Opinion
Abolishing Of Security Vote
Franklin D. Roosevelt, 31st President of the USA (1933-45) stated that “there is no such thing as security for any nation or individual in a world ruled by the principle of gangsterism”. An astute lawyer and a most indomitable spirit, able to surmount his physical disability, Roosevelt was re-elected President for a fourth term in 1944. His statement about “a world ruled by the principle of gangsterism” referred to issues that related to the 2nd World War and Security Votes.
It is wrong for any nation or individual to remain neutral in a situation of conspiracies and gang-ups, whereby the interests and wellbeing of the majority of humanity are at risk. The USA got involved in the World War based on the principle of saving humanity from gangsterism. The issue of security votes also had something to do with covert and overt acts undertaken to forestall conspiracies and gangsterism.
Unfortunately, after the global and other political wars, the history and principle of security votes took a different turn, inclining towards cryptocracy or secret government. A vital peculiarity about security votes is that such funds are not subject to public audit or debate. Reasons for keeping issues concerning security votes secret are quite obvious and justifiable too. However, the application of security votes in some developing countries remains objectionable.
Once upon a time, late Melford Okilo as Governor of old Rivers state, in a spate of anger, let the cat out of the bag by revealing how security votes were spent. He did say something about using security votes to fuel or quell conspiracies, gangsterism, instability and communal tensions here and there. It is also worthy of note that members of the academic community who are alert would know that the campus environment is a fertile ground for the deployment of security votes – why?
Therefore, issues concerning cultism and gangsterism within and outside tertiary campuses may have something to do with the deployment of security votes. Can this same logic or supposition not be extended to what we observe about chieftaincy and other tussles in various communities? Similarly, can such votes or funds be dispensed and applied without active collaborations of security agencies and individual operatives?
It is a common knowledge that a number of bandits, terrorists and assassins operate in military and police uniforms, carrying firearms that are strictly prohibited and regulated. How do they come about such accoutrements? Do covert or secret operations which are parts of the items covered by security votes, not include acts of illegality and criminality, for which the operators enjoy some immunity?
What do we call a system of governance which turns blind eyes to acts of illegality and criminality carried out with impunity by state agencies and officials? Does a true democracy allow such strategies as acceptable means of achieving goals? The reign of Fascism of Germany and Italy in the 1930 and 40s was a part of what Roosevelt referred to as the principle of gansterism. Can we deny the fact that such gangsterist system is not in practice in some countries, under the name of cabal or pressure groups?
Since security votes are not subject to public audit or scrutiny, is it not likely that such funds can be abused grossly? Those who would like to know what many faces that corruption can take, would not find it hard to include abuses in the use of security votes. Is it not trying to stretch the principle of immunity too far when security votes can be used as instruments of abuse of human rights?
With the Freedom of Information Act in place, can operators of security votes be compelled to subject such funds to public audit? Enigmatic cases involving whistle blowing and security votes have been many, one of which was the recovery of huge sums of money in a building in Ikoyi, Lagos.
Even though a security agency claimed that the money was meant for some covert and overt operations, that case has kept a large number of Nigerians wondering how enigmatic security matters can be. “Who is fooling who?” James Last asked!
It is obvious that those who try to stick out their necks on security matters often get their fingers and faces burnt, which can be a viable deterrent strategy. But what should be considered quite disturbing with regards to security votes is the colossal sums of money involved, even in the midst of glaring insecurity and hunger in the land. Like a Black Hole, security votes vanish without any trace, record or questions asked, with a Vortex that exude lots of security concerns. Let us propose a vote for abolition of security votes and put in place a more transparent strategy as am alternative.
Dr. Amirize is a retired lecturer at the Rivers State University, PH.
Bright Amirize
The events that unfolded in Abuja on Tuesday November 11, 2025 between the Minister of the Federal Capital Territory, Chief Nyesom Wike and a detachment of soldiers guarding a disputed property, led by Adams Yerima, a commissioned Naval Officer, may go down as one of the defining images of Nigeria’s democratic contradictions. It was not merely a quarrel over land. It was a confrontation between civil authority and the military legacy that still hovers over our national life.
Nyesom Wike, fiery and fearless as always, was seen on video exchanging words with a uniformed officer who refused to grant him passage to inspect a parcel of land alleged to have been illegally acquired. The minister’s voice rose, his temper flared, and the soldier, too, stood his ground, insisting on his own authority. Around them, aides, security men, and bystanders watched, stunned, as two embodiments of the Nigerian state clashed in the open.
The images spread fast, igniting debates across drawing rooms, beer parlours, and social media platforms. Some hailed Wike for standing up to military arrogance; others scolded him for perceived disrespect to the armed forces. Yet beneath the noise lies a deeper question about what sort of society we are building and whether power in Nigeria truly understands the limits of its own reach.
It is tragic that, more than two decades into civil rule, the relationship between the civilian arm of government and the military remains fragile and poorly understood. The presence of soldiers in a land dispute between private individuals and the city administration is, by all civic standards, an aberration. It recalls a dark era when might was right, and uniforms conferred immunity against accountability.
Wike’s anger, even if fiery, was rooted in a legitimate concern: that no individual, however connected or retired, should deploy the military to protect personal interests. That sentiment echoes the fundamental democratic creed that the law is supreme, not personalities. If his passion overshot decorum, it was perhaps a reflection of a nation weary of impunity.
On the other hand, the soldier in question is a symbol of another truth: that discipline, respect for order, and duty to hierarchy are ingrained in our armed forces. He may have been caught between conflicting instructions one from his superiors, another from a civilian minister exercising his lawful authority. The confusion points not to personal failure but to institutional dysfunction.
It is, therefore, simplistic to turn the incident into a morality play of good versus evil.
*********”**** What happened was an institutional embarrassment. Both men represented facets of the same failing system a polity still learning how to reconcile authority with civility, law with loyalty, and service with restraint.
In fairness, Wike has shown himself as a man of uncommon courage. Whether in Rivers State or at the FCTA, he does not shy away from confrontation. Yet courage without composure often feeds misunderstanding. A public officer must always be the cooler head, even when provoked, because the power of example outweighs the satisfaction of winning an argument.
Conversely, soldiers, too, must be reminded that their uniforms do not place them above civilian oversight. The military exists to defend the nation, not to enforce property claims or intimidate lawful authorities. Their participation in purely civil matters corrodes the image of the institution and erodes public trust.
One cannot overlook the irony: in a country where kidnappers roam highways and bandits sack villages, armed men are posted to guard contested land in the capital. It reflects misplaced priorities and distorted values. The Nigerian soldier, trained to defend sovereignty, should not be drawn into private or bureaucratic tussles.
Sycophancy remains the greatest ailment of our political culture. Many of those who now cheer one side or the other do so not out of conviction but out of convenience. Tomorrow they will switch allegiance. True patriotism lies not in defending personalities but in defending principles. A people enslaved by flattery cannot nurture a culture of justice.
The Nigerian elite must learn to submit to the same laws that govern the poor. When big men fence off public land and use connections to shield their interests, they mock the very constitution they swore to uphold. The FCT, as the mirror of national order, must not become a jungle where only the powerful can build.
The lesson for Wike himself is also clear: power is best exercised with calmness. The weight of his office demands more than bravery; it demands statesmanship. To lead is not merely to command, but to persuade — even those who resist your authority.
Equally, the lesson for the armed forces is that professionalism shines brightest in restraint. Obedience to illegal orders is not loyalty; it is complicity. The soldier who stands on the side of justice protects both his honour and the dignity of his uniform.
The Presidency, too, must see this episode as a wake-up call to clarify institutional boundaries. If soldiers can be drawn into civil enforcement without authorization, then our democracy remains at risk of subtle militarization. The constitution must speak louder than confusion.
The Nigerian public deserves better than spectacles of ego. We crave leaders who rise above emotion and officers who respect civilian supremacy. Our children must not inherit a nation where authority means shouting matches and intimidation in public glare.
Every democracy matures through such tests. What matters is whether we learn the right lessons. The British once had generals who defied parliament; the Americans once fought over states’ rights; Nigeria, too, must pass through her own growing pains but with humility, not hubris.
If the confrontation has stirred discomfort, then perhaps it has done the nation some good. It forces a conversation long overdue: Who truly owns the state — the citizen or the powerful? Can we build a Nigeria where institutions, not individuals, define our destiny?
As the dust settles, both the FCTA and the military hierarchy must conduct impartial investigations. The truth must be established — not to shame anyone, but to restore order. Where laws were broken, consequences must follow. Where misunderstandings occurred, apologies must be offered.
Let the rule of law triumph over the rule of impulse. Let civility triumph over confrontation. Let governance return to the path of dialogue and procedure.
Nigeria cannot continue to oscillate between civilian bravado and military arrogance. Both impulses spring from the same insecurity — the fear of losing control. True leadership lies in the ability to trust institutions to do their work without coercion.
Those who witnessed the clash saw a drama of two gladiators. One in starched khaki, one in well-cut suit. Both proud, both unyielding. But a nation cannot be built on stubbornness; it must be built on understanding. Power, when it meets power, should produce order, not chaos.
We must resist the temptation to glorify temper. Governance is not warfare; it is stewardship. The citizen watches, the world observes, and history records. How we handle moments like this will define our collective maturity.
The confrontation may have ended without violence, but it left deep questions in the national conscience. When men of authority quarrel in the open, institutions tremble. The people, once again, become spectators in a theatre of misplaced pride.
It is time for all who hold office — civilian or military — to remember that they serve under the same flag. That flag is neither khaki nor political colour; it is green-white-green, and it demands humility.
No victor, no vanquish only a lesson for a nation still learning to govern itself with dignity.
By; King Onunwor
