud

Eight days after the death of her husband, a twenty-eight-year-old widow, Tosin, found herself confronting a tragedy that had little to do with death itself and everything to do with the conduct of those who ought to have stood beside her in grief. According to media reports, members of her late husband’s family allegedly moved into the matrimonial home in Ikorodu, confined her and her two young sons to a single room, began sharing the possessions left behind by the deceased, reportedly contemplated selling his car, and, in a scene captured on video and circulated across social media, her father-in-law was seen padlocking the gate of the property, effectively shutting her out while the pain of the death of her husband remained fresh and the reality of shouldering the care of her two little sons had barely settled upon her shoulders.

Public outrage followed, civil society organisations intervened, the Lagos State Government acknowledged the matter, and the police reportedly arrested the alleged perpetrator. Such official intervention deserves commendation, but the disturbing facts emerging from the case reveal a deeper social problem that has survived legal reforms, constitutional guarantees and decades of advocacy.

Widowhood occupies a peculiar place within many Nigerian homes because the death of a husband often becomes the beginning of another struggle rather than the end of one. I should know, being the son of a widow. Mourning, which should naturally provide space for remembrance, emotional healing and the careful reorganisation of family life, too frequently becomes the occasion for contests over property, authority and control. A grieving woman suddenly finds herself compelled to defend her dignity against those who view bereavement as an opportunity for acquisition rather than compassion, while children who have already suffered the irreversible loss of a parent become unwilling spectators to disputes over the material remnants of a life their father worked to build.

Literature recognised this painful reality long before newspaper headlines and social media videos brought such stories into public consciousness. Buchi Emecheta devoted much of her literary career to exposing the invisible burdens carried by African women within social arrangements that frequently subjected their humanity to inherited customs. Across her novels, women struggle against traditions that measure their worth through marriage, motherhood or male authority, while widowhood appears not simply as a personal tragedy but as a condition capable of stripping a woman of security and economic independence. She ever portrayed these realities as isolated misfortunes; her characters reflected enduring structures of power sustained by communities that accepted injustice because custom had clothed it with familiarity. A similar moral concern runs through the works of Flora Nwapa, whose fiction repeatedly explored the precarious position of women confronted by expectations that privileged collective tradition above individual dignity. Nwapa understood that property disputes surrounding death rarely concerned land, buildings or vehicles alone. Behind every attempt to dispossess a widow lies a struggle over power, identity and belonging, because the widow represents continuity with the deceased while those surrounding her sometimes perceive continuity as an obstacle to inheritance. Such narratives continue to resonate because contemporary Nigeria still produces circumstances remarkably similar to those both writers chronicled decades ago.

Modern legislation has undoubtedly strengthened the legal protection available to widows, while judicial decisions have steadily rejected discriminatory customary practices that deny women equal treatment because they married into particular families. Constitutional guarantees have increasingly shaped judicial reasoning, and courts have demonstrated a greater willingness to invalidate customs incompatible with those guarantees. Legal doctrine, however, often arrives after irreparable emotional injury has already been inflicted. A widow who spends the first days of bereavement defending the roof above her head has already endured indignities that no favourable judgment delivered years later can fully erase.

The allegations surrounding Tosin’s experience therefore deserve attention beyond the immediate criminal investigation because they shed light on the continuing collision between legal rights and social attitudes. Possession of property remains widely misunderstood as belonging to the husband’s extended family regardless of documented ownership, while a widow is sometimes regarded as a temporary occupant whose continued presence depends upon the goodwill of relatives rather than the protection of law. Many families continue to confuse inherited practice with legal entitlement, forgetting that custom ceases to command respect once cruelty becomes its defining characteristic. Every act of dispossession reaches beyond the widow, touching the lives of the children left in her care. Children often become the silent victims of these conflicts. Such conduct rarely ends with the widow herself, for the consequences invariably extend to those whose welfare has become inseparable from hers. Children often become the silent victims of these conflicts. Every attempt to remove household property, seize vehicles or force a widow from her residence diminishes not only the mother’s security but also the future of those who depended upon the deceased for stability and protection. A child’s inheritance extends beyond legal title to include continuity, familiarity and the assurance that grief will not immediately be followed by homelessness or intimidation. Society fails its youngest members whenever adults transform bereavement into a contest over possessions before the funeral rites have even concluded.

Social media deserves cautious recognition here for the role played in this particular case because public visibility appears to have accelerated institutional response. Previous generations of widows suffered in silence, their experiences confined within compounds where intimidation remained unchallenged. Contemporary technology has altered that balance by allowing evidence to reach audiences capable of demanding accountability, although dependence upon viral attention cannot become the safeguard for vulnerable citizens. Justice should never require a camera before compassion acquires official urgency.

Families bear a moral responsibility extending far beyond legal compliance. Death inevitably tests relationships, revealing whether affection was genuine or merely conditional upon the continued presence of the family member who once held everyone together. Relatives who surround a widow with care honour the memory of the deceased more faithfully than those who rush to draw up inventory of his possessions before comforting his children. Human decency requires restraint during mourning because grief cannot coexist comfortably with intimidation, suspicion or greed. Every family invariably reveals its moral character through the treatment accorded to women who were once married to their sons and who, upon the death of their husbands, are suddenly stripped of the security that accompanied married life.

Tosin’s story should therefore provoke more than temporary outrage. Public indignation will eventually subside, social media will move towards another controversy and news cycles will inevitably shift elsewhere, as countless widows across Nigeria navigate similar pressures away from public attention. Their circumstances call for sustained legal enforcement and an unwavering commitment to the simple principle that the death of a husband cannot extinguish the dignity of the woman who shared his life. Such a commitment honours not only the aspirations of Nigeria’s legal order but also the enduring voices of Emecheta and Nwapa, whose works continue to remind us that a society unwilling to protect its widows has misunderstood humanity. Tosin’s story does not end with Tosin. Her experience belongs to a larger Nigerian story: one that exposes what families choose to become when grief arrives. This is why Tosin’s story is also the story of the rest of us.