Our power minister, Adebayo Adelabu, is now mocked as the King of Darkness—Kábíyèsi Olókùnkùn. I laugh at his traducers. They are crowning the wrong monarch. The true emperor of darkness sits higher. For more than three years, the president has wandered luxuriantly through the bush of politics while abandoning the hard road of policy that might confront Nigeria’s federalist tragedy.

Kábíyèsi Olókùnkùn Birimù Birimù. Whoever coined that mouthful title deserves a GCFR in seditious satire. Political nicknames, whether in London, Paris, or Ibadan, are never innocent. They are instruments of attack in the hardtackle game of politics. Politics everywhere has its theatre, and in that theatre titles are bestowed to honour and to hurt. Nigeria’s restless political marketplace is filled with such wares of barbed sarcasm, wicked wit and withering satire which, sometimes, dress themselves in the robe of royalty.

You cannot prevent the Ifa (palm nut) from showing its palm kernel behavior (Kò sì bí a ò ti ṣe Ifá tí kò ní hù’wà ekuro). It is in the nature of politics and politicians to fly or shoot down ambitions. Adebayo Adelabu seeks to feature in next year’s governorship election in Oyo State. Sometimes one pursues a title and gets a completely different one. Shehu Shagari wanted to be senator, he became president; Ahmadu Bello wanted to be Sultan of Sokoto, he became the premier of the whole of northern Nigeria. Adelabu’s impatient ‘lovers’ in his Ibadan have made him king. They dressed him up in a regalia of scorn and crowned him Kábíyèsi Olókùnkùn of Okunkun—His Royal Majesty, the King of Darkness. They say he is in charge of national grid collapse and unending darkness. Their reasoning is simple and brutal: Ibadan, the minister’s hometown, is lit up in months of unremitting darkness under his watch. So, if the city, and indeed, the entire country sits in pitch darkness, the minister of power must be its monarch.

But the logic of power does not quite support their satire. In governance, ministers are not sovereigns; they are agents. The sovereign authority belongs to the principal who appoints them. In presidential systems, that principal is the president. In administrative theory, responsibility flows upward. Authority is at the very top. The minister executes policy; the president embodies and orders it. If Nigeria must coronate a monarch for darkness, political logic suggests that the throne cannot be occupied by the minister; it belongs to the president. He is the one holding the faulty switch of light. His head this crown of darkness fits.

In quarrelsome politics, songs easily become proverbs, and proverbs songs. To crown Adelabu the “King of Darkness” while sparing his appointor is to blame the drum for a rhythm composed by the drummer. A bad workman, the proverb says, always blames his tools. Ministers are tools; the hand that wields them writes the music.

The minister is styled Olókùnkùn Birimù Birimù I. The regnal ordinal “I” (The First), suggests that before him, history has produced no predecessor worthy of such investiture. Olókùnkùn The First, stands, therefore, as a founding ancestor to future failure, progenitor of a dynasty of darkness. But if a minister presides over a mere kingdom of darkness, the president reigns over an empire and should not be denied his own befitting imperial crown.

History is full of such ‘wicked’ coronations. In England, King John (1166–1216) earned the enduring title “John Lackland” (John without land; Jean sans Terre) because, as a younger son, “he was not expected to inherit significant lands.” The nickname stuck so firmly that it followed him into the chronicles of English history. Later, the English would also mock King Charles II as the “Merry Monarch,” because his reign “was defined by a revival of the arts, the reopening of theaters, and a famously colorful personal life involving numerous mistresses and illegitimate children.”

History offers more of such honours. England had another monarch remembered in popular lore as “Mad King George.” King George III, who ruled from 1760 to 1820, suffered bouts of severe mental illness that produced periods of rambling speech, hallucinations and erratic conduct. Those afflictions eventually gave rise to the enduring nickname “the Mad King.” He remains till this day, “the longest-lived and longest-reigning male monarch in British history.” France had its own tragic parallel centuries earlier in Charles VI, remembered bluntly as Charles le Fou—Charles the Mad.

The French were more inventive. For John I (28 May 1371 – 10 September 1419), they had him as John the Fearless (Jean sans Peur ). There was also Philip II the Bold (Philippe II le Hardi) who reigned from 17 January 1342 – 27 April 1404). Long before the revolution fulfilled the prophecy, Louis XVI was already mocked as Louis le Dernier—Louis the Last. And during the turbulence of the French Revolution, Louis-Philippe got a nickname. Louis-Philippe came to power after the barricades of the July Revolution of 1830, and because of that, he was called “king of barricades.”

Across the Atlantic, American politics produced its own gallery of biting nicknames. The wood, Hickory, has a reputation as a very strong, flexible, and shock-resistant wood. Andrew Jackson was celebrated by his supporters as “Old Hickory,” a nickname earned during the War of 1812 for his toughness and stubborn endurance. His critics, however, sharpened the image into “King Andrew I,” accusing him of ruling the young republic with monarchical arrogance.

Martin Van Buren, the 8th president of the United States (1837–1841), was mocked by opponents as “Martin Van Ruin,” a taunt born of the economic distress that defined his presidency. A century later, Richard Nixon acquired the corrosive label “Tricky Dick,” a nickname that reflected widespread suspicion of his political tactics.

Even cabinet officials have not escaped such satirical baptisms. During the Cold War, ponderous Secretary of State John Foster Dulles, who once described himself as “a cold fish” was derided by critics as “Dull, Duller, Dulles.” In the United States, as elsewhere, the nickname often becomes a political weapon sharper than argument.

In contemporary Britain, the tradition survives. Political opponents and tabloids have long tried to pin labels on the current Prime Minister, Keir Starmer. During the COVID 19 pandemic debates, Starmer, as leader of opposition, was called “Captain Hindsight” by his opponent, Boris Johnson in mockery of his criticisms which were done “with the benefit of hindsight.” At another point, Johnson again taunted him as “Sir Beer Korma” in reference to an investigation into a lockdown era allegation that Starmer had breached Covid-19 social distancing rules “while eating a takeaway meal and drinking beer at an MP’s office.”

The system is not done with Starmer. At a point, the Conservative politician, Rishi Sunak borrowed a tabloid headline and slammed it on Starmer calling him “Sir Softy,” an attempt to portray him as weak on crime. The Sun newspaper, it is said, owns the proprietary rights on that “softy” invention. The label later migrated to the parliament which snatched and ran away with it. But analysts won’t call what happened theft; they say it is proof of the feedback loop between media rhetoric and political combat.

In Nigeria’s political theatre, presidents have rarely escaped the sting of nicknames. Goodluck Jonathan was branded “the Clueless One” by the opposition All Progressives Congress, a label meant to portray his government as drifting without direction. His successor, Muhammadu Buhari, came and acquired the mocking sobriquet “Baba Go Slow,” a jab at the perceived sluggish pace of his administration. Today, Bola Ahmed Tinubu is derided in Obidient circles as “Bulaba”, one of his many campaign gaffes.

The case of Umaru Musa Yar’Adua was different and complicated. He was slow and absent. His presidency was defined by circumstance, his prolonged illness and absence from public life, leaving history to remember him less by a mocking title than by the quiet fragility of his tenure.

Now we have a minister garbed in the golden apparel of dank darkness.

Elisabeth Staab’s ‘King of Darkness’ might well look on with envy at the appropriation of its sunless title by Nigerian politics. The same reaction may be expected from ‘Kings in Darkness’, a 1962 sword-and-sorcery short story by the English writer Michael Moorcock. In that story that reads like Nigeria, two distressed adventurers who barely escape with their lives from a city of beggars, stumble into a cursed forest. The title feels oddly apt for Nigeria of today.

Back to Nigeria’s power crisis and the anger in the streets: are we condemned to spend this century groping through darkness?

We have a peacock government that prances and preens as though it were the best that will ever be. But if the unwell is left to roam the streets as he pleases, he will soon turn the neighbourhood into a warehouse of filth. We should be talking and acting. Is the mockery of the minister part of that talking? I don’t know.

I suspect the government will calm the angry by telling them that there is nothing new or unseemly in the unfurled darkness over the Nigerian skies. The price of petrol competes in space with war missiles in the Middle East. Electricity tariff here does not do that. The cost of power does not rise every day and night like the third leg of the lecherous. That should be a plus for this government, and for which it should be praised.

American writer and poet, Carl Phillips, says that restlessness might not solve any problem, but it is a force which he would not refuse. In search of clues from history, I always turn to books and scholars. David E. Nye’s ‘When the Lights Went Out: A History of Blackouts in America’ recounts how, during a major power failure in July 1977, New York City slipped into arson, looting and riots. So, as they do on earth, so they do in heaven! Hillard G. Huntington’s ‘The Historical “Roots” of U.S. Energy Price Shocks’ reminds us that energy disruptions have long shaken economies. Huntington traces “sustained energy price increases” as far back as the 1890s and shows how such shocks often precede economic decline. What my restless search found is that wrong policies (or the absence of policy altogether) have a way of switching off the light in people’s lives.

Indeed, as late as the 1970s, the United States (today’s emblem of industrial stability) was itself trapped in an energy crisis that rattled its politics and economy. Long queues at petrol stations suggested a sudden oil shock. Energy historian Robert D. Lifset, in ‘A New Understanding of the American Energy Crisis of the 1970s’, argues that the crisis ran deeper. He said what looked like an oil shortage was in fact the convergence of structural distortions across oil, natural gas and electricity—rising consumption, policy missteps and market imbalances that had accumulated for years until external shocks exposed them.

Nigeria’s present electricity emergency fits that pattern almost perfectly. The threat by gas suppliers to halt supply to power plants over mounting debts is not the disease but merely a symptom; it is the evidence of a distorted power market, a broken payment chain, and a dangerously centralised electricity system where a single financial blockage plunges an entire nation into darkness.

My point, therefore, is that Nigerians protesting blackouts are reacting to symptoms that manifest as outages. They should instead be seen, and heard, rebelling against a federal system designed to malfunction. Perhaps if we studied how the United States confronted and eventually resolved its energy crisis some fifty years ago, we might learn something useful. But such learning presumes a federation that works. Nigeria stopped working soon after independence. It stopped thinking right a long time ago. America’s response to its own crisis was anchored in a federal structure that allows its states and markets room to innovate and correct failure. Nigeria, by contrast, remains trapped in a dubious federal arrangement whose excessive centralisation breeds the very pests (and blood-sucking bedbugs) of crises it endlessly pretends to fight.

In any crisis, clarity of vision and sincerity in leadership matter. The president promised while asking for votes the last time: “Whichever way, by all means necessary, you will have electricity, and you will not pay for estimated bill anymore. A promise made will be a promise kept.

“If I don’t keep the promise and I come for a second time, don’t vote for me. Unless I give you adequate reasons why I couldn’t deliver.”

He launched his reelection campaign the very day he was sworn in. Has he given any reason why he failed to fulfill his electricity promise? None. The hungry man who once begged for èbà on credit has now married his creditor and is threatening to impregnate him with heavier debts.

A president who campaigned with the promise of light now rules with the torch of darkness. And everyone seems to have surrendered to him, even while sleeping and waking in utter hopelessness. It is tough for everyone; businesses are sweating blood under the weight of diesel and its cost which swells per minute like garri Ijebu. “Life here is tough. One has to be a devil to survive.” Donne, the principal character in Wilson Harris’s ‘Palace of the Peacock’, might well have been speaking of today’s Nigeria when he uttered that line.

“Olókùnkùn Birimù Birimù” has the cadence of poetic excellence. Political nicknames compress criticism into memorable phrases that travel faster than argument. Yet, satire also demands intellectual consistency. If Adebayo Adelabu is to be enthroned as Kábíyèsi over the kingdom of darkness, the crown cannot sit comfortably on his head. A chief cannot be king. The minister is not the head. In any system of delegated authority, the crown of responsibility climbs the ladder to the top.

So, enough of straw-stuffed dummies and effigies that are easily knocked down and destroyed. Throw the dart where the problem lies. If darkness reigns, the court must decide who truly wears the crown. After all, in the old, and even in contemporary Yoruba courts, no one addresses a courtier as king. Haughty Basorun Gaa was once greeted as “Kábíyèsi” by some frightened townspeople; he rebuked them: “K’áraóle là ń kí Ọsòrun.” (It is “be well” that we say to the Basorun.) The president professes this failure and must therefore receive the commensurate commendation for it. My muse gave me a proverb: “àṣẹ ọba ni ìlú fi ń ṣàye” (it is the king’s authority that sets the town in motion—or in demotion). The president, who has chosen politics as his only core course, is the true sovereign of this empire of darkness: I call him Ààrẹ Olókùnkùn.

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

By Sylvester Udemezue

For several years now, a troubling concern has been quietly gathering strength within the Nigerian Bar Association. What began as murmurs of discomfort has gradually matured into something far more serious: a widening and deepening loss of confidence by many Nigerian lawyers in the electronic voting system used for NBA national elections. Today, that concern can no longer be dismissed as the complaint of a few disgruntled voices. It has become too persistent, too widespread, and too consequential to ignore.

The NBA now stands at a delicate and defining moment in its institutional history. If urgent and credible steps are not taken to address the growing mistrust surrounding the Association’s electoral process, the consequences may extend far beyond one election cycle. They may affect the credibility of the Association, the legitimacy of its leadership, the unity of its membership, and the moral authority with which it speaks on constitutionalism, democracy, and the rule of law in Nigeria. This intervention is therefore not intended as an attack on any individual, faction, or tendency within the NBA. It is, rather, a constructive warning and a sincere institutional appeal. The time has come for NBA leaders and members alike to confront the issues surrounding the Association’s electoral system with honesty, maturity, courage, and urgency.

(2). The Constitutional Framework And The Deeper Crisis Beneath It.

Under the Constitution of the Nigerian Bar Association, responsibility for conducting national elections lies with the Electoral Committee of the Nigerian Bar Association (ECNBA). As has been repeatedly stated within NBA processes, the National Executive Council appoints the chairman and members of the ECNBA on the recommendation of the National Executive Committee. In the communiqué issued after the NBA NEC meeting held in Benin City on 20 November 2025, NEC approved the constitution of the ECNBA for the 2026 national elections and publicly emphasized transparency, technological reliability, and fairness in the electoral process. On paper, that sounds reassuring. In practice, however, formal declarations of transparency are no longer enough.

The deeper problem is that many lawyers do not merely want to be told that the process is transparent; they want to see, verify, and trust that it is transparent. And that is precisely where the crisis lies. The most fundamental concern confronting the NBA today is not zoning, regional politics, candidate preference, or even litigation in itself. The real issue is electronic voting and the opacity many lawyers believe surrounds it. Over the past several election cycles, a growing number of lawyers within the NBA have expressed serious doubts about the transparency, verifiability, and credibility of the electronic voting system used in NBA elections. Many believe the system is too opaque, too insulated from independent scrutiny, and too vulnerable to manipulation in favour of candidates perceived to enjoy the sympathy or backing of the establishment.

Whether every one of these suspicions is ultimately justified is not, at this stage, the most important question. The more urgent problem is that the loss of confidence itself has become real. In every democratic institution, perception matters almost as much as reality. Once a significant portion of the electorate begins to believe that the process is compromised, the legitimacy of the eventual outcome is endangered, even before the first vote is cast.

(3). Repeated Calls For Audit and The Damage Caused By Resistance To Scrutiny

Over time, several lawyers and groups within the NBA have repeatedly called for an independent audit of the electronic voting system. Such an audit would be expected to verify the integrity of the software, the transparency of vote collation, the neutrality of the technical administrators, the security of the infrastructure, and the overall reliability of the process. Yet one of the strongest grievances among many members is that repeated demands for such independent verification have not been meaningfully granted. That refusal, whether motivated by caution, institutional defensiveness, or confidence in the existing process, has had one disastrous consequence: it has deepened suspicion. The question many lawyers continue to ask is both simple and powerful: if the system is truly secure, transparent, and credible, why should an independent audit be resisted? Institutions are strengthened by scrutiny, not weakened by it.

Transparency builds confidence; opacity breeds anxiety. Verification protects legitimacy; resistance to verification undermines it. The NBA leadership should have understood long ago that in a professional body made up of lawyers trained to test evidence, probe procedure, and challenge unsupported claims, mere assurances can never permanently substitute for verifiable credibility. The recent wave of suits and petitions shows that all is no longer well with the NBA. One of the clearest signs that this crisis has reached a dangerous stage is the recent wave of lawsuits and formal petitions challenging the NBA’s electoral process and the conduct of those at the helm of the Association. On 05 March 2026, it was reported that an Oyo State High Court sitting in Ibadan had restrained members of the ECNBA from performing any function relating to the 2026 national officers’ elections and also restrained the NBA President from taking steps toward the constitution and composition of the ECNBA or interfering in the conduct of the election, pending the determination of the application before the court.

In another development, it was reported that a separate court order restraining the NBA from recognising or processing the nomination of any presidential candidate other than the consensus candidate of Egbe Amofin O’odua for the 2026 presidency, pending determination of the suit before the court. And before all these, there were reports that Aare Muyiwa Akinboro, SAN, and Lateef Omoyemi Akangbe, SAN, had petitioned the Board of Trustees of the NBA, demanding the resignation of the NBA President, Afam Osigwe, SAN, over what they described as alleged electoral bias and partisan conduct ahead of the elections. These reports, taken together, reveal something much more serious than routine disagreement. They are not isolated flashes of controversy. They are evidence of cracks, strain, and spreading disaffection within the Bar. They point to a troubling atmosphere of distrust, disappointment, suspicion, and disenchantment regarding the NBA’s internal democratic process. When lawyers increasingly go to court against their own professional Association over internal elections, when election-related court orders begin to halt or distort the electoral timetable, and when senior members petition for the resignation of the President over alleged bias, it becomes impossible to keep pretending that all is well.

The REALITY is that all is not well. And something urgent must be done. These developments are symptoms of a deeper institutional anxiety. The lawsuits themselves are not the heart of the problem. They are symptoms. The petitions are not the disease. They are warning signs. The court orders are not the crisis in themselves. They are evidence that the crisis has matured. At bottom, what these developments signify is a deeper institutional anxiety about transparency, fairness, neutrality, and trust. Courts ought ordinarily to be the last resort in disputes touching the internal democratic processes of a professional body like the NBA. The fact that multiple lawyers now appear to regard litigation as the available pathway for challenging perceived irregularities suggests that confidence in internal corrective mechanisms has been badly eroded. The frequency and intensity of recent disputes also suggest that the dissatisfaction is not limited to one camp, one aspirant, one region, or one ideology. It reflects a wider atmosphere of distrust. And at the center of that distrust lies one major grievance: the opacity of the electronic voting system and the persistent refusal to subject it to credible, independent audit. This is why it is mistaken to treat the current turbulence as merely another chapter in NBA politics. It is bigger than politics. It is about institutional confidence. It is about whether members still believe the system through which their leaders emerge is worthy of trust.

The issue is not who wins; the issue is whether members trust the process. Every election produces winners and losers. That is normal. What is dangerous is when the legitimacy of the process itself becomes the real casualty. The central issue here is not whether any particular candidate is good, bad, popular, or establishment-backed. It is not whether any region feels entitled or excluded. It is not whether one camp is more aggrieved than another. The fundamental issue is whether NBA members have confidence that the process by which votes are cast, counted, collated, and declared is genuinely transparent and beyond manipulation. An electoral system need not be actually rigged before it becomes institutionally destructive. Once it is widely perceived as untrustworthy, its damage has already begun. A leadership produced by a process many members do not trust may still occupy office, but it will govern under a cloud. Its legitimacy will be doubted. Its authority will be fragile. Its pronouncements may command office but not respect. And once that stage is reached, every future election will be approached with deeper cynicism and sharper conflict. That is why the problem must be addressed now, before suspicion hardens into permanent institutional culture, and before irreparable damage is done.

(4). NBA’s Moral Authority Is At Stake

The Nigerian Bar Association is not just another private club. It is the voice of the legal profession in Nigeria. It routinely defends constitutionalism, criticises electoral fraud, demands accountability from public institutions, and insists on due process, transparency, and the rule of law. But an institution that demands accountability from governments must itself demonstrate accountability in its own internal processes. An institution that speaks loudly about credible elections in the larger society must ensure that its own elections inspire confidence among its own members. If the NBA itself cannot run elections that many of its members trust, then its moral standing to lecture the nation on electoral integrity is weakened. This is why the current issue is not merely procedural. It is existential. NBA’s authority in national life has never depended on coercive power. It has depended on moral credibility. That credibility is one of its greatest assets. If it is squandered through avoidable opacity and needless resistance to reform, the loss will be historic.

(5). Responsibility Is Collective

It would be too easy, and indeed too lazy, to heap all blame on one person or one office. The present crisis has many contributors. Successive NBA leaderships must bear responsibility for failing to address the deepening trust deficit around the electoral system and for not taking sufficiently bold steps to restore confidence through independent verification and transparent reform. Those who rushed to litigation, though perhaps motivated by real grievances, must also reflect on whether earlier, stronger institutional advocacy for reform might have better served the long-term health of the Association. Defendants and other actors whose conduct has deepened controversy must equally bear their share of responsibility. Counsel involved in election-related disputes should ask themselves whether they are helping to heal the Association or merely prosecuting factional causes under the cover of legal representation. And the wider NBA membership cannot be completely absolved. Too many members have remained passive spectators while the Association’s democratic credibility steadily weakens. Institutional decay is often enabled not only by the actions of the powerful, but also by the silence of the many. In truth, responsibility is collective. We all share the burden of this moment.

(6). If the NBA Fails To Reform Now, the Consequences May Be Historic, Catastrophic

Institutions do not collapse in a single day. They weaken gradually, first through silence, then through denial, then through rationalisation, and finally through loss of confidence by those they are meant to serve. The NBA must understand that the current distrust surrounding its electoral system is not a minor quarrel. It is a serious institutional warning signal. When more and more lawyers begin to question the credibility of the process through which leaders emerge, the legitimacy of those leaders becomes vulnerable. Once legitimacy is questioned, authority becomes fragile. Once authority becomes fragile, internal cohesion begins to fray. If confidence in the NBA electoral system continues to decline, the consequences could indeed be both historic and catastrophic. Future NBA elections may become permanently contested. Internal divisions within the Bar may deepen. Members may gradually disengage from the Association’s democratic processes. NBA’s public interventions on national governance may lose persuasive force because critics will point to unresolved credibility problems within the Association itself. None of these outcomes would benefit the Nigerian legal profession. But there is still time to act. Reform is not a confession of guilt. Reform is not weakness. Reform is the mark of institutions that possess the wisdom, humility, and foresight to change in order to endure.

(7). What The NBA Must Do Now

NBA leadership should urgently initiate a process of genuine electoral reform to address the concerns of members. The first and most obvious step is to commission a full independent audit of the electronic voting system by a credible and respected external technology and audit team. The scope of that review should cover software integrity, system security, vote collation, administrator controls, audit trails, and verifiability mechanisms. The outcome should not be treated as secret internal information. It should be communicated in a manner capable of reassuring members. Second, NBA should be prepared, if necessary, to undertake constitutional reform through an emergency Annual General Meeting or other lawful constitutional mechanism, in order to revisit the current electoral framework and make whatever changes are necessary to restore confidence.

Third, if electronic voting is to remain, the system must be redesigned or strengthened in a manner that allows verifiable transparency without compromising ballot secrecy. Lawyers must not be asked to simply trust what they cannot independently interrogate. Fourth, NBA should consider establishing an NBA Leadership Academy or comparable institutional platform through which prospective candidates and future office holders receive grounding in the Association’s constitutional culture, leadership ethics, institutional history, conflict management, and democratic responsibilities. Electoral reform alone will not save the NBA if leadership culture remains shallow. Fifth, the Association must open a sincere, broad, and non-defensive dialogue with members, especially aggrieved members and stakeholders. Trust cannot be restored by communiqués, public statements and press releases alone. Members need to feel heard, respected, and taken seriously.

(8). A Wake-up Call, Not A Death Sentence

This moment, though dangerous, is not hopeless. The current turbulence can still become the turning point that leads to the most important institutional reform in the modern history of the Nigerian Bar Association. But that can happen only if the NBA leadership and the wider membership choose to treat the present developments not as ordinary controversies to be managed away, but as a wake-up call demanding statesmanship. The recent lawsuits and petitions should not be brushed aside as routine pre-election skirmishes. They should be read for what they are: evidence of spreading distrust. Evidence of real cracks. Evidence that many lawyers are no longer fully persuaded that the present electoral framework commands confidence. That is why the warning must be sounded clearly and loudly now.NBA must act fast. It must act sincerely. And it must act in a manner capable of restoring trust.

(9). Conclusion

The Nigerian Bar Association stands today at a crossroads. One path leads to reform, transparency, restored confidence, and stronger institutional legitimacy. The other leads to deeper suspicion, repeated litigation, chronic electoral disputes, weakened authority, and possible long-term damage to the fabric and standing of the Bar in national life. The choice should not be difficult. The NBA still possesses enormous potential. It remains one of the most influential professional institutions in Africa. It can still recover, reform, and emerge stronger. But such recovery will not come through denial. It will not come through public relations. It will not come by dismissing critics or aggrieved members as troublemakers, wailers, or haters. It will come only through honest reform and verifiable transparency.

The growing distrust surrounding the electronic voting system is a dangerous fault line running through the Association; if ignored, it may one day erupt into a crisis far more damaging than the disputes now visible. History will judge how the present leadership responds to this moment. In the end, as we often say in Nigeria, “I have said my own.” Those who have ears should hear. Yet experience shows that our problem is rarely the absence of ears; it is often our reluctance to use them. Perhaps this is why Craig D. Lounsbrough once asked,: “Do we forget, or is it that we simply refuse to remember?” Some may not be comfortable with the concerns raised in this article. That is understandable. But disagreement should never prevent us from confronting reality with honesty and courage. As Beverly Sills observed, it is not always important that everyone loves the message; what matters more is the sincerity with which it is offered. My opinion is presented in that spirit. As Anne Tyler noted, it is very difficult to live among people you love and hold back from offering them advice.

Many of us cherish the Nigerian Bar Association deeply, and it is precisely because of that affection that these warning alerts are offered. My humble appeal to NBA leaders and members alike is simple: never reject good advice; wisdom often begins with the willingness to listen. When one sees good advice, one should not only listen to it, but should also thoughtfully consider it. Ultimately, we must confront a fundamental truth: one may succeed in avoiding reality for a time, but no one can avoid the consequences of avoiding reality. The future strength, credibility, and moral authority of the Nigerian Bar Association will depend on how courageously it confronts the realities before it today.

The time to act is now!

Respectfully,
Sylvester Udemezue (udems),
08021365545.
[email protected].
(14 March 2026)

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