Citizens’ expectations, constitutional fidelity, and the Bar’s duty to discipline, democracy, and sustainable governance in Nigeria

In the aftermath of the 2025 Nigerian Bar Association Annual General Conference (AGC) in Enugu, public attention drifted curiously toward the optics of the occasion. The seating positions and ceremonial roles of a few well-known “new wigs”, Deji Adeyanju, Dino Melaye, and Osita Chidoka, dominated chatter across social and traditional media. Their sudden prominence, though amusing to some, became a red herring that overshadowed the gravity of Oby Ezekwesili’s charge to the legal profession. By focusing on spectacle rather than substance, the discourse risked reducing a defining professional gathering into theatre, when in fact the questions raised cut to the very survival of democracy, governance integrity, and constitutional fidelity in Nigeria.

When Oby Ezekwesili addressed the Nigerian Bar Association’s Annual General Conference (NBA-AGC) in Enugu in August 2025, her words cut deep. She warned that the Nigerian legal profession risks trading its integrity to the highest bidder, leaving future generations defenseless against political manipulation. Lawyers, she insisted, cannot afford to let “lousy politicians” overrun a profession meant to safeguard the Constitution, democracy, and citizens’ welfare.

This was no ceremonial flourish, even though it was delivered in a convivial atmosphere, punctuated by laughter, applause, and, for some, a standing ovation, from a hall filled with learned colleagues. It was a demand for Nigerian lawyers to take stock of their role in a country where democracy has become fragile, governance often neglects the citizen, and sustainable development remains elusive.

Ezekwesili’s charge went straight to the heart of the profession: discipline and integrity. The Nigerian Bar Association (NBA) is governed by its Constitution and the Rules of Professional Conduct, both of which impose duties of honesty, candor, and fidelity to the law. Yet, the reality is that sections of the Bar have become entangled in political patronage.

She reminded lawyers that the profession’s dignity is at stake. A profession “that rewards pre-examined behaviour,” as she put it, should not compromise itself for temporary gain. Her words echo the long tradition of lawyers as moral anchors in society. Nigeria has seen this before; the late Gani Fawehinmi, a senior advocate of Nigeria (SAN), used the courts relentlessly against military regimes, and many who stood side by side with him, continue to push the boundaries, showing how discipline and courage at the Bar can tilt the scales of justice.

Ezekwesili stressed that fidelity to the Constitution must be non-negotiable. Nigeria’s 1999 Constitution, in Section 14(2) (b), declares that “the security and welfare of the people shall be the primary purpose of government.” Yet, most Nigerians see the opposite: insecurity, poverty, and poor governance. For her, the Bar and the Bench must be the “guardrails” against constitutional abuse.

She was right to make this demand in Enugu. The judiciary is empowered under Section 6 of the Constitution to adjudicate all matters between persons, authorities, and government. But judicial independence has often been compromised by political interference. Ezekwesili urged lawyers to resist this capture, reminding them that without bold judges and principled lawyers, democracy collapses into mere electoral ritual.

Global practice shows what this means. South Africa’s Constitutional Court in Grootboom (2000) held its government accountable for housing rights, proving that courts can enforce socio-economic rights. India’s Supreme Court pioneered public interest litigation to expand access to justice. Nigeria’s judiciary, too, must rise beyond caution to constitutional courage.

At the Enugu AGC, Ezekwesili connected law to lived reality. Democracy, she argued, is only as credible as the experience of citizens. With over 133 million Nigerians in multidimensional poverty, Nigerians cannot be told that constitutional guarantees exist on paper while their lives sink deeper into despair.

Her critique of recent policy missteps, especially the 2023 fuel subsidy removal, was pointed. While subsidy removal may have been a sound economic reform, it was implemented without safety nets for the poor. This, she insisted, betrayed the constitutional mandate of Section 16, which requires the state to manage the economy in a manner that secures the welfare of all citizens.

Lawyers, she charged, must bridge this gap between law and life. That means expanding pro bono services, defending socio-economic rights, and using the courts to compel accountability. In countries like Kenya, Article 43 of the 2010 Constitution makes such rights directly justiciable. Nigerian lawyers must find innovative ways, even within current constraints, to ensure that citizens experience democracy not as slogans, but as dignity.

Ezekwesili’s address was equally a governance critique. For her, lawyers are not neutral bystanders in Nigeria’s development journey. Weak legal institutions fuel corruption, discourage investment, and perpetuate inequality. The Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) and the Independent Corrupt Practices and Other Related Offences Commission (ICPC) were created by law to combat corruption, but their effectiveness depends on the courage of lawyers and judges handling such cases.

She reminded the profession that strong institutions are the bedrock of sustainable development. The United Nations’ Sustainable Development Goal 16 makes this explicit: “peace, justice, and strong institutions” are necessary for all other goals to succeed. Singapore’s transformation into a global economic hub illustrates how a culture of legal accountability and strict anti-corruption enforcement can underpin national progress. Nigeria can learn from this.

Perhaps Ezekwesili’s most enduring message in Enugu was that lawyers must never forget who they serve: the citizens. She has long advanced the concept of the “Office of the Citizen” as the highest office in a democracy. At the NBA-AGC, she reinforced this by reminding lawyers that their duty is not merely to clients or courts, but to the Republic itself.

This requires courage. It means taking on unpopular cases in defense of rights, exposing electoral malpractice, challenging unlawful executive actions, and amplifying the voices of those whose access to justice is most limited. It is the same spirit that animated the American civil rights lawyers of the 1950s and 1960s, whose victories in courtrooms like Brown v. Board of Education dismantled structural injustices.

For Nigeria, reclaiming the Office of the Citizen is about transforming law from an elite concept into a lived experience of rights and accountability.

Much of the post-conference chatter, unfortunately, was consumed by the optics of the session, the seating arrangements and visible presence of a few celebrity “new wigs” such as Deji, Dino, and Osita. Their robes and roles became a red herring, distracting attention from the weightier substance of Ezekwesili’s charge. The danger of this fixation is that it reduces the AGC to theatre rather than a serious professional reckoning. What ought to have occupied headlines and reflections was not where anyone sat or how they looked, but the urgent question she raised: will the Nigerian Bar remain an ethical compass for democracy, or will it drift further into the orbit of political entertainment?

Oby Ezekwesili’s Enugu charge was both a rebuke and a call to arms. She challenged Nigerian lawyers to rediscover their vocation as custodians of democracy, guardians of the Constitution, and defenders of the citizen. The future of Nigeria’s democracy depends not only on political reform but also on whether its lawyers and judges can summon the integrity, discipline, and courage to resist capture and enforce accountability.

History has placed the Bar at many turning points in this nation’s journey. The question Ezekwesili’s left hanging in Enugu is simple but profound: will Nigerian lawyers betray tomorrow for today’s gain, or will they stand as custodians of a Republic that works for its citizens?

The answer will shape not only the future of the legal profession but the destiny of Nigeria itself. As a lawyer, I find Ezekwesili’s charge impossible to ignore. She held up a mirror to the Bar and the Bench, and what we saw was at once uncomfortable and necessary. The NBA and the Judiciary must treat this not as another annual ritual, but as a moment for genuine strategic reflection.

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