A fresh storm is brewing over the soul of the Nigerian Bar Association (NBA), the supposed sentinel of legal conscience and professional rectitude in our country. At the centre of it is a questionable N300 million “gift” from the suspended Governor of Rivers State, Siminalayi Fubara, to the NBA, and a demand by the state’s new Sole Administrator, Retired Admiral Ibok-Ette Ibas, for the money to be returned. The NBA, in what can only be described as a moral failure, has refused.
This is not just unseemly; it is a terrible blight on the ethical fabric of the legal profession in Nigeria.
One must begin with a fundamental question: What moral or professional justification does the NBA have for accepting such a colossal sum from a state government in the first place? Particularly one teetering on the brink of administrative dysfunction and engulfed in internal crisis. The NBA, an organisation that positions itself as the defender of the rule of law and public accountability, cannot reasonably defend accepting public funds under the guise of benevolence. It is not merely unethical; it is injurious to the association’s credibility.
Consider this: N300 million could have gone into revitalising a portion of the failing healthcare system in Rivers State. It could have refurbished hospitals, provided life-saving drugs, or improved sanitation facilities in underserved communities. Instead, this significant chunk of public money was diverted to a private professional association that is funded by the dues of its members. This is how my comrade, Ebun Adegboruwa SAN, correctly captures my point: “All lawyers in Nigeria pay their practicing fees annually. Money is also charged for lawyers who wish to attend the conference, such that there is no basis for [the] NBA going cap in hand to beg for money to host a conference of lawyers”. A point to emphasise further here: this act erodes the foundational distinction between public responsibility and private interest.
To dismiss this donation as a harmless gesture is to gloss over the glaring impropriety. Public money does not belong to the whims of an individual governor. It belongs to the people. The NBA, of all institutions, should be the first to ring the alarm over such abuse of office, not the beneficiary of it. This descent into what I call “organisational bowl-begging” began in the not-so-distant past. Under the late Charles Idehen’s leadership, the NBA began its flirtation with state actors and their chequebooks. The proud tradition of financial independence that once characterised the Association was bartered away. The high moral standard set by earlier NBA presidents like Alao Aka-Bashorun, who famously rebuffed financial support from General Ibrahim Babangida has been replaced by transactional relationships with political figures. Aka-Bashorun understood that independence is not a rhetorical device; it is a lived principle. It is the spine that enables the Bar to speak truth to power, to challenge autocracy, and to remain untainted by the fickle gratifications of the political class. Today, sadly, the NBA looks more like a lobbying syndicate than a professional body. Its leadership is often more visible at state dinners than at protest marches or rights advocacy campaigns. The credibility of the NBA has been corroded by its open arms policy toward political donations. The spectre of financial impropriety under the previous NBA leadership still hovers over the Bar like a brooding cloud, unresolved and unrepented. Yet, rather than inspire a season of introspection, it seems only to have whetted the appetite for opaque bookkeeping and deepened the Bar’s unseemly affection for the ostentatious benevolence of “money-miss-road” governors, to borrow the colourful candour of street parlance. The lessons of the past remain unlearned, the indulgences of the present unabated.
This is the slippery slope. When the NBA accepts a donation from a sitting governor, it surrenders its ability to remain neutral and dispassionate in assessing that administration’s policies or conduct. Today, it may be a “gift.” Tomorrow may enthrone silence in the face of human rights violations. After all, he who pays the piper dictates the tune. The connection between tainted funding and a dulled conscience is no longer the stuff of speculation or abstraction. It stares us in the face, vivid and undeniable. One need not prod with a fork to discover what lies festering beneath a compromised moral fabric; the stench of complicity is pungent enough. Where money flows without scrutiny, principle evaporates without a trace.
Why do lawyers jostle so aggressively for NBA positions? Why is contesting for the national office in the Bar more intense than the primaries of some political parties? The reason is as clear as daylight: control of resources, influence, and proximity to political power. If there was no money, no access to state governors, and no political patronage, would there be the same ferocity in NBA elections?
I doubt it.
Elsewhere in the world, legal and professional bodies steer clear of this moral minefield. The American Bar Association is largely self-financed through membership dues, educational programmes, and publication revenue. Its credibility derives from its distance from political influence. The Law Society of England and Wales operates similarly, guided by transparent statutes and free from the shadow of executive generosity. Even where public support exists for such bodies in more advanced democracies, it is formalised through legal instruments, audited processes, and institutional checks. There are no “gifts” or goodwill disbursements dictated by the mood or magnanimity of political officeholders.
What the NBA has done in this instance is to openly declare a lack of interest in preserving its independence. Its refusal to return the N300 million is not only tone-deaf; it is a betrayal of the public trust. It sends the dangerous message that the Bar is willing to sup with political actors, and worse, that it is for sale. It diminishes lawyers standing in the eyes of the public. It undermines every pronouncement lawyers make on corruption, public service ethics, and governance.
This is a moment for reckoning. Senior Advocates of Nigeria, academics, and legal practitioners must rise to demand accountability. The NBA is not the property of its officials; it is the collective moral estate of all lawyers in Nigeria. And when that estate is imperilled, silence is not an option.
The Association must return the money. Not only because it is the right thing to do, but because failing to do so compromises the very soul of the Bar. Lawyers cannot be the watchdogs of the Republic and be found drinking from the same bowl as the politicians they are meant to scrutinise. When the watchdog becomes the lapdog, the burglars have no reason to fear.
The NBA must reclaim its honour. It must prove to Nigerians that its principles are not for sale, that its conscience is not negotiable. If lawyers cannot hold ourselves to account, how can they claim to hold others accountable?
Nigerians are watching. Rivers people are watching. And history will record whether lawyers of conscience rose to defend the spirit of the Bar, or allowed it to be auctioned for thirty pieces of silver.
Abdul Mahmud is an Abuja-based Human Rights Lawyer