The Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria is very clear — almost romantically so. Section 14 declares that “the security and welfare of the people shall be the primary purpose of government.” Not secondary. Not optional. Not “subject to availability of funds.” Primary. Every public officer, from the President down to the most junior minister, swears an oath to uphold and defend this Constitution.
And then, immediately after the oath-taking ceremony, many of them appear to place the Constitution gently on a shelf, where it gathers dust while reality does whatever it likes.
If there is anything Nigerian politicians have assaulted with more enthusiasm than public funds, it is the Constitution itself. Section 1 boldly proclaims constitutional supremacy, but anyone who has followed Nigerian politics knows that supremacy is theoretical — like Santa Claus, or fuel subsidy savings. The Constitution exists. Its authority, however, is often suspended whenever it becomes inconvenient to partisan or personal interests. That wider constitutional vandalism is a subject for another day. Today, we focus on the most basic obligation of all: keeping Nigerians alive.
Nigeria: Where Citizens Are Killed Like Chickens (And Nobody Counts the Chickens)
Nigerians are exhausted. Not the fashionable “burnout” exhaustion — the existential kind. Across the country, people are being murdered within Nigeria’s borders by bandits, kidnappers, and political thugs, as though human life were a renewable resource. Highways double as hunting grounds. Homes are no longer places of rest but potential crime scenes.
Ironically, many of the politicians presiding over this chaos travel regularly to countries where security is taken seriously. In those places, when someone is unlawfully killed, the state reacts. CCTV works. Forensics exists. Criminals are traced, arrested, prosecuted, and jailed — not invited to stakeholder meetings. Governments invest heavily in technology to ensure that crime is risky and punishment is inevitable.
Nigeria, by contrast, often prefers press statements.
Abuja: Seat of Power, Headquarters of Insecurity
Consider Abuja, the Federal Capital Territory — the administrative heart of the nation and the permanent residence of all security chiefs. Constitutionally, the Minister of the FCT functions as its Governor and Chief Security Officer. In theory, Abuja should be the safest place in Nigeria.
In practice, security in the FCT is so porous it might as well be classified as open-plan. Criminals operate with remarkable confidence. “One-chance” gangs have become a regular feature of city life, turning daily commuting into a lottery where the losing ticket is death. Law-abiding citizens are attacked, robbed, kidnapped, and murdered with frightening regularity.
Just recently, a legal practitioner, Princess Nwamaka M. Chigbo, and a nurse were brutally murdered, their bodies dumped on the roadside. At the time of writing, no arrests have been publicly announced. The constitutional promise of security once again collapses under the weight of official silence.
Ekpoma: When Citizens Protest and the State Prosecutes Calm
If anyone thinks this failure is limited to Abuja, Ekpoma in Edo State provides a sobering correction. Faced with escalating kidnappings and killings, residents — including students of Ambrose Alli University — took to the streets. They blocked roads, shut down economic activity, and tore down political billboards. This was not a carnival. It was a scream.
The immediate trigger was the murder of a young man allegedly killed by kidnappers, his body found dumped in the bush. For the people of Ekpoma, this was the final straw. When security fails consistently, protest becomes the last remaining alarm bell.
And how did the state respond? With the usual legal sermon. Residents were urged to remain calm. Protests were described as “unlawful.” Traffic disruption was condemned. The police assured everyone that they were “on top of the situation.” Calm, it appears, is mandatory — even when people are being kidnapped and killed.
In Nigeria, when criminals terrorise communities, government asks for patience. When citizens protest, government discovers urgency — and deploys the law.
The Social Contract, Terminated for Non-Performance
This is the core of the problem. The social contract has been breached. Citizens pay taxes, obey laws, and endure hardship. In return, the state owes them protection. When that protection fails repeatedly, and the official response is either denial or moral lectures on protest etiquette, governance has failed.
Why is there no serious investment in modern surveillance and crime-tracking technology? Why is public transportation in places like the FCT unsafe, unregulated, and abandoned to criminal gangs? Why must Nigerians risk their lives daily just to go to work?
The answer, unfortunately, is familiar. Political leadership in Nigeria often prioritises self-promotion, power struggles, and corruption over human life. Empathy is missing. Accountability is optional. And the Constitution is treated like a decorative document rather than a binding contract.
Final Submission
The time for excuses has expired. Nigerians cannot continue to be slaughtered while government issues statements and urges calm. The right to live free from fear is not a luxury; it is fundamental.
Governance time is now. President Bola Ahmed Tinubu must demonstrate that the Constitution still means something — starting with Section 14. Nigerians do not ask for miracles. They ask for safety. They ask to live.
That, after all, is the government’s primary responsibility. And unlike campaign promises, the Constitution does not come with a disclaimer.
Centre for Nigeria Progress 