Tag: Feature

  • Joseph Otteh: The Man Who Changed Human Rights Enforcement in Nigeria

    Joseph Otteh: The Man Who Changed Human Rights Enforcement in Nigeria

    By Chidi Anselm Odinkalu

    The legal career of Joseph Chukwuma Otteh, whose mortal remains were committed to earth on 20 June 2025, could easily have been different. He graduated from the Faculty of Law at the Obafemi Awolowo University (OAU) in Ile-Ife in 1988, very much one of the best students in the set. In 1989, Joe enrolled as a lawyer in Nigeria. He had every opportunity to deploy his prodigious talents and considerable skills in pursuit of personal fortune, and no one could have begrudged him. Instead, he chose the path of legacy and impact through the pursuit of an unpredictable career in the defence of the excluded and marginalized.

    As a lawyer, Joe worried about two intractable and interrelated problems: delay in justice delivery and judicial performance. His intellect and temperament were well suited to high judicial service. For someone who did not seek nor pursue a judicial career, however, his preoccupations were startling because ultimate control over the solutions to these issues lay in the hands of the judges, or so it was thought.

    Early in his legal career, Joe chose to do something about these issues and travelled around the world to prepare himself for that purpose, learning about models fit for adaptation in Nigeria. In pursuit of answers, he undertook two programmes of graduate studies in law, one at the University of Lagos in Nigeria and another at New York University (NYU) in the United States of America. In between both programmes, in 1994, he also researched the same issue as a Research Fellow at the Danish Centre for Human Rights in Copenhagen, Denmark.

    Three years earlier, in 1991, just fresh from completing his National Youth Service scheme, Joe had joined the staff of the Civil Liberties Organisation (CLO). There, he began his career as a lawyer to the underprivileged and under-represented in Nigeria, whose encounters with justice were defined by the twin blights of exclusion and delay. For these people, entry into the court system was sometimes attainable, but exit from it was almost always intractable.

    For context, this problem probably predated Frederick Lugard’s Amalgamation of Nigeria in 1914. In a memorandum to Frederick Lugard dated 11 February 1914, Edward Speed, the first Chief Justice of post-Amalgamation Nigeria, lamented that “the greatest enemy to the efficient administration of Criminal Law is delay.” It was to the redress of this century-old problem that Joe dedicated his professional life.

    Joe realized he could not do this alone. So, in 1999, he founded Access to Justice as an organization dedicated entirely to figuring out how to contribute to alleviating the twin problems of judicial (lack of) performance and delay in the legal process in Nigeria. The few lawyers who had adverted to this before him seemed to believe that the way to redress delay in litigation was to litigate more cases. They would file cases on behalf of specific victims of delay, believing somehow that they could jump the queue of institutional dysfunction by inflicting more dysfunction on it.

    Joe’s genius lay in his capacity for patient diagnosis. He saw the phenomenon as a problem of judicial administration and court management. The answer, he believed, lay in working with the judges to redesign case management and judicial throughput. To address this, Joe invested patiently in cultivating the attention of the Chief Justice of Nigeria (CJN) at the time, Mohammed Lawal Uwais, who died earlier this month. He was successful in persuading Chief Justice Uwais to grant consent for a pilot project in monitoring the performance of judges.

    Over one year, monitors would record the way the judges ran their courts, document such minutiae as when they began sitting, how long they did, the number of motions, trials, cases that they did and the number of rulings, judgments and orders that they produced. The report was to be submitted to the CJN, with whose authorization, under the initial proposal, it was to be issued after he had reviewed it. The information captured from the pilot was so troubling, the Chief Justice was reluctant to make it public.

    Joe was disappointed but not deterred. He repurposed the report into persuading the Chief Justice to endow the National Judicial Council (NJC) with a capacity to monitor judicial performance, an advocacy in which he achieved limited success.

    But his ultimate revenge lay elsewhere. As CJN in December 1979, Atanda Fatayi Williams had enacted the Fundamental Rights (Enforcement Procedure) (FREP) Rules to govern litigation for the enforcement of the fundamental rights guaranteed in Chapter IV of Nigeria’s Constitution. As a cottage industry in claims for fundamental rights grew in the quarter century thereafter, the desire to simplify access to remedies through the FREP Rules became subverted. Delay became chronic, and some judges fixated on using the rules to achieve judgment without delivering justice.

    Joe believed the only way to change this was to reform and re-enact the FREP Rules, and he spent a decade persuading a succession of CJNs that this needed to be done. He was relentless in this mission. In 2009, Joe finally persuaded Chief Justice Idris Legbo Kutigi to enact the revised FREP Rules, a revolutionary piece of work that advertises the full range of Joe’s acuity.

    The 2009 FREP Rules could easily be called the “Otteh Rules” because Joe drafted them. Through those Rules and in them, Joseph Otteh wrote his own epitaph long before his earthly tour of duty ended on 28 March 2025.

    The 2009 FREP Rules set out to fix the major issues that Joe had diagnosed as the major afflictions that made redress of human rights violations in Nigeria difficult. Three things stood out. First, it clearly addressed the issue of standing to sue or locus standi in human rights cases. Second, it makes it an obligation for courts to “in a manner calculated to advance Nigerian democracy, good governance, human rights and culture, pursue the speedy and efficient enforcement and realisation of human rights.” Third, the 2009 FREP Rules require judges to also “proactively pursue enhanced access to justice for all classes of litigants, especially the poor, the illiterate, the uninformed, the vulnerable, the incarcerated, and the unrepresented.” This was the constituency to whom Joe devoted his professional life.

    Joe’s convictions and deep thoughtfulness, intellect, integrity, industry, empathy and honour were formed early. He was the son of teachers who found virtue in advancing dignity, service, and faith with enlightenment. His Dad, an economics teacher from Okporo in the then-Orlu Division of Imo State, built a life in Agbor in the old Mid-West.

    Born on 18 October 1965, primary school commenced for Joe at the end of the civil war at the Agbor Model School. His high school began in the famous Edo College in Benin City in 1977, ending in 1982 at the Ika Grammar School in Agbor, where his Dad also served as the Vice-Principal.

    As Africans, the investment in rituals of naming a child has rich symbolism. When Joe was born, his parents summed up their hopes and beliefs in the name that they gave to the first of their seven children, “Chukwuma” (God knows). It was a confession of total submission to the Almighty. It is also the one consolation that we are left with at Joe’s passing.

    Most lawyers retail their skills, and are content to do their cases. Joe did his law wholesale. He took charge of upstream lawyering and chose to deploy his skills in building institutions, transforming how they are run, and bringing hope to the poor and excluded. Untimely as his passing is, Joseph Chukwuma Otteh has left us with the most durable and consequential impact any professional could hope for in the FREP Rules 2009. He is survived by his mum, Adanma; his wife, Ogechi; their children – Chidimso, Samantha, and Ikechi; and siblings.

    *A lawyer and a teacher, Odinkalu can be reached at chidi.odinkalu@tufts.edu*

  • Democracy in Africa and the Dangers of Judicial Selectorate

    Democracy in Africa and the Dangers of Judicial Selectorate

     

    By Chidi Anselm Odinkalu

    FLOWERBUDNEWS:   In March 2006, Uganda’s Supreme Court convened to begin adjudication of the disputes over the presidential election that occurred the previous month in the country. Voting took place on 23 February. Two days later, on 25 February, the Electoral Commission announced the results, giving the incumbent, Yoweri Kaguta Museveni, 59.28% of the valid votes cast.

    In second place, with an award of 37.36% of the votes, the Commission announced Kiiza Besigye, a medical doctor whose military career began as part of the bush war that brought Museveni to power 20 years earlier in 1986.

    In his petition against the announced result, Col. Besigye argued that the Electoral Commission did not validly declare the results in accordance with the Constitution and the Presidential Elections Act, and that the election was conducted in contravention of the provisions of both. His evidence was compelling.

    Yet, the impression that the petition process was a ritual performance with a predetermined outcome pervaded the process. Leading the legal team for the Electoral Commission of Uganda, the defendant in the petition was Lucian Tibaruha, Solicitor-General of Uganda. In reality, he also led the lawyers for the president, also a defendant alongside the Electoral Commission. Handling election petitions for a party political candidate was not supposed to be part of Lucian’s job, but there he was.

    Presiding was Benjamin Josses Odoki, Chief Justice of Uganda since 2001 and the author of the 1995 Constitution that incrementally made Museveni a life president. Idi Amin, Uganda’s infamous military dictator, elevated Odoki to the bench as a 35-year-old in 1978. Amin’s nemesis, Museveni, elevated him to the Supreme Court eight years later and made him Chief Justice in 2001.

    Announcing its reasoned judgment on the 2006 electoral dispute in January 2007, the court found that there had been non-compliance with the Constitution of Uganda and the applicable laws in the form of “disenfranchisement of voters by deleting their names from the voters register or denying them the right to vote” as well as “in the counting and tallying of results.”

    The Court equally found as a fact that the “principle of free and fair elections was compromised by bribery and intimidation or violence in some areas of the country” and also that “the principles of equal suffrage, transparency of the vote, and secrecy of the ballot were undermined by multiple voting, and vote stuffing in some areas.”

    Despite these findings, Chief Justice Odoki and his court ruled by a majority of four votes to three of Justices of the Supreme Court of Uganda to uphold the election and grant President Museveni another five years in power. Two years after this decision, in 2009, when the Chief Justice’s son, Phillip Odoki ,wedded, Museveni’s son, General Muhoozi Kainerugaba was the best man.

    In 2010, it emerged that Chief Justice Odoki never harboured any doubts about the outcome. Questioned about the role of judges in deciding elections in Africa, Odoki, “smiled when commenting that to nullify a presidential election would be suicidal.” He lived to see his peers in Kenya and Malawi do just that in 2017 and 2020, respectively. It proved not to be suicidal.

    According to a former Nigerian law teacher, Olu Adediran, the role of judges in these kinds of cases is in reality “a compromise between law and political expediency.” Jude Murison is more direct in calling it “judicial politics.” Judges are not instruments of change or revolution and when they are called upon to adjudicate between sides in a political dispute, they are more often than not likely to treat that not as an opportunity to change political paymasters, except when the bell has already tolled undisputedly for an incumbent.

    Politicians are supposed to sell themselves to the people through their programmes and through campaigns in a contest of both ideas and vision. In return, the people through their votes offer endorsement to the politicians and programmes whom they believe best advance their interests. An electoral commission is a referee supposedly engaged and maintained at the public expense to administer this contest.

    This is where things begin to break down. Although engaged in the name of the people, every electoral commission is appointed by people in power who never wish to relinquish it. When a dispute emerges over the job of the electoral commission, it ends up before judges. However, the same people who appoint the electoral commission also usually appoint the most senior judges to office. In the maelstrom of party-political competition, guardrails break down as politicians struggle to casualise the popular electorate to prosper a judicial selectorate.

    The more election disputes end up in court, the more it becomes evident to politicians that it is easier to make deals with judges. The people are and can be unpredictable, unlike most judges. Increasingly, therefore, politicians seek to judicialize the site of decision-making on elections, relocating it from the polling booth to the courtroom.

    If politicians can get their spouses appointed as judges, they can even make the site of decision-making in elections more intimate, relocating it from the courtroom to the bedroom.
    Increasingly, instead of the usual soapbox, elections in many countries can be decided by good old pillow-talk.

    A former federal legislator, Adamu Bulkachuwa, whose wife, Zainab, headed Nigeria’s Court of Appeal for six years until 2020, captured the manual on this model of electoral ascendancy in his parliamentary valedictory remarks as a senator in June 2023.

    This is why the judicialization of politics in Africa increasingly represents a huge risk to the popular will as the basis of government. First, it vitiates the right to democratic participation and suppresses the popular will as the foundation for democratic legitimacy.

    Second, it enables the courts to deprive the people of their democratic rights, accomplishing that under the alluring pretence of the rule of law.

    Third, it provides perverse incentives for politicians to capture the courts, making the judiciary in many African countries a battleground for pre-determination of election outcomes.

    Fourth, it has the capacity to alter the character of the judiciary from an independent institution to a plaything of political insiders.

    This trend of consigning elections to the care of a judicial selectorate around Africa now endangers judges and their independence. In Malawi, in 2020, the president attempted to remove the Chief Justice in order to secure a Supreme Court panel more solicitous of his interests in the lead-up to a presidential re-run, following a rigged electoral contest that had been struck down by the courts.

    The following year, in September 2021, the ruling party in Zimbabwe pressured the Constitutional Court to overrule an earlier decision of the High Court that blocked an extension of the tenure of the Chief Justice after he had reached the official retirement age. This allowed the Chief Justice to still serve, but on a contract that made him more subject to presidential whim. Ahead of contentious national elections two years later, the same president decided to advance $400,000 to all serving judges in Zimbabwe in a “housing loan” with no repayment obligations. One of the beneficiaries was the chair of the Zimbabwe Electoral Commission (ZEC), a serving judge. Unsurprisingly, she announced her benefactor, the incumbent president, as the winner in the ensuing election.

    Even worse, this trend now also endangers entire countries, if not regions. This was evident in April 2020, when Mali’s Constitutional Court overturned the results of 31 parliamentary seats won by the opposition. Its decision to hand these seats over to the ruling party sparked an uprising that led first to the dissolution of the Constitutional Court, and later the overthrow of the government in a military coup.

    Mali’s twin crises of governmental legitimacy and state fragmentation are a tragic reminder of the dangers of judicial overreach in election adjudication. However, Mali’s case has also become a regional crisis in West Africa. To adapt an expression familiar to new-age Pentecostals in West Africa: what judges cannot do does not exist.

    *A lawyer and a teacher, Odinkalu can be reached at chidi.odinkalu@tufts.edu*

  • Nigeria: The Making of a Judicial Selectorate*

    Nigeria: The Making of a Judicial Selectorate*

     

     

    *By Chidi Anselm Odinkalu

    FLOWERBUDNEWS:  Anambra North senatorial constituency comprises seven Local Government Areas (LGAs). These are: Anambra East, Anambra West, Anyamelum, Ogbaru, Onitsha North, Onitsha South, and Oyi.

    The contest to represent it in the election to the Senate in 2007 turned out to be memorable for all the wrong reasons. Voting in the election occurred on 28 April 2007. At the end of the contest, the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC), returned Joy Emordi, the incumbent senator and candidate of the ruling Peoples’ Democratic Party (PDP), as the winner.

    In the race for the party ticket which preceded the election, Senator Emordi beat out the challenge of a little-known member of the House of Representatives, Ubanese Alphonsus Igbeke. Having lost the contest for the party ticket, Ubanese promptly defected to the opposition All Nigeria Peoples Party (ANPP), which granted him the ticket to fly its flag in the contest for the election to the senate in Anambra North.

    Following the announcement of the election results by the INEC, five of the losing candidates headed to the election petition tribunal to challenge the announcement of Senator Emordi as the winner. They included Jessie Balonwu of the Labour Party, and Ubanese of the ANPP.

    An essential complaint was that there was no lawful voting in Anyamelum and Onitsha South  LGAs. If their complaint were upheld, the logic would have necessitated a re-run.

    Over one year after the conclusion of the election, on 14 June 2008, the tribunal dismissed the petitions and affirmed Joy Emordi as duly elected. The losing candidates appealed.
    Jessie Balonwu’s appeal was the first to be decided.

    On 10 February 2009, a Court of Appeal panel comprising three Justices of Appeal – Victor Omage, Ladan Tsamiya and Olukayode Ariwoola – found no evidence to support the claim that there were no elections in the two LGAs. The Court of Appeal, therefore, affirmed the decision of the Election Petition tribunal. At the time, appeals concerning elections to the Senate ended in the Court of Appeal.

    Like the other losing candidates, Ubanese lost his case at the election petition tribunal. Like them, he also appealed. Nearly three years after the election, on 24 March 2010, another panel of the Court of Appeal, this time comprising Amiru Sanusi (who was not on the earlier panel) as well as Ladam Tsamiya and Olukayode Ariwoola – both of whom had decided Jessie Balonwu’s case nearly a year earlier – nullified the election of Joy Emordi, declared Ubanese the winner of the election and ordered INEC to issue a certificate in his favour affirming his victory.

    Six years after that judgment, the National Judicial Council (NJC), sacked Ladan Tsamiya as a judge in connection with judicial corruption in another election case from neighbouring Abia State.

    Returning to the Anambra North senatorial contest from 2007, Senator Emordi applied to the Supreme Court for a review of the two ostensibly conflicting decisions of the Court of Appeal, but the court struck out her case, holding that it did not have jurisdiction to hear her. With one year left to run on the tenure and armed with the judgment of the Court of Appeal, Ubanese ousted Joy Emordi from the Senate in May 2010 to become the Senator for Anambra North. Once there, he promptly defected back to the ruling PDP from the ranks of the ANPP.
    That was not the first time Ubanese would be returned as legislator by the votes of judges instead of registered voters. His first tour of duty as a legislator in the House of Representatives in 2003 was also made possible by highly priced judicial votes.
    He was not the only one to be selected in this manner in 2003. In the contest for the Anambra South seat for the Senate, the Court of Appeal in Enugu manufactured a victory for Ugochukwu Uba, who was not a candidate in the election, after two of the three Justices of Appeal collected humongous bribes to rule in his favour against the candidate who was actually elected. Ugochukwu Uba’s younger brother, Andy, was a very influential presidential confidante at that time.

    2010 was not the last time that Ubanese’s entire electorate would comprise exclusively of members of the Nigerian judiciary. ThisDay newspaper famously described him as “the serial senator who never wins an election.”

    In 2011, another high court in Abuja also issued an order requiring the INEC to return Ubanese yet again as Senator for Anambra North after the election had been concluded and a winner declared. The order was stupefying because only an election petition tribunal could issue it.
    This time, the Attorney-General of the Federation had Ubanese arraigned before the Federal High Court in Abuja on charges of forging and altering the outcome of the party primaries that he lost, misrepresenting to the High Court in Abuja that he had, in fact, emerged as the winner.

    Ubanese was ultimately unsuccessful in returning to the Senate in 2011 but had pioneered an electoral business model that would prove both lucrative for all involved and resilient beyond his wildest imagining.

    Ubanese showed judges how a joint enterprise with politicians could prove effective in making both sides influential, wealthy and powerful while at the same time sidelining the voters from the constitutive enterprise of deciding who controls their destinies. This guarantees that elections no longer end in the polling units. Instead, what we call elections only pare down the candidates who are required thereafter to proceed to court units, where the ultimate selection is determined by judges who alone have the right to vote. The cost of entry into this stage is prohibitive. Only the truly moneyed dare to show up.

    The constitution may have anointed the people as the electorate, but in Nigeria, the winners and losers in elections are now decided by a judicial selectorate which does not feel itself beholden to anything that the constitutional electorate may wish, seek, or say.

    According to a former national vice-chairman of the ruling All Progressives Congress (APC), Salihu Lukman, “citizens can vote, but winners are decided in the courtroom by conclaves of judges.”

    Former President Goodluck Jonathan acknowledged in Asaba, capital of Delta State, in June 2024 that Nigerian judges increasingly “declare who doesn’t win the election that they are winners.”

    Selectorate Theory explains how elites access and retain power. It distinguishes between three categories of actors for this purpose. ‘Interchangeables,’ notionally, have a role but hardly fit the part. Influentials sometimes may do so. However, the focus is on a small category of the “Essentials” who decide nearly everything. The clever power seeker focuses on striking a deal with the Essentials at the expense of the Influentials and the ‘Interchangeables.’
    In Nigeria, the judges have made themselves indispensable ‘Essentials’ in winning power and retaining it.

    The people have become very expendable ‘Interchangeables’. The national exchequer, meant for the people, now goes to financing the fancies of these electoral Essentials in order to protect the joint enterprise with the politicians. This is all done under the ruse of law, which, it is claimed, is indispensable to democracy.

    The “ownership” of judicial figures has thus become an essential political accessory in Nigeria. Every ambitious politician knows that s/he needs to own some judges or at least one. This political business model is a deeply Nigerian variant of the Selectorate Theory, which is now taking root across Africa.

    For this export, we must thank Ubanese Igbeke and the Uba brothers of Uga in Anambra State.

    This week, Narrative Landscape publishers will be releasing The Selectorate, my book about how Nigerian judges toppled (and are still toppling) the people. It is a story that has been long in the making.

    *A lawyer and a teacher, Odinkalu can be reached at chidi.odinkalu@tufts.edu*