When the Custodian Needs a Custodian

Femi Akintunde-Johnson

There is an old question that has survived empires, republics and revolutions because no society has ever completely answered it: who watches the watchmen?

Nigeria has once again been invited to wrestle with that uncomfortable question following the arraignment of a former Chairman of the Code of Conduct Tribunal, Danladi Umar, on allegations of corruption by the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission. The court has admitted him to bail. He has pleaded not guilty. The judicial process has only just begun and, like every Nigerian, he enjoys the constitutional presumption of innocence until proved otherwise by a competent court.

That constitutional caution is important. But so, too, is the constitutional conversation the case inevitably provokes. For this is not merely about one individual standing before a judge. It is about the recurring irony that some of the very institutions established to uphold integrity, discipline and accountability often find themselves confronting allegations that strike at the heart of their own mandates.

When the anti-corruption watchdog is accused of corruption, when the electoral umpire is suspected of partiality, when the regulator appears to require regulation, or when the custodian of ethical conduct is alleged to have fallen short of those very standards, public confidence suffers a wound that extends far beyond the personalities involved.

Institutions, after all, derive their authority not from impressive office buildings, elaborate logos or intimidating legal powers. They survive because citizens believe in their impartiality. The day that belief begins to fracture, the institution may still exist physically, but its moral authority begins to evaporate.

Nigeria has invested enormous political capital over the years in establishing agencies, tribunals, commissions and specialised bodies to strengthen governance. The intention has often been noble. The execution, unfortunately, has too frequently collided with the familiar realities of human weakness, political interference, bureaucratic complacency and inadequate internal safeguards.

It would be simplistic to conclude that every allegation proves guilt. That would be both legally wrong and morally irresponsible. Allegations are not convictions. Charges are not judgments. Democracies distinguish themselves precisely because they resist the temptation to substitute suspicion for evidence.

Yet democracies are equally entitled to ask difficult institutional questions whenever such allegations arise. What systems existed to detect possible misconduct before external investigators became involved? Were internal compliance mechanisms active or merely decorative? Were periodic integrity audits undertaken? Did colleagues notice warning signs? Were whistle-blowing channels functional and trusted? Or did everyone simply assume that those policing integrity were themselves beyond scrutiny?

Power has an interesting habit. Left insufficiently supervised, it gradually begins to supervise itself. That is why no institution should ever be permitted to operate on the assumption of permanent moral superiority. Integrity is not a lifetime appointment. It requires constant verification.

 Indeed, one of the greatest misconceptions in public administration is the belief that creating an anti-corruption agency automatically creates an anti-corruption culture. It does not. Institutions inherit the values of the people who occupy them. Without transparent recruitment, continuous oversight, regular performance evaluation and genuine consequences for misconduct, even the most beautifully drafted enabling Act eventually becomes little more than framed literature.

Our national instinct has often been to respond to institutional failure by creating another institution. We establish commissions to supervise agencies, committees to monitor commissions, panels to review committees and task forces to coordinate panels. The architecture grows increasingly impressive while accountability quietly slips through the cracks.

Perhaps what Nigeria needs less is another layer of bureaucracy and more layers of responsibility.

Strong institutions are built less by the severity of the laws they enforce than by the certainty that nobody within them enjoys immunity from scrutiny. The cleaner the institution claims to be, the more transparent its internal processes should become.

This is where governance matures. Ethical declarations should not remain ceremonial documents signed upon assumption of office and forgotten thereafter. Senior public officials entrusted with enforcing standards should themselves undergo periodic independent audits of assets, procurement decisions, conflict-of-interest disclosures and administrative conduct. Transparency cannot be selectively applied only to those outside the institution.

 Equally important is leadership culture. Too often, our public institutions become overly dependent on the perceived integrity or charisma of one individual. But institutions are designed precisely because human beings are fallible. Systems should be strong enough to detect, discourage and correct misconduct regardless of who occupies the corner office. That is the real test.

The present case will take its lawful course. Evidence will be presented. Arguments will be tested. The court alone will determine where the truth ultimately lies. That process deserves respect from all of us.

But whatever the eventual verdict, Nigeria would miss a valuable opportunity if the conversation ends with one man’s fate. The larger issue concerns the health of our institutions. Public confidence is not restored simply because a prosecution has commenced. Confidence returns when citizens become convinced that oversight is consistent, accountability is impartial and no office is so elevated that its occupant becomes insulated from scrutiny.

There is a reason the framers of democratic constitutions dispersed power across multiple institutions. They understood what history repeatedly teaches: human beings are imperfect, temptation is persistent and authority without oversight eventually becomes vulnerable to abuse.

Perhaps that is the lesson we should carry from this moment. Not that another public official has found himself answering difficult questions before the law. Rather, that every institution – especially those entrusted with defending public integrity – must itself remain permanently accountable.

Because the credibility of an anti-corruption institution rests not only on its willingness to investigate others, but also on its readiness to submit itself to exactly the same standards. Anything less may satisfy procedure. It will never satisfy justice.