Agbakoba’s Dangerous Call: Empower The EFCC—Don’t Enable Nigeria’s Corrupt Officials!

Attorney Olisa Agbakoba’s recent claim that the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) is unconstitutionally established rips open a festering wound in Nigeria’s already broken legal and societal systems. To even entertain the idea of dismantling the EFCC, an institution that has served—however imperfectly—as a last line of defense against the country’s overwhelming culture of corruption, is deeply painful, not just legally but morally. The EFCC was not conjured up on a whim. It operates under the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (Establishment) Act of 2002, amended in 2004, a deliberate creation by the National Assembly to combat the plague of financial crime. Yet, Agbakoba’s challenge dismisses the blood, sweat, and hope of millions of Nigerians, whose lives have been wrecked by the very corruption this commission was established to fight.

To suggest that the EFCC is unconstitutional, while the country drowns in a sea of corruption, is a tragic misdirection of energy and focus. Agbakoba’s argument, though couched in the technicalities of law, seems almost indifferent to the larger reality: that Nigeria is bleeding from every corner, crippled by institutions and elites who gorge themselves on public funds while the average citizen starves—economically, emotionally, and socially. This isn't just about legal theory—this is about survival for a nation on the brink. The painful truth is that for over two decades, the EFCC, despite its flaws, has been one of the few institutions that even attempts to stem the tide of corruption, a tide that has already consumed far too much.

Agbakoba’s position is tragically out of touch with the Nigerian people’s suffering. As the EFCC grapples with overwhelming challenges, including political interference and internal corruption, it remains one of the few entities trying to hold the powerful accountable. For every case of financial crime the EFCC investigates, there are countless others that go unpunished due to a system that is fundamentally broken—a system Agbakoba himself, a Senior Advocate of Nigeria (SAN), knows all too well. The real tragedy, though, is that while the EFCC may struggle, it represents a flicker of hope in a land where hope is an endangered species.

The idea that the EFCC should be dismantled on legal grounds ignores the even more catastrophic reality that would ensue—corruption would not just continue; it would intensify. Without the EFCC, who will check the runaway greed of the political class? The judiciary? A judiciary that is, in many cases, deeply compromised, where SANs (not all, but far too many) are notorious for “judge shopping,” pulling strings to ensure favorable rulings for their wealthy clients. This manipulation of the judicial process only deepens the sense of injustice that already pervades Nigerian society. In a country where justice is for sale, and the rich and powerful are shielded from the law, the EFCC’s fight against corruption—however embattled—represents the last, fragile thread of accountability holding the system together.

The psychological toll of this is staggering. Millions of Nigerians live in the shadow of despair, knowing that their leaders are looting the country blind while they are left to fend for themselves in a collapsing economy. Every day, ordinary people witness their futures being stolen—schools are falling apart, hospitals lack basic supplies, and joblessness is rampant. And yet, the very people meant to protect the rule of law are often the ones working to undermine it. SANs and other legal elites are not just silent bystanders; many actively participate in perpetuating a system that shields the corrupt while punishing the poor.

The impact of this on the national psyche is devastating. Nigerians are not just losing faith in their institutions—they are losing faith in the possibility of justice itself. The argument to dismantle the EFCC sends a chilling message: that corruption has won, that those who steal from the public will continue to do so without fear of consequence, and that the average citizen has no recourse. The disillusionment is palpable, and with it comes a growing sense of resignation—a belief that no matter what, the elite will always win, and the people will always suffer.

In a society where trust has been eroded to such an extent, the consequences are dire. People stop believing in governance, stop engaging in civic life, and stop hoping for a better future. The cynicism becomes toxic, breeding further corruption, further decay. The unraveling of Nigeria is not some distant possibility—it is already happening. And the call to dismantle the EFCC would accelerate this collapse. Agbakoba’s challenge, whether intentional or not, aids those who seek to destroy what little integrity remains in Nigeria’s governance structures.

The pain in this scenario is multifaceted. It is the pain of watching a country you love being stripped of its dignity by those sworn to protect it. It is the pain of witnessing the legal system, meant to be a pillar of justice, crumble under the weight of greed. It is the pain of knowing that every step backward for the EFCC is a step toward deeper corruption, deeper poverty, deeper despair.

To dismantle the EFCC would be to drive the final nail into the coffin of Nigeria’s fight against corruption. It would signal to the powerful that they are above the law, that the suffering of millions of Nigerians is inconsequential, and that justice is nothing more than a commodity to be traded among the elite. And in doing so, it would plunge Nigeria into an even darker abyss—one where hope, justice, and the rule of law are but distant memories, drowned out by the deafening silence of corruption.

The recent reopening of investigations into money laundering cases involving several former governors and active ministers, totaling over billions, underlines the critical role the EFCC plays in the fight against corruption. Yet, these investigations face significant challenges. The psychological weight of these cases is heavy; they symbolize not just financial malfeasance but the betrayal of public trust. When high-ranking officials, entrusted with the well-being of the nation, exploit their positions for personal gain, the damage is not merely financial. It is a deep wound to the collective psyche of the Nigerian people, who long for justice and accountability.

As the EFCC embarks on this critical work, it faces the dark reality of judicial obstruction. The public sees ex-governors and ministers—individuals whose cases have been delayed for years—evading justice through the issuance of restraining orders that halt investigations in their tracks. This situation highlights a shocking dynamic: while the EFCC works tirelessly to uncover the truth, certain judges, influenced by malicious SANs and other powerful figures, perpetuate a system that favors the corrupt over the citizens. This is the grotesque irony of Nigeria’s legal landscape—a nation where those meant to uphold justice often serve as its greatest impediments.

From a psychological standpoint, the existence of the EFCC represents more than just an institution—it embodies a fragile but essential promise to the Nigerian people: that corruption, no matter how rampant or deeply rooted, is not an undefeatable force. The mere presence of this agency sends a vital message—that there is still hope, however dim, for accountability. To remove or discredit the EFCC would not only dismantle one of the country’s last defenses against corruption but would also trigger a devastating psychological shift across the nation. Nigerians, already weary from years of betrayal by their leaders, would plunge further into a sense of hopelessness, where financial crimes are no longer hidden in shame but openly flaunted, and impunity reigns supreme.

If the EFCC collapses, the ripple effect would reach far beyond politics or economics. It would strike at the heart of public trust, accelerating a dangerous trend where disengagement from governance becomes normalized, where citizens no longer believe in the possibility of justice. In a nation where institutions are already fragile, allowing corruption to go unchecked would signal the abandonment of the fight for integrity at a time when it is needed most desperately.

Agbakoba’s criticism touches on valid points regarding the need for institutional reform, but his call for the dismantling of the EFCC based on constitutional technicalities misses the larger moral and societal implications. What is required is not the destruction of this agency but a concerted push for reform that refines its legal standing while bolstering its power to act as a true force against corruption. Legal amendments can ensure the EFCC operates within constitutional boundaries, but disbanding it now would be tantamount to surrendering to corruption.

A striking example of why the EFCC remains indispensable is its recent investigations under Chairman Ola Olukoyede, reopening cases against powerful figures once considered untouchable. These individuals, implicated in laundering billions intended for vital public services, represent the systemic rot that has plagued Nigeria for decades. The fact that such high-profile individuals are finally under scrutiny demonstrates the EFCC’s resilience and Olukoyede's fierce commitment to justice. But, tragically, his efforts are undermined by a lack of support from the same leadership that should be championing his cause—leadership that instead indulges in corruption like a guilty pleasure.

I have no personal connection to the EFCC chairman. My sole interest lies in promoting democracy, justice, and good governance.

The likes of Agbakoba, nervous governors, immoral ministers, and other corrupt leaders must confront an undeniable and painful truth: their attacks on the EFCC are not just misguided—they are reckless, threatening to reinforce corruption at every level of society. By undermining the EFCC’s legitimacy, they are dismantling one of the last institutions capable of standing in the way of unbridled graft. This is more than just a legal battle; it is a moral crisis. The lawsuit brought by these governors is nothing short of an assault on the very pillars of accountability, transparency, and the rule of law. It signifies their disregard for the institutions designed to protect Nigeria from financial crimes and safeguard its democracy.

Nigerians, already teetering on the edge of despair, will view this as yet another betrayal—a signal that their leaders are more interested in preserving their own power and wealth than in the nation's well-being. Trust in governance, already eroded, will crumble further, leaving behind a society that no longer believes in the possibility of justice.

The Supreme Court, too, stands at a critical crossroads. If it sides with the corrupt, it risks becoming an accomplice in dismantling Nigeria’s last hopes for anti-corruption efforts. Such a decision would not only devastate Nigeria’s internal fight for justice but would also tarnish the nation’s global reputation. It would signal to the world that Nigeria has chosen corruption over integrity, jeopardizing economic stability and isolating the country from international allies who demand transparency and accountability.

The message to Nigeria's leaders is stark and urgent: you must decide whether to perpetuate a system that allows corruption to flourish or take a stand for reforms that could save this nation from sinking further into chaos. The world is watching, and the consequences of inaction will be severe.

Ultimately, Nigeria’s fight against corruption cannot be won by tearing down the institutions designed to combat it. The answer lies in reforming and strengthening these institutions—through legal clarity, enhanced operational efficiency, and, most critically, a psychological shift in how the public views governance. The EFCC, despite its flaws, is one such institution that Nigeria cannot afford to lose. With the right reforms, it can remain a pivotal force in eradicating the corruption that has long crippled the nation's democratic and economic progress. To let it fall now would be a betrayal of the highest order—not just of Nigeria’s laws, but of its people and their future.

In conclusion, Agbakoba, anxious governors, dissolute ministers, and other depraved leaders must confront a painful, undeniable truth: their relentless attacks on the EFCC risk locking Nigeria in a vicious cycle of unchecked corruption and moral decay. Their war on the EFCC is not just a legal battle—it is an assault on the very essence of goodness, decency, and justice in Nigeria. By targeting the EFCC, they are not merely questioning its existence, but are tearing down one of the few remaining institutions standing between Nigeria and total collapse into chaos, lawlessness, and despair.

These leaders, by attempting to dismantle the EFCC, are inviting the wildfire of corruption to spread unchallenged, leaving the nation defenseless. They fail to realize that corruption has already hollowed out Nigeria's institutions; to destroy the EFCC now would be catastrophic—a final blow that could plunge the country into a bottomless pit of hopelessness. This is no longer about politics, egos, or legal technicalities—it is about the soul of the nation.

The EFCC, despite its imperfections, remains one of the last flickers of hope in a country where trust in leadership is gasping for breath. Strengthening its ability to operate independently and with integrity is not just a legal matter—it is a moral imperative. Nigeria’s very survival as a functioning state depends on it.

The stakes have never been higher. Corruption, like a cancer, has eaten away at the foundations of governance, and now threatens to engulf the nation in its entirety. The public, already disillusioned, teeters on the edge of despair. Trust in the judiciary has evaporated. The common Nigerian no longer believes in justice, but rather in the dark, twisted reality that power and wealth are the only paths to freedom. If the EFCC falls, it will be more than the collapse of an institution—it will signal the death of hope for millions of Nigerians.

The Supreme Court, once a revered bastion of justice, now sits at a crossroads. Mired in its own crises of corruption and abuse of power, it is regarded with scorn by the very people it was meant to serve. Nigerians now look upon the judiciary with disgust, watching as justice is sold to the highest bidder, and the powerful walk free. The Supreme Court must rise from this moral pit and redeem itself. It must show the world that Nigeria still has the capacity for justice, for integrity, for goodness. If it does not, the world will continue to laugh, mocking a nation once hailed as the giant of Africa, now reduced to a corrupt playground for the elite.

This is not just about Nigeria; it is a global crisis. The world is watching, and the ridicule Nigeria now faces will deepen if its leaders fail to act. The international community, once a partner in Nigeria’s development, will turn its back on a country that cannot police its own corruption. Nigeria will be left isolated, economically unstable, and socially fractured.

The fight against corruption is not simply a fight for today—it is a battle for Nigeria’s future. The forces of corruption are powerful, deeply rooted, and relentless. But the resolve to defeat them must be stronger. Agbakoba, the governors, and all those in positions of power must understand that their legacy will be defined by their actions today. They will either be remembered as those who tore down the last walls of justice or as those who had the courage to rebuild them.

Now is the time for action. Nigeria cannot afford to lose the EFCC—one of its few remaining symbols of justice. The fight is not over, but the window for redemption is rapidly closing. If Nigeria is to rise from this crisis of corruption, it must strengthen its institutions, not destroy them. The world is watching, and history will not be kind to those who choose to let evil triumph. The time for goodness, for integrity, and for justice is now.