State Police: Necessary Risk or Risky Necessity?

Femi Akintunde-Johnson

There are moments in the life of a nation when an idea that once appeared controversial suddenly becomes inevitable. State police appears to have reached that threshold in Nigeria. After decades of heated arguments, political suspicion and constitutional foot-dragging, both chambers of the National Assembly have now moved decisively towards one of the most consequential security reforms since the return to democratic rule in 1999. The overwhelming vote in the House of Representatives and the broad support in the Senate suggest that something fundamental has shifted in our national psychology. Perhaps it is simply that insecurity has finally become everyone’s problem.

For years, the clamour for state police was often dismissed as a sectional agenda or a dangerous proposition capable of creating “governors’ armies”. But every fresh report of mass abductions, marauding attacks, school invasions and entire communities living at the mercy of criminals has steadily weakened the arguments against decentralised policing. There comes a point when a nation must admit that doing the same thing repeatedly while expecting a different outcome is not strategy. It is foolish stubbornness.

The truth is uncomfortable. A single, centralised police force headquartered in Abuja and expected to effectively police more than 220 million people spread across nearly one million square kilometres was always going to struggle. It is not necessarily a question of incompetence. It is a question of arithmetic and geography. Nigeria’s security challenges have become too diverse, too localised and too adaptive for a one-size-fits-all policing model.

Banditry in Zamfara is not identical to cult violence in Rivers. Kidnapping along the Abuja-Kaduna corridor does not present precisely the same security demands as farmer-herder conflicts in Benue or piracy in the Niger Delta. Every state has its peculiar security ecosystem, local intelligence networks, social dynamics and criminal patterns. Yet, we have persisted with a command structure that often places operational authority hundreds of kilometres away from the communities under threat.

The appeal of state police therefore rests on a simple proposition: security works best when those responsible for maintaining order understand the terrain, know the communities, can gather intelligence quickly and are directly answerable to the people they protect. In principle, the proposal makes eminent sense.

To be fair, the architects of the proposed legislation have not approached the matter casually. The bill attempts to build safeguards into virtually every stage of the process. A state cannot simply wake up and announce the creation of a police force. There must be enabling legislation passed by the State House of Assembly and compliance with nationally prescribed standards. Commissioners of Police cannot be unilaterally appointed by governors. The National Police Council remains involved in vetting and oversight. State Police Service Commissions are designed to include representatives of the Nigerian Bar Association, the Nigerian Union of Journalists, the Nigeria Labour Congress, traditional rulers and human rights bodies.

On paper, these provisions are thoughtful and reassuring. Yet, Nigerians have learnt to be suspicious of paper assurances. Our country has never suffered from a shortage of beautiful laws. Our difficulty lies in implementation and institutional culture.

The principal fear surrounding state police remains valid. Could some governors weaponise state police against political opponents? The concern is hardly academic. We have seen local government structures captured by state executives. We have witnessed traditional institutions bullied into compliance. We have watched legislative assemblies transform themselves into departments of protocol and applause. We have seen anti-graft agencies selectively energised and conveniently sedated. Why should citizens automatically assume that state police would be immune from similar pressures?

A governor armed with coercive powers and unconstrained by effective institutions could potentially turn state policing into an instrument of intimidation. Opposition figures may suddenly discover unusual traffic violations. Protesters may become enemies of public order. Journalists could find themselves attracting curious security attention. Elections could become more complicated affairs than they already are.

These fears are not imaginary. Neither, however, are the dangers of maintaining the status quo.

Entire communities are currently under-policed. Intelligence gathering is frequently weak. Response times are often painfully slow. Governors, who are constitutionally designated as chief security officers of their states, routinely discover that they possess impressive titles but limited authority. Citizens naturally direct their anger towards governors during security crises, yet the governors themselves frequently lack operational control over the policing architecture within their territories. It is rather like appointing someone captain of a ship and withholding access to the steering wheel.

The question therefore is no longer whether decentralisation carries risks. Every exercise of power carries risks. The question is whether the risks of reform are greater than the dangers of inaction. Judging by our present circumstances, that answer increasingly appears to be no.

Still, if state police must succeed, additional safeguards are imperative. First, appointments into senior positions should involve transparent and competitive processes, with clearly published eligibility criteria and fixed tenures protected from arbitrary dismissal. Security institutions perform better when officers owe loyalty to the law rather than to political benefactors.

Second, state police budgets should be subject to rigorous legislative scrutiny and annual public reporting requirements. Secretive institutions operating with armed powers and weak accountability mechanisms are invitations to abuse.

Third, independent civilian complaints bodies should be established in every state, with powers to receive petitions, investigate misconduct and make binding recommendations. Citizens must possess avenues of redress outside the very institutions accused of wrongdoing.

Fourth, recruitment should reflect local diversity and be protected against ethnic, religious and political monopolisation. No community should perceive a state police force as belonging exclusively to one section of the state. The moment policing becomes identified with one ethnic bloc, one religion or one political tendency, public trust collapses.

Fifth, there should be periodic federal and judicial reviews of state police operations, with measurable benchmarks on professionalism, human rights compliance and operational effectiveness. Autonomy should never mean absence of accountability.

Finally, there must be severe constitutional consequences for proven misuse of state police powers. Governors and senior officials who deploy security institutions for partisan persecution should face sanctions significant enough to deter future abuses.

The larger truth, however, is that no policing architecture can compensate for decades of social and economic neglect. Security crises do not emerge from thin air. They feed on unemployment, collapsing industries, educational dysfunction, social dislocation and governance failures. Millions of young Nigerians leave schools and universities each year and encounter an economy that often has little use for their talents. Frustration becomes vulnerability, vulnerability becomes exploitation, and exploitation sometimes mutates into criminality.

State police may improve response and intelligence capabilities, but it cannot substitute for governance. A nation cannot arrest its way out of every security crisis.

Yet we must start somewhere. The proposed reform is not foolproof. No honest observer can claim otherwise. It carries risks. It will require vigilance. It will demand mature institutions and responsible political leadership. There will undoubtedly be attempts at manipulation and abuse.

But there also comes a time when fear of possible misuse should no longer paralyse necessary action. Nigeria’s security landscape has changed dramatically. Our policing philosophy must evolve accordingly.

Perhaps the better question is not whether state police can be abused. Almost every institution in Nigeria can be abused. The real question is whether we can summon enough wisdom, safeguards and civic vigilance to ensure that an imperfect reform becomes better than an increasingly inadequate status quo.

That is the test before us. And if our present insecurity has taught us anything, it is that the luxury of doing nothing expired a long time ago.