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Missing Baby Scandal: Court orders Ondo Govt to pay ₦25m over infant’s disappearance from juvenile home

A High Court sitting in the capital city of Akure, Ondo has ordered the state government and the Ministry of Women Affairs and Social Development to pay N25 million in damages to a woman whose infant son disappeared while in the custody of a government-run juvenile home.

In a judgment delivered by Justice Oluyemi Akintan Osadebay, the court held the state authorities liable for the disappearance of Mrs Opeyemi Adegboyega’s three-month-old son, Omoniyi Oluwaseun, who was placed in the care of the Ondo State Juvenile Home in 2017.

The child was reportedly handed over to the Ministry of Women Affairs while his mother received treatment for depression and schizophrenia at the state Neuro-Psychiatric Hospital.

According to court records, Adegboyega was informed after her discharge from the hospital that her son had died and that his remains had been deposited in a mortuary. However, upon making inquiries at the State Specialist Hospital, she was allegedly told that no corpse matching the child’s description had been received from ministry officials.

Dissatisfied with the explanation surrounding her son’s whereabouts, the claimant, through her counsel, Mr Oju Kekemeke, instituted legal action against the state government and the ministry.

In his ruling, Justice Osadebay rejected the defendants’ account of events, describing the evidence presented before the court as lacking credibility and support.

The judge noted that the government failed to provide any convincing documentation showing that the child died, sustained any injury, or was otherwise properly accounted for while under official custody.

The court further observed that there were no medical reports, mortuary records or burial documents to substantiate the claim that the infant had died.

Justice Osadebay held that the disappearance of the child from the juvenile home resulted from the negligence of the defendants.

The court declared that the claimant suffered severe emotional distress, personal loss and psychological trauma arising from the disappearance of her son while he was under the supervision of the Ministry of Women Affairs.

Consequently, the court awarded N10 million as exemplary and aggravated damages and N15 million as general damages for the emotional and psychological suffering endured by the claimant. It also awarded N200,000 as the cost of the suit.

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Sponsorship Isn’t Parenting: Why #KickBigSodaOut misses the goal

Clive Tyldesley OBE

By Kachi Okezie, Esq.

As the 2026 FIFA World Cup builds momentum, so does a global campaign with a seductive slogan and a simple target. #KickBigSodaOut wants Coca-Cola out of football by 2030, arguing that sugary drinks have no place pitch-side at the world’s biggest celebration of physical excellence.

With 539,000 supporters, nearly 100 health organisations, and voices like Clive Tyldesley OBE now questioning the perimeter billboards he once ignored, the movement has moral force. Anna, the young activist from York who grew up loving England matches in her local clubhouse, puts the emotional case plainly: young fans are being targeted during the moments they love most, and football should fuel our futures, not undermine them. On its face, the contradiction is hard to ignore. Sport inspires. Soda doesn’t. So why let the two share a stage?

Yet the campaign’s certainty conceals a deeper question we are reluctant to ask: who actually decides what a child drinks? The answer, unfashionable as it sounds, is still the parent. English law, the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child, and centuries of common-law precedent all locate the primary responsibility for a child’s upbringing and development in the home, not in the marketing department of a global brand. The UNCRC states plainly: “Parents or, as the case may be, legal guardians, have the primary responsibility for the upbringing and development of the child” and “The parent(s) or others responsible for the child have the primary responsibility to secure… the conditions of living necessary for the child’s development”. Note that well. Sponsorship does not bypass parents. A logo cannot open a fridge. A billboard does not override a parent’s firm “no” at the checkout.

Coca-Cola, like every other legal product, is offered universally. It is not consumed universally. Between offer and consumption sits the decisive act of parenting: budgeting, buying, permitting, denying, explaining and modelling. If we pretend advertising renders that act powerless, then we infantilise adults and outsource discipline to corporations. That is a cultural trade-off we must not make.

This is where ESG enters, and complicates, the story. Environmental, Social, and Governance criteria have moved from investor footnotes to boardroom imperatives in under a decade. For FIFA, “S” means safeguarding and human rights; for Coca-Cola, it means sugar reduction targets, water stewardship, and community sport funding. ESG is the reason these campaigns have teeth. Investors now screen for reputational risk, and nothing looks riskier than a global brand accused of fueling childhood obesity. So #KickBigSodaOut is not just activism. It is market pressure wearing a health halo. Bite Back and its partners understand this. They are using ESG language because it works. Threaten the sponsor’s ESG score, and you threaten its cost of capital. That is why FIFA is listening in 2026 in a way it never did in 1990.

But ESG is a double-edged sword. It can drive accountability, yet it can also become a substitute for it. When we frame the problem as “brands versus kids,” we quietly demote parents from primary actors to passive victims of billboards. That narrative is politically useful and psychologically comforting. It locates blame in distant boardrooms rather than in kitchens, supermarket checkouts and corner shops. The data, however, are less compliant.

Government’s official statistics show UK teen consumption of sugary drinks fell 28% since 2009. This is despite uninterrupted World Cup sponsorship, by the way. From 1998 to 2017, daily sugar-sweetened beverage consumption among Welsh 11–16 year olds decreased from 57% to 18%. The Soft Drinks Industry Levy cut average sugar content of soft drinks by 46% and 47.4% on a sales-weighted basis without removing a single logo from a stadium. Meanwhile, despite having some of the world’s toughest advertising curbs, Norway still battles rising childhood obesity. More than 20% of school-aged children in Norway are overweight or living with obesity. Further, “across the WHO European Region, 1 in 4 children aged 7–9 years is living with overweight or obesity, while in Norway more than 1 in 5 children are affected”.

The line from pitch-side ad to public health is not as straight as the campaign suggests. Correlation is not the same as causation, and ESG pressure is not pedagogy. It’s more complex and nuanced. Weak or permissive parenting also has its consequences.

There is a harder truth underneath the hashtag. If FIFA drops Coca-Cola tomorrow but parents keep buying two-litre bottles for the family shop, children’s diets do not change. If we teach kids that bad choices are the fault of perimeter advertising, we train them to outsource self-control to regulators and ESG committees. That is the opposite of development. Discipline, delayed gratification, and critical thinking are not ingredients in a can, and they cannot be legislated into sponsorship contracts. They are taught at home, daily, by adults who say “water tonight” and mean it. No brand can match the authority of a parent who models limits, cooks meals, and treats ads as background noise rather than commands.

None of this lets manufacturers off the hook. Companies should market honestly, comply with relevant rules and regulations, stop targeting under-16s directly, and publish real health data. FIFA should weigh its commercial deals against the optics of promoting excess sugar to a generation already struggling with weight and diabetes. ESG demands that conversation, and it is a conversation worth having.

But “should” for corporations cannot replace “must” for parents. The primary firewall between a child and harm is not a sponsorship policy. It is a parent who decides what crosses the threshold of permission in the home.

So by all means, scrutinise Big Soda. Use ESG to force transparency. Ask Clive why it took Anna to make him notice the billboards. But do not pretend that removing a logo is the same as raising a child. Football is for the fans, and fans are raised in families, not by brands. If we want the World Cup to fuel futures, we must start where futures are actually fuelled: at the dinner table, in the shopping aisle, in the small, untelevised moments where a parent chooses long-term health over short-term ease.

This is because it’s better that we strengthen discipline in living rooms than chase it from stadiums. Because it is better that 1000 sponsors get dropped than one parent forgets the job was theirs first. That is neither nostalgia nor wishful thinking. It is the law. And it is still the most effective public health policy we have.

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WoPU defends First Lady Oluremi Tinubu’s small-scale trade advice

The Working People United (WoPU) has joined voices with public advocates, lawyers, and social commentators in defending Nigeria’s First Lady, Senator Oluremi Tinubu, following widespread criticism of her remarks encouraging Nigerians to embrace small-scale trades such as frying akara, roasting corn, and producing kuli-kuli.

Her comments which sent the internet into a frenzy have sparked debate across social media platforms. It is recalled that she made the remarks while addressing State House Correspondents after the Renewed Hope Initiative’s second-quarter meeting with wives of state governors at the State House, Abuja, on Wednesday.

Although critics argued that the remarks were insensitive given Nigeria’s current economic challenges, WoPU insists that every honest means of livelihood deserves respect and should not be dismissed.

In an official statement released on Sunday, WoPU’s National Coordinator, Comrade Williams Eniredonana Akporeha, emphasized that the informal sector remains a critical pillar of Nigeria’s economy. He noted that millions of small-scale entrepreneurs, such as petty traders and food vendors—demonstrate resilience daily by sustaining households and contributing to national growth.

He explained that the First Lady’s message was not about trivializing hardship but about encouraging Nigerians to embrace entrepreneurship and develop skills that could provide sustainable income.

Akporeha concluded by urging Nigerians to view the First Lady’s remarks not as a dismissal of economic hardship but as a call to embrace dignity in labor and enterprise.

“Rather than inviting criticism, this gesture deserves commendation. It is a powerful reminder that no work is beneath dignity, and no leader is too elevated to embrace the honor of labor. In a time when Nigeria seeks models of integrity and patriotism, Oluremi Tinubu’s example stands as a call to embrace enterprise, celebrate culture, and uphold the values that bind us together as a nation,” he said.

His meesage reads in parts:

“Nigeria’s First Lady, Senator Oluremi Tinubu, has recently drawn public attention for her symbolic association with small-scale enterprises such as roasted corn, bananas, and roasted yam. While some critics have attempted to trivialize or politicize this gesture, it reflects values of humility, entrepreneurship, and cultural pride.

“Far from scandalous, it stands as a powerful statement about leadership that remains connected to the everyday realities of Nigerians.

“One of the most common criticisms of political leaders and their families is that they often appear detached from the struggles of ordinary citizens. By embracing small-scale trade, Oluremi Tinubu challenges this perception.

“She demonstrates that dignity is not defined by the size of one’s enterprise but by the honesty and integrity of one’s work. In a society where leaders are frequently accused of extravagance, her embrace of traditional businesses is refreshing and symbolic of modesty in leadership.

“The First Lady’s gesture also highlights her appreciation for the industrious spirit of Nigerian women, who are at the forefront of an entrepreneurial revolution. Studies show that more than 83% of Nigerian women identify as entrepreneurs, a figure well above regional averages.

“Despite challenges such as limited access to capital and structural barriers, their resilience and innovation continue to transform Nigeria’s economy. By aligning herself with these enterprises, Oluremi Tinubu underscores the importance of women-led businesses and their role in national development.

“Roasted corn, bananas, and roasted yam are more than food items; they are cultural symbols deeply rooted in Nigerian identity. Enjoyed across regions and social classes, these staples embody unity, tradition, and shared heritage. By associating herself with these enterprises, the First Lady affirms the value of Nigerian culture and reminds citizens that their heritage is worthy of pride and preservation.

“Nigeria’s economy thrives on small and medium-scale enterprises, with millions of families depending on petty trading and food vending for survival. The First Lady’s involvement in such businesses sends a strong message: entrepreneurship, no matter how small, is honorable. It encourages Nigerians, especially women and youth, to embrace enterprise rather than waiting for scarce white-collar jobs.

“Globally, leaders have often engaged in modest enterprises to connect with their people. Some presidents have been farmers, teachers, or artisans before or even during their tenure. These examples show that leadership is not diminished by simplicity; rather, it is strengthened by authenticity. Oluremi Tinubu’s gesture fits into this tradition of leaders who embody humility and cultural pride.

“For us at the Working People United (WoPU), our support for Oluremi Tinubu’s choice is not rooted in politics but in the recognition of values that transcend partisanship: humility, cultural pride, and entrepreneurship. Her reference to roasted corn, bananas, and roasted yam, expressed through her chosen euphemism, is more than symbolic; it represents a deliberate act of bridging the gap between leadership and the everyday Nigerian.”

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When Terror Pays: How Nigeria’s search for peace left thousands waiting for justice

LAW & SOCIETY MAGAZINE SPECIAL INVESTIGATION

PHASE II

The Men Government Chose to Negotiate With

For years, government officials insisted that talking to bandits could succeed where bullets had failed. Critics warned that every handshake with armed groups risked sending another message entirely: that terror had become a bargaining chip. This chapter examines how Nigeria embraced negotiations, the men who benefited, and why the policy continues to divide the country.

Peace may require dialogue. But lasting peace requires justice.

The Dilemma

By 2019, violence had overwhelmed large parts of Zamfara, Katsina, Kaduna, Sokoto and Niger states. Entire communities had emptied, schools shut their doors and farming, the economic lifeblood of the region, was collapsing under relentless attacks.

Kidnapping had become a multibillion-naira criminal enterprise. Rural residents were paying levies simply to remain on their ancestral land, while thousands of families abandoned homes they had occupied for generations.

Faced with a crisis military operations appeared unable to contain, several state governments began exploring another option. Rather than relying solely on force, they opened communication channels with armed groups in the hope that dialogue could persuade them to lay down their weapons.

At the time, many Nigerians welcomed the initiative. If negotiations could stop the killings and return abducted victims’ home, they argued, the country had little to lose.

Others were less convinced.

Read Also: When Terror Pays: Inside Nigeria’s controversial experiment with “repentant” bandits

When Dialogue Became Government Policy

No state embraced negotiations more openly than Zamfara.

Beginning under former Governor Abdulaziz Yari and continuing, with modifications, under Governor Bello Matawalle, officials met repeatedly with armed groups operating across forests stretching into Katsina, Sokoto and Kaduna.

The peace meetings often culminated in carefully staged ceremonies. Bandit leaders surrendered rifles before television cameras, motorcycles were displayed as symbols of disarmament and government officials announced fresh ceasefires that were presented as evidence that peace had finally arrived.

For a short period, attacks declined in some communities but he optimism proved short-lived.

Within months, reports of fresh kidnappings, village raids and mass killings resurfaced. Analysts observed that many armed factions had never joined the peace process, while others allegedly returned to violence after benefiting from government concessions.

Residents soon became familiar with a familiar cycle. Peace was declared. Violence slowed briefly. Then the attacks resumed.

The Rise of the ‘Repentant Bandit’

Out of those negotiations emerged one of the most controversial phrases in Nigeria’s security vocabulary.

Repentant bandits.

Government officials increasingly argued that fighters willing to surrender deserved rehabilitation and reintegration rather than continued confrontation. Supporters maintained that every conflict requires an exit strategy and that military force alone rarely ends insurgencies.

For critics, however, the policy raised a more uncomfortable question.

Repentant according to whom?

Few of those publicly celebrated during surrender ceremonies were prosecuted over allegations of murder, kidnapping or the destruction of entire communities. Victims who had buried relatives or remained displaced saw little evidence that those accused of terrorising them would ever face justice.

To many survivors, the policy appeared less like accountability and more like absolution.

Auwal Daudawa: From Kankara to Controversy

No individual illustrates the controversy surrounding reintegration more vividly than Auwal Daudawa.

Security agencies and numerous media reports linked Daudawa to the December 2020 abduction of more than 300 students from Government Science Secondary School, Kankara, one of Nigeria’s most notorious school kidnappings.

Months later, Daudawa reportedly surrendered under a government-backed peace initiative. Images of him renouncing violence and handing over weapons circulated widely as officials celebrated the development as proof that dialogue was working.

The celebration proved premature.

Subsequent security reports alleged that Daudawa returned to criminal activity before he was eventually killed during clashes involving rival armed groups. Although aspects of those reports remain disputed and many allegations were never tested in court, critics argue the episode exposed the weaknesses of the reintegration strategy.

If one of the country’s most notorious kidnapping suspects could allegedly return to violence after being welcomed into a peace programme, they ask, how reliable were similar agreements with other armed groups?

Bello Turji and the Limits of Negotiation

If Daudawa became the symbol of failed reintegration, Bello Turji came to represent the limits of negotiation itself.

Despite repeated military offensives and periodic peace initiatives, Turji has continued to feature prominently in security reports linking his network to deadly attacks across Zamfara, Sokoto and neighbouring states.

His continued influence exposed one of the greatest weaknesses of Nigeria’s dialogue strategy.

Negotiating with one commander did not necessarily influence another.

The armed groups were fragmented, loosely organised and frequently competed among themselves. Even where one faction embraced dialogue, another often stepped in to continue the violence.

Security analysts say the absence of a unified command structure meant that agreements reached with individual leaders rarely translated into lasting peace across the wider region.

Sheikh Gumi’s Gamble

No civilian has become more closely associated with negotiations than Islamic cleric Sheikh Ahmad Gumi.

Beginning in 2021, Gumi repeatedly visited camps occupied by armed groups and argued that many fighters were willing to negotiate if government created safe channels for engagement.

His role sharply divided public opinion.

Supporters described him as a mediator trying to save lives where military operations had failed. Critics accused him of legitimising groups responsible for years of killings and kidnappings.

The debate resurfaced in 2026 after Gumi criticised the Federal Government’s designation of bandits as terrorists, warning that it had closed the last remaining avenue for dialogue.

Victims’ groups viewed the issue differently. They argued that negotiations should never replace accountability for communities devastated by years of terror.

Justice Delayed, Justice Denied?

Perhaps the most enduring criticism of Nigeria’s reintegration programmes is not that dialogue occurred, but that accountability often appeared absent.

While Nigeria’s Constitution guarantees every accused person the right to a fair hearing, critics argue that allegations involving mass killings, terrorism and kidnapping demanded transparent investigations and prosecution wherever evidence existed.

Instead, many survivors watched public ceremonies celebrating reconciliation while they remained displaced, grieving or struggling to rebuild shattered lives.

For them, justice appeared increasingly distant.

The Question Nigeria Cannot Escape

Years after the first peace initiatives were launched, Nigeria remains deeply divided over whether negotiating with armed groups prevented greater bloodshed or merely rewarded violence.

Supporters insist dialogue saved lives that military operations could not.

Opponents argue that every celebrated reintegration without visible accountability sends a dangerous message to future criminals: violence can become a pathway to negotiation, influence and eventual acceptance.

As fresh attacks continue across Zamfara, Katsina, Sokoto, Niger and Kaduna, the question has become impossible to ignore.

Can a nation negotiate its way to peace while leaving justice behind?

To be continued.

Lawyers crowd-fund court after years of neglect as Cross River Judiciary crumbles

With lawyers, residents and businesses footing the bill for a High Court renovation, fresh questions are emerging over why judicial infrastructure has been left to decay despite annual state budgets and constitutional guarantees for judicial funding.

The Nigerian Bar Association (NBA), Ikom Branch, has done what many argue should have been government’s responsibility—raising nearly ₦18 million through donations from lawyers, communities, businesses and private citizens to restore a High Court that had been abandoned for years in Cross River State.

The renovated High Court II, Ikom Urban, was commissioned by the Cross River State Chief Judge, Justice Akon Bassey Ikpeme, who described the transformation as a restoration of confidence in the justice system.

“The last time I came here I was a bit depressed, but today the story is different,” the Chief Judge said, while pledging improved security at the facility.

Before the intervention, the court had become virtually unusable.

Justice Emmanuel Ubua, the Presiding Judge of High Court II, said the building’s deteriorating condition had made it unfit for judicial proceedings, forcing stakeholders to seek an alternative to years of piecemeal repairs.

According to NBA Ikom Branch Chairman, Tah Edwardson Offre, the association concluded that only a comprehensive renovation—not another round of temporary fixes—could restore the court to a functional standard.

The project delivered a complete facelift, including a new roof, modern furniture, solar electricity, a public address system, replacement windows, repainting and the refurbishment of the judge’s chambers.

But beyond the commissioning ceremony, the project has exposed deeper questions about the state of judicial infrastructure in Cross River.

Lawyers at the event described the renovation as an act of self-help born out of frustration after years of what they called government inaction.

“We will help ourselves if the government is not ready to help us,” several lawyers said.

One legal practitioner, who asked not to be named, said the project was funded entirely through voluntary contributions from legal practitioners, private citizens, host communities and business owners determined to improve access to justice.

The intervention has also reignited debate over the financing of Nigeria’s judiciary.

Although state judiciaries are constitutionally entitled to financial autonomy, legal practitioners have repeatedly complained that capital releases for court infrastructure often fall short of budgetary provisions, leaving many court buildings across the country in disrepair.

The irony, observers note, is that the renovation comes as Cross River continues to approve increasingly ambitious budgets. The state approved a ₦642.16 billion supplementary budget in 2025, with officials saying additional spending would cover key sectors, including law and justice, while Governor Bassey Otu later proposed a ₦780.6 billion budget for 2026.

Yet lawyers say many courtrooms remain dilapidated years after repeated promises of reform. A 2021 investigation documented leaking roofs, abandoned court buildings and unsafe facilities across several judicial divisions in the state, while recent reports indicate the problem persists.

The Cross River Judiciary itself reported generating more than ₦137 million in internally generated revenue during the 2023/2024 legal year, even as concerns over ageing infrastructure continued to dominate discussions within the legal community.

For many lawyers, the renovation of the Ikom High Court is both a success story and an uncomfortable symbol: a justice system increasingly sustained by the very people who rely on it.

As one stakeholder put it, the project may have restored one courtroom—but it has also raised a broader question: if citizens and lawyers can mobilise ₦18 million to revive a neglected court, why has government failed to do the same?

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The President’s Police, By Lasisi Olagunju


“The Federal Police Service shall temporarily intervene in the internal security affairs of a state and shall, to the extent necessary, assume specified operational responsibility, including temporary operational command of a State Police Service or any part thereof…” (Section 214(10).

“(12) An intervention… shall be authorised in writing by the President…”

Read those provisions of the passed state police bill again. Read slowly.

For decades, Nigerians have demanded state police. Governors complained that they were constitutionally designated as Chief Security Officers of their states without possessing effective authority over the police. Security experts argued that Abuja could neither understand nor effectively police the forests of Zamfara, the creeks of Bayelsa nor the farms of Oyo from a distant command headquarters. Victims of banditry, insurgency and kidnapping concluded that a centralised police force had become too overstretched to protect a country as vast and diverse as Nigeria.

Last week, the Senate answered that demand. It passed the president’s Constitution Alteration Bill establishing state police. The proposal now proceeds to the state Houses of Assembly where approval by at least twenty-four states will determine whether it becomes part of the Constitution.

That ought to have settled a decades-old constitutional controversy.

It has not.

Buried inside the bill is perhaps its most consequential provision. While creating state police, it simultaneously empowers the President, under specified circumstances, to assume operational command of a State Police Service.

I believe that changes everything.

Casually reading the bill, the grounds of a takeover appear reasonable enough: Federal intervention may occur where there is an actual or imminent breakdown of public order; where a governor requests assistance; where a state police service has become administratively or operationally incapable of functioning; where it is being deployed for systematic human rights abuses, electoral intimidation or ethnic persecution; or where national security itself is threatened. The intervention must be temporary. It must be authorised in writing by the President. The reasons must be stated. The National Assembly, the governor, the state House of Assembly and the National Police Council must all be notified. Judicial review remains available.

Those safeguards deserve acknowledgment and I acknowledge them. They were clearly designed to prevent governors from converting state police into private armies. But constitutions are not judged only by the safeguards they contain. They are judged by the powers they create.

The following constitutional question, therefore, is unavoidable: Are we escaping the possible abuse of state police by governors only to constitutionalise an even greater possibility of abuse by the President? What stops a rampaging President from using that provision to annul all the gains of this state police achievement? How federal is that provision?

We copied our presidential system from the United States but not its federal logic. The contrast is nowhere clearer than in policing. Both countries began with decentralised policing. America had its sheriffs, constables and municipal police; Nigeria had palace guards, hunters’ guilds, age grades, the Dogarai and later Native Authority police. Both countries also experienced partisan abuse of local police. America responded by professionalising local policing while retaining its decentralised structure. Nigeria abolished regional and Native Authority police after the 1966 military coup, replacing them with a single national force. Ironically, Nigeria’s First Republic was in this respect more faithful to federalism than the federation that followed. The current push for state police is therefore less a constitutional innovation than an attempt to restore an earlier federal arrangement. The challenge is not decentralisation itself but ensuring that neither governors nor the President can abuse it.

So, as we make the new law to rebirth state police, I ask again: Are we trading the risk of abuse by governors for the greater danger of presidential abuse?

That question becomes even more intriguing when one compares the present proposal with its immediate predecessor.

In 2022, the Nigeria Governors’ Forum produced its own draft constitutional amendment on state police. I have a copy. It contained no presidential takeover power. In the 2022 proposal, Federal Police could intervene in states only in carefully defined emergencies. These were: where law and order had completely broken down; where the governor requested assistance; or where the State Police had become incapable of functioning. Even then, presidential authorisation required the approval of the National Police Council—a body on which every state governor sits.

Read the passed bill again. It empowers the president to authorise the takeover of the police of a state. The 2022 proposal contemplated federal assistance, not federal assumption of command. Instead of giving the intervention power to the president, it gave it to the National Police Council.

Nigeria never ceases to be a conundrum. Somewhere between 2022 and 2026, something changed. The same Governors’ Forum that had spent years arguing that Nigeria’s security architecture was excessively centralised revised its own 2022 proposal. In 2026, it submitted a reviewed draft to the Senate. I have a copy. In that draft, the governors introduced the very clause empowering the President, through the Federal Police Service, to assume operational command of a State Police Service. The President’s own bill apparently agreed with it, and the Senate retained it.

One is tempted to ask a simple question: Who voluntarily weakens the constitutional autonomy he has spent decades demanding? Our governors may have answers to that. One possible explanation is that more than thirty of Nigeria’s thirty-six governors now sing President Tinubu’s song: “On Your Mandate We Shall Stand.” Whether that political reality influenced this constitutional retreat is for the governors themselves to explain.

Meanwhile, I showed that provision to my professor and told him that a good President might never use such a power. He smiled and reminded me that constitutions are never drafted on the assumption that office holders will always act in good faith. They are drafted on the assumption that power attracts abuse. He then pointed me to America’s James Madison, who argued that constitutional design must proceed on the assumption that those entrusted with power are not angels. “We all are men, in our own natures frail, and capable of our flesh; few are angels” (William Shakespeare in Henry VIII).

“Constitutions,” my professor said, “are not written for good men. They are written to restrain bad ones.” The question, therefore, is not whether today’s President would misuse this authority. The question is whether tomorrow’s President could.

Nigeria’s political history offers sufficient reason for caution. Consider the turmoil in our political party system today and the immense influence (rascality) exercised by the Federal High Court in electoral and party disputes because the law concentrates jurisdiction over many such matters in that court. The lesson is obvious: once a constitution or statute mass power in a single institution or individual, everything depends on how that power is exercised. The same caution applies to policing. Federal security agencies have repeatedly been accused of selective deployment during elections and political disputes. Imagine a President and a governor belonging to rival political parties. Imagine an election approaching. Imagine the constitutional power to assume operational command of a state’s police. The issue is not whether such authority will be abused. The issue is whether the constitution should make such abuse possible.

Let us consider other issues. One question immediately arises: who provides security during elections—the Federal Police Service or the State Police Service?

I have read carefully the bill passed by the Senate. I have examined the powers assigned to both police services. If you do as I did, you should be surprised that the bill is completely silent on who bears operational responsibility for election security.

That silence is remarkable because elections involve two distinct but overlapping functions. The first is the enforcement of federal electoral laws. Since elections are conducted under the Constitution, the Electoral Act and regulations issued by the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC), one would ordinarily expect that responsibility to rest with the Federal Police Service. The second is the maintenance of public order within the states. Securing polling units, preventing violence, controlling crowds and preserving the peace are traditional policing functions which, under the proposed constitutional framework, would ordinarily fall to the State Police Service.

Yet the bill designates neither service as the lead agency. It establishes no joint command structure and provides no mechanism for resolving operational disputes where both federal and state police officers are deployed. Its only reference to elections appears in Section 214(10)(d), which permits federal intervention where a State Police Service is being used for “partisan or electoral intimidation, obstruction or violence.” That provision authorises federal takeover after abuse has occurred or is imminent; it does not answer the prior constitutional question of who secures elections in the first place.

The omission is troubling. Election day is the most politically sensitive day in the life of any democracy. It is precisely the day on which the Constitution should leave no room for ambiguity over who is in command. Instead, the bill creates two armed police services operating within the same constitutional space without clearly allocating responsibility for election security. The result is an avoidable constitutional vacuum that could invite overlapping claims of authority, conflicting operational decisions and, in the worst case, armed confrontation between agencies owing allegiance to different political authorities.

Constitutions are meant to prevent conflicts before they arise, not leave judges, politicians and police commanders to improvise solutions in the heat of an election. And no moment tests this federation more severely than election day.

Almost exactly one hundred years ago, the American political scientist Howard Lee McBain reviewed Raymond Fosdick’s studies of policing in Europe and America. He observed that while policing in Europe had become “a matter only of highly technical administration,” in America it had become “politics-ridden.” His warning remains timeless: “Politics will play with and upon the police function as long as it is possible for elected officers to apply varying policies in the matter of law enforcement.”

McBain’s point was profound and America has since fixed what he saw. The danger today in Nigeria lies not just in abused centralised or decentralised policing. It lies also in allowing political power to dominate law enforcement.

That is why the agenda (and debate) before the state Houses of Assembly must be deeper than whether Nigeria should have state police for the sake of having it. The real questions are constitutional: Who appoints police chiefs? Who dismisses them? Who disciplines them? Who investigates abuse? What happens during elections? Under what circumstances may federal intervention occur? Who decides that those circumstances exist? What independent institution stands between political power and police power?

These are not technical questions. They are the questions that determine whether the police protect liberty or threaten it.

Nigeria undoubtedly requires policing that is closer to the people, more responsive to local intelligence and quicker in confronting local threats. But the location of police headquarters is not what guarantees freedom; institutions are.

The challenge before the Houses of Assembly is therefore much greater than voting “yes” or “no” to state police. Their task is to ensure that neither governors nor the president can weaponise the police against political opponents.

Otherwise, history may conclude that Nigeria demanded state police but ended up constitutionally creating the president’s police.

The views expressed by contributors are strictly personal and not of Law & Society Magazine.

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The world has a drug problem

By Punch Editorial Board

The observance of this year’s International Day Against Drug Abuse and Illicit Trafficking, themed “The World Drug Problem: Persisting Issues, New Challenges, Innovative Responses,” is a timely reminder of a growing crisis that continues to devastate lives, families, economies, and societies across the globe.

According to the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime, the observance provides “an opportunity to reflect on the continued and evolving impact of the world drug problem in all its dimensions” and “exchange views on priority concerns and innovative, evidence-based responses.”

The statistics are alarming. Globally, roughly 316 million people, representing about six per cent of the world population aged 15 to 64, use illicit drugs.

Of this figure, an estimated 64 million people suffer from drug use disorders, otherwise known as clinical addiction. This marks a significant increase over the past decade, fuelled by population growth, expanding synthetic drug markets, and increasingly sophisticated trafficking networks.

Cannabis remains the most widely consumed illicit substance worldwide, with over 200 million users. Equally troubling is the rapid expansion of the cocaine market, with global production recently reaching a record 3,708 tonnes.

Synthetic drugs such as methamphetamine and pharmaceutical opioids have also become dominant, particularly in West and Central Africa, North America, and Southeast Asia, where they continue to wreak havoc on vulnerable populations.

Unsurprisingly, substance abuse and overdose claim hundreds of thousands of lives annually, with opioids accounting for the overwhelming majority of fatal overdoses.

Nigeria is not insulated from this global epidemic. Indeed, the country’s situation is even more troubling. As of January 2025, about 14.3 million Nigerians, or 14.4 per cent of the population aged between 15 and 64 years, are involved in drug abuse.

This figure is almost three times the global average of 5.5 per cent. The National Drug Law Enforcement Agency estimates that over 10 million Nigerians use cannabis, making it the most abused drug in the country.

The NDLEA seized drugs worth N134.2 billion in 2024. In its single largest haul, it seized methamphetamine valued at $362.92 million (N480 billion) from a syndicate in Ogun State in May.

Particularly disturbing is the growing involvement of women in substance abuse. One in every four drug users in Nigeria is a woman, underscoring the changing dynamics of the crisis and the need for gender-sensitive interventions.

Poverty, unemployment, social dislocation, and a lack of economic opportunities continue to drive many Nigerians towards substance abuse as a means of escape from the mental strain of hardship.

The challenge varies across regions. In Lagos State, 33 per cent of drug users are reportedly addicted primarily to cannabis, while opioid abuse accounts for 16 per cent of drug use cases in Kano State. The North-Central and South-West zones lead in drug-related cases, followed closely by the South-South region.

The warning recently issued by the Kwara State Governor, AbdulRahman AbdulRazaq, therefore deserves serious attention.

He rightly described drug abuse as a multi-dimensional problem affecting public health, security, social stability, and economic productivity. “Drug abuse is not merely a law enforcement issue; it is a public health concern, a developmental challenge, and a threat to the future of our youths,” AbdulRazaq noted.

His concerns are well-founded. Drug abuse undermines educational attainment, destroys families, fuels criminality, weakens productivity, and places enormous pressure on healthcare and social welfare systems.

Worse still, evolving drug trafficking networks and the increasing availability of synthetic substances are exposing more young people to addiction and its devastating consequences.

Nigeria’s strategic location further complicates the problem. The UNODC identifies the country as a major transit point in West Africa for cocaine from Latin America and heroin and methamphetamine from Asia, destined for Europe, East Asia, and North America. This position continues to attract international trafficking syndicates and heightens the risk of increased domestic consumption.

The efforts of the NDLEA in combating drug trafficking and abuse are commendable. The agency has intensified enforcement operations, seized significant quantities of illicit substances and arrested over 50,000 suspects for drug-related offences in recent years.

In a landmark, the NDLEA recently dismantled a methamphetamine lab in Ogun State run by Mexican cooks brought to Nigeria by a drug syndicate and seized about N480 billion worth of meth and precursor chemicals. Over 10 suspects were arrested in that record bust.

However, arrests and seizures alone cannot solve the problem.

While the NDLEA Act remains the cornerstone of Nigeria’s drug control framework, the country requires a more comprehensive and balanced approach that combines enforcement with public health interventions.

Federal and state governments should substantially increase funding for prevention campaigns, treatment centres, rehabilitation programmes, and community-based awareness initiatives.

Law enforcement agencies must be better equipped to dismantle trafficking networks, while schools, families, religious institutions, and civil society organisations should be mobilised to educate young people about the dangers of substance abuse.

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Katsina terrorists went to Mecca, By Lasisi Olagunju

Boldness, be my friend. Arm me, audacity, from head to foot.” Some live by that Shakespearean creed. They say aloud what society only whispers. They speak the unsayable, damn the world and make a difference.

Northern Nigeria had the late Dr Yusuf Bala Usman. I think there is another one in Dr. Bashir Kurfi. Kurfi told Trust TV last week: “Government meets with these bandits. Even the case of Muhammadu Danfulani who captured General Rabe… He was having discussions with the government up till the time he abducted Rabe. They said he was a nice person, that he would help them to stop some of the other bandits when they come. And this boy, Danfulani, is 22 years old. He is operating with Bosso in a gang, and Bosso is 24. All of them were trained by Barau… And they are all alive; everybody knows they are alive. Where are these people staying, these terrorists? They are not in the bush or in the rocks; they are living in plain sight. In fact, it is alleged in Katsina that the (state) government paid ₦10 million each to send some of the bandit leaders to Saudi Arabia for Hajj.”

Dr. Kurfi challenged the government to say he was lying. He proceeded to give names of terrorists who went on this year’s pilgrimage and declared that “many of them are still in Saudi Arabia. I don’t know if they are back… I don’t know, … You, a murderer, they take you to Mecca and call you Alhaji. And then they allowed you to fly out through Nigerian airports and come back through Nigerian airports. These are people who do not only kill civilians but also kill members of the military…”

Dr. Kurfi is the convener of the Katsina Security Community Initiative and a teacher of International Finance at Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria.

Kurfi did well with his ‘truth’. Throughout history, society has often been saved by those with the courage to voice uncomfortable truths.

A day or two after Kurfi’s interview, the Katsina State government issued a strongly worded statement denying allegations that it sponsored bandits to Mecca. It described the claim as baseless, unfounded and calculated to mislead the public while undermining the efforts of the government and security agencies to tackle insecurity in the state. It challenged its accusers to bring proofs.

Then, two days after that denial, and only days after Kurfi’s disturbing claims, the Minister of Interior, Olubunmi Tunji-Ojo, told journalists at the Presidential Villa: “I’m happy to tell you that even last week Thursday, seven known commanders of Boko Haram and ISWAP, on their way back from Mecca, were arrested in Katsina at the airport and handed over to the DSS.”

The arrests were not what jolted me. What frightened me was the implication. These were dangerous men who boarded commercial flights through Nigerian airports, sat beside innocent passengers, travelled to Saudi Arabia and returned through the same airports before they were intercepted. How did they make that journey? Where was the Federal Government? Where was Katsina State government? Were the ‘pilgrims’ unknown to the authorities until they landed in Katsina? If so, was this a catastrophic intelligence failure? If not, why were they allowed to travel at all? Either possibility raises profoundly disturbing questions. If that is not a national scandal, what is?

Bandits on pilgrimage. They bring to mind the old Yoruba classic play, ‘Asẹ́wo tó Re Mẹ́kà’. Sacred journeys do not sanctify hardened hearts. A pilgrimage may change a man; it may also merely interrupt his schedule. Had those Katsina terrorists not been arrested, the trip might have been nothing more than an interlude between acts of terror.

Now that the government says the brand new terrorist Alhajis have been arrested, let us hope we are not told next year that they have become “repentant terrorists”, completed rehabilitation and deserve reintegration into society.

That brings me to a difficult but unavoidable question: What should society do with those who organise mass murder, mass abduction and systematic terrorism? Put differently, what should be the fate of those whose crimes amount to mass murder?

Almost eighty years ago, the Irish playwright and social critic, George Bernard Shaw, confronted that question in a letter to two British newspapers. The letter, published in The Times of December 5, 1947, and the Sunday Express of December 7, 1947, later appeared under the title, ‘Mad Dogs, Bad Men: Both Should Be Killed Without Compunction’.

Shaw’s argument was controversial but blunt. Society, he said, routinely destroys mad dogs, poisonous snakes and other dangerous creatures, not as punishment but as a matter of necessity. Why, he asked, should civilisation become sentimental when confronted with human beings who repeatedly prey on society and cannot be reformed?

His answer was chilling: “The real problem is the criminal you cannot reform: the human mad dog or cobra. The answer is kill him.”

Shaw was not speaking of ordinary offenders. He distinguished between petty criminals who could be rehabilitated and those he considered irredeemably dangerous. For the former, he prescribed reform. For the latter, elimination.

Now consider this: the terrorists who beheaded a teacher and abducted scores of pupils and teachers from the Esiele, Yawota and Alawusa communities of Oyo State on May 15 reportedly demanded the release of their detained commanders. Those who abducted the late Major General Rabe Abubakar, former Director of Defence Information, and his wife made a similar demand on behalf of another set of detained terror kingpins. We arrest them and keep them in custody. Yet, like snakes kept in the kitchen, they remain dangerous enough, even from detention, to strike by proxy through the beheading of teachers and the abduction of schoolchildren. We are not well.

Read Shaw again and reflect. You need not agree with Shaw’s conclusion to appreciate the question he posed. What should a society do with people who make a profession of kidnapping schoolchildren, slaughtering farmers, beheading teachers and travellers, and turning entire communities into desolate theatres of fear?

Nigeria appears unable to answer that question.

We detain terror commanders for years, feed and finally exchange them for victims of their terror. In more bizarre times, we set them free, rehabilitate and let them loose as repentant horrors. We celebrate the rescue of victims but rarely discuss the certainty of punishment for perpetrators. We seem trapped in a cycle in which terror is treated less as a crime against society than as a bargaining chip.

The result is predictable. Criminals learn that kidnapping pays. Communities learn that government protection is uncertain. Citizens learn that they are largely on their own.

I reproduce a part of Bernard Shaw’s argument:

“Dogs are friends of Man; but an exceptional dog sometimes goes mad and runs amok through the streets, biting and infecting everybody it comes across. Fond as we may be of dogs, we must kill it on the spot, by gun or bludgeon.

“Cobras and adders…may get loose in a school playground or domestic garden. We break their necks without trial by jury.

“A fox caught in a poultry yard is liquidated on the spot, though it is only acting according to its nature, as we ourselves do when we eat turkey. We kill the fox for pursuing with the same purpose. Nobody thinks of these liquidations as punishments, nor expiations, nor sacrifices, nor anything but what they really are: sheer necessities.

“Precisely the same necessity arises in the daily-occurring cases of incorrigibly mischievous human beings. They are vermin in the commonwealth, ferocious wild beasts on our highways, robbers and crooks of all sorts.

“What are we to do with them?

“The thoughtless humanitarian is ready with his reply: Reform the criminal; be kind to him.

“But the criminal who can be reformed is not the problem.

“The real problem is the criminal you cannot reform: the human mad dog or cobra. The answer is kill him…”

Shaw said petty criminals could be rehabilitated “but the ungovernables, the ferocious, the conscienceless, the idiots, the self-centred myops and morons, what of them? Do not punish them. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill them.

“The most amiably soft-hearted monarch, confronted with a death warrant, must sign it or abdicate as unfit to reign.”

The president and all our governors must read this.

Because they remain beyond the reach of the law, terror kingpins in our forests are gradually acquiring the mystique of folk heroes. That is why Bello Turji boldly goes online and flaunts the latest weapons of war before a helpless nation that can only watch, wonder and wait.

The spectacle recalls Robin Hood, England’s legendary outlaw. In one of the medieval ballads, Robin invites the King to dinner. The King comes disguised as a humble monk.

Before the meal begins, Robin raises his hunting horn and blows a single blast into the forest. The response is immediate. One hundred and forty hardened outlaws emerge from the woods and kneel before him.

The king watches in astonishment. Here is a man outside the law commanding a loyalty that rivals the crown itself.

Unable to conceal his amazement, the king murmurs: “What a remarkable sight this is! By God’s passion, it seems to me that this man has more followers ready to obey his command than I have ready to obey mine.”

When the state fails to enforce the law, outlaws begin to acquire legitimacy, mythology and even political capital. Persistent impunity creates an aura of power around men who should simply remain fugitives.

There is a similar scene in Florencio Luis Parreño’s 1868 novel about the Spanish bandit Jaime el Barbudo. A military lieutenant sent to capture the outlaw finds himself bewildered by the devotion Jaime commands among his followers.

Unable to understand how such discipline exists without formal structures, he asks the bandit chief: “How do you get your men to obey you without formal rules or discipline?”

Jaime’s answer is as simple as it is profound: “By being the bravest among them, by knowing more than anyone else, by being the first to face danger, and the last to take a share of the loot.”

Interesting stories. I did not invent them. I found them in a fascinating 2011 essay by Ben Dodds titled ‘Jaime el Barbudo and Robin Hood: Bandit Narratives in Comparative Perspective’ published in ‘Social History’ in November 2011. Dodds places the English outlaw Robin Hood alongside the Spanish bandit Jaime el Barbudo and explores why men who lived outside the law often commanded extraordinary loyalty from their followers even as society watched in feeble wonderment.

Which brings us back to Nigeria.

We wonder why the Nigerian state appears helpless before some of its most notorious bandit leaders. Is it true that the Katsina State Government sponsored terrorists to perform Hajj? Why do some northern governors and influential leaders appear reluctant to confront figures such as Bello Turji and the various Kachallas publicly and unequivocally?

Today they negotiate with terrorists; tomorrow they lament that the understanding has collapsed. Who will tell them that you do not negotiate with terror? It is strange that they fail to see that terror feeds on concession and that every compromise enlarges its appetite.

A further journey into the Robin Hood story is instructive.

In ‘A Gest of Robyn Hode’, the outlaw is eventually reconciled with the King, but the peace proves temporary. Robin accepts royal service only on his own terms. He acknowledges the King’s authority, yet insists that he reserves the right to return to the greenwood whenever he pleases.

He tells the King:

“But me lyke well your servyse,

I wyll come agayne full soone,

And shote at the donne dere,

As I am wont to done.”

In modern English, Robin is saying: “I like your service well enough, but I shall soon return to the forest and hunt the King’s deer, just as I have always done.”

The lesson is obvious. An outlaw who bargains from a position of strength does not surrender his outlawry. He merely pauses and restructures it for greater profitability.

In Yorubaland, we say that when an iroko acquires witchery, no sacrifice can appease it. You go for the roots.

That is where those who urge us yesterday and the day before not to name, examine and call out the source of Nigeria’s insecurity get it wrong. They misunderstand the nature of curing and healing. Dante Alighieri understood this. In ‘The Divine Comedy’, he demonstrates that the journey to Paradise begins not in Paradise but in Hell. Before redemption comes confrontation. Before ascent comes descent. The road to salvation passes through an honest reckoning with what is broken.

The Nigerian state must sit up or go down.

Every state claims a monopoly of legitimate force. That monopoly exists for a reason. As Max Weber observed, the state alone is entitled to the legitimate use of force within its territory. Hobbes expressed the same principle more starkly: “Covenants, without the sword, are but words.” A government that cannot suppress those who massacre, abduct and terrorise its citizens begins to erode the very social contract on which its authority rests. Citizens surrender the right of private vengeance in exchange for public protection. Once the state can no longer protect the innocent or punish those who prey upon them, the foundation of the social contract begins to crack.

The first duty of government is security. Not roads. Not bridges. Not ribbon-cutting ceremonies. Without security, every other achievement stands on borrowed time.

Which is why the debate over terrorism should not begin with how to accommodate or negotiate with terrorists but with how to defeat them. Yet defeating terrorism starts long before the first gunshot. It begins in the home, the classroom and the community. It begins by bringing into the world only the number of children we can nurture, educating those children, equipping them with marketable skills, and protecting them from destructive socio-religious dogmas and violent influences. Those are responsibilities shared by parents, society and government.

But a government that appears more eager to negotiate with terrorists than to destroy their capacity for violence sends a dangerous message to both criminals and citizens.

Bernard Shaw’s prescription may have been severe. Some will reject it. Yet his central point remains difficult to dismiss: there are moments when society must decide whether it exists primarily to protect the innocent or to indulge the violent.

The lesson is simple. Appeasement does not merely fail to prevent atrocities; it encourages them. Nigeria must stop cuddling terror. You do not negotiate with an evil iroko; you bring it down. Iroko tó bá gba’bodè, gígé ni wọ́n máa ń gé e. Anything less is an invitation to the next massacre, the next mass abduction.

The views expressed by contributors are strictly personal and not of Law & Society Magazine.

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Parents charged with murder after 115.67-Kg boy, 7, dies—Prosecutors say he was fed mostly potatoes due to ‘texture preferences’

Two Michigan parents are facing murder charges after their seven-year-old son died of heart failure weighing 255 pounds (115.67 kilogrammes) 

Damien O’Brien, 40, and his wife Jessica O’Brien, 41, were also hit with child abuse and torture charges after their son Casper died from ‘extraordinary, terrible neglect’, prosecutors say. 

The seven-year-old had allegedly never been to school and had only ever visited the doctor once, with his parents keeping him in their run-down ‘hoarder’ home in Flint Township, Michigan. 

Click here to continue reading.

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FG borrowing soars 75.6% year-on-year as fiscal deficit widens

Fresh Central Bank of Nigeria (CBN) data released this week shows a sharp increase in federal government borrowing over the past year, while credit to businesses and households expanded only modestly.

The CBN said credit to the federal government climbed to N40.38 trillion in May 2026 from N22.99 trillion in May 2025 — a 75.6 per cent year‑on‑year increase. The bank also reported a month‑on‑month rise of N779.7 billion between April and May. Net domestic credit increased to N121.42 trillion over the same period.

By contrast, credit to the private sector — which covers loans to companies and households — rose only modestly to N81.04 trillion, remaining roughly double the stock of government borrowing in absolute terms but showing slower growth.

Economists and market observers say the divergence signals a crowding‑out effect, with banks favouring government securities over riskier commercial lending.

“When banks channel a large portion of available funds into Treasury bills and bonds, less credit is available for firms and consumers,” said an independent policy analyst. “That can slow investment and job creation, and over time constrain output.”

The shift also carries implications for inflation and interest rates. Government borrowing that is financed domestically can increase the effective money supply if the central bank accommodates funding needs or if liquidity is abundant, economists warn. More money chasing a given stock of goods tends to push prices up, particularly in food and transport — items that weigh heavily in household budgets.

The pattern of rapid public borrowing has raised concerns about partial monetisation of the fiscal deficit. Even with the CBN maintaining a tight monetary stance, heavy demand for domestic credit by the federal government can complicate efforts to rein in inflation. Higher demand for safe, liquid government paper also encourages banks to hold more sovereign debt, which offers attractive yields and perceived lower risk than commercial loans.

For the banking sector, the preference for government securities is understandable. Government instruments are generally viewed as low‑risk and often deliver reliable returns, especially when rates are elevated.

But that shift reduces banks’ incentives to expand lending to the real economy, analysts say, contributing to the sluggish growth in credit to firms and households.

Policymakers face trade‑offs. Increased fiscal spending financed by domestic borrowing may be used for essential public services, infrastructure and debt servicing. However, if not matched by improvements in production and supply, the result can be higher consumer prices and tighter financial conditions for private businesses.

Market participants will watch the CBN’s forthcoming statements and fiscal developments closely. Key indicators to monitor include the pace of private‑sector credit growth, Treasury yields, liquidity measures in the banking system, and monthly inflation readings. If private credit remains subdued while government borrowing grows, economists say Nigeria could see slower private investment, persistent price pressures, and upward pressure on interest rates.

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