When political ambition, professional recklessness and public intolerance overwhelm reason. Three reflections on the National Anthem controversy, the abuse of the judiciary and the harassment of the INEC Chairman at Chatham House, London.
Let nobody misunderstand the argument. This is not about sending Peter Obi to prison or inventing a criminal offence where none exists. The issue is much simpler, but considerably more consequential: what manner of presidential aspirant deliberately turns compliance with a national symbol into an occasion for political demonstration?
The National Anthem is not the personal property of Bola Tinubu, just as the national flag does not belong to the APC. It is a national institution representing Nigeria’s sovereignty and collective identity. Obi was perfectly entitled to criticise its restoration, question the legislative process or even promise to sponsor its reversal if elected. Those are legitimate political positions. But to decline to participate in the rendition of the legally prescribed anthem and then enthusiastically join in singing its superseded predecessor at a political gathering is an entirely different proposition. It is difficult to discern the statesmanship in such a performance.
What exactly was the message? That laws should be obeyed only when they accord with one’s preferences? That national institutions become optional when their administration is associated with a political opponent? A presidential aspirant is not an ordinary spectator at a political rally. He presents himself as a prospective custodian of the Constitution, the laws and institutions of the Republic, and must therefore be held to a higher standard of judgment and public responsibility. Section 24(a) of the Constitution reminds citizens of their duties, including respect for national symbols and legitimate institutions. One does not have to commit a crime before one’s conduct can properly be criticised as irresponsible. Not every act of poor judgment is criminal, but the absence of criminal liability does not magically transform poor judgment into statesmanship.
The rule of law cannot operate on a buffet system where one selects the laws one likes and leaves the rest for others to observe. Imagine a presidential aspirant substituting his preferred oath at a constitutional swearing-in ceremony because he disagrees with the prescribed one. Would we applaud his conviction or question his understanding of public office? Obi has repeatedly presented himself as a champion of prudence, discipline, accountability and the rule of law. These are admirable political ideals, but principles are demonstrated not merely in speeches but in moments when compliance is inconvenient and political expediency tempts one to make a spectacle of defiance.
The irony is that Obi did not need to sing the anthem with enthusiasm, conviction or patriotic tears streaming down his cheeks. He merely needed the elementary political maturity to respect a national institution while retaining his freedom to criticise the legislation governing it. Instead, the occasion became a political theatre in which the National Anthem was apparently reduced to a partisan loyalty test. That is the silliness of the whole affair.
And let nobody mistake this criticism for an endorsement of Wike’s theatrical response. His questioning of Obi’s judgment is a legitimate political argument; suggestions of execution and exaggerated criminal consequences are equally unnecessary. One does not need to erect a gallows to establish that a political aspirant has exercised poor judgment.
The presidency is not a laboratory for experimenting with selective obedience to national institutions. It is an office demanding judgment, restraint and respect for the very institutions one hopes to inherit. Obi may prefer the superseded anthem, but surely a man aspiring to govern Nigeria should understand the difference between disagreeing with a law, seeking its amendment and making a public spectacle of disregarding its requirements. That is not an unreasonable expectation. It is the elementary standard of responsibility that should accompany anyone asking Nigerians to entrust him with the leadership of their country.
When the lawyer becomes the mob: The judiciary on trial by ethnicity and social media
There was a time when the courtroom was regarded as a temple of justice, the judge as its custodian, and the lawyer as an officer of that temple. Apparently, those were the good old days. Today, a disturbing breed of professional recklessness has emerged in which some lawyers, including very senior members of the Bar, appear to believe that the dignity of the judiciary is conditional upon whether a judgment agrees with their political preferences, ethnic sympathies or partisan calculations.
The new judicial review, it seems, is no longer conducted in the Court of Appeal or the Supreme Court, but on Facebook, X and other social media platforms. The procedure is remarkably simple. If a judgment favours one’s political camp, the judge becomes a distinguished jurist, a courageous defender of democracy and perhaps even a judicial genius. But let the decision go the other way, and suddenly the judge becomes incompetent, compromised, ethnically motivated, intellectually deficient and every other unprintable description that an angry political partisan can summon. One wonders whether some of these lawyers studied jurisprudence or merely attended a school of political name-calling.
When ethnicity enters the equation, the spectacle becomes even more disgraceful. A judicial decision is no longer examined on the strength of its reasoning, the applicable law, the evidence before the court or the precedents relied upon. Instead, the judge’s ethnic origin becomes the principal exhibit in an imaginary trial conducted by social media prosecutors. The judgment is condemned before it is properly examined, the judge is convicted before being heard, and the ethnic identity of the judicial officer is presented as though it were a legitimate ground of appeal. What an extraordinary contribution to constitutional jurisprudence!
Some senior lawyers, including Chidi Odinkalu, have, in my view, become particularly conspicuous in this increasingly troubling culture of unrestrained attacks on judicial decisions and the judicial officers who deliver them, especially in politically charged controversies involving the Obidient movement and IPOB-related ethnic sentiments. The frequency and ferocity of such interventions raise serious questions about professional restraint and the responsibility that accompanies seniority at the Bar. One may disagree vehemently with a judgment. One may expose its legal deficiencies, question its reasoning and advocate its reversal. But habitual resort to personal denigration, ethnic insinuations and intemperate language is neither legal scholarship nor courageous advocacy. It is an unfortunate descent from the Bar to the mob.
Perhaps we should introduce a new rule of appellate procedure: where a judgment is adverse to a lawyer’s preferred political candidate, the lawyer shall immediately proceed to X, summon his ethnic constituency, deploy the vocabulary of abuse and invite the court of public opinion to reverse the decision. No record of proceedings required. No grounds of appeal necessary. No legal authorities. Just sufficient outrage, a generous sprinkling of tribal sentiment and a microphone!
What makes this development particularly disturbing is the participation of lawyers who ought to know better. Seniority at the Bar is not merely an accumulation of years, titles and professional privileges. It carries responsibilities. A Senior Advocate of Nigeria, or indeed any lawyer of standing, should be expected to demonstrate a higher degree of intellectual discipline, professional restraint and respect for the institutions of justice. The silk should not become a cloak for recklessness, nor should professional eminence provide immunity for conduct that diminishes the very institution from which the profession derives its authority.
Let nobody misunderstand the argument. Judges are not infallible. They are human beings, and their judgments are not sacred scriptures. A judge can misunderstand the law, misapprehend the evidence, arrive at an erroneous conclusion or even deliver a judgment deserving the severest legal criticism. That is precisely why we have appellate courts. The Constitution provides avenues for challenging judicial decisions. Lawyers are entitled, indeed professionally obliged, to expose errors of law, inconsistencies, procedural irregularities and even apparent judicial misconduct through appropriate channels.
But there is a world of difference between criticising a judgment and abusing the judge who delivered it. There is a difference between demonstrating that a court misapplied the law and suggesting that the judge’s ethnicity explains the decision. There is a difference between exercising the constitutional freedom of expression and mobilising ethnic hostility against a judicial officer simply because the outcome is politically inconvenient.
The distinction should not be difficult for anyone who has read the Legal Practitioners Act, the Rules of Professional Conduct or even the elementary principles of constitutional democracy.
Indeed, one wonders what these professional gladiators hope to achieve. Do they imagine that a judge will reverse a decision because his or her name has been dragged through the mud? Do they believe that the next judicial officer will be more courageous after watching a colleague subjected to ethnic ridicule? Or is the real objective to intimidate the judiciary into anticipating the social media consequences of every politically sensitive judgment before delivering it?
If that is the objective, then we are witnessing something far more dangerous than bad manners. We are witnessing an assault on judicial independence. A judiciary that must consult the political mood of the street before deciding a case is no longer an independent judiciary. A judge who must calculate the ethnic consequences of a judgment before applying the law is no longer dispensing justice without fear or favour. And a legal profession that encourages such intimidation has begun to undermine the very foundations upon which its own existence rests.
The irony is almost comical. These are often the same lawyers who invoke the rule of law, constitutionalism, due process and judicial independence with impressive eloquence whenever those principles serve their political interests. Yet, when a court reaches a conclusion they dislike, the rule of law suddenly becomes an inconvenience, judicial independence becomes negotiable, and professional ethics are abandoned at the altar of political expediency. Apparently, the rule of law is acceptable only when it rules in one’s favour!
It is against this disturbing background that the intervention of the President of the Nigerian Bar Association, Oyinkansola Badejo-Okusanya, SAN, FCIArb, deserves particular commendation. In a statement concerning insulting remarks directed at a judicial officer by Kalu Kalu, Esq., during the 11 November 2026 edition of Politics Today, hosted by Seun Okinbaloye, the NBA President made an important declaration: a lawyer’s duty of respect does not end at the courtroom door.
That observation deserves to be engraved in the professional conscience of every member of the Bar. Disagreement with a judicial decision, however strongly held, cannot excuse personal abuse of the judge who delivered it. Lawyers remain entitled to examine judgments, challenge their reasoning and expose errors. Judges must equally be accountable for their exercise of judicial power. But personal insults establish nothing about the legal correctness or otherwise of a judgment. They provide no legal analysis, offer no remedy to an aggrieved litigant and diminish the quality of public debate.
The NBA President also drew attention to the Rules of Professional Conduct for Legal Practitioners, 2023, which require lawyers to maintain high standards of professional conduct and treat the courts with respect, dignity and honour. She reminded members of the profession that complaints concerning judicial officers should be directed to the appropriate authorities.
More significantly, she disclosed that a formal petition, accompanied by the relevant broadcast material, had been forwarded to the Legal Practitioners Disciplinary Committee for consideration. Mr Kalu Kalu would have the opportunity to respond, and the Committee would determine whether professional misconduct had occurred and what sanction, if any, was appropriate.
That is precisely how a responsible professional institution should respond. Not by encouraging a mob, not by organising ethnic outrage, and certainly not by treating television studios and social media platforms as disciplinary tribunals, but by invoking established professional procedures.
The NBA President’s position also reinforces an important principle: the Bar must be able to demand accountability from the Bench and insist on discipline within its own ranks. Its credibility depends on its willingness to do both. The Bar cannot demand that judges observe the highest standards of judicial conduct while excusing its own members when they descend into public abuse. Professional accountability cannot be a one-way street.
I would, however, urge the NBA to ensure that this principle is applied consistently, without regard to the political affiliations, ethnic origins, professional standing or personal influence of the lawyer concerned. If Kalu Kalu’s conduct warrants disciplinary scrutiny, comparable conduct by any other lawyer, however eminent or politically influential, should attract the same attention. The rules must not have one interpretation for those who criticise the opposition and another for those who attack the government or its supporters. The Nigerian Bar Association must not allow its disciplinary machinery to become a political weapon. Its duty is to defend professional standards, not political interests.
We must be careful not to mistake this growing culture of judicial intimidation for robust democracy. Democracy does not confer a licence to abuse judges. Freedom of expression does not extinguish professional responsibility. Political disagreement does not justify ethnic incitement. And the fact that a statement is published on social media does not magically transform professional misconduct into legitimate public commentary.
There must, therefore, be consequences. Where lawyers cross the line into professional misconduct, intimidation, threats, contempt of court or other unlawful conduct, the appropriate institutions must act decisively. The Legal Practitioners Disciplinary Committee and the courts must not become spectators to the systematic erosion of professional standards. Where the facts establish misconduct, sanctions must be meaningful, proportionate and sufficiently deterrent. Where conduct amounts to contempt or a criminal offence, the law should take its proper course. Seniority must not become a protective shield against accountability.
The Nigerian Bar Association, too, must find and sustain its voice. Silence in the face of such conduct, particularly when perpetrated by influential members of the profession, risks being interpreted as complicity. Professional solidarity must never be confused with collective indulgence of professional misconduct.
And to the politicians and their enthusiastic ethnic foot soldiers, a word of caution: judges are not political campaigners, and courtrooms are not extensions of party secretariats. A judicial officer does not owe any politician a favourable judgment, nor does a court owe any ethnic constituency an outcome that satisfies its political appetite. The only legitimate obligation is to the law, the Constitution and the evidence before the court.
Nigeria is already struggling with a serious crisis of confidence in its institutions. We cannot afford to add the deliberate destruction of public confidence in the judiciary to our national inventory of institutional failures. The courts may not always get it right, but the answer to an erroneous judgment is a competent appeal, not a social media lynching. The answer to judicial misconduct is a lawful complaint, not ethnic persecution.
If those who should be the custodians of the rule of law become its most enthusiastic undertakers, what hope is left for the ordinary citizen who looks to the courts as his last refuge against the powerful?
A country cannot survive on a system in which every litigant becomes a patriot when he wins and every judge becomes an enemy of the people when he loses. The judiciary does not belong to the judge. It belongs to the constitutional order. Today, the judgment may favour your opponent. Tomorrow, it may be your liberty, your property, your political ambition or your fundamental rights that depend on the courage of a judge to decide without fear.
When that day comes, you may discover that the very institution you helped ridicule is the institution you desperately need to protect you.
A judge may be wrong in law. A judgment may be overturned. But a judiciary that is intimidated into silence is a tragedy from which no political victory can rescue Nigeria.
The Bar must choose: to defend the rule of law, or to join the mob that is dismantling it. It cannot honourably do both.
And perhaps the most tragic irony of all is that when the last vestige of judicial authority has been destroyed by the very lawyers who should defend it, there may be no impartial institution left to protect them when political power, ethnic prejudice or mob justice comes knocking at their own doors.
The politics of intimidation: You cannot rig an election that has not been conducted
There is something deeply troubling about the reported harassment and attempted intimidation of the INEC Chairman, Professor Joash Amupitan (SAN), by some Nigerian diaspora protesters in London, following his engagement at Chatham House on Nigeria’s 2027 general elections and democratic trajectory, organised in partnership with the Kimpact Development Initiative.
The reported incident, involving the surrounding and blocking of his vehicle outside the venue and around the UK Parliament area, is particularly unfortunate. It was an ambush that required the intervention of security agents and Chatham House officials. What should have been an opportunity for serious intellectual engagement on Nigeria’s democratic future was followed by an ugly spectacle of confrontation.
The question that naturally arises is this: what exactly was the basis for accusing the INEC Chairman of rigging an election that has not yet been conducted? What is the foundation of such an allegation, beyond the cacophony of political suspicions, grievances and predetermined conclusions?
Let me make an important distinction. Criticism of INEC is legitimate. Questioning the integrity of the voters’ register, demanding explanations about alleged duplicate registrations, questionable polling units or suspicious digital records, and insisting on transparency in the electoral process are all legitimate democratic demands. The INEC Chairman is not above scrutiny, and Nigerians are entitled to insist that the 2027 elections be free, fair and credible.
But there is a world of difference between demanding accountability and turning a public engagement into an occasion for intimidation and political grandstanding. Allegations of administrative irregularities are not, without evidence, proof that the Chairman has already rigged an election that is yet to take place.
I find particularly instructive the statement issued by Tunmise Ajiboye, a Nigerian citizen resident in the United Kingdom and a member of Chatham House, condemning the incident. His intervention is significant because he understands the importance of Chatham House as an international institution for policy dialogue, democratic engagement and the exchange of ideas. To turn the environment around such an institution into a theatre of intimidation is to betray the very democratic principles that the institution represents.
His observation that the INEC Chairman is an electoral referee who should be held accountable through proper democratic channels, rather than attacked before the elections have taken place, deserves serious consideration. It is also consistent with the position reportedly expressed by former Senator Shehu Sani, who condemned the incident as an unfair attack on an electoral referee before the contest itself.
One cannot help wondering whether some people have confused political aspiration with an entitlement to have the electoral system deliver their preferred outcome. Democracy does not work that way. You cannot force the system to accommodate your inordinate political wishes simply because you are unwilling or unable to build a political structure capable of securing electoral success. You cannot substitute street theatrics, insults, intimidation and public harassment for political organisation, persuasion, mobilisation and the hard work of winning the confidence of the electorate.
If you believe that INEC is compromised, present the evidence. If the voters’ register is defective, expose the defects. If there are grounds to question the Chairman’s impartiality, pursue the appropriate constitutional and legal remedies. These are the instruments of a functioning democracy. But a public officer must not be subjected to a trial by mob, much less convicted by political sentiment before the facts are established.
There is also something particularly embarrassing about exporting our domestic political hostilities to an international platform and turning an opportunity for institutional engagement into a spectacle of confrontation. Nigeria cannot afford to become a country whose political disagreements are routinely expressed through harassment and public disorder, even on foreign soil. The right to protest is constitutionally and democratically recognised, but it does not confer a licence to intimidate, obstruct or threaten another citizen.
Indeed, Ajiboye’s call for the United Kingdom authorities to investigate the incident and ensure that anyone found culpable is dealt with in accordance with the law is appropriate. The right to peaceful protest must be protected, but so must the right of every individual to personal safety and freedom of movement. Neither right should be sacrificed at the altar of political expediency.
Let me be clear: this is not an argument that Professor Amupitan should be insulated from criticism, nor is it an endorsement of INEC or a guarantee of the Commission’s impartiality. The Chairman must ultimately be judged by his conduct, his decisions and the credibility of the elections he administers. Nigerians have every right to demand that he earns their confidence.
But we must also be careful not to destroy the very institutions whose independence and credibility we claim to be defending. An electoral umpire should be held accountable, not intimidated into submission. Political opposition should be expressed through democratic engagement, not through the attempted imposition of political preferences by public harassment.
The attack on Professor Amupitan outside Chatham House is condemnable and deserves to be condemned by all right-thinking Nigerians, irrespective of political affiliation. We cannot preach democracy at home while practising political intolerance abroad.
Nigeria’s democracy will not be rescued by disorder, intimidation or the harassment of public officers. It will be strengthened by credible institutions, responsible citizenship, political organisation, peaceful participation and respect for the rule of law.
Democracy is not the art of compelling the umpire to declare you the winner. It is the discipline of building the political capacity to win, submitting to the rules of the contest and accepting that the electorate, not the loudest voice on the street, has the final say.
YOU CANNOT MANUFACTURE ELECTORAL VICTORY THROUGH INTIMIDATION. YOU MUST EARN IT THROUGH THE BALLOT.
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