Why Nigeria Must Stop Turning Courts Into Weapons and Let the PDP Convention Hold -By Prof. John Egbeazien Oshodi

Nigeria on the Couch: A Democracy in Need of Therapy

If Nigeria were a patient on the therapy couch, this PDP convention crisis would be one of the clearest symptoms the clinician would write down: chronic institutional anxiety, fear of competition, and a compulsive use of courts and security agencies to manage political disagreements.

What should be a simple event—a political party gathering in Ibadan on Saturday and Sunday to hold its national convention—has become a national drama: conflicting court orders, factional proclamations, talk of arrests, threats of contempt, and heavy speculation about what the police will or will not do.

All this noise tells us something is very wrong with how power is understood and exercised in Nigeria. A democracy grows when political parties are allowed to organize freely, compete openly, and learn from defeat. It decays when convention halls become battlegrounds, judges become referees for factional ego, and security agencies are quietly positioned as tools of intimidation.

Nigeria is not a perfect democracy. It is a troubled one. But it is still a democracy. And in any democracy worth its name, the right of a political party to hold its convention is not up for negotiation.

No matter how loud the confusion becomes, that basic truth must be respected.

Femi Gbajabiamila’s Warning: Democracy Cannot Breathe Without Opposition

This is why Femi Gbajabiamila’s recent words are so important. As President Tinubu’s Chief of Staff and an American-trained lawyer, he understands how democracies collapse—not always through coups, but through the gradual weakening of opposition.

When he welcomed the formation of an ADC-led opposition coalition and said clearly that a strong opposition is necessary to prevent Nigeria from becoming a one-party state, he was not making a casual remark. He was diagnosing the danger.

If the presidency’s own top aide openly acknowledges that opposition parties must be allowed to exist, organize, and compete, then weaponizing courts and institutions to squeeze the PDP convention becomes not just a political mistake, but a direct contradiction of the principle he has already affirmed.

You cannot applaud opposition in one breath and try to suffocate it in another.

The implication is simple: a multi-party system is not a favor from the ruling party—it is the foundation of democratic legitimacy. And once you accept that, it follows logically that no court order, no factional agenda, and no security maneuver should be used to stop a major opposition party from gathering to determine its future.

A Country That Avoids the Truth – But Not This Time

Nigeria has mastered the art of avoiding the truth about itself. We baptize institutional abuse as “strategy.” We excuse judicial overreach as “process.” We look at obvious manipulation and call it “political reality.”

But this time, the truth is too direct to be ignored.

One party convention has produced:

• Federal and state courts issuing conflicting orders over the same issue.

• Factions within the PDP issuing opposite directives—one cancelling, another insisting it must hold.

• Judges in Abuja and Ibadan pulled into an intra-party fight that should, in a healthy system, be resolved politically, not judicially.

• Fears that security agencies may be quietly used to frustrate or intimidate delegates.

All of this is happening over something that should be routine in any democracy: a party choosing its leaders and affirming its direction.

Nigeria must face this painful truth: when courts become the primary tools for settling internal party disputes, and when state and federal benches are drawn repeatedly into partisan storms, the judiciary risks losing its dignity and the citizen loses faith in justice. And when security agencies hover around political gatherings as potential enforcers of one faction’s will, the rule of law begins to melt into the rule of fear.

But there is a line that cannot be blurred: whatever the level of dysfunction, Nigeria remains a constitutional democracy, not a private estate. It is not a man’s personal nation. Not Wike’s, not Damagum’s, not the President’s, not any governor’s.

And because it is a democracy, certain rights—including the right of a political party to hold a convention—are not optional.

A Non-Partisan Voice in a Partisan Storm

Let this be clearly stated: I belong to no Nigerian political party.

I am neither in Wike’s camp nor in Damagum’s camp. I write not as a party loyalist but as a psychologist and a Nigerian native concerned about what repeated institutional manipulation does to the mind of a nation.

From that neutral vantage point, one truth stands out above all:

No court, including the Supreme Court;

no president or governor;

no inspector general or police command;

no military officer or security agency;

no internal faction, however powerful,

has the constitutional right to stop a duly registered political party from holding its national convention and representing the millions who support it.

Courts can insist on fair procedure.

They can correct illegality.

They can restrain unlawfulness.

But they cannot erase the right of political assembly at the heart of a multiparty democracy.

Once that line is crossed, the system is no longer a democracy. It becomes an organized system of control.

Wike’s Side: Politics as Pressure, Theatre, and Permanent Confrontation

The faction aligned with Nyesom Wike operates with a political psychology that Nigeria has seen many times before: politics as permanent confrontation. In this style, every disagreement is escalated, every process is contested, and every institutional opening becomes a space to show force.

In that mindset:

• Internal party disagreement is treated like war, not negotiation.

• Courts are not only places of justice, but arenas for tactical advantage.

• Public statements are crafted less to heal and more to dominate.

It is a politics of constant pressure—loud, forceful, dramatic, often effective in the short term, but destructive in the long term. It keeps systems in a state of agitation, and agitation is then used as proof of indispensability.

There is no doubt that Wike’s style has reshaped the PDP’s internal climate and deepened mistrust. There is no doubt that his confrontational approach fuels tension and constantly tests the strength of institutions. He is not the only politician who behaves this way, but he is one of the clearest expressions of this culture.

Yet even this intense, noisy, aggressive form of politics has a limit. It may generate fear. It may stall processes. It may produce dramatic court moments. But it cannot erase a constitutional right.

It cannot stop a political party from existing.

It cannot stop a political party from organizing.

And it cannot stop a political party from holding its convention.

The political theatre may be loud, but the constitution is louder.

Damagum’s Side: Fragile Authority, Anxiety, and the Need to Prove Control

On the other side sits the Damagum faction, carrying a different weight—that of fragile authority. Acting chairmanship always comes with a question mark: is this permanent, temporary, legitimate, imposed, or transitional? That uncertainty breeds anxiety.

This camp’s psychology is not aggressive confrontation but anxious preservation. It wants to prove that:

• The party is still functioning.

• The internal order has not collapsed.

• Its leadership can carry the structure safely to the next phase.

Hence the insistence that the convention must go on. For Damagum’s side, the convention is both a test and a shield. If it holds, they can point to it as evidence that they are capable custodians. If it fails, their detractors will declare them weak and illegitimate.

This pushes them toward:

• A strong reliance on favorable court orders.

• An emphasis on procedure, guidelines, and strict adherence to timetables.

• A posture that says: “We are the continuity, they are the disruption.”

But here too, there is a boundary. Damagum’s side does not own the PDP. No faction does.

Leadership in a party is not ownership of the party.

Control of the secretariat is not control of the souls and votes of millions of Nigerians.

So while Damagum’s camp may have a strong interest in making sure the convention goes forward under its direction, it must remember that the convention itself does not belong to any group. It belongs to the institution of the party and the citizens behind it.

Their fear of losing control cannot justify using courts or procedures in a way that shuts others out.

And even they, who want the convention as validation, must accept the same central truth:

They cannot cancel the party’s right to gather.

They cannot declare ownership of its future.

They cannot stop it.

Abuja and Ibadan: When Judges Become Part of the Drama

Now to the judges—the “Abuja judges,” as many Nigerians call them when they appear suddenly in high-profile political cases, and the Ibadan judge now drawn into the same whirlwind.

Too many courts are now sitting at the center of what is essentially a family quarrel inside one political party. Federal judges in Abuja issue orders. A state high court in Ibadan extends injunctions. Applications fly back and forth. Procedural mistakes—like unsigned affidavits—suddenly determine what applications can be heard and which ones must be refiled.

All this while thousands of ordinary cases wait in silence:

robbery trials, land disputes, human rights violations, corruption matters, and appeals that may determine someone’s freedom or future.

This is where the therapy metaphor returns. Judges are supposed to be stabilizers of the national psyche—anchors of predictability and fairness. When they are overused as instruments in political games, their own institutional mental health is damaged. The public begins to see them not as neutral arbiters but as potential tools.

Yes, Abuja judges should focus on the mountain of unresolved cases overwhelming their courts. Yes, it is true that Oyo is not innocent either—the governor and his allies are also leaning on a state court to create legal cover for their political path.

In both places, the judiciary is being pulled too deep into party politics.

And yet, even with all these orders and counter-orders, there is one line the courts cannot cross without betraying their own constitutional purpose:

They cannot legitimately stop a political party from holding a properly convened convention.

They can shape the conditions.

They can correct process.

But they cannot extinguish the right itself.

IGP Kayode: Security Must Protect Democracy, Not Police It Into Silence

Inspector-General of Police Kayode Egbetokun stands in a delicate position. Nigerians have seen too many scenes where the police quietly, or openly, act on the instructions of powerful politicians rather than on the basis of law.

This weekend will test whether that culture is changing—or whether it remains the same.

If the police appear at the convention grounds in Ibadan, their role must be unambiguous:

• To protect, not to provoke.

• To stand at a respectful distance, not to occupy the space like an army of occupation.

• To respond to real threats, not imagined threats crafted by politicians who fear embarrassment.

Their presence should bring calm, not fear. Delegates and citizens must see them as guardians of safety, not as instruments waiting for a whistle from a powerful patron.

This is not the time for any security agency to “do someone’s bidding,” whether that someone is Wike, Damagum, a governor, or anyone else.

The police do not determine whether a convention is legitimate.

They do not decide which faction is right.

Their job is not to pick a side but to protect the space.

No police line, no patrol team, no special unit has the authority to stop a lawful political convention.

They cannot stop it.

The People of Oyo: Citizens as Democratic Therapists

In all of this, one group has more psychological power than it realizes: the people of Oyo State.

With their governor hosting the convention, and the event taking place in their capital, their role is not passive. Their turnout, conduct, and visibility will help determine how the day is remembered.

If they stay away in fear, the event becomes vulnerable—to manipulation, to security overreach, to factional interference.

But if they come out in large numbers—peaceful, observant, engaged—they become a protective presence.

A peaceful crowd sends a message:

“We are watching.”

“We understand what this is.”

“We will not be silent if democracy is humiliated in front of us.”

Such a crowd makes it harder for anyone—politician, police commander, or judge—to act recklessly. It becomes a living reminder that democracy belongs to the people, not to those who shout the loudest or sit in the highest office.

The people of Oyo, simply by showing up peacefully, can help make sure that this convention is not strangled in the dark. They become therapists for a wounded democracy, giving it room to breathe.

The Non-Negotiable Rule: In a Real Democracy, No One Can Stop It

When all the noise is stripped away, one principle remains unshakeable:

In a real democracy, no one—not a faction, not a judge, not a president, not a governor, not a police chief, and not even an electoral umpire—has the authority to stop a legitimate political party from holding its convention.

The right of assembly is not a luxury.

It is not a privilege granted by the powerful.

It is a constitutional right built into the very DNA of a multi-party system.

And this is where INEC must step into clarity.

INEC is not a bystander.

INEC is not a spectator.

INEC is not a junior partner to political actors or judges issuing contradictory orders.

INEC is the custodian of Nigeria’s electoral framework.

It knows the rules.

It understands the constitution.

It recognizes the difference between lawful procedure and political pressure disguised as legal instructions.

INEC must not fall into the games of the powerful or the confusion of overlapping court orders. It must not allow itself to be dragged into judicial theatrics or factional strong-arming. It knows its responsibility—and this is the moment to demonstrate it.

INEC must be fully present in Ibadan on Saturday.

Not hiding.

Not hesitating.

Not waiting for someone else to define its duty.

The electoral umpire must show the maturity and courage expected of an institution that stands above partisan turbulence. Its presence brings legitimacy. Its absence invites manipulation.

Because a democracy collapses when its electoral commission starts blinking in moments when clarity is needed most.

And so, the same central truth applies to every institution, including INEC:

You can regulate process.

You can supervise fairness.

You can insist on lawful procedure.

But you cannot stop a political party from gathering.

No one can stop it.

The Painful Mirror: Trump’s Words and What Saturday Must Not Become

This brings us to Saturday.

Nigeria is standing before a mirror it cannot avoid. The PDP convention in Ibadan is no longer a small internal event. It has become a symbol—of what Nigeria tolerates, what it excuses, what it risks, and what it refuses to protect.

If the convention holds peacefully—backed by court restraint, security professionalism, and public presence—it will send a message that, despite its many wounds, Nigeria can still defend basic democratic procedures. It will be a small victory for the constitution over chaos.

But if the convention is derailed by conflicting orders, factional sabotage, police intimidation, or institutional cowardice, then the world will draw its own conclusions.

And that is where Donald Trump’s recent insult returns with painful force. When he called Nigeria a “now disgraced country,” many were rightly offended. But if, by our own internal choices, we stage yet another avoidable crisis in front of the world, we risk turning that crude remark into something that looks like confirmation.

That should hurt.

It should sting at the level of national pride.

It should disturb anyone who still believes this country has dignity left to defend.

This Saturday is more than a party date.

It is a therapy session for our institutions.

It is a test of whether we are still serious about democracy—or only serious about power.

Let us not make this Saturday a disgrace.

Let us show, with calm firmness and public clarity, that Nigeria can protect a simple democratic process in a country that still dares to call itself a democracy.

About the Author

Prof. John Egbeazien Oshodi is an American psychologist and educator with expertise in forensic, legal, clinical, cross-cultural psychology, public ethical policy, police, and prison science.

A native of Uromi, Edo State, Nigeria, and son of a 37-year veteran of the Nigeria Police Force, he has dedicated his professional life to bridging psychology with justice, education, and governance. In 2011, he played a pioneering role in introducing advanced forensic psychology to Nigeria through the National Universities Commission and Nasarawa State University, where he served as Associate Professor of Psychology.

He currently serves as contributing faculty in the Doctorate in Clinical and School Psychology at Nova Southeastern University; teaches across the Doctorate Clinical Psychology, BS Psychology, and BS Tempo Criminal Justice programs at Walden University; and lectures virtually in Management and Leadership Studies at Weldios University and ISCOM University. He is also the President and Chief Psychologist at the Oshodi Foundation, Center for Psychological and Forensic Services, United States.

Prof. Oshodi is a Black Republican in the United States but aligns with no political party in Nigeria—his allegiance is to justice alone. On the matters he writes about, he speaks for no one and represents no side; his voice is guided solely by the pursuit of justice, good governance, democracy, and Africa’s advancement. He is the founder of Psychoafricalysis (Psychoafricalytic Psychology)—a culturally rooted framework that integrates African sociocultural realities, historical awareness, and future-oriented identity. A prolific thinker and writer, he has produced more than 500 articles, several books, and numerous peer-reviewed works on Africentric psychology, higher education reform, forensic and correctional psychology, African democracy, and decolonized models of therapy.