On September 10, at the Aso Hall of Abuja Continental Hotel, Prof. Anthony Kila, a Jean Monnet Professor of Strategy and Development and Director of the Commonwealth Institute, delivered an effervescent and sparkling introduction to my new book, The Imperative of State Police in Nigeria.
In his analysis of the book in relation to Nigeria’s current insecurity challenges and the move by President Bola Tinubu’s administration to decentralise Nigeria’s policing system, which is no longer fit for purpose, Prof. Kila held the audience spellbound with his elucidation of the issues.
Inspired by the theme of the event, “Explaining the Grey Areas of State Policing: The Case, the Strategy, the Operations and Framework,” Prof. Kila analysed the book even better than I, the author, could have done, as he identified the nuanced and granular details that ordinary eyes and faculties would not ordinarily comprehend.
He did so by synthesising and disseminating his knowledge to an audience comprising several retired military chiefs, policymakers, media men and women, and members of the diplomatic corps, who were enthralled by his erudition and the unique manner in which he conveyed his insights.
It is the process and manner in which he presented his understanding of the book and shared it with the audience that, in my view, earned him the epithet—or, perhaps more appropriately, the tag—“Mad Professor.”
Before dwelling on the message and content of the book, let us first put a spotlight on the book reviewer and messenger—Prof. Kila, whom, for lack of a better nomenclature, I have referred to as the “Mad Professor.”
For a better understanding of the context, the question needs to be asked: Who can be tagged a “Mad Professor”?
A “Mad professor” in Nigerian slang is someone who is exceptionally smart but does things in a chaotic or unconventional way.
Think of that lecturer who can solve any equation on the board but forgets where he parked his car.
As such ,it is not a negative appellation; rather, it is a positive one, if referred to as “Mad professor’, which is euphemism for a genius.
Arising from the above, the classic image of a “Mad Professor” is that of an academic or intellectual with wild hair, a laboratory coat, crazy inventions, and a tendency to talk to himself.
To further imagine a typical “Mad Professor,” think of Doc Brown from Back to the Future or Rick from Rick and Morty in the movie world.
So, a “Mad Professor” is an intellectual who is brilliant, often survives on very little sleep and too much coffee, and somehow turns that combination into breakthroughs.
Professor Anthony Kila ticks almost all the boxes above, except that I have never seen him speak to himself, and his beard and hair are not particularly bushy.
In fact, his hair and beard are certainly not golden-grey, unlike those of Professor Wole Soyinka, the nonagenarian Nobel Prize laureate in Literature.
But based on nearly all the other indices, Prof. Kila fits the mould of a “Mad Professor” as described above, since he basically exhibited the characteristics earlier highlighted while preparing for and executing his role as the reviewer of my book, The Imperative of State Police in Nigeria, as evidenced by the experience below.
On the day the book was to be unveiled, and Prof. Kila was scheduled to review it—the number two item on the program of events—the “Mad Professor” was stranded in faraway Lagos.
Although a flight out of Lagos had been booked for him to arrive in Abuja the previous day, and hotel accommodation had been reserved for him, Kila had instead headed to Benin City for another intellectual engagement
He had banked on a reliable air transportation system that would have seen him arrive in Abuja before the scheduled 12 noon commencement of the book unveiling ceremony. But he was disappointed by flight delays out of Benin City and Lagos. The consistent occurrence of such delays, which currently defines Nigeria’s aviation space, caused him to appear approximately four hours behind schedule on stage to make his presentation at the Abuja Continental Hotel.
Expectedly,Prof. Kila’s delay in appearing on time disrupted the programme, as Dubem Moghalu, the Senior Special Assistant to President Tinubu on Research and Planning and Secretary to the Presidential Working Group on the National Policing Bill, under the chairmanship of Hon. Femi Gbajabiamila, the Chief of Staff to President Tinubu, compelled a change of plan.
Moghalu was, therefore, the first to make his presentation, titled “State Police: The Journey So Far.”
What likens—or, perhaps more appropriately, lends—Prof. Kila the image of a “Mad Professor” (someone who is exceptionally smart but does things in chaotic or unconventional ways) is that, after all the disruptions, when he eventually concluded his presentation, the masters of ceremonies, Dr. Amechi Anakwe and Dr. Adaora Onyechere Syney-Jack concluded that his analysis of the book was worth the wait—and the audience concurred.
At this juncture, in my reckoning, we have focused enough on Professor Kila and his “Mad Professor” proclivities. It is therefore appropriate that we delve into the substance of the book, The Imperative of State Police in Nigeria, which he has laid bare so mercurially in his submission below:
A Review of The Imperative of State Police in Nigeria by Magnus Onyibe.
There are books that arrive because their authors have something to say, and there are books that arrive because a country has reached a point at which something needs to be said. Magnus Onyibe’s The Imperative of State Police in Nigeria belongs firmly in the latter category.
It is a topical book because it addresses one of the most consequential questions in Nigeriacc’s contemporary public-policy debate: can a country as vast, populous, diverse and security-challenged as Nigeria continue to rely almost entirely on a policing architecture centred on centralised control?
But the book’s significance goes beyond its position on state policing. Its real strength is that Magnus Onyibe does not treat policing simply as a question of law enforcement. He treats it as a question of institutional design, federalism, governance, intelligence, technology, accountability, and the relationship between the state and its citizens.
Please allow me to point out that this distinction matters.
The debate over state police has too often been reduced to a binary argument: supporters are portrayed as advocates of decentralisation, while opponents are presented as defenders of national unity. Onyibe’s book is more sophisticated than that. It recognises the legitimate fears surrounding state police while asking whether those fears should permanently prevent institutional reform.
Indeed, one of the book’s most important propositions is that institutions should be judged by their capacity to solve the problems they were created to address. Nigeria’s security environment has changed profoundly, and the author asks whether the architecture designed for an earlier Nigeria still fits today’s Nigeria. That, in my view, is the right question.
One of the book’s most useful contributions is its historical reconstruction of how Nigeria moved from a relatively decentralised policing arrangement to the highly centralised system that exists today.
Onyibe reminds the reader that state or regional policing is not an alien institutional idea imported from elsewhere. Nigeria had regional and local police organisations before and during the First Republic. The present arrangement emerged largely from the extraordinary circumstances surrounding military intervention, political instability, and the Civil War.
This historical dimension matters because it shifts the terms of the debate. The question is not simply “Should Nigeria experiment with state police?” It is also “Why did Nigeria abandon decentralised policing in the first place, and are the circumstances that produced that decision still applicable today?” That is a much more intellectually productive question.
The author captures the issue with a particularly useful formulation: “Stability should never be confused with permanence, nor continuity with effectiveness.”
That sentence deserves to travel well beyond the pages of this book. It applies not only to policing but to public institutions generally. The fact that an institutional arrangement has survived for decades does not, by itself, prove that it remains appropriate.
The central operational argument for state police is equally compelling.
Crime is often local before it becomes national. Security threats emerge in particular communities, forests, neighborhoods, waterways, markets, farms, and transport corridors. Effective policing therefore requires knowledge of geography, language, social networks, customs, and local patterns of behavior.
Onyibe argues that decentralisation can improve intelligence, reduce bureaucratic delays, and make policing more responsive to local conditions.
This is particularly relevant in a country where the security challenges in one region can differ radically from those in another. The book examines these differences and argues for policing strategies that can respond to distinct regional realities rather than imposing a uniform operational model across the federation.
There is an important strategic principle here: different problems require different forms of institutional response.
A policing architecture that treats insecurity in the Niger Delta, banditry in the North-West, insurgency in the North-East, communal conflict in the North-Central and metropolitan crime in the South-West as variations of exactly the same problem will inevitably struggle to optimise its response.
What makes this book more useful than a conventional advocacy text is that Onyibe does not pretend that state police is risk-free. The danger of political interference is real, and he acknowledges it.
Political actors could abuse a state police structure. It could become an instrument of intimidation, partisan enforcement, or electoral manipulation. The history of the First Republic can not simply be wished away.
Onyibe’s response, however, is not to dismiss these concerns. It is to ask whether they can be institutionally managed. That is where the book becomes a work of policy design rather than mere advocacy.
Magnus Onyibe argues for constitutional safeguards, independent oversight, judicial review, legislative supervision, civilian complaints mechanisms, financial transparency, national professional standards, and effective coordination between federal and state police organisations.
The proposition is straightforward: “The appropriate response is therefore not to preserve an arrangement that is increasingly struggling to meet Nigeria’s security needs, but to design constitutional guardrails that minimise abuse while preserving the benefits of reform.”
This is a very important intellectual discipline in the book: recognising a risk without allowing the mere existence of risk to serve as an argument against possible reform.
Another commendable feature of Onyibe’s argument is his rejection of the false choice between federal policing and state policing.
He does not propose thirty-six disconnected police organisations operating as independent security kingdoms. Rather, he envisages a system in which federal and state policing responsibilities coexist within a common constitutional framework.
That distinction is critical. A mature federal system does not require every level of government to perform identical functions. It requires clarity of responsibility, coordination, and accountability.
As the author puts it: “The real challenge before Nigeria is to design a policing institution that combines local operational flexibility with national coordination, democratic accountability and the rule of law.” That is a proposition with considerable policy merit.
The book also deserves commendation for refusing to make state police the entire answer.
Its later chapters broaden the discussion into technology, intelligence, traditional institutions, community participation, criminal justice, and inter-agency coordination.
This is particularly important because modern policing can not depend exclusively on the number of officers carrying weapons.
Technology can improve surveillance and intelligence. Communities can provide information and context. Traditional institutions can contribute local knowledge and early warning. A functioning criminal justice system can ensure that policing ultimately leads to credible justice.
Onyibe captures the principle well: “Technology can enhance intelligence, but it can not generate trust.” That is a profound observation.
Nigeria’s security challenge is, therefore, not merely a question of who controls the police. It is also a question of how information flows, how institutions cooperate, how communities participate, and how authority is held accountable.
The author’s treatment of technology, including the discussion of intelligence-led policing and the Enugu experience, gives the argument a welcome contemporary dimension.
Perhaps the greatest virtue of The Imperative of State Police in Nigeria is that it moves the conversation from slogans to institutional questions. It asks us to consider not simply whether we support or oppose state police, but how should it be designed? Who should supervise it? What should the federal police do? What should state police do? What safeguards should exist? How should intelligence be shared? How should funding be regulated? How do we prevent political capture? How do we measure effectiveness? How do we preserve national cohesion while bringing security closer to the people?
These are the questions that serious policy conversations should address. The book’s concluding proposition is, therefore, particularly significant: “The imperative of state police is not simply the imperative of establishing another tier of policing.” Exactly!
The real issue is whether Nigeria can redesign its security architecture to become locally responsive, nationally coordinated, and democratically accountable.
That is a much bigger ambition than creating another police organisation.
Magnus Onyibe deserves commendation for taking on a subject that is both politically sensitive and institutionally complex and for doing so with a commendable willingness to examine the argument from multiple sides.
The book is historical without becoming trapped in history. It is policy-oriented without becoming technocratic. It supports decentralised policing without ignoring the dangers decentralisation may create.
Most importantly, it invites Nigerians to reconsider a habit that has become common in our public life: mistaking inherited arrangements for permanent truths.
Nigeria’s security challenges have evolved. Its population has expanded enormously. Its cities have changed. Criminal networks have become more sophisticated. Technology has transformed both crime and policing. The institutional response must, therefore, evolve as well.
This is why I consider The Imperative of State Police in Nigeria a timely and useful contribution to Nigeria’s continuing constitutional, security, and governance conversation.
It should be read by policymakers, legislators, security professionals, academics, civil society organisations, traditional leaders, journalists, and, indeed, citizens interested in the future of Nigeria’s federation.
Its greatest achievement may ultimately be that it does not ask the reader merely to agree with state police.
It asks the reader to think seriously about how Nigeria should police itself.
And that is a conversation Nigeria can no longer afford to postpone.
Thank you very much.
In conclusion, one point that readers should take note of is that the ongoing reform of Nigeria’s policing system is part of the multiple reform actions so far undertaken by the administration of President Tinubu since May 29, 2023, the date of his inauguration as President, when he swiftly announced the end of the petrol subsidy regime.
It is noteworthy that the petrol subsidy was an intervention measure introduced some four (4) decades ago by then Head of State, General Yakubu Gowon, to ameliorate the pain being experienced by the masses following a shock caused by the drastic drop in the price of crude oil on the international market.
While it was supposed to be a temporary measure, our military leaders at the time did not tie it to a specific timeframe. That, essentially, was the reason it became perpetual until President Tinubu ended it on May 29, 2023, after more than four decades of operation. In the process, the subsidy outlived its usefulness without being discontinued.
A close look will reveal that the policy action taken by then Head of State Gowon is similar to the current interventions by presidents and prime ministers through the removal or suspension of taxes on petrol prices across Europe and, indeed, in most parts of the world, arising from the global economic crisis caused by disruptions in energy supplies from the Middle East following the United States-Israeli war against Iran, which resulted in the blockade of the Strait of Hormuz.
When the current policy of suspending taxes on petrol is scrutinised, it will become evident that the tax removal is not open-ended, as was the case with Nigeria’s petrol subsidy regime. As such, these interventions are designed not to become perpetual in the manner in which the petrol subsidy became entrenched in Nigeria to the detriment of the economy.
In my view, the reform of the policing system through its proposed decentralisation is, in some ways, similar to the removal of petrol subsidies, which is itself part of the many reforms that this administration has carried out in the oil and gas sector.
When the decision to centralise the policing system was made after the military coup in 1966, in a bid to keep Nigeria unified and in alignment with the military’s command-and-control doctrine, it was open-ended. Hence, successive military and democratic regimes sustained the system, even though its utility has become obsolete as the dynamics of society and the nature of existential challenges have changed with the effluxion of time.
Apart from the intensity of the debate it has generated, the decentralisation of policing in Nigeria is likely to be the next most consequential policy reform by the Tinubu administration, second only to the Petroleum Industry Bill (PIB), which eventually became an Act of Parliament after roughly two decades on the drawing board.
Perhaps, learning from the PIB debacle, the administration has been methodical and swift in pushing the constitutional reforms required to decentralise policing and create a new working framework—or, if you like, a Standard Operating Procedure (SOP)—for the new policing system that our country deserves at this point in time. Such a system would enable Nigeria to develop more rapidly and progressively in a manner that would guarantee prosperity for all Nigerians.
A comparison between petrol subsidy removal and the decentralisation of the policing system in Nigeria, within the milieu of reforms so far executed by the incumbent administration, will be the focus of this column next week, all things being equal.
Magnus Onyibe, an entrepreneur, public policy analyst, author, democracy advocate, development strategist, an alumnus of the Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy, Tufts University, Massachusetts, USA, a Commonwealth Institute scholar, and a former commissioner in the Delta State government,
