Wow! Oga Senior Advocate of Nigeria, Dr. Eyimofe Atake. Small small deal with me now!! I never knew that you would ever see my small complaint about your well-presented academic article. I am a simple teacher of medicine, with no formal knowledge of politics or law or even social sciences. Please don’t take me too seriously.
Over 60 years ago when I was in Graduate school, my professor told me something that I have never forgotten. He said, “Eighty percent of any idea is IMPLEMENTATION”. It is from that viewpoint that I responded.
Your argument rests heavily on the phrase “if carefully designed,” but that is precisely where many of us remain unconvinced. Institutions do not design themselves; they are created, funded, supervised, and often manipulated by the same political class whose record has inspired public distrust in the first place. Merely relocating power from the center to the states does not automatically produce accountability or effectiveness.
Read Also: A Reply to Professor Ajovi Scott-Emuakpor on State Police, in Plain Terms
Experience suggests that proximity alone is not a guarantee of good governance. We have repeatedly seen situations where those closest to the people—local politicians, traditional power brokers, and influential community figures—have used that proximity not to protect citizens but to intimidate them. The local strongman often enjoys greater influence over local institutions than an ordinary citizen does.
In such circumstances, “local knowledge” may simply mean that the authorities know exactly who the troublemakers are and choose not to act because of political, ethnic, family, or financial connections.
Likewise, the assumption that nearness leads to quicker response is not borne out by experience.
Many communities have witnessed local acts of violence, intimidation, land grabbing, election-related thuggery, and organized criminality continue for years despite the perpetrators being widely known. The problem has not been lack of local knowledge; it has been lack of political will and institutional independence.
Therefore, the real question is not whether a centralized system has failed—it clearly has significant shortcomings. The question is whether state-controlled institutions would be sufficiently insulated from local political pressures to perform better. Without strong safeguards, independent oversight, transparent recruitment, professional command structures, and meaningful consequences for abuse, state-level control may simply replace one form of failure with another.
The choice is not between a failed federal system and a potentially successful local system. The choice is between two systems that can both fail if placed in the hands of unaccountable political actors. Before assuming that decentralization will solve the problem, proponents must explain why the same political culture that has weakened national institutions would suddenly produce stronger and more accountable institutions at the state level.
In short, the concern is not whether local systems can work. The concern is whether our current political reality provides sufficient reason to believe they will work better than what already exists. Until that question is convincingly answered, skepticism remains entirely reasonable.
The argument is persuasive in acknowledging the abuses of the First Republic police and in rejecting the simplistic claim that centralisation automatically solves political interference. However, it understates the force of the historical objection and places considerable faith in safeguards whose effectiveness remains unproven in practice.
First, the fact that abuse continued after centralisation does not necessarily support the conclusion that “history does not condemn the States as a location.” The historical record may instead suggest that the dangers are multiplied when policing authority is fragmented among numerous political actors. While centralisation did not eliminate abuse, it reduced the number of centres from which partisan interference could originate. The burden therefore falls on proponents of state police to demonstrate not merely that safeguards exist on paper, but that they can withstand intense local political pressures.
Second, the comparison with the First Republic may not be as straightforward as presented. It is true that the local forces of the 1960s lacked many of the institutional protections now proposed. Yet safeguards are only as effective as the institutions that enforce them. Independent commissions can be captured, certification requirements can become formalities, and prohibitions on political deployment can be ignored if accountability mechanisms are weak. Many countries possess elaborate legal protections against police misuse while still experiencing significant political interference in practice.
Third, the assertion assumes that federal oversight will reliably correct state-level abuses. That assumption deserves scrutiny. If a federal government is unwilling or unable to intervene against politically connected governors, the safeguard becomes largely symbolic. Conversely, if federal intervention is exercised aggressively, it could undermine the very autonomy that state policing is intended to provide.
Finally, the argument risks presenting a false choice between preserving the current system and embracing state police with safeguards. Critics may accept that the present arrangement is imperfect while still maintaining that alternative reforms—such as stronger community policing, greater operational independence, improved funding, judicial oversight, or decentralisation within a national framework—pose fewer risks than creating state-controlled police forces.
In short, history may indeed “warn the designer rather than sentence the nation to remain as it is,” but the warning is more severe than the assertion admits. The central question is not whether safeguards can be written into a bill, but whether they can realistically restrain powerful political actors when those safeguards are most needed. Until that question is convincingly answered, historical experience remains a substantial argument for caution.
The lesson of SIECs is not simply that they lacked safeguards; it is that formal safeguards often fail when political incentives run in the opposite direction. National standards, certification requirements, legislative confirmations, and federal intervention all depend on institutions that may themselves be vulnerable to political influence. The bill’s protections therefore address the legal problem but not necessarily the political problem. Since police powers are uniquely coercive, proponents of state police must show not merely that safeguards exist on paper, but that they can reliably restrain governors in practice. Until that is demonstrated, the SIEC analogy remains a powerful warning rather than a lesson already learned.
The argument places too much confidence in formal safeguards and too little attention on the reality that institutions are only as strong as the people who operate them. National standards, certification, courts, and federal intervention sound reassuring, but they work only when officials are willing and able to enforce them impartially. Nigeria’s experience shows that institutions can be captured, ignored, or manipulated by powerful political actors.
The claim that a governor who abuses his force “will meet the centre” assumes that the centre will act. But what if the federal government is politically aligned with the governor, or is itself unwilling to enforce the rules? The safeguard then becomes theoretical.
More fundamentally, the argument assumes that dispersing power automatically creates accountability. It may instead disperse opportunities for abuse. Creating 36 police forces means placing coercive power in the hands of 36 political executives in a system where institutions are often fragile and constraints are unevenly enforced.
The real lesson is that laws do not restrain power by themselves. People and institutions do. If those institutions are weak, then multiplying centres of power may multiply opportunities for abuse rather than checks on abuse. The question is not whether safeguards exist on paper, but whether they will hold when powerful actors decide to ignore them.
The argument depends on a protector, but it never convincingly identifies one. It says the President can intervene against an abusive governor, while the National Assembly and the courts provide oversight. Yet this assumes those institutions are sufficiently independent and willing to act. That is precisely the concern. Institutions are fragile; they work only when people obey the constraints and respect the rules.
“Protection without a protector is not a position.” True. But neither is protection that relies on protectors who may themselves be politically captured. If the President’s party controls both the federal government and most state governments, why should citizens assume intervention will occur against a politically aligned governor? If the National Assembly is dominated by the ruling party and opposition voices continue to diminish, its approval cannot be treated as an automatic safeguard.
The flaw in the argument is that it treats legal checks as self-executing. They are not. A takeover power is only as effective as the independence of those who exercise and supervise it. In a system where institutions are weak and political loyalties often outweigh constitutional restraints, the real question is not whether a protector exists on paper, but whether that protector can be trusted to act when it matters most.
I am not a constitutional lawyer, but I find this argument persuasive. A police force must be accountable to a clearly defined government with identifiable legal authority, funding, and responsibility. The proposal for regional police appears to raise more questions than it answers: Who controls the force? Who appoints its leadership? Which legislature exercises oversight? And who is ultimately accountable when things go wrong?
What I find most convincing is the point about responsibility. Security works best when authority and accountability are clearly located. If six governors share control of a regional force, there is a real risk that responsibility becomes blurred and decisions become politicized or delayed. In that sense, a regional police structure could create the very problem it is intended to solve—power that is diffused enough to avoid accountability, but concentrated enough to cause confusion.
For those reasons, I agree that a regional police force would require a regional government framework to function effectively. Without that, the chain of command and democratic accountability remain unclear.
The argument overstates its case by treating urgency as proof. The fact that a bill is moving through the National Assembly does not make it the right solution. More importantly, it assumes that safeguards, federal triggers, and oversight mechanisms will work as intended. Yet institutions are fragile; they only work when those in power respect and enforce them.
The central question is not whether the current system has failed—many, including this writer, agree that it has. The question is whether state police will be constrained when governors choose to ignore the rules. A reform cannot be judged solely against the failures of the present system; it must also be judged against the risks it creates. Calling concerns about those risks “doing nothing” avoids rather than answers them.
I also thank the legal luminary, Dr. Atake, for his engagement. We agree that Nigeria’s security architecture is failing and that reform is necessary. Where we differ is in our confidence that legal safeguards, however carefully drafted, can restrain political power in practice. Institutions are not self-executing. They work only when those entrusted with enforcing them are willing and able to do so.
That is why my concern remains. The debate is not simply about the design of State Police on paper, but about whether the institutions meant to check abuse are strong enough to withstand the pressures of real politics. Protection without a reliable protector is no protection at all.
The case for reform is strong, but the case for entrusting coercive police powers to governors in a system of fragile institutions remains unproven. Prudence is not opposition to reform. It is a recognition that, in matters of state power, the hardest question is not what the law says, but who will enforce it when it matters most.
Why am I praying that, whenever the State Police arrangement becomes operational, Delta Police and Edo Police OR Edo Police and Ondo Police, OR Oyo Police and Ogun Police, etc, will not engage constantly in struggle for jurisdiction. State demarcations are fragile, as far as I know. Let not the perceived solution to one problem be the beginning of unintended conflicts.
I HOPE YOU NOTICE THAT I DID NOT RECOMMEND A REMEDY. WHO AM I TO TRY?
Ajovi
Professor Ajovi Scott-Emuakpor writes from Michigan State University.
