Rt. Hon. Adebo OgundoyinWhen the Constitution Becomes a Barrier, Not a Shield
Chairman of the Conference of Speakers of State Legislatures of Nigeria, Adebo Ogundoyin, has once again echoed the voice of the people by calling for a total overhaul of Nigeria’s security architecture. Speaking at the Legislative Dialogue on Nigeria’s Security Architecture held in Abuja—under the theme “Nigeria’s Peace and Security: The Constitutional Imperatives”—Ogundoyin warned that Nigeria’s over-centralized police system has become overstretched, outdated, and ineffective in addressing the nation’s worsening insecurity. His call was not abstract. It was grounded in blood, urgency, and the undeniable failures of a top-heavy policing model.
In a country where people are kidnapped in broad daylight, villages are burned overnight, and mass graves outnumber convictions, quoting the Constitution to justify inaction is not principled—it is dangerous. Yet that is exactly what Inspector-General of Police Kayode Egbetokun did when he stood before lawmakers and invoked Section 214(1) of the 1999 Constitution: “There shall be a police force for Nigeria, and no other police force shall exist for any part of the federation.”
For Nigerians in places like Zamfara, Benue, Plateau, and countless other communities where blood is shed faster than help arrives, that constitutional clause no longer stands for protection—it stands for abandonment. It may have held relevance in the 1990s, when Nigeria’s population hovered between 88 and 103 million, and a centralized police force could, in theory, stretch itself thin across the nation. But in today’s Nigeria—home to over 220 million people, with threats multiplying and violence becoming increasingly localized—that clause is no longer a safeguard. It has become a legal blockade. A policy wall between life and death. A distant command structure trying to govern emergencies it cannot reach, understand, or respond to in time.
A constitution is meant to protect the living, not trap them inside systems that no longer work. When a law begins to shield failure instead of shield people, it ceases to be law—it becomes a weapon. Nigerians are not asking for rebellion. They are asking to live. When a constitutional provision begins to resemble a casket more than a covenant, it must be rewritten. When federal law delays protection and denies dignity, it must be changed. Now.
He Named the Rot, Yet Defends the Decay
Even the IGP himself admitted it:
“A lack of positional clarity in operational command authority… has led to judicial disputes, diluted accountability, and delayed tactical responses in life-threatening situations.”
This is not a technical memo—it is a moral confession. The man tasked with leading Nigeria’s police structure has openly declared that the structure is broken and deadly. It kills by delay. It confuses responsibility in crisis. And yet, in the same breath, he pleads for restraint and continuity. He diagnoses rot and then urges everyone to continue living inside the house.
This is not caution—it is complicity. A system that confuses command in a time of terror is not merely outdated. It is dangerous. Chairman Adebo Ogundoyin, when the man at the top of the security hierarchy admits systemic failure, you cannot afford to respond with institutional politeness. The people are not protected by descriptions of dysfunction—they are protected by those who dismantle it.
“We Are Not Ready” Is the Language of Leaders Who Fear the People
Egbetokun continued:
“Nigeria is not politically prepared for the initialisation of police powers at the state level.”
This statement is not truth—it is fear dressed as wisdom. All over the world, from the United States to India to Brazil, federations do not wait for readiness. They build it. No great system of justice was born fully formed—it was constructed under pressure. It was refined by experience.
What Egbetokun truly fears is not unpreparedness.
It is the loss of centralized control. It is the erosion of federalmonopoly. But power that fears distribution is no longer democratic. It is a system in retreat. It is an empire collapsing in slow motion.
Nigerians do not live in policy theory—they live in towns, villages, and cities where security must be immediate. A system that needs Abuja’s nod before saving lives is a system that kills through bureaucracy. “We are not ready” is no longer an explanation. It is an insult to the wounded.
The Real Abuse Is Already Here—And It Wears the Federal Uniform
Critics of state policing love to shout about hypothetical abuse by governors. But we don’t need hypotheticals—we live in the abuse already.
Who arrests journalists and peaceful protesters?
Who delays the prosecution of political criminals while rushing to silence dissent?
Who deploys force to protect the powerful but hesitates to protect the powerless?
It is not governors doing this. It is the federal system Egbetokunis defending. The federal police is already politicized, already misused, already disconnected. State policing is not a future threat—it is a present opportunity to bring security closer to the people.
Will it be perfect? No. But perfection is not the goal—proximity is. Accountability is. Responsiveness is. And those are impossible under the current system. It’s time to stop pretending that centralization is some kind of moral high ground. It is simply a fortress that shields power while villages burn.
Ogundoyin Did Not Seek Power—He Answered a Cry for Help
When Chairman Debo Ogundoyin said:
“The call for state policing is patriotic, strategic, and urgent… This is the voice of the sub-nationals,” he wasn’t speaking as a politician—he was speaking as a son of a wounded nation.
He was echoing every child whose parent died waiting for police to arrive. Every farmer who was kidnapped and left behind. Every town that buried its dead while Abuja debated theory. He did not romanticize state police—he acknowledged the risks. But more importantly, he acknowledged the pain of inaction.
That is what leadership looks like. Not defensiveness. Not delay. Not deference to men in uniform who have overstayed their professional season. Ogundoyin reminded the nation that true federalism is not theoretical. It is territorial. It lives and breathes in local capacity.
Recalibration Without Reform Is Just Sophisticated Stagnation
The IGP ended his remarks with the language of bureaucracy:
“We must recalibrate our national security framework…”
But to recalibrate without restructuring is like repainting a cracked wall while the foundation crumbles. It is delay disguised as direction. It is rhetoric in the face of reality.
Real recalibration would mean starting pilot programs in the states. It would mean drafting new legislation for oversight, launching training institutions for state officers, and defining clearly the roles of federal versus local units. Anything less is choreography—not change.
Nigerians have waited too long. Every blood-stained village is a rebuke to every speech that promised reform but delivered delay. The language of change means nothing without laws, budgets, personnel, and implementation on the ground.
The Man in Uniform Will Soon Be Gone—But the People’s Demand Will Only Grow
Chairman Ogundoyin, it is time to remember what every true leader must: uniforms are temporary, but institutions are permanent. Egbetokun, like every IGP before him, will soon be gone. In truth, he is already on his way out—occupying the role beyond normal retirement, extended by favor, not by force of law or popular mandate.
He is not the future of Nigerian policing—he is a chapter closing. He is a man in leadership, not leadership itself. He is a public servant, not the will of the people. His caution is not prophecy—it is professional anxiety.
But what will remain after him? The brokenness of the present system—or the courage to build something better?
The answer lies with you, Chairman Ogundoyin, and those like you. The states will remain. The local institutions will remain. The communities who live with the consequences of federal delay will remain. And so too will their cry for something different—something closer, faster, fairer.
A New Era in Policing: Let the NPF Become the Nigeria Capital Police (NCP)
Federal policing does not need to disappear—it needs to be restructured and reduced to essential capital and national duties. The Nigeria Police Force (NPF), in its current form, is overstretched and outdated. As the era of local and state policing emerges, even the name Nigeria Police Force must give way to a leaner, sharper agency focused solely on federal responsibilities. I propose a new designation: Nigeria Capital Police (NCP).
Just as the United States has the Capitol Police dedicated to protecting its federal institutions, Nigeria needs its own Capital Police—not “Capitol” as in buildings, but Capital as in federal duty and national jurisdiction. The NCP would be responsible for securing the Presidency, the National Assembly, the Supreme Court, the Central Bank of Nigeria, foreign embassies, and other critical national assets. Its mission would center on terrorism prevention, cybercrime, transnational threats, and strategic intelligence—not street patrol.
Meanwhile, the real-time safety of Nigerians—in markets, schools, homes, farms, and along rural roads—must be entrusted to state and community-based policing. Abuja cannot keep pretending it can police over 220 million people from the center. The future belongs to local strength, not federal illusion.
The people are not calling for rebellion. They are calling for rescue. The rise of state policing is not just a necessity—it is a democratic inevitability. And the creation of the Nigeria Capital Police (NCP) would be a bold, modern step in that direction.
This is not rebellion.
This is not defiance.
This is not political noise.
This is governance.
This is equity.
This is justice.
So let the IGP warn. Let him recite law. Let him fear what is coming.
You, Chairman Ogundoyin, must build what is necessary.
Because the man in uniform will come and go.
But the call for state policing will come—and grow.
Don’t delay.
Don’t yield.
Lead.
