By all standards, Nigeria is bleeding—and the scarlet trails run not just from the usual suspects of bandits, terrorists, and kidnappers, but from state actors whose sense of accountability has long gone AWOL. Insecurity, once a shadow in the margins of our national consciousness, now walks boldly through classrooms, marketplaces, highways, and homes.
Between 2023 and mid-2025 alone, no fewer than 15,000 Nigerians have been reported killed or abducted across Benue, Zamfara, Plateau, Kaduna, and Borno States, according to SBM
Intelligence and reports by Amnesty International. And just recently, we witnessed another horror tale from Benue and Plateau. This is no longer about statistics—it is about state failure.
And yet, in the face of this catastrophe, we continue to rehearse tired monologues about the need for state police, as though its mere mention were an incantation capable of dispelling our demons. But let’s pause. Behind the chants for decentralisation is a far more dangerous misreading of what state police should be.
When Power Becomes the Problem
Let’s revisit an incident that, although over a decade old, still perfectly illustrates how abuse of power becomes normalised in our system. In 2012, Vanguard Newspaper reported that then-Governor of Sokoto State, Aliyu Magatakarda Wamakko, was alleged to have personally flogged three PHCN staff for failing to restore electricity to his village. Not only did he beat them, he reportedly instructed MOPOL officers attached to his office to continue the assault after he left.
The outrage? Barely a murmur. No court cases. No sanctions. Just a call for an apology. It was as though the assault was business as usual—because, tragically, it was.
Fast forward to 2025, and we find governors lamenting their lack of “control” over security. They want to be declared Chief Security Officers (CSOs) of their states, as if titles were enough to fix broken systems. They claim they need state police to fight crime effectively. But what many want is not people-centred security reform. What they want is a personal militia—an executive-controlled brute squad dressed up in uniforms and legalese.
Let’s Get This Straight: Who Owns the Police?
The most popular misunderstanding—and perhaps the most dangerous—is this: that a state police system means a police force controlled solely by state governors. But security in a democratic society must be rooted in community accountability, not executive fiat.
The concept of state police should never be about transferring control from one distant Abuja official to one ambitious governor. No. It should be about transferring power to the people: to residents, traditional leaders, local organisations, religious institutions, and civil society groups who understand their communities far better than any government appointee.
Imagine a community-based police system in Benue, where villagers are not just passive recipients of law enforcement but active architects of security strategy, selecting their police chiefs, setting local priorities, and establishing oversight structures. That is what true federal policing should look like.
This is not idealism. It’s a model that has been tested globally. In the United States, for instance, local police departments are answerable to city mayors and community councils. In Switzerland, cantonal police forces are managed by parliaments. These are not perfect systems, but they demonstrate that decentralisation works when anchored in transparency and collective governance, not when it is reduced to a governor’s power grab.
Security by Slogan or by Strategy?
Unfortunately, the Nigerian state has become a paradox: Heavy-handed in times of peace but helpless in crisis. We are a country where governors deploy task forces to chase down petty traders but fail to prevent the mass abduction of schoolchildren. Where security votes run into billions. N375 billion was allocated across all 36 states in 2021 alone, yet rural communities still crowdsource for vigilantes in order to protect themselves.
Therefore, State police cannot be yet another layer of dysfunction. It must be a new social contract—an agreement that prioritises the will of the people over the whims of politicians.
So, before we rush to amend the Constitution or pass enabling laws, we must redefine the entire narrative. The media must stop echoing the hollow claim that state governors are “Chief Security Officers.” That title has no constitutional basis. It’s not a role; it’s a public relations stunt. Under Nigerian law, the only person with operational control over the police is the Inspector-General of Police. Not the President. Not the Governor. Not the local government chairman.
If we truly want to localise security, then we must localise oversight, funding, recruitment, and training, and place all of that under the purview of a civilian-led, multi-stakeholder policing board at the state level. A board that includes religious leaders, local activists, education experts, women’s groups, and yes, even journalists. Because when people are involved in their security, they become stakeholders, not just statistics.
A Better Police for a Broken Society
Let’s not get it twisted: the current centralised policing structure is broken. The Nigerian Police Force is underfunded, overstretched, and often demoralised. With just over 371,000 officers serving more than 200 million Nigerians, we are severely under-policed by global standards. Compare that to the United Nations recommendation of one police officer to every 450 citizens, and you begin to see the gap.
But the solution is not simply to multiply the same flawed model 36 times. What we need is transformation, not replication. Repeating a broken system at the state level will only deepen our crisis.
Let’s start talking about state police not as a tool for political convenience, but as a community-first model of public safety. Let’s discuss how to establish ethical recruitment systems, develop robust training academies, implement trauma-informed policing, and implement fair mechanisms for dispute resolution. Let’s talk mental health support for officers, citizen feedback loops, and how to use technology and data—not brute force—to predict and prevent crime.
Above all, let’s talk about trust. Because without trust, a badge is just metal, and a gun is just a threat.
Final Words
Nigeria’s security architecture needs urgent surgery, not cosmetic patches. But surgery must be done with a steady hand, guided by people’s voices, not backroom deals in government houses. It’s time to take state policing away from the theatre of political power play and return it to where it truly belongs: the community.
Only then can we build a police system that not only protects but respects the people it serves.
