
In Imo state, something deeply unsettling has taken root. The judiciary, once the final refuge for order and fairness, now finds itself mired by interference. A disturbing pattern has emerged—one that does not merely undermine the seniority tradition in the judiciary but also discountenances constitutional order. And what’s most frightening is not that these breaches happen, but that they continue unchecked, as though the constitution provisions are mere inconvenience and not the supreme law.
The Nigerian Constitution does not stammer on this issue. When the office of chief judge of a state becomes vacant, the constitution is very clear about what should happen next. Section 271(4) of the Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria, 1999 (as amended), provides that when the office of chief judge is vacant, the governor shall appoint the most senior judge of the high court to perform the functions of that office in acting capacity.
It is a simple, clear rule—one meant to avoid confusion and ensure the impartial and independent continuity of the judiciary. The provisions of the constitution are not a matter of preference. It is not a discretion. It is a command.
In 2020, section 271 guided the appointment of Justice Ijeoma Agugua as acting chief judge of Imo state. She was the most senior judge at the time. That initial step respected both law and logic. When she was eventually removed, she was not succeeded by the next most senior judge, Justice C. A. Ononeze Madu, but by Justice Theresa Chikeka, her junior.
This was no oversight. It was deliberate. And it violated both the constitution and the time-honoured protocol of seniority that anchors judicial stability. The Action People’s Party petitioned the NJC. Public outrage followed. Yet the NJC said nothing. Justice Chikeka served in that clouded position while under investigation for allegedly falsifying her age. When the NJC eventually recommended her removal, one might have hoped that constitutional order would return. But it did not.
Instead, another junior, Justice T. N. Nzeukwu, was recently appointed acting chief judge—once again over Justice Ijeoma Agugua (who was previously an acting CJ between 2020 -2021), Justice Ononeze Madu and Justice E.O Agada. The NJC issued a disclaimer. The Nigerian Bar Association in Owerri protested. But still, the appointment stood.
This is not the first time Nigeria has witnessed such an aberration. In Cross River state, a similar violation occurred when Justice Akon Ikpeme, the most senior judge, was bypassed for appointment as chief judge due to her alleged ties to another state by marriage. A junior judge was appointed instead. The NJC responded firmly. It insisted on the proper application of the constitution, resisted political pressure, and eventually secured Justice Ikpeme’s confirmation. But the damage to public confidence lingered. The same thing once happened in Kebbi, Gombe and Abia states, where the NJC intervened and doubled down on doing the right thing.
So why is Imo different? Why, despite repeated warnings and interventions, does the pattern persist? Why does the NJC hesitate to act heavily with the same resolve it showed in Cross River, Kebbi and others?
These are not academic questions, every breach chips away at the foundations of trust reposed in the judiciary.
When junior judges accept appointments they know are not theirs to take, they do more than violate tradition—they undermine the very structure that legitimises their office. And when the NJC fails to act, it sends a dangerous message: that the rules are bendable, that political convenience can trump the constitution, and that the judiciary is no longer guided by principle and law, but by influence.
Right now, silence is not golden, NJC must not just frown in silence; it must speak. It must investigate. It must discipline. Because every time it fails to act, it confirms the public’s worst fears.
We must insist on fidelity to the constitution—not because it is convenient, but because it is essential. We must demand that those who lead our courts be people who have risen by merit, not by proximity to power and influence.
Also, we must remind ourselves that every act of silence in the face of abuse enables and emboldens the abuser. The people are watching. So are the lawyers who still believe in the majesty of the law. And if the NJC will not act, then it, too, must answer for what the silence has cost us.
Justice does not defend itself, it requires guardians. And in this moment, the judiciary must prove that it is strong enough to resist those who would bend it, and humble enough to correct its own missteps. If it cannot, then the fear is no longer that justice will be delayed—but that it will be forgotten.
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Opatola Victor, the national coordinator of Lawyers for Civil Liberties, can be contacted via Victor@lacivler.org