Being a Paper Delivered At The Nigerian Bar Association (NBA), Benin Branch Law Week, On July 14, 2025, At The Ceremonial Hall, High Court Complex, Sapele Road, Benin City, Edo State
My Lord, the Honourable Chief Judge of Edo State; My Lords, Justices of the Superior Courts; the President and Executives of the Nigerian Bar Association; respected brother Silks; learned colleagues at the Outer Bar; distinguished ladies and gentlemen:
I extend my deep appreciation to the leadership of the Nigerian Bar Association, Benin Branch (the Lion Bar) for the honour of this invitation. I salute the foresight of the Branch Chairman, and the entire Executive Committee for articulating such a timely and essential theme: “Restoring Credible Justice: Bridging the Gap Between Law and Public Trust in Nigeria’s Judiciary.” We gather today not merely to fulfill a calendar obligation, but to confront a crisis. What lies before us is not a theoretical issue, it is a national emergency. The judiciary, once venerated as the last hope of the common man, now finds its credibility under severe strain. The real challenge is not just perception, it is the steady erosion of public confidence, and therefore, legitimacy.
Across the country, doubts about justice are voiced, by litigants, lawyers, and citizens alike. Conflicting court orders, delay, and slow processes have fed public disillusionment. Worse still, some legal practitioners have become enablers of the dysfunction, compromising the profession’s integrity. This is no longer a matter confined to courtrooms or legal discourse, it plays out in frustrated conversations in marketplaces, in cynical hashtags on social media, and in the growing apathy of citizens who have come to see justice as a privilege, not a right.
Lord Atkin once said, “Justice is not a cloistered virtue. She must be allowed to suffer the scrutiny of ordinary men.” And what do the people say today? They say justice is too slow, too expensive, too uncertain. They see conflicting court orders, inexplicable ex parte rulings, and the quiet encroachment of political influence. Even worse, some members of our noble profession have become complicit—acting not as officers of the court, but as brokers of access and influence.
Professor Akin Oyebode once warned that “A judiciary bereft of public confidence is like a lighthouse with a shattered lens, present, but unable to guide.” And Justice Niki Tobi, of blessed memory, was equally blunt: “A judiciary that does not command public confidence has no foundation upon which to rest.”
We now find ourselves at a pivotal juncture, confronted with the urgent and unavoidable question: how did a system of justice, once regarded as a sanctuary of fairness, become perceived as a gamble? This reflection is not an exercise in blame but a collective reckoning, demanding humility and resolve from both the Bench and the Bar. It is a call to acknowledge our shared responsibility, to critically examine the systemic failures, and to embark on the deliberate, principled journey of restoring the judiciary’s integrity and public confidence.
Restoring credible justice begins with acknowledging the deep trust deficit facing Nigeria’s judiciary. Public confidence, not just legal texts or rulings, gives the justice system its true legitimacy. Today, many Nigerians view the courts as compromised or ineffective, threatening the very foundation of democracy. This concern is no longer confined to legal circles, it echoes across social media, markets, and homes nationwide. With over 60% of citizens reporting little or no trust in the judiciary, according to Afrobarometer, we face not just public dissatisfaction but a profound crisis of legitimacy.
What are the symptoms of this crisis?
One of the clearest manifestations of the credibility crisis in our judiciary is the widening gap in access to justice, a constitutional right under Section 36(1) of the 1999 Constitution that, for many Nigerians, remains more theoretical than real. Today, justice has become less a right and more a privilege, expensive, distant, and often inaccessible. Filing even a modest civil claim is financially daunting; court fees, service costs, and procedural penalties quickly pile up. A petty trader seeking to recover ₦150,000 may need over ₦40,000 just to initiate the process, excluding legal fees. For countless lawyers, particularly the younger ones, this often means absorbing costs or watching their clients abandon meritorious claims for lack of means. Beyond finances, geographic exclusion further entrenches this injustice. Rural litigants must travel long distances to reach sparsely located courts, only to face sudden adjournments, inadequate facilities, or indefinite delays. With fewer than 40 Court of Appeal divisions nationwide and limited Federal and State High Courts, the judicial landscape physically excludes the most vulnerable. The Legal Aid Council, intended to bridge this gap, remains chronically underfunded and overwhelmed, with some states having fewer than ten lawyers handling thousands of cases, criminal and civil alike.
The consequence is stark: those who most need justice are least able to access it. While corporations can afford prolonged litigation and politicians procure midnight injunctions with ease, a widow chasing her late husband’s pension may lose her case to “lack of diligent prosecution”, a failure not of will, but of system. As the late Justice Kayode Eso warned, “A system that fails to deliver justice in good time, to the right people, in the right way, is a system in need of radical soul-searching.” We are on the verge of institutionalising a dual justice system, one for the privileged, and another that barely functions for the rest. This is not merely inefficient; it is a crisis of legitimacy. A justice system that is financially unreachable, geographically remote, and procedurally hostile cannot sustain public trust. If we are serious about restoring credibility, access to justice must be reimagined as a policy priority, not a charitable exception. Until every Nigerian, regardless of means, location, or status, can meaningfully invoke their rights, we are not delivering justice; we are merely performing legality without fulfilling its promise.
When public discourse descends into statements like “the courts are bought” or “judges are on payrolls,” we are not simply battling perception, we are confronting a profound crisis of credibility. Corruption and inefficiency strike at the core of justice delivery and erode public trust. As Justice Chukwudifu Oputa warned, “Justice…should never again become a marketable commodity.” Yet to many Nigerians today, it has sadly become just that.
Judicial corruption in Nigeria, though not new, has evolved from isolated incidents at lower courts into a systemic and institutional problem. Justice Oputa decried this as early as 1976, but in the post-1999 democratic era, the rot has moved up the judicial ladder. In 2011, Chief Justice Dahiru Musdapher candidly admitted the judiciary was failing public expectations. Today, cases abound of judges demanding millions to influence electoral outcomes, issuing conflicting rulings, and maintaining lifestyles far beyond their lawful earnings.
Election tribunals, in particular, have raised red flags, with judges lobbying for postings and delivering judgments that suggest external interference. A National Human Rights Commission (NHRC) study exposed serious breaches: ex parte orders without notice, inconsistent evaluation of evidence, and contradictory rulings on identical legal issues, all pointing to deep ethical decay.
The consequences are both structural and moral:
While the National Judicial Council (NJC) has sanctioned some judges since 2000, its efforts remain largely reactive and insufficient. Real reform requires a shift from episodic punishment to systemic overhaul.
The path forward is clear:
As Justice Kayode Eso rightly observed, “A system that fails to deliver justice in good time, to the right people, in the right way, is a system in need of radical soul-searching.” That soul-searching must begin within the judiciary itself—if we are to restore its integrity and regain the public’s trust.
One of the most overlooked contributors to the widening gap between the legal system and public trust is the legal profession itself, the Bar. While much focus has rightly been placed on judicial misconduct, we must also turn the mirror inward. A compromised Bench cannot exist for long without an enabling Bar. Hon. Justice Adamu Jauro, remarked, with sobering clarity, that:
“Anti-corruption measures for the judicial system do not rest solely within the court structure. Frequently overlooked is a recognition that the Bar contributes to the corruption of the judiciary by acting as a conduit between the litigant and the judicial officer.”
This admission points to a troubling reality: many of the very people entrusted with upholding the law are, in fact, greasing the wheels of injustice.
Throughout the years, the National Judicial Council (NJC) has not only taken disciplinary action against judges but has also referred numerous lawyers to the Legal Practitioners Disciplinary Committee (LPDC) due to professional misconduct. We have heard of cases where a lawyer was awarded hundreds of millions of naira from a contentious court order but failed to properly deposit the funds into the court registry, indicating unethical collusion with the Bench. In another case, a lawyer faced sanctions for making false and damaging claims against a judge, thereby distorting the public’s view of the judiciary. Additionally, there are lawyers who exploit the system by filing the same case in multiple courts, engaging in forum shopping with the intent to confuse the process, delay justice, or achieve a favorable ruling. The judiciary has had to address such behavior. As noted by one panel of the Court of Appeal:
“The ingenuity of counsel in trying to manipulate the legal system calls for a corresponding ingenuity and dexterity from the Bench. The Bar has thrown all sorts of balls at us; we must keep our minds on the goalpost, which is the attainment of substantial justice.”
Some lawyers, entrusted with client funds after favourable judgments, have failed to remit those monies. In multiple cases upheld by the Supreme Court, lawyers were disbarred for converting their clients’ judgment proceeds, sometimes tens of millions of naira, for personal use. In one such case, the apex court lamented:
“Where a legal practitioner without any justification holds on to his client’s money, all right-thinking members of the legal profession must view the misconduct with great concern, not only for the protection of the public but also for the preservation of the good name of the legal profession.”
These are not isolated incidents. They reflect a systemic ethical crisis within parts of the Bar, one that actively erodes public faith in the legal system. The courtroom cannot command trust when lawyers weaponize the law to frustrate due process, or when litigants perceive legal practitioners not as guardians of justice, but as brokers of access to compromised judgments. A former Chief Justice once observed in frustration that many lawyers have abandoned the law’s noble calling in favour of expediency and profit. The truth is harsh but necessary: until the Bar recommits itself to integrity and self-regulation, the public will continue to see the courtroom not as a sanctuary of justice, but as a theatre of influence.
This erosion of trust is not just theoretical, it plays out in everyday life. Ask the market woman whose lawyer absconded with her compensation. Or the political candidate whose legitimate mandate was overturned with the help of legal technicalities. Or the young entrepreneur who watches helplessly as a case drags on for years because opposing counsel keeps filing frivolous motions. “The problem is no longer a few bad apples,” as Fidelis Oditah, SAN, QC rightly said. “The barrel itself is cracked.”
To restore credible justice, we must fix the leak within. The legal profession must become both the guardian and the conscience of the justice system. That means a more proactive disciplinary process, a Bar that educates its young with ethical rigor, and senior lawyers who lead by example, not by proximity to power or manipulation of process. Ultimately, we cannot close the gap between law and public trust if those who interpret and advocate the law remain ethically compromised. The Bar must become a moral compass once more, or risk being seen by the public not as a bridge to justice, but as part of the problem.
Nigeria’s justice system is caught in a growing tension between judicial accountability and public expectation—a conflict often described as the court of law versus the court of public opinion. Central to this debate is the constitutional protection that a sitting judge cannot be investigated or prosecuted without first being disciplined by the National Judicial Council (NJC). This was firmly established by the Court of Appeal in Nganjiwa v. FRN (2017), which held that no law enforcement agency may bypass the NJC’s disciplinary authority in prosecuting judges. The Court explained that such disciplinary power is essential to maintaining judicial independence and preventing undue interference.
This insulation, while designed to protect judges from political pressure—as Lord Denning put it, ensuring justice is “fair, accessible, and timely”—is increasingly perceived by the public as a shield for impunity. The 2019 suspension of Chief Justice Walter Onnoghen on an ex parte order fueled this perception, with the Nigerian Bar Association condemning it as “an attempted coup against the Judiciary.” Constitutional scholar Professor Ben Nwabueze described the suspension as unconstitutional and subversive, deepening public distrust.
Following Nganjiwa, the NJC conducted its own investigation, and even the EFCC, initially eager to prosecute directly, acknowledged the NJC’s jurisdiction by submitting a formal petition. Yet, this judicial pathway often appears to the public as a protective barrier allowing judges to escape accountability unless their peers permit otherwise, a paradox encapsulated by Justice Niki Tobi’s words that judicial power must be “firm but never arrogant; independent but never isolated.” Public frustration mounts when serious allegations against judges, such as bribery, contradictory rulings, or undue closeness to litigants, are met with delayed or opaque disciplinary action. In the absence of transparent processes, the gap is filled by rumours, social media trials, and public outrage, which can be as corrosive as the misconduct itself.
To rebuild trust and safeguard judicial integrity, Nigeria must adopt a new model of accountability that balances due process with timely and transparent consequences. Key reforms should include:
As Fidelis Oditah, SAN, QC, aptly observed, “The problem is no longer a few bad apples; the barrel itself is cracked.” This demands not mere reform but a comprehensive restoration of the judiciary’s moral compass. Courts must remain open to scrutiny while the public must reject shortcuts to justice. Ultimately, the law represents society’s solemn promise of fairness. As Justice Kayode Eso warned, “The judiciary must not only be above board; it must be seen to be above board.” The urgent task is to cleanse the temple of justice through principled, institutional reform, for when the judiciary falters, the republic itself is imperiled.
One of the gravest challenges undermining Nigeria’s justice system is the chronic delay in case resolution, which has made justice increasingly inaccessible and meaningless for many. The adage “justice delayed is justice denied” has become a harsh reality, affecting everyone from businessmen with decade-long commercial disputes, to widows awaiting probate, and detainees held for years over bailable offences. The Supreme Court’s caution in A.G. Rivers State v. A.G. Akwa Ibom State aptly warns that delayed justice, even when delivered, may be hollow. Civil and commercial matters often drag on for years due to interlocutory appeals, judge transfers, or re-hearings, while criminal trials are stalled by infrequent sittings and delayed DPP advice. These delays not only breach the constitutional right to a fair hearing under Section 36(1) but also inflict significant human and economic costs, eroding confidence in the justice system itself.
Justice Kayode Eso once remarked:
“A system that fails to deliver justice in good time, to the right people, in the right way, is a system in need of radical soul-searching.”
Similarly, Professor Akin Oyebode aptly described the Nigerian judicial process as “notoriously sluggish, to the point where it impedes both economic development and public confidence.”
The delay in justice delivery stems from multiple factors, including overburdened judges, underfunded and poorly equipped court registries, and outdated paper-based systems where files frequently go missing. Beyond these institutional issues, the impact is deeply personal, families suffer silently, lives are put on hold, and public faith in the system steadily erodes. The common phrase “the matter is still in court” now reflects frustration and hopelessness, symbolising a justice system stuck in prolonged uncertainty rather than resolution.
As a profession, we must confront this culture of delay not with excuses, but with urgency. The time has come to prioritise structural reform:
Restoring confidence in our justice system begins with ensuring that justice is not only done, but done within timeframes that preserve its meaning and impact. If we fail in this, we risk rendering the legal profession a relic of promise without delivery, a system remembered not for what it achieved, but for what it delayed beyond redemption. Let us, therefore, approach the next phase of our deliberation with the humility to acknowledge these failures and the resolve to reform them. Because the future of justice in Nigeria cannot afford to wait.
The restoration of public trust in Nigeria’s judiciary requires more than promises, it demands deep, deliberate reforms. Having identified the key issues, limited access, delays, lack of transparency, and inconsistent accountability, it is clear that redemption must begin with introspection and systemic overhaul. Judicial credibility has been eroded not just by external perceptions but by internal flaws, including political interference, outdated processes, and weak disciplinary enforcement.
To rebuild the judiciary as a fair, transparent, and principled institution, reforms must strengthen judicial independence, empower the National Judicial Council (NJC), enforce time-bound judgments, fully digitise court operations, improve access to legal aid, and uphold professional ethics across the Bar and Bench. As Justice Niki Tobi warned, without public confidence, the judiciary has no foundation. Now is the time to rebuild that foundation with purpose, transparency, and resolve.
The legitimacy of any judiciary begins with how its judges are selected. In Nigeria, the perception, often reinforced by experience, that judicial appointments are based more on connections than competence has significantly eroded public confidence. Merit, not proximity to power, must be the decisive factor in elevation to the Bench.
As Professor Yemi Osinbajo, SAN, once stated,
“Our judiciary must be led by men and women whose lives reflect the nobility of their calling, and whose appointments are earned through excellence and character.”
Judicial appointments must be guided by transparency, accountability, and public scrutiny. The NJC and State Judicial Service Commissions should publish clear qualification criteria and candidate shortlists, including legal experience, disciplinary records, and prior judgments. For higher court appointments, public interviews, livestreamed where possible, should assess candidates’ legal reasoning and ethics, as practiced in Kenya. Additionally, peer reviews, performance evaluations from previous roles, and independent assessments by the Bar and civil society should be integrated into the selection process to ensure merit-based, credible appointments that deter political interference and inspire public trust.
To enhance integrity in judicial appointments, mandatory lifestyle audits and financial checks should be conducted, with agencies like the Code of Conduct Bureau verifying asset declarations to detect unexplained wealth. Performance data, such as case disposal rates and judgment timelines, should be digitized and published to ensure merit-based elevations. The NJC must implement a transparent, time-bound appointment process and create an anonymous reporting portal for misconduct alerts. These reforms will promote accountability, deter unethical selections, and restore public trust. Appointing unqualified judges undermines the judiciary’s foundation; integrity and competence must be the new standard.
But appointment is only the beginning. A judiciary that aspires to be credible must also be capable. In today’s fast-evolving world, the law is no longer confined to textbook principles, it now intersects with technology, climate change, cross-border commerce, artificial intelligence, digital rights, and socio-economic transformation. Judges cannot afford to remain static or disconnected from these realities. Yet many judicial officers operate within outdated systems, without regular access to modern legal developments, research tools, or peer engagement across jurisdictions. The result is often rigid reasoning, conflicting interpretations, or slow adaptation to change, which ultimately alienate litigants and diminish the quality of justice.
To reverse this trend, judicial education must be continuous and institutionalised. Just as lawyers are required to pursue Continuing Legal Education (CLE), judges must receive regular exposure to new jurisprudential trends, international benchmarks, digital tools, and thematic areas such as:
Beyond technical training, there must also be a deliberate focus on ethics, leadership, and courtroom management. A judge is not merely a legal technician, but a moral exemplar and a steward of public trust. “A judge who stops learning begins to decay in silence. The law is dynamic, and our courts must evolve with it.”
The adoption of technology in Nigeria’s judiciary is no longer optional, it is an urgent necessity to address persistent delay, inefficiency, and lack of transparency. The courts must transition from outdated paper-based processes to fully digitised systems, starting with e-filing, e-payment, and electronic service of court documents through secure online portals accessible to both lawyers and litigants. This will reduce dependence on registry staff and limit corruption.
Additionally, real-time judicial dashboards, like those used in India and Kenya, should be implemented to track key metrics such as judgment delivery timelines, adjournment frequency, and judge workloads. Publishing this data quarterly will support internal accountability and improve resource allocation. Importantly, performance metrics should guide reform, not punish judges. Where delays persist, interventions like increased staffing, training, or workload redistribution should be applied. Where absenteeism or inefficiency is chronic, disciplinary review may be necessary.
Technology can also enhance transparency by making court calendars public, livestreaming significant hearings, and providing automated case updates to litigants. These practical tools will not only modernise judicial administration but also help restore public trust by showing that the courts are accountable, efficient, and responsive to societal needs. In this digital age, a judiciary that resists reform risks becoming irrelevant.
Justice, to retain its value and moral force, must be delivered within a reasonable time. When judgments are delayed endlessly, they cease to be instruments of resolution and instead become sources of frustration and injustice. As the late Justice Kayode Eso wisely observed, delay is not neutral—it is a subtle but potent form of denial. To address this, the judiciary must institutionalise enforceable timelines for the writing and delivery of judgments. The National Judicial Council (NJC) should lead this reform by embedding time-bound performance standards into its oversight functions, backed by mechanisms for internal enforcement and peer accountability.
Equally important is the strict application of case management rules. Deadlines for filing pleadings, presenting arguments, and delivering rulings must be adhered to with the same rigour observed in electoral tribunals, which already function under statutory timelines. The regular courts must follow suit, treating each case with the urgency and structure it deserves. Ultimately, a judiciary that delivers judgments promptly is not just one that performs its constitutional duty, it is one that restores hope, protects rights, and earns public trust.
The National Judicial Council (NJC), constitutionally tasked with overseeing judicial appointments and discipline, must evolve into a proactive, transparent, and data-driven institution. With over 1,000 judges across various courts, the NJC must go beyond reacting to scandals and instead implement structured quarterly ethical audits and courtroom performance evaluations. These should include surprise inspections, anonymous courtroom observations, and tracking of key metrics such as judgment delivery timelines, adjournment rates, case disposal volumes, and reversal rates on appeal. The NJC should publish quarterly reports detailing petitions received (which exceed 400 annually), investigations conducted, sanctions imposed, and reforms adopted, providing the public with visible accountability.
A secure, independent whistleblower system should be established, accessible via web and SMS, allowing lawyers, litigants, and court staff to report unethical conduct confidentially, backed by legal protections. Disciplinary cases should be handled by independent ethics panels comprising retired judges, senior advocates, legal scholars, and vetted civil society members, to avoid internal shielding and promote impartiality. Panel membership must require substantial legal experience and a clean professional record.
To promote merit over seniority or lobbying, judge performance dashboards should be digitized to reflect case throughput, average judgment delivery times, and pending workloads. Elevation and promotion must be based on these measurable indicators. Judges with persistently low performance or repeated ethical infractions should undergo peer review, retraining, or face removal proceedings where necessary.
Finally, collaboration with the Nigerian Bar Association, the Legal Practitioners Disciplinary Committee, and credible civil society organisations should be institutionalised through joint training, legal literacy campaigns, and stakeholder roundtables. These efforts will democratise judicial oversight, build public trust, and reposition the NJC as both a guardian of discipline and a central driver of reform in Nigeria’s justice system.
The Legal Aid Council must be rescued from institutional neglect. With proper funding, digitisation, and partnerships with universities and civil society, it can become the backbone of equal access to justice. We must also empower the public defender system for indigent criminal defendants, and expand civil legal aid in family, labour, and tenancy disputes. Ultimately, the restoration of public trust in the judiciary is not the responsibility of judges alone, nor the duty of the Bar in isolation. It is a collective moral and institutional undertaking. Credible justice is not a gift that can be demanded; it is a covenant that must be earned, through transparency, consistency, accessibility, and above all, integrity. As Justice Kayode Eso said: “The judiciary must not only be above board; it must be seen to be above board.”
Let us heed that call, not just with words, but with action. For only then can we rebuild a justice system that is not feared, but respected. Not avoided, but trusted. Not broken, but reborn. We must recognise that the credibility of the judiciary begins with how judges are appointed and is sustained by how well they are equipped to dispense justice. Transparent, merit-based selection and continuous judicial education are not luxuries, they are the bedrock of a trustworthy Bench. If we fail at the point of entry or fall short in ongoing development, we risk entrenching mediocrity and eroding public confidence. But if we get it right, if integrity and competence become our standard, we can rebuild a judiciary that inspires not just respect, but lasting trust.
In closing, let us be reminded that the Bar and the Bench are not isolated pillars of the justice system, we are the living face of justice itself. To the Nigerian public, justice is not measured only by statutes or judgments, but by their day-to-day encounters with lawyers and judges. How we conduct ourselves, how we argue cases, how we deliver rulings, these shape the public’s belief in whether the law is a tool for fairness or a fortress for the privileged. The credibility crisis confronting our judiciary today is not merely institutional, it is relational. It is about how justice feels to the people it is meant to serve. Does it feel accessible? Impartial? Timely? Or does it feel distant, selective, and broken? The answers to these questions lie in how we, the Bar and the Bench, perform our roles.
Restoring public trust, therefore, demands more than procedural reforms. It requires a cultural and ethical renewal. It calls for transparent appointments, digital transformation, judicial accountability, ethical legal practice, and inclusive access to justice. These are not optional upgrades; they are foundational imperatives. Let us not leave this conversation in the realm of theory. Let us act, with courage, with clarity, and with conscience. Because until justice is credible to the average Nigerian, whether in the courtroom, in the marketplace, or on the street, our work remains unfinished.
Thank you, and may the legal profession continue to stand as a beacon of justice, integrity, and national service.
Chief Emeka Ozoani SAN, FCIArb
Principal Partner, Emeka Ozoani & Co.
Source: BarristerNG
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