When The Watchdogs Become The Wolves: Inside Nigeria’s Dangerous Battle To Cleanse The Agencies Fighting Corruption -By Daniel Nduka Okonkwo

In every institution entrusted with the power to enforce the law, transparency is not an optional virtue but the foundation upon which public trust is built. Law enforcement agencies exist to protect citizens and uphold justice, yet that mandate begins to collapse the moment secrecy replaces scrutiny and silence replaces accountability. When those charged with policing others operate beyond the reach of oversight, the institution itself becomes vulnerable to the very corruption it was created to fight. Accountability, therefore, is not a punishment to be feared. It is the only credible path forward, the mechanism through which power proves that it deserves to be trusted.

There is a disturbing question at the heart of Nigeria’s war against corruption: Who watches the watchdogs?

For years, Nigerians have watched the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission, EFCC, and the Independent Corrupt Practices and Other Related Offences Commission, ICPC, investigate politicians, businessmen, civil servants, security officials, and other public figures accused of stealing public resources or abusing public office. But what happens when the people carrying the badge, holding the files, and controlling sensitive investigations become part of the problem?

That question has suddenly moved from theory to reality.

The EFCC says more than 40 of its personnel have been dismissed for corruption and financial malpractice during the past three years under Chairman Ola Olukoyede. According to Olukoyede, more than five of those dismissed personnel are currently facing prosecution, while case files involving others are being prepared for possible prosecution.

The revelation is uncomfortable, but it is also important. An anti-corruption agency that discovers alleged corruption within its own walls is not necessarily an agency that has failed. In some circumstances, it can be evidence that internal controls are beginning to work. The real test, however, is what happens after dismissal. Are the affected officers prosecuted where there is evidence of criminal conduct? Are funds allegedly obtained through misconduct recovered? Are the investigations they previously handled reviewed where necessary? Are other people who may have participated in the alleged misconduct identified? And, most importantly, can the institution demonstrate that those who enforce the law are subject to the same law?

That is where Nigeria’s latest internal purge becomes much bigger than a personnel matter.

In January 2025, the EFCC announced that 27 of its officers had been dismissed in 2024 for offences relating to fraudulent activities and professional misconduct. The commission said the dismissals followed recommendations by its Staff Disciplinary Committee and were approved by the executive chairman.

The EFCC has also previously warned about individuals allegedly exploiting the name and authority of the commission’s leadership to extort money from people under investigation. One case involved two alleged members of a syndicate accused of demanding one million dollars from former Nigerian Ports Authority Managing Director Mohammed Bello-Koko in exchange for what was described as a supposed soft landing in a purported investigation. Such allegations, when proven, illustrate the particular danger of corruption within an anti-graft institution because the alleged perpetrators are not merely seeking money. They are allegedly attempting to sell access to, or influence over, the machinery of justice.

That is corruption weaponised through the authority of the state.

An ordinary fraudster can steal money. A compromised anti-corruption officer can potentially manipulate an investigation, intimidate a suspect, leak confidential information, interfere with evidence, or create the impression that justice itself has a price. That makes insider corruption particularly dangerous. The person holding the badge is not merely another employee. He or she may have access to the machinery of coercive state power.

The most important development in Olukoyede’s disclosure is therefore not simply the number of dismissals. It is the decision to move beyond administrative punishment. According to the EFCC chairman, more than five of the dismissed personnel are already being prosecuted, while cases involving others are being prepared.

This distinction matters. Dismissal ends employment. Prosecution tests criminal accountability.

For years, one of the frustrations surrounding institutional misconduct in Nigeria has been the perception that officials can lose their positions and quietly disappear into society without answering for what they allegedly did. If an officer is accused of taking money from a suspect, manipulating an investigation, abusing official access, or engaging in other criminal conduct, termination alone cannot necessarily be the end of the story.

But prosecution must also be understood for what it is. An allegation is not a conviction. The courts must determine guilt, and those accused remain entitled to due process. Where guilt is established, however, the consequences should follow. This is why the prosecution of former personnel may ultimately prove more important than the dismissals themselves.

The latest disclosure should also not be interpreted as though more than 40 people suddenly became corrupt overnight. The EFCC’s public statements indicate that the figure covers a period of approximately three years. It therefore appears to encompass disciplinary actions taken at different times, including the 27 officers dismissed in 2024.

That raises an uncomfortable question. How many cases of internal misconduct existed before they were detected?

Nobody should assume that the number of dismissed officers represents the full scale of internal misconduct. It represents the number the commission says it has identified and acted against. That distinction is critical.

A serious investigative approach should therefore ask what triggered these internal investigations, how long the alleged misconduct lasted, whether complaints had previously been ignored, whether supervisors detected unusual behaviour, whether internal intelligence systems worked, and whether external individuals or organisations benefited from the alleged misconduct.

The number 40 should not close the investigation. It should open it.

The problem becomes even more serious when the issue moves from financial malpractice to access control.

The ICPC has reportedly dismissed a security officer, identified as Daniel Stephen, following allegations that he helped Aichatou Assabe El-Rufai, one of the wives of former Kaduna State governor Nasir El-Rufai, gain unauthorised access to him while he was in custody. The officer was accused of helping her bypass established visitor procedures, with CCTV footage reportedly forming part of the evidence considered in the disciplinary process.

The significance goes beyond the identity of the detainee.

A detention facility operated by an anti-corruption agency exists because access is supposed to be controlled. Who enters? Who leaves? Who meets a detainee? When does the meeting happen? Who authorised it? Which officer facilitated it?

Those are not merely administrative details. They are security questions.

When a staff member allegedly bypasses established procedures to facilitate access to a high-profile detainee, the potential consequences extend beyond one unauthorised visit. It raises legitimate questions about the protection of investigations, the confidentiality of evidence, the security of witnesses, and the integrity of the detention process.

The ICPC case, therefore, demonstrates another dimension of institutional vulnerability. An agency can be compromised not only through money but through access.

Corruption is often imagined as an envelope of cash changing hands. Modern institutional corruption can be much more sophisticated. Sometimes it is access to a restricted database. Sometimes it is a leaked investigation file. Sometimes it is a phone call to a suspect. Sometimes it is a visitor being taken through an unauthorised route. Sometimes it is an officer revealing information that should have remained confidential.

And sometimes it is simply one official deciding that the rules do not apply to a particular person.

That is why internal controls matter. The strength of an anti-corruption institution is not measured only by the number of arrests it makes. It is also measured by how difficult it is for one compromised employee to manipulate the institution from within.

Olukoyede’s response has been to institutionalise the cleanup. The EFCC has renamed its Department of Internal Affairs as the Department of Ethics and Integrity. The commission has also introduced a gift policy requiring personnel to declare gifts above specified thresholds, including gifts received from relatives abroad. The stated objective is to strengthen accountability and scrutiny of officers’ sources of income and standards of living.

That is a significant shift because it recognises an uncomfortable reality. An officer investigating somebody’s unexplained wealth cannot credibly live an unexplained lifestyle without attracting scrutiny. An officer investigating illicit enrichment cannot suddenly acquire assets that bear no obvious relationship to legitimate income without inviting questions. An officer responsible for enforcing financial laws cannot reasonably demand gifts, favours, or improper benefits from people whose cases he or she controls.

The principle is simple. If you are going to police the money, your own money must also be capable of scrutiny.

But policies on paper are not enough. Nigeria has never suffered from a shortage of rules. The problem has often been enforcement.

There is another danger. Internal disciplinary mechanisms can become weapons if they are not transparent, consistent, and subject to appropriate oversight. An officer should not be punished simply because he or she offended a superior. Nor should a politically connected officer escape scrutiny because of whom he or she knows. The same standards should apply to junior officers and senior officials.

That is why the public should not simply celebrate the number of dismissals. It should demand evidence of due process. What were the allegations? What evidence supported them? Were the affected officers allowed to defend themselves? Which cases have been transferred for criminal prosecution? Which prosecutions have reached court? How many convictions have resulted? How much money was allegedly involved? Was any money recovered? Were external collaborators identified?

These are the questions that turn an announcement into accountability.

There is one area that deserves far greater attention. Every time an anti-corruption officer is removed for serious misconduct, the agency should consider whether that officer previously handled investigations that may have been compromised.

This should trigger a forensic review where credible circumstances warrant it.

Not because every case handled by a dismissed officer is necessarily compromised, but because the possibility cannot simply be ignored. Imagine an investigator secretly receiving money from a suspect. What other investigations did that investigator handle? What evidence did the officer access? Which witnesses were interviewed? Which suspects were recommended for prosecution or release? Which bank accounts were examined? Which confidential documents were accessed? Who communicated with the officer?

The same principle applies to unauthorised access. If an officer can bypass security procedures once, investigators should determine whether the breach was an isolated act or exposed a wider institutional vulnerability.

That is where technology must become part of Nigeria’s anti-corruption architecture.

Sensitive anti-corruption investigations should leave an electronic trail. Access to confidential case files should be logged. Modifications should be traceable. Downloads should be recorded. Unusual access patterns should trigger alerts. High-risk files should require appropriate levels of authorisation. Sensitive databases should operate on clearly defined, role-based access.

No individual officer should have unrestricted control over every aspect of a sensitive investigation.

And when an employee leaves an organisation, access to sensitive systems should be terminated promptly and systematically.

These are not futuristic ideas. They are basic institutional safeguards in an age when information itself has become a valuable commodity. If a corrupt officer can potentially sell information, then information must be protected as aggressively as money.

The EFCC says that between October 2023 and July 2026, it received 49,673 petitions, investigated 39,615 cases, filed 14,476 cases in court, and secured 10,872 convictions. It also reported recoveries of more than N1.23 trillion and 684 million dollars during the period.

Those numbers are enormous.

But statistics alone cannot create public confidence. Trust is built when citizens believe that the institution applying the law is itself governed by the law.

That is why the internal purge matters.

A police officer who arrests criminals but takes bribes damages the police. A judge who demands money destroys confidence in the judiciary. A regulator who takes inducements destroys regulation. An anti-corruption officer who takes money from a suspect strikes at the very foundation of the institution he or she represents.

The damage is therefore multiplied.

There will always be a temptation to interpret corruption inside an anti-corruption institution as proof that the institution itself is useless. That would be the wrong conclusion.

The more appropriate conclusion is that powerful institutions require powerful oversight.

The answer to a compromised anti-corruption agency is not necessarily to weaken it. It is to strengthen its internal controls, independent oversight, transparency, and accountability.

The EFCC and ICPC must be strong enough to confront powerful Nigerians. But they must also be accountable enough that Nigerians can scrutinise them when they abuse their powers.

That is the balance democracy requires.

The most important message from the latest purge is therefore not that Nigeria has discovered corrupt people inside its anti-corruption agencies. That should surprise nobody. Institutions are made of human beings.

The important question is whether the system is capable of finding those who abuse their positions, stopping them, and ensuring that appropriate consequences follow.

For once, Nigeria is seeing its anti-corruption institutions publicly acknowledge that the corruption problem does not end at their own front doors.

The EFCC says it has dismissed more than 40 personnel over corruption and financial malpractice, with more than five facing prosecution. The ICPC has also dismissed a security officer following allegations of a breach of visitor-access procedures involving a high-profile detainee.

That is significant.

But it is only the beginning.

Dismissal is not justice. Prosecution is not conviction. A policy is not enforcement. And a press briefing is not institutional reform.

The real measure of this internal war will come months and years from now.

Will the prosecutions succeed? Will money linked to proven wrongdoing be recovered? Will investigations potentially compromised by misconduct be reviewed where necessary? Will access violations become harder to repeat? Will officers be required to explain suspicious wealth? Will senior officials be subjected to the same scrutiny as junior employees? Will independent oversight be allowed to function? And will the agencies provide enough information for Nigerians to determine whether this is genuine institutional cleansing or merely another administrative exercise?

Nigeria does not need anti-corruption agencies that merely punish corruption outside their walls.

It needs anti-corruption institutions that are sufficiently clean, accountable, and credible to confront corruption everywhere else.

Because the most dangerous corrupt officer is not always the one stealing public money.

Sometimes, it is the one sitting inside the institution created to stop the theft.

That is why the watchdogs must be watched.

Daniel Nduka Okonkwo is an investigative journalist, human rights advocate, and publisher, and the founder of Profiles International Human Rights Advocate, PIHRA. His work focuses on governance, accountability, and the protection of fundamental rights across Nigeria and Africa. His reporting has appeared in Vanguard, Daily Trust, Sahara Reporters, African Defence Forum, Opinion Nigeria, and Daily Intel, among others.

Read more of his work on the PIHRA blog: https://profilesinternationalhumanrightsadv.blogspot.com
For tips, feedback, or collaboration, reach him at dan.okonkwo.73@gmail.com