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INTRODUCTION
The inaugural installment of this treatise dealt with the scope of insecurity in Nigeria and examined its dimensions. It was followed by a discussion of the constitutional framework of the right to life, graphically depicting it as “each corpse buried without justice” being a clause in the Constitution burned in effigy.
This week’s episode will continue with the same theme, followed by an in-depth analysis of how inequality breeds violence as well as how systemic lapses in law enforcement are the hidden drivers of insecurity and the erosion of rights. Thereafter, we shall discuss the contrast between constitutional mandate and institutional reality of law enforcement; its politicization and weaponization; the incidence of corruption as operational culture in law enforcement and its inherent operational weakness and challenges in its structural management. Enjoy.
Each corpse buried without justice is a clause of the Constitution burned in effigy (Continues)
Even the criminal justice system, meant to operationalize the Constitution, has virtually collapsed into spectacle. The police extort with impunity. The courts delay justice until justice becomes irrelevant. Prisons overflow with awaiting trial inmates while politicians accused of looting billions of our common patrimony stroll freely through airport lounges, attending graduation events where they are conferred with purchased honorary doctorate degrees. A man who steals bread is lynched. A senator who steals a nation is given a chieftaincy title. Is this the rule of law, or the rule of rot?
Let us not forget Chapter II of the Constitution, the so-called Directive Principles of State Policy. These are the clauses that outline a vision for a just and egalitarian society free education, affordable healthcare, equal opportunity, protection of the vulnerable, decent wages, access to housing, food security, and the equitable distribution of national wealth. But here lies the deception: these provisions are rendered non-justiciable under Section 6(6)(c). In plain terms, they are promises the people cannot enforce. The Constitution dreams on their behalf, but denies them the legal means to wake that dream into action.
When a State says to its citizens, “we guarantee you food, education, and health,” and then adds a footnote saying, “but you may not ask us for it,” what emerges is not democracy it is deception. And deception is the mother of despair. Despair, when left to fester, breeds defiance. And defiance, when met without justice, becomes insurrection. That is the cycle Nigeria is now trapped in a spiral of constitutional promises turned into societal wounds.
The Constitution becomes a parody in the mouths of politicians who have never read it and judges who are too timid to enforce it. For the powerful, it is a shield; for the poor, a sword turned inward. The elite recite its sections during legal battles over electoral fraud. But where are these recitations when 652 children die of hunger in Katsina? Where are the legal arguments when a woman in Makurdi loses all her children to a communal massacre? When the man in Sokoto can no longer afford petrol, food, or peace of mind, what legal relief can he seek?
It is also worth noting the performative constitutionalism that plagues Nigeria’s legislative process. Lawmakers gather to amend the Constitution every four years like surgeons with blunt scalpels. They debate the minutiae of electoral timelines, federal character quotas, and party primaries. But no one rises to demand justiciability for Chapter II. No one proposes constitutional protections for internally displaced persons. No one fights to enshrine the right to a living wage. They adjust the frame while the house is on fire.
In the final analysis, a Constitution that cannot be felt in the body of the poor, in the belly of the child, in the safety of the mother, and in the labour of the working man, is a document not of power but of pretense. A parchment without protection. A creed without consequence.
Yet, it is not too late. What is written may still be made flesh. But first, we must acknowledge the gap. We must look the failure in the face and name it for what it is: a breach of trust, a betrayal of covenant, a blood-soaked irony. For the Constitution, like the prophets of old, still cries out: “Will you honour me with your lips and deny me with your deeds?” The answer, for now is a crass denial of deeds.
How inequality breeds violence
Poverty is not just a condition; it is an accelerant of conflict. There is a direct and growing body of empirical evidence linking economic inequality with national insecurity. A 2024 study revealed that in Benue State, each 1% rise in insecurity led to a 0.211% drop in crop production and a 0.311% drop in livestock output. This data translates into a disturbing truth: insecurity is not only the consequence of poverty it is its co-creator. In rural communities, farmers flee their land not because of market pressures, but because of fear of bandits, herdsmen, and armed militias who now prowl agricultural heartlands, maiming, killing, raping and burning.
In the same year, Reuters reported that over 31 million Nigerians nearly 15% of the population were pushed into acute food insecurity, largely due to a combination of rising prices, mass displacement, and insecurity in farming regions. Nigeria, once a net food exporter, is now reliant on imports for survival. This is not just an economic regression; it is a national humiliation, a betrayal of the very right to life itself.
Without access to these basic social services, rights such as freedom of expression, political participation, and even the right to vote become illusory. The weaponization of poverty in Nigeria is not simply an unfortunate byproduct of mismanagement. It is a system. A structure. A design. It is the very architecture of modern power. In this architecture, deprivation is used to secure obedience, silence dissent, and eliminate competition. The economically excluded are not merely poor they are disempowered, voiceless, and disposable. That is the Stalin philosophy: impoverish and demean the people and their obedience is guaranteed in the form of Stockholm Syndrome.
This is a direct affront to the Constitution, which promises in its Preamble to promote “the welfare of the people.” It is a betrayal of the African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights, ratified by Nigeria, which enshrines the right of all peoples to the satisfaction of economic, social and cultural rights essential to development (Article 22). It is a violation of the United Nations’ Sustainable Development Goals, especially Goal 1 (No Poverty) and Goal 10 (Reduced Inequality).
Systemic lapses in law enforcement: The hidden engine of insecurity and rights erosion
The crisis of insecurity in Nigeria cannot be understood without confronting the institutional collapse of its law enforcement architecture. While terrorism, banditry and economic collapse dominate headlines, these phenomena are but symptoms; the underlying illness is a chronic and systemic failure of the bodies meant to enforce the law. This failure is not simply operational, a matter of inadequate equipment or insufficient manpower, it is structural, political, and cultural. It shapes the relationship between the citizen and the State, corrodes the rule of law, and serves as the silent engine powering the erosion of civil liberties and the normalization of impunity.
Constitutional mandate vs. institutional reality
Under Section 214 of the 1999 Constitution, the Nigeria Police Force (NPF) is established “for the maintenance of law and order, and for the protection of lives and property.” Supplementary security agencies such as the Department of State Services (DSS), Nigeria Security and Civil Defence Corps (NSCDC), and specialized military units exist to support this mandate. In theory, these agencies stand as the custodians of safety and justice, sworn to uphold both constitutional rights and statutory law.
In practice however, these institutions are often the very conduit pipes through which laws are brazenly violated. The gulf between the constitutional ideal and the operational reality is vast. A system intended to serve the people now often serves power, wealth and political expediency against the very people. The principle of equality before the law has been replaced by a hierarchy of enforcement, where the reach and rigour of the law depend on the identity of the suspect.
Politicization and weaponization of law enforcement
One of the most corrosive dynamics in Nigerian policing is its politicization. Rather than functioning as neutral enforcers of the law, security agencies are frequently deployed as instruments of partisan advantage. Opposition protests are met with rapid deployment of armed police, teargas and mass arrests. In contrast, political rallies for ruling party figures proceed with minimal security interference, but with reinforced security protection even when they breach public safety and order regulations.
This political double standard is not a matter of perception alone; it is reality evidenced by documented patterns. During the 2019 and 2023 general elections, numerous observers including the Transition Monitoring Group and international missions reported instances where law enforcement personnel either failed to intervene during ballot snatching episodes, or were directly complicit. Police units habitually provide cover for armed gangs removing election materials. In many of such cases, no officers have been disciplined, further embedding the perception that law enforcement loyalty is to political patrons, not the law or the country.
The politicization extends beyond elections. Journalists investigating corruption or security failings have been arrested and detained under dubious charges, often invoking broadly worded laws such as the Cybercrimes Act or Terrorism Prevention Act. Meanwhile, known political figures implicated in large-scale embezzlement routinely enjoy “soft landing” agreements or indefinite delays in prosecution.
Corruption as operational culture
Corruption within Nigerian law enforcement is neither sporadic nor isolated; it is systemic. The 2019 Global corruption Barometer for Africa found that Nigerians rate the police the most corrupt institution in the country. Half of those surveyed reported paying a bribe to the police in the previous 12 months.
This corruption operates at multiple levels. At street level, officers extort motorists at checkpoints, detain individuals without charge to compel “bail” payments, and demand fees before registering complaints. At higher levels, investigators may bury case files in exchange for cash; prosecutors may dilute charges; and senior officers may shield their subordinates from accountability if they share in illicit proceeds.
Even operational deployments are shaped by rent-seeking. Officers are routinely assigned to guard private residences, businesses and political figures for unofficial payments, leaving ordinary citizens with limited police presence in their communities. This practice distorts the deployment of resources, creating a policing landscape where protection is essentially commodified.
Operational weaknesses and structural mismanagement
Nigeria’s police-to-population ratio remains alarmingly low. With about 371,800 officers serving a population of over 236 million people, the country is well below the United Nations’ recommended benchmark of 222 officers per 100,000 people. This manpower gap severely hampers the Force’s capacity to tackle crime, especially in volatile areas plagued by insurgency and communal violence. To make matters worse, many of the limited officers available are deployed to safeguard high-profile politicians and elites rather than serving the broader public. In rural communities, especially in conflict-affected northern states, residents report waiting hours, sometimes days, for police to respond to distress calls, if they ever respond at all. (To be continued).
Thought for the week
“Money and corruption are ruining the land, crooked politicians betray the working man, pocketing the profits and treating us like sheep, and we’re tired of hearing promises that we know they’ll never keep”.
(Ray Davies)
