by Mohammed Bello Doka
If a sitting governor can be suspended today without proven facts tested in open court, what stops the same power—freer, bolder, and unchecked—from being deployed against anyone in 2027?
That question now hangs over Nigeria’s democracy after the December 2025 judgment of the Supreme Court of Nigeria, delivered in the aftermath of the Rivers State emergency, which left Bola Tinubu with judicial cover—however narrow—to suspend an elected governor under emergency powers.
This is not about personalities. It is about power, precedent, and what happens when exceptional authority becomes normal.
From political crisis to constitutional turning point
The Rivers crisis that culminated in the suspension of Siminalayi Fubara was never tested on evidence in a trial. There was no full judicial inquiry, no witnesses examined, no facts established beyond executive assertions. What the Supreme Court addressed in December 2025 was process and jurisdiction, not truth. What survived was authority, not proof.
Under Section 305 of the Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria, emergency powers exist for war, insurrection, or a clear breakdown of public order. Yet a political deadlock—rooted in elite rivalry and institutional paralysis—was elevated into a constitutional emergency. The Court struck out the challenge and, in doing so, left intact a precedent that future presidents will not ignore.
Power with restraints—for now
Today, Tinubu still faces limits: re-election calculations, party management, governors’ leverage, and public legitimacy. Even with those restraints, a sitting governor was suspended. Even now, federal agencies test the edges of judicial authority.
Consider December, 2025, when a court granted bail to Abubakar Malami, SAN. Weeks later, allegations persisted that the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission delayed or resisted implementing that order—prompting denials and counter-claims about “subsisting orders.” The effect was familiar: bail on paper, detention in practice.
Or recall July 2023, when the Department of State Services re-arrested Godwin Emefiele in circumstances that triggered national outrage over compliance with court directions. No written defiance was issued; instead, procedure swallowed substance.
Then came the December 2025 tax-laws controversy: lawmakers raised alarms about discrepancies between what was passed and what was gazetted. The House released Certified True Copies. Yet the executive insisted implementation would proceed from January 1, 2026, even as questions lingered. When institutions dispute the text of the law itself and power pushes ahead regardless, who arbitrates the final word?
The 2027 question: what changes in a second term?
History is unforgiving on this point. Nigerian second terms are different. Fear recedes. Dependence shrinks. Loyalty loses value.
If re-elected in 2027, Tinubu will no longer need to assemble coalitions or placate governors to survive the ballot. Emergency powers, already stretched once, would sit in the hands of a president with nothing electoral to lose. Is that when exceptional measures become routine tools?
Is anyone safe—opposition or ruling party?
Opposition figures are the obvious targets. But power rarely stops there. Within the All Progressives Congress, signals of isolation and expendability are already debated openly: Abdullahi Ganduje, Mohammed Badaru Abubakar, Nyesom Wike, and Kashim Shettima are routinely cited in conversations about diminishing protection and political distance.
This is not new. Tinubu’s long-known style is transactional. Alliances are built to secure power, not to guarantee permanence. In Nigerian politics, silence from the centre is never neutral—it is a signal.
Institutions under pressure
The judiciary moves cautiously, often deciding on technical grounds. The legislature reacts after the fact. Law-enforcement agencies practice selective obedience—rarely saying “no,” but often saying “not now.” The result is a vacuum that executive power fills.
When courts hesitate, agencies delay, and parliament blinks, where does accountability live?
From emergency rule to normalised exceptionalism
The greatest danger is not one suspension, one delayed bail, or one disputed statute. It is normalisation. Once accepted, every political crisis becomes a security threat; every disagreement becomes an emergency; every opponent becomes a risk to order.
If a governor can be suspended without facts tested today, what prevents a broader sweep tomorrow? If bail can be stalled now, what restrains indefinite detention later? If disputed laws can be implemented first and questioned later, when does legality matter?
The question Nigeria must answer—now
Is Nigeria governed by laws—or by who controls emergencies?
Who polices the line between necessity and convenience?
And if this is the first term, restrained by re-election anxiety, what exactly awaits Nigeria in 2027?
Democracies rarely collapse with announcements. They erode through “justified” exceptions—one precedent at a time.
Mohammed Bello Doka can be reached via [email protected]
Abuja Network News
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opinion