When Nigerians complain about police brutality, extortion at checkpoints, arbitrary arrests, and corruption within the Nigeria Police Force (NPF), the standard response is often that the institution is “broken” and needs reform.
But what if the problem is not that the police are broken?
What if the police are functioning exactly as they were originally designed to function?
To understand the modern Nigerian Police Force, one must first understand its origins. The uncomfortable truth is that the institution was never created to protect ordinary Nigerians. It was established to protect the interests of those who ruled Nigeria, first the British colonial administration and later the Nigerian political elite that inherited the colonial state.
Born for Control, Not Protection
The roots of the Nigeria Police Force can be traced to 1861, shortly after the British annexation of Lagos.
The colonial authorities established what became known as the Lagos Constabulary. Its primary purpose was not community safety. It was designed to enforce colonial authority, collect taxes, protect commercial interests, suppress dissent, and ensure the smooth extraction of resources from the colony.
Like many colonial police institutions across Africa, the force operated as an occupying mechanism. It existed to make subjects obey, not to serve citizens.
The British administration viewed the indigenous population not as partners in governance but as people who needed to be controlled. The police became the instrument of that control.
Over the decades, the names changed. The uniforms changed. The flags changed.
Then Nigeria gained independence in 1960.
Yet the institutional DNA remained largely intact.
The state inherited a police force designed to protect government authority rather than individual liberty. Instead of dismantling that colonial architecture, successive governments simply occupied it.
The result is a force that often sees itself as serving power rather than serving the public.
The Bloodstained Legacy
History provides painful examples of this reality.
In 1929, thousands of women in southeastern Nigeria rose in protest against colonial taxation and administrative abuses in what became known as the Aba Women’s Revolt.
The demonstrations represented one of the most significant anti-colonial movements in Nigerian history.
The colonial response was deadly.
Security forces opened fire on protesters. Historical records indicate that more than fifty women were killed.
The message was clear: when the interests of the state were challenged, force would be used to restore obedience.
Nearly a century later, many Nigerians saw a disturbing echo of that history during the #EndSARS protests of 2020.
Young Nigerians mobilised against police brutality, extortion, torture, and unlawful detention.
What began as a demand for accountability evolved into a broader challenge to state power.
The events at Lekki Toll Gate became one of the defining moments of modern Nigerian history.
The Lagos State Judicial Panel of Inquiry concluded that security forces fired on peaceful protesters and described the incident as a massacre under the circumstances it examined.
Whether viewed through the lens of colonial Nigeria in 1929 or independent Nigeria in 2020, the pattern appears strikingly familiar.
When citizens challenge the state, coercion often follows.
The Checkpoint Economy
For millions of Nigerians, the most visible face of policing is not crime prevention.
It is the checkpoint.
Across highways and urban roads, motorists routinely encounter police officers conducting what are officially described as security operations.
In practice, many Nigerians view these checkpoints as toll gates operated by the state.
Drivers are stopped.
Papers are inspected.
Questions are asked.
Negotiations begin.
Small payments change hands.
Everyone moves on.
The practice has become so normalised that many citizens budget for it as part of the cost of travel.
The deeper problem is that these transactions are not isolated incidents involving a few rogue officers.
Many observers argue that an informal system exists in which lower-ranking officers are expected to generate revenue that ultimately benefits individuals further up the chain of command.
In such an environment, police stations risk becoming revenue centres rather than centres of public safety.
Holding cells become bargaining chips.
Arrests become opportunities.
Detention becomes leverage.
The ordinary citizen becomes a source of income.
The consequences are devastating.
Resources that should be directed toward investigating kidnappings, armed robbery, terrorism, and organised crime are instead consumed by an economy of petty extraction.
Corruption Beyond the Checkpoint
The corruption problem does not end at the roadside.
It extends into procurement, budgeting, and institutional financing.
The Nigeria Police Trust Fund was established to improve police capacity through dedicated funding for training, equipment, and infrastructure.
The objective was noble.
The implementation has generated controversy.
Over the years, allegations have emerged regarding procurement irregularities, questionable contracts, inflated pricing, and equipment acquisitions that failed to deliver value for money.
Particularly troubling are allegations that contracts worth billions of naira were fragmented into smaller components to avoid procurement oversight mechanisms.
There have also been allegations involving companies such as Vigiscope Ltd and Crown Natures Nigeria Limited concerning procurement processes and equipment delivery.
While investigations, audits, and legal proceedings remain the proper avenue for establishing individual culpability, the broader pattern points to a recurring problem.
Funds allocated for public security often disappear into opaque contracting arrangements.
Meanwhile, police officers frequently complain about inadequate equipment, poor accommodation, insufficient training, and delayed welfare payments.
The money exists.
The results often do not.
Why Reform Keeps Failing
Every few years, a new reform initiative is announced.
Committees are established.
White papers are published.
Panels are convened.
Recommendations are made.
Yet the fundamental problems remain.
The reason may be simple.
Most reforms attempt to fix symptoms while leaving the underlying structure untouched.
They assume the institution has deviated from its intended purpose.
But if the institution was originally designed to prioritise control, extraction, and regime protection, then many of its current behaviours are not deviations.
They are continuations.
The incentives remain unchanged.
The culture remains unchanged.
The relationship between power and policing remains unchanged.
An institution designed for citizens behaves differently from an institution designed for rulers.
Nigeria inherited the latter.
The Real Question
The debate Nigerians must confront is not whether the police need another reform programme.
It is whether the country is willing to fundamentally redefine the purpose of policing itself.
Should the police exist primarily to protect the government?
Or should they exist primarily to protect the people?
Until that question is answered honestly, every reform effort risks becoming another exercise in cosmetic change.
Because institutions rarely act contrary to their design.
The Nigeria Police Force may not be a broken machine.
It may be a machine performing precisely the function for which it was built.
And that possibility should concern every Nigerian far more than any checkpoint, procurement scandal, or public relations campaign ever could.
Centre for Nigeria Progress 