How Personal Power Trumps The Law In Nigeria: The Wike-Naval Officer Fiasco On My Mind
IN a nation where the law is supposed to be supreme, Nigeria continues to offer a depressing contrast. A place where legality more often bows before personality, and rules are rewritten daily to serve the powerful or the favoured. The recent altercation between the Minister of the Federal Capital Territory (FCT), His Excellency Nyesom Wike, and a Naval officer during an inspection exercise on Tuesday, November 12, 2025, has once again exposed this national contradiction.The clash saw Minister Wike allegedly obstructed by armed naval personnel while on a mission to assess some properties and this has divided the public.However, for me; beyond the social media noise lies a deeper question of the fact that in a country where laws are routinely ignored, the rule of law no longer matter. In theory, Nigeria operates under a constitutional democracy guided by the rule of law. In practice, however, laws are often relegated, suspended, or twisted to suit personal whims and caprices.While people in uniform or in power by virtue of their profession often act as if they are super heroes and a law unto themselves. We experienced this every day. They tend to rewrite legal boundaries by sheer audacity.
The Wike–Naval officer face-off perfectly captures this decay. While emotions have run high, the real issue for me is not about who is more popular, but who the law actually empowers. And in this case, the law is unequivocal.
The question then arises; by law, who owns the land in Abuja?
Section 1 of the Land Use Act, 1978 vests all land in each state in the Governor, who holds it in trust for the people. However, because the Federal Capital Territory has no governor, the Constitution provides a clear alternative.
Under Section 297(2) of the 1999 Constitution (as amended):
“All lands in the Federal Capital Territory, Abuja are vested in the Government of the Federation.”
Further, Section 302 empowers the President to delegate his authority over land in the FCT to the Minister of the Federal Capital Territory.
In essence, the Minister is the lawful custodian and regulator of all land matters in Abuja — including those occupied by individuals, corporations, or the military.
Legally speaking, the Naval officer is not right given the above provisions of our law. But then again, he was operating under authority, (merely obeying orders and me know that in the military the world over, that is sacrosanct). We may not like Wike or decide to “stomach his excesses”, but the FCT Minister’s powers cover all lands within Abuja. The naval officer’s interference was therefore unlawful, ultra vires, and a clear obstruction of a public officer in the discharge of official duties and this is contrary to Section 149 of the Criminal Code and Section 36 of the Penal Code (applicable in the FCT).
But this is Nigeria — where even the clearest laws are subject to “reinterpretation” when they inconvenience those who believe themselves to be above them. In such an environment, legality is not determined by the Constitution but by convenience, influence, or institutional arrogance.
Sections 217–220 of the Constitution define the duties of the Armed Forces to include:
“To defend Nigeria from external aggression, maintain its territorial integrity, and perform such other functions as may be prescribed by law.”
There is obviously no aspect of the Constitution that grants the Armed Forces civil administrative control over land use, or the authority to obstruct civilian governance.
Yet, we see it time and again; a reflection of how military culture continues to seep into civilian life, long after the end of military rule.
But what do we have? When the law speaks, power “unspeak”
This incident is not merely about Wike and a naval officer. It is a test of our collective hypocrisy; a mirror showing how far we have drifted from the ideals of the rule of law. In a sane society, the Constitution would be the final word. In Nigeria, it is merely the opening line before “exceptions” begin to appear.
The tragedy is that people no longer even expect the law to prevail. We celebrate defiance when it aligns with our bias and condemn it only when it hurts our interest. Thus, anarchy wears a civilian uniform and calls itself governance.
Unfortunately, we’re faced with the trajectory of a country of many laws, yet lawless.
Nigeria’s problem is not the absence of laws — it is the deliberate refusal to obey them.
When every public officer interprets the law to suit personal comfort, and every institution operates as an empire unto itself, the Constitution becomes nothing more than decoration.
The Wike–Navy confrontation should remind us of this uncomfortable truth: in Nigeria, the law is clear but clarity means nothing when power rewrites the rules.
Until we collectively insist that no individual or institution stands above the law, our democracy will remain a theatre; with the Constitution as a prop, not a guide.
