By Taiwo Abiodun-Oni
Yesterday, the declaration of a state of emergency in Rivers State by Nigeria’s President, which involved the suspension of the Governor, Deputy Governor, and the House of Assembly, has sparked an intense constitutional debate. Some have opined that the President does not possess the constitutional authority under Section 305 of the Nigerian Constitution of 1999 (as amended) to suspend elected state officials. However, I firmly hold the view that the President’s extraordinary measures, though dramatic and seemingly controversial, are legally defensible, necessary, and indeed legitimately justified under peculiar circumstances, guided by a thoughtful consideration of the Doctrine of Necessity and the consequential nature of such suspension orders. This opinion sets forth my reasoned perspective, fortified by thorough constitutional analysis, historical parallels, comparative insights from advanced jurisdictions, and Nigeria’s peculiar socio-economic exigencies surrounding oil investments and national security concerns.
The political inferno engulfing Rivers State is not just another episode of Nigeria’s familiar power struggles—it is a cautionary tale about the fragility of constitutional democracy when confronted with executive impunity, legislative disarray, and economic peril. At the heart of this crisis lies a fundamental question: Can democracy survive when its own institutions are weaponized against it?
Governor Siminalayi Fubara did not just wage a political war; he bulldozed the very structures of governance—both literally and metaphorically. The Rivers State House of Assembly was not merely sidelined—it was demolished, reduced to rubble in an act of political arson. The governor then proceeded to “legislate” with four handpicked lawmakers, approving a budget later struck down by the courts. When a sitting governor actively undermines the rule of law and institutional integrity, the question is not whether intervention is justified, but how urgently it must come.
President Bola Tinubu’s declaration of a state of emergency in Rivers State, including the suspension of the Governor, Deputy Governor, and the House of Assembly, is a necessary—if dramatic—response. It is not merely legally defensible but a constitutional imperative, rooted in the Doctrine of Necessity and guided by the overriding need to preserve democratic governance. To those who decry federal overreach, I ask: Should Nigeria stand idly by as Rivers State descends into lawlessness, its oil pipelines turned into bargaining chips for political blackmail?
Section 305 of Nigeria’s Constitution is not a poetic relic meant for academic debates; it is an active safeguard against systemic collapse. It grants the President sweeping emergency powers when public order, security, and governance face existential threats. While critics argue that the Constitution does not explicitly empower the President to suspend elected state officials, this silence is not a prohibition—it is an acknowledgment that extraordinary crises demand extraordinary solutions.
A constitution that cannot adapt to crisis is not a charter of governance—it is a suicide note. The framers of Section 305 did not draft it for routine governance; they envisioned constitutional hurricanes. When the Supreme Court declares that “no government exists in Rivers State,” it is not engaging in legal theatrics—it is diagnosing an institutional coma.
A state without a functioning legislature is a body without a spine. To insist that the President must clutch Section 305 helplessly, unable to act, is akin to forbidding firefighters from breaking down a door to save a burning house because of “property rights.” If a governor can bulldoze a legislature, withhold salaries as political vengeance, and ignore court orders with impunity, then democracy is not merely at risk—it is already on life support.
What the President had done is to invoke the Doctrine of Necessity which in itself is not a loophole—it is democracy’s survival instinct. History has shown that rigid legalism in times of crisis is a slow poison. In 2010, when President Yar’Adua’s prolonged absence created a dangerous vacuum, the National Assembly invoked necessity to install Goodluck Jonathan as Acting President. Legal purists protested, but the alternative was a constitutional paralysis that could have imperiled the nation.
Similarly, Abraham Lincoln, during the U.S. Civil War, suspended habeas corpus, famously asking, “Should I shoot a simple-minded soldier boy who deserts, but not touch a hair of the wily agitator who induces him to desert?” Preservation of the state sometimes requires bending legal formalities to prevent total collapse.
The Rivers crisis is not theoretical. A governor who incites militants to sabotage oil pipelines (when he said to a rousing applause in one of his videos that ‘youths when it is time, i will give the signal), wages war against his own legislature, and treats court orders as mere suggestions is not governing (in his own words, ‘those 27 members are just floating because i allow it, they are non existent) this is despite the Justice Omotosho’s decision—he is governing by vandalism. Suspending him is not an abuse of power; it is triage.
Critics argue that Tinubu’s intervention is an assault on federalism. But federalism is not an unbreakable contract with dysfunction. When a governor destroys institutional order, federal intervention is not tyranny—it is a constitutional reset.
Nigeria’s Constitution already builds in a democratic safeguard: any emergency proclamation must be ratified by the National Assembly within days. This is not Tinubu playing Caesar—it is a temporary bypass to restart a flatlined state. A government that allows Rivers to descend into political and economic anarchy is not respecting federalism—it is betraying its duty to protect the nation’s stability.
And what is the alternative? Allow Rivers to be governed via demolition permits and phantom budgets? Allow militants, emboldened by political chaos, to dictate the fate of Nigeria’s most vital oil-producing region?
To do nothing is to accept anarchy.
Rivers State is not just another political battlefield—it is Nigeria’s economic lifeline. Over 40% of the nation’s oil flows through its pipelines. Foreign investors, already wary of Nigeria’s political volatility, are watching this crisis unfold. They do not parse legal niceties; they see chaos and flee.
When a state descends into lawlessness, when militant groups use governance failures as leverage, the economic repercussions are national in scale. Suspending Fubara is not just about restoring order—it is about signaling to the world that Nigeria will not tolerate warlords in governors’ robes. Stability is the first chapter in the rule of law—and sometimes, democracy must pause to ensure it survives.
To those clutching their pocket constitutions, pointing out that there is no explicit clause allowing a governor’s suspension, I offer this: a constitution that cannot adapt to crisis will collapse under its own rigidity. The framers of Section 305 understood this—it is why they drafted it not as a procedural checklist, but as a safeguard for when governance becomes unsustainable.
A governor who burns down his own institutions cannot invoke democracy as a shield. And when democracy itself is at stake, the President is not “usurping” power—he is wielding the constitutional crowbar to pry governance from the wreckage.
The Rivers crisis is not just a power struggle; it is a parable of modern governance. Democracies thrive on debate, but they survive on decisive action when institutions implode. The suspension of Governor Fubara is not a precedent for tyranny—it is democracy’s emergency autopilot kicking in when the cockpit goes dark.
Let the Administrator; Vice Admiral Ikot Ibas Rtd reboot the system, pass a lawful budget, pass those regulations that he is allowed to, secure those pipelines which by the way we cannot do without and hand back the controls. But let’s also learn from this crisis:
- Strengthen legislative autonomy.
- Penalize executive overreach before it escalates into constitutional sabotage.
- And perhaps—just perhaps—build future Assembly complexes out of something sturdier than political kindling.
After all, democracy should not need a bulldozer-proof bunker to survive its own leader.