Why State Police Frighten Nigerians
By Iduh Onah
EVERY nation eventually arrives at defining moments when the issue before it is no longer what ought to be done, but whether those entrusted with doing it are worthy of the people’s trust. Nigeria’s recurring debate over state police belongs squarely in that category.
Just yesterday, Tuesday, July 7, 2026, President Tinubu inaugurated the Presidential Working Group on an Executive Bill – the National Policing Bill – with the mandate to prepare the legal framework for operationalising state police across the country.
The inauguration was significant not merely on account of the strategic objective of the committee, but because it signalled that the conversation has moved beyond idealism or abstract constitutional theory into the practical realm of implementation.
President Tinubu, represented by his Chief of Staff, Femi Gbajabiamila, made it clear that the Constitution Alteration Bill merely establishes the framework for dual policing, while the proposed National Policing Bill must supply the operational architecture – setting minimum policing standards, defining federal-state coordination, prescribing accountability mechanisms, establishing human rights safeguards, determining fiscal responsibilities and even certifying when individual states are sufficiently prepared to operate their own police services.
In other words, the debate is no longer whether state police should exist, but how it should function. Yet even this carefully sequenced approach unintentionally exposes the deepest anxiety of Nigerians. The very need for elaborate safeguards, readiness certification and extensive oversight reflects an official recognition that decentralisation alone cannot guarantee justice or professionalism.
Laws may establish institutions, but institutions ultimately reflect the political culture within which they operate. Drafting an impeccable National Policing Bill may prove easier than cultivating the democratic restraint required to prevent its abuse. That distinction lies at the heart of why many Nigerians continue to welcome the principle of state police while remaining deeply suspicious of those who would exercise its powers.
At the moment, there are two distinct but familiar camps in the state police debate: those who insist state police is the long-overdue answer to Nigeria’s worsening insecurity, and those who believe, and are warning, that governors would inevitably transform it into an instrument of political persecution.
Both sides are right. And that is precisely the tragedy. If Nigeria were a society manned by normal, restrained and civilised political leadership, the case for state police would be incontestable. No serious federation pretends that a single, centrally controlled police force can effectively secure every village, forest, highway and urban settlement. The framers of the Constitution Alteration Bill on State Police recognise this obvious reality, and therefore acknowledge what every Nigerian already knows: insecurity has overwhelmed a highly centralised police structure that is too distant, too bureaucratic and too overstretched to respond effectively to local challenges.
The proposal is not revolutionary. Across established federations, decentralised policing is the norm. In the United States, policing is primarily a state and local responsibility, with federal agencies handling crimes within federal jurisdiction. Germany’s sixteen states maintain their own police services, while the federal police focus on border security, railways and other national responsibilities. India, Canada and several other federations operate similar systems because they understand a simple truth: policing succeeds when those enforcing the law understand the communities they serve.
The arguments that crime itself is local, or intelligence is local or trust is local and therefore security, ultimately, is local are all true. Nigeria’s security crises only reinforce that reality. Expecting a central police structure headquartered in Abuja with 37 state commands, several area commands and hundreds of divisional headquarters to effectively coordinate responses across such diverse theatres is administratively herculean, unrealistic and operationally lethargic.
Indeed, one of the strongest arguments for state police is that officers recruited, trained and retained within their states are more likely to understand local languages, geography, customs and community dynamics than officers periodically transferred across the country. The constitutional proposal also attempts to build safeguards against abuse by providing legislative confirmation of state police commissioners, independent State Police Service Commissions, and mechanisms through which unlawful directives from governors may be reviewed.
These are sensible innovations. Yet the fiercest resistance to state police has remarkably little to do with policing itself but everything to do with politics. So, the anxiety surrounding state police is not born of ignorance but of experience.
Nigerians have watched too many public institutions bend before the will of powerful political actors. They have witnessed state electoral commissions manipulated, legislatures domesticated in government houses, local governments emasculated and security agencies selectively deployed. They have seen public office treated less as a constitutional trust than as private inheritance. Against this background, asking citizens to repose unquestioning confidence in governors who would command armed state police is asking them to forget history. That history refuses to be forgotten.
The uncomfortable truth is that many governors already exercise extraordinary influence over virtually every institution within their states. Apart from state lawmakers functioning like legislative aides of governors, local government councils (LGCs) remain totally subservient to governors despite the Supreme Court judgement of July 11, 2024, which granted them unimpeded autonomy. The landmark judgement, amongst other orders, mandated that the 774 local government councils independently manage their own funds and directly receive federal allocations; and abolished the longstanding practice of routing local government funds through state-local government joint accounts. As I write, this judgement is being obeyed in the breach without any consequence.
Should anyone therefore be surprised that Nigerians worry about handing such ruthless leaders constitutional control over armed state police formations? That concern is neither cynical nor alarmist; it is entirely rational.
Ironically, even the drafters of the constitutional amendment, and incidentally the Nigerian Policing Bill being prepared, appear to recognise this. The elaborate provisions for legislative oversight, federal monitoring, police service commissions and independent review mechanisms, amongst other proposed checks, betray an implicit admission: the greatest threat to state police is not the institution itself but the possibility of elite capture.
This is where the conversation acquires its deepest irony. Nigerians do not fear state police because decentralised policing is inherently dangerous. They fear state police because too many of our political leaders have failed the test of democratic restraint and civility. In societies where institutions command public confidence, decentralisation strengthens governance. In societies where public office is often weaponised against opponents, decentralisation merely creates additional organs from which abuse may emanate. That distinctive reality matters.
Those who oppose state police altogether ignore the manifest failure of the existing centralised arrangement. A Nigeria where entire local governments fall under the control of terrorists or criminal gangs cannot honestly claim that the present structure is working. Conversely, those who advocate state police without confronting Nigeria’s governance deficits underestimate the dangers of transferring coercive powers to political actors whose constitutional limitations are frequently observed more in breach than in compliance.
The challenge, therefore, is not choosing between Abuja and the states, but choosing between accountable governance and unrestrained power. State police should come – but alongside genuine institutional reform. Recruitment must be merit-based. Police service commissions must be GENUINELY INDEPENDENT. Judicial oversight must be swift and fearless. Legislatures must recover their oversight responsibilities. Civil society and the media must remain not only vigilant but included in the institutional and regulatory organs. Above all, elections must become sufficiently credible to remind every governor that public authority is borrowed from the people and must eventually be returned to them.
Without these conditions, state police could become yet another institution captured by the same political culture that has weakened so many others. With them, however, state police could finally become what federalism intended: policing that is closer to the people, more responsive to local realities and more effective in protecting lives and property.
The debate, then, has never really been about whether Nigeria needs state police. It unquestionably does. The more difficult question is whether Nigeria’s governing elite have earned enough public trust to be entrusted with it? Sadly, that remains the unanswered question. And until it is answered convincingly, Nigerians will continue to support the idea of state police while fearing those who would command it. That is the paradox of a country still struggling to become what every democracy should aspire to be: a civilised society with civilised leaders.
Onah is the Editor-in-Chief of NATIONAL RECORD and writes this column every Wednesday. Send reactions via email to: nationalrecordng@gmail.com, onahiduh@yahoo.co.uk. WhatsApp: +234 8033209749
