Before Ozekhome, There Was Salami: A Lone Voice That Warned Us All
Before today’s headlines, before the bold and fiery words of Professor Mike Ozekhome, SAN, there was Justice Isa Ayo Salami, retired president of the appeal court.
In December 2015, standing before the Nigerian National Merit Award audience, Salami delivered a speech that would later echo as prophecy. He warned that the judiciary had been hijacked by dishonourable individuals, by external influence, and by internal rot. He declared that the system was infected—not just corrupted by money, but morally undone by silence. And his words came from experience: as the suspended President of the Court of Appeal (2009–2011), Salami paid the price for saying no to executive interference. He dared to call out the capture of the National Judicial Council (NJC), naming how it had become a tool for political revenge.
Justice Salami told us plainly: when those who refuse bribes are punished, and those who serve power are rewarded, the judiciary dies from within.
Then in 2016, another voice emerged
Justice Samson Uwaifo, a retired Supreme Court judge. Speaking from his country home in Benin City, Uwaifo declared boldly that corrupt judges must not only be removed—they must be prosecuted and jailed. In his unforgettable words: “A corrupt judge is more harmful to the society than a man who runs amok with a dagger in a crowded street.” He warned that if a judge is corrupt, he is not a judge but a thief, and should be treated as such under the law. He slammed the NJC for merely retiring judges caught with bribes, calling for their outright dismissal and criminal trials. His moral clarity was sharp: focus on the substance of the corruption, not procedural distractions. The people, he said, deserve a judiciary they can trust.
Fast forward.
Justice Ejembi Eko, upon retiring from the Supreme Court, released a cry from within the temple of law: that corruption in the judiciary was not just real but rampant. That intermediaries and lobbyists had found their way into the inner sanctum of legal deliberation. That judicial appointments and verdicts were increasingly shaped not by the Constitution, but by political convenience and personal allegiance.
And then came Justice Dattijo Muhammad, who didn’t just whisper his disappointment—he delivered it as a farewell. In his valedictory speech, he expressed sadness that a once-sacred institution had become polluted by nepotism and institutional compromise. He lamented a judiciary where objectivity was traded for obedience, and where the Chief Justice wielded unregulated power over who rises and who is sidelined.
Four men. Four judges. Four warnings.
Still, silence remained the norm. Until now.
Ozekhome Breaks the Ritual of Silence
Before today’s headlines, before the bold and fiery words of Professor Mike Ozekhome, SAN, there was Justice Isa Ayo Salami. In December 2015, standing before the Nigerian National Merit Award audience, Salami delivered a speech that would later echo as prophecy. He warned that the judiciary had been hijacked by dishonourable individuals, by external influence, and by internal rot. He declared that the system was infected—not just corrupted by money, but morally undone by silence. And his words came from experience: as the suspended President of the Court of Appeal (2009–2011), Salami paid the price for saying no to executive interference. He dared to call out the capture of the National Judicial Council (NJC), naming how it had become a tool for political revenge. Justice Salami told us plainly: when those who refuse bribes are punished, and those who serve power are rewarded, the judiciary dies from within.
Then came the voice of Professor Mike Ozekhome—Senior Advocate of Nigeria, constitutional scholar, and legal warrior. He spoke not from retirement but from active battle. And what he said has shaken the chambers of justice.
He called the March 7, 2025 Supreme Court ruling—which upheld the death sentence of Adamawa farmer Sunday Jackson—a disgrace to justice. He pointed out that Jackson acted in self-defense, a fact supported by Section 222(4) of the Penal Code. He decried the Supreme Court’s rigid interpretation, accusing it of failing to see humanity behind the law.
But Ozekhome did not stop there.
He said what many have feared to say: that this was not an isolated failure. That the Sunday Jackson case was just one more brick in a crumbling wall of public trust. He listed what he called a series of “dirty rulings”—a judicial pattern that can no longer be dismissed as coincidence or legal miscalculation.
A Deepening List of Judicial Confusion and ContradictionMike Ozekhome’s defense of Sunday Jackson did not stop at one case. It expanded into a broader lament for a judiciary that is losing its grip on fairness. He named the names and listed the judgments that now form a collective indictment of the Nigerian legal system. These include:
The 2020 Imo Governorship Case – where the court declared as winner a candidate who came fourth. A decision so mathematically and morally baffling that it permanently damaged the Court’s legitimacy.
The 2018 Osun Governorship Case – which dismissed glaring irregularities.
The 2019 Kogi Governorship Case – marred by violence and still upheld.
The MACHINA APC Primaries Case – where a candidate imposed through internal manipulation was legally endorsed despite public outcry.
PILLARS v DESBORDES – a property case that exposed troubling signs of judicial interference and a willingness to sidestep clarity in favor of technical obscurity.
The Rivers State Political Crisis Judgments – where legal instruments were used to undermine democratic processes, emboldening unconstitutional takeovers and institutional breakdown.
The PDP National Secretary Tussle – marked by deep interference.
The Rivers State Legislature and Fubara Conflict – where judicial silence or enabling rulings allowed political disorder to override constitutional order.
Akpabio’s Reinstatement as Senator – where a man who abandoned his senatorial race for a presidential one was later declared Senate President—against clear INEC records and earlier appellate judgments.
These are not scattered incidents. They are a pattern. And in the mind of the public, they are accumulating. Nigerians may not remember every legal technicality, but they remember outcomes. They remember when justice felt like it was bought, not earned. And they are slowly learning that in today’s Nigeria, the courtroom is no longer a sanctuary—it is a battleground where the poor rarely win.
Ozekhome warned: “These judgments are unconsciously making Nigerians lose confidence in the Judiciary.”
Let this be said clearly, Professor Ozekhome:
They may come for you directly or indirectly.
Not with open fury, but with silent sabotage. They will frustrate your court cases. They will tamper with your legacy. They will whisper your name in dark corners of legal clubs and political briefings. You have touched the third rail: you did not just criticize a ruling—you exposed a pattern. You did not just speak law—you invoked conscience.
But, Ozekhome, God and the people are with you. Truth, even when buried, grows roots. You have given voice to what many see but dare not name. You have crossed into dangerous but sacred territory—where a lawyer becomes the voice of national justice.
Yes, they will try to destroy you.
Yes, they will say you seek attention.
Yes, they will paint you as political.
But you are none of these things.
You are what this moment requires: unbending.
To the Justices: No One Wishes You Death—But Let Conscience Rise Against YouLet this be known:
We do not wish death upon you—not the justices of the Supreme Court, not those in Federal High Court, not those in Appeal Court.
But we wish you conscience.
Because you go to church. You kneel in prayer. You quote scripture. You go to mosque. You recite the Qur’an. You raise your hands in devotion. And then, you walk into courtrooms and bury justice to please men in power.
You write rulings that kill hope. You endorse verdicts that protect the violent and destroy the voiceless. You ignore legal timelines. You twist legal doctrines. And you smile while doing it.
Let the stress of your betrayals visit your bodies. Let your blood pressure reflect your dishonor. Let your prayers echo back in silence.
Because the few among you who still believe in justice are mocked. Transferred. Silenced.
And yet, we do not curse you.
We only ask: may your own conscience rise against you.
Let Sunday Jackson’s name ring in your ears. Let your robes grow heavy with guilt.
Let the people see you not just as judges, but as men who forgot what it meant to be just.
Justice is not a career. It is a covenant. And you—many of you—have broken it.
Salami stood. Uwaifo stood. Eko stood. Dattijo stood.
And now, the people are standing too.
From Ariwoola to Kekere-Ekun: A Judiciary in Transition—But Still a Closed Club
Justice Olukayode Ariwoola’s tenure as Chief Justice of Nigeria (2022 to 2024) will not be remembered for reform. Rather, it will be marked as a period of silence, submission, and systemic stagnation. Under his leadership, controversial judgments piled up—from questionable electoral rulings to the reinstatement of politically connected figures like Godswill Akpabio. Civil society organizations openly labeled his term as one of the worst in judicial history. Credibility faded, and public trust in the Supreme Court sank further into doubt.
Ariwoola presided over a Supreme Court that increasingly appeared to shield the powerful rather than defend the Constitution. The perception became widespread: in Nigeria, justice was no longer blind—it was watching closely, and choosing sides.
Then came Justice Kudirat Kekere-Ekun. As a justice, she led the panel that controversially reinstated Akpabio as APC’s senatorial candidate despite INEC objections and Court of Appeal rulings. Today, she serves as the new Chief Justice of Nigeria.
This fact alone carries deep symbolism: Akpabio, the beneficiary of that ruling, now sits as Senate President and presided over her confirmation as CJN. Whether intended or not, the optics tell a troubling story of institutional closure—a loop where judicial elevation and political reward seem quietly interlinked.
Yet, unlike her predecessor, Kekere-Ekun now holds a moment of opportunity. The system may be bruised, but she stands at the threshold of repair. While her past decision in the Akpabio matter has drawn scrutiny, her current position demands a new chapter—one that reclaims dignity for the judiciary.
So we say this gently, but firmly: Nigeria cannot afford another season of quiet compliance.
Justice Kekere-Ekun must choose whether to be a custodian of the status quo or a reformer of legacy. Her name is now attached to history. What she does with it—will determine whether the people continue walking away, or begin to listen once more.
Let the record reflect: the robes are still black. The gavels still fall. But until courage returns to the bench, justice will remain a ritual—not a reality.
And in that silence, democracy suffers.
And history never forgets.
Let it also be said: Justice Kudirat Kekere-Ekun is not innocent of the institutional rot. She has seen it. She has walked among it. She knows what men like Salami, Uwaifo, Eko, Dattijo, and now Ozekhome have cried out against. She knows the forces, the pressures, and the expectations.
But now she sits at the helm.
Let her not deny the truth. Let her not retreat into ritual. Let her rise and say, even if only in deed and not in word:
“I will do what you great men of principle hoped for—even if it means going against the powerful. Even if it costs me their favor. Even if it means shaking the very bench I now lead.”
That is the only way forward.
Because silence is no longer neutral—it is betrayal. And delay is no longer strategic—it is collaboration.
Let her speak. Let her act. Let her rise beyond the shadows of Akpabio’s gavel.
Then—maybe then—justice will begin to return.
