In the sweltering heat of political rallies, the chant “On your mandates we stand” has long been the battle cry of All Progressives Congress (APC) loyalists, a defiant affirmation of electoral victory and unyielding support for leaders like President Bola Tinubu.
It’s a slogan born from the 2023 elections, symbolizing the ironclad grip of the ruling party’s “mandate” on power.
But what happens when this partisan anthem echoes not just from the mouths of politicians and supporters, but from the robes of the judiciary itself?
When Nigeria’s judges—guardians of the law—begin harmonizing with the very forces they are sworn to check?
It signals not mere alignment, but the outright burial of democracy’s cornerstone: the separation of powers.
Under the APC’s reign, from Muhammadu Buhari’s iron-fisted prelude to Tinubu’s consolidating crescendo, this erosion has accelerated into a full collapse.
Nigeria, once a beacon of African potential, now staggers as a disgraced pariah, its institutions hollowed out by corruption that history will etch in indelible infamy.
The imagery of judges “singing” this chant isn’t hyperbole; it’s a damning metaphor for the judiciary’s creeping politicization.
In recent months, whispers and viral clips have surfaced of judicial figures at public events or conferences mingling with APC stalwarts, their impartiality traded for applause lines that reek of sycophancy.
This isn’t isolated—it’s the culmination of a pattern where the bench bends to the executive’s will.
Recall the 2023 post-election petitions: Tinubu’s victory was upheld amid allegations of irregularities, with rulings that critics decried as rushed and one-sided.
Fast-forward to 2025, and at the All Nigeria Judges’ Conference, President Tinubu himself took the podium to warn of “corruption in the judiciary [that] destroys [the nation] to the core.”
His words, laced with irony, urged judges to “safeguard integrity” and restore public confidence, even as polls show Nigerians viewing the courts as a “bad reputation” haven for delayed justice and graft.
If the head of state must lecture the judiciary on ethics, what faith can citizens have in its independence?
The chant becomes a funeral dirge for checks and balances, where judges no longer interpret law but amplify the ruling elite’s narrative.
This malaise traces a direct line from Buhari’s tenure (2015–2023) to Tinubu’s (2023–present), marked by three consecutive Chief Justices of Nigeria (CJNs) whose tenures have been mired in scandal, undermining the apex court’s moral authority.
First, Walter Onnoghen (2017–2019), whose suspension by Buhari in 2019—via an executive order bypassing the National Judicial Council—was a textbook assault on judicial autonomy.
Accused of undeclared assets, Onnoghen’s ouster was hailed as anti-corruption theater, but it reeked of political vendetta, with the Code of Conduct Tribunal (itself tainted) as the blunt instrument.
Buhari’s administration framed it as cleansing a “recalcitrant” officer, yet it set a precedent: the executive could topple the judiciary’s head at will.
Enter Ibrahim Tanko Muhammad (2019–2022), whose brief reign was a masterclass in quiet decay.
Appointed amid the Onnoghen fallout, Tanko’s tenure saw whispers of nepotism and welfare neglect explode into open revolt.
In June 2022, over 20 Supreme Court justices boycotted sessions, citing unpaid allowances and dilapidated facilities—symptoms of a leadership more attuned to executive patronage than judicial welfare.
He resigned abruptly, but not before allegations of corruption and undue influence from the Buhari regime surfaced, including plots to sideline rivals like Onnoghen years earlier.
Tanko’s era normalized the CJN as a political appointee, eroding the bar’s collegiality.
Now, Olukayode Ariwoola (2022–present), the third in this ignominious trio, presides over a judiciary that Tinubu’s administration openly courts while decrying its flaws.
Ariwoola’s court has delivered rulings favorable to APC interests, from upholding gubernatorial wins to stalling corruption probes against party bigwigs.
Yet, his tenure isn’t immune: reports of judicial shopping, where cases are funneled to “friendly” judges, persist, and Tinubu’s recent pleas for integrity ring hollow against a backdrop of underfunded courts and executive overreach.
Under both Buhari and Tinubu, the judiciary received record budgets—Buhari’s administration alone allocated the highest ever—yet these funds fueled patronage, not reform, leaving the system riddled with “hazy special courts” for corruption cases that convict the small fish while shielding the sharks.
Court rulings, once bulwarks against impunity, now “weigh down” anti-corruption efforts, granting stays and technical knockouts to the powerful.
What does this entail for Nigeria’s democracy?
A necrotic separation of powers, where the executive’s “mandate” devours the legislative and judicial branches.
Parliament, gerrymandered and bought, rubber-stamps executive whims; the courts, once a refuge for the oppressed, now echo the oppressors’ songs. Economic woes—skyrocketing inflation, naira devaluation—worsen as accountability evaporates, with corruption siphoning billions meant for infrastructure and social safety nets.
The APC’s promise of “change” has
morphed into stasis: from Buhari’s midnight raids on judges’ homes in 2016 (a spectacle that netted few convictions) to Tinubu’s performative vows of support, the pattern is clear—rhetoric masks complicity.
Nigeria stands disgraced on the global stage, its youth fleeing en masse, its diaspora ashamed.
The Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) toils under political thumbs, while international partners like the IMF withhold aid over governance lapses.
History, that impartial chronicler, will not absolve the architects of this mess. Buhari’s legacy is a judiciary brutalized into submission; Tinubu’s, a chant that drowns out justice’s cry.
The present actors—CJNs who traded robes for relevance, politicians who weaponize mandates, and a populace too battered to revolt—will be footnotes in a tale of squandered sovereignty.
Yet, in this dirge, a spark endures. True reform demands not more speeches, but structural surgery: insulating judicial appointments from executive fiat, enforcing asset declarations with teeth, and empowering civil society watchdogs.
Until then, “On your mandates we stand” isn’t a vow—it’s a confession of a democracy on life support, gasping under the weight of its betrayers. Nigeria deserves better; history demands it.
Pamela O. writes from Lagos.
