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By Ken Harries, Esq.

It often begins as an ordinary day. A commercial bus pulls out before dawn, its passengers expecting nothing more than traffic delays and bad roads. Traders carry the week’s earnings. Students return to school. A nursing mother cradles her child. A retired civil servant travels to visit his family. Elsewhere, anxious parents wave goodbye as a school bus disappears through the gates, expecting to see their children again that afternoon. Then, somewhere along a lonely highway or beside a quiet rural school, armed men emerge from the bush. Within minutes, ordinary life gives way to terror. Passengers are dragged into the forest. Schoolchildren are herded into waiting vehicles. Families receive the dreaded telephone call demanding ransom. By nightfall, another community has joined the growing list of Nigerians praying that their loved ones will return home alive.

That story is no longer exceptional. It has been repeated so often, in different states and under different circumstances, that it has become a grim national pattern. Across Nigeria, parents hesitate before sending their children to school. Farmers weigh every trip to their fields against the possibility that they may never return. Travellers study routes not for the shortest distance but for the greatest chance of survival. In a country blessed with enormous human and natural resources, fear has become an invisible checkpoint on countless roads.

It is against this backdrop that the debate over state police has acquired fresh urgency.

For decades, Nigerians have argued over whether policing should remain the exclusive responsibility of the Federal Government or whether states should be empowered to establish their own police services. It is a conversation that has generated more heat than light, with strong emotions on both sides.

The State Police Bill, now making its way through the constitutional amendment process, represents the most determined effort yet to answer that question and make community policing a constitutional reality.

More importantly, it reflects a growing national consensus that the country’s evolving security challenges require a policing structure that is closer to the people, more responsive to local realities, and better equipped to detect and prevent crime before it occurs. Whether one ultimately supports or opposes state police, there can be little doubt that the debate has moved beyond theory. It is now about finding practical solutions to one of the greatest threats confronting Nigeria’s unity, stability, and future.

It is certainly an ambitious proposal. The strongest argument in favour of state police begins with a simple reality: Nigeria has grown too large, too complex, and too diverse for a completely centralised policing structure to respond effectively to every local security challenge.

A police officer deployed hundreds of kilometres away can rarely know a community as intimately as those who live there. Local officers are more likely to understand the terrain, recognise unfamiliar faces, detect emerging threats, and build the trust that encourages residents to volunteer vital intelligence before crimes occur rather than after lives have been lost. They also have a deeper personal stake in preserving peace. Their families live in the community. Their friends are there. Their children attend its schools. Their lives are woven into its social fabric. That sense of belonging often translates into a stronger commitment to preventing crime because every threat to the community is also a threat to the people and places they call home.

Such local knowledge can make all the difference. It can be the difference between prevention and tragedy. It can enable security agencies to identify suspicious movements before they become deadly attacks, respond more swiftly to kidnappings and violent crimes, resolve communal tensions before they escalate, and gather intelligence that outsiders might never obtain. At the same time, it would allow federal security agencies to concentrate their resources on terrorism, organised crime, transnational offences, and other threats that transcend state boundaries.

There is another advantage that is often overlooked. Effective policing depends not only on uniforms, weapons, and patrol vehicles, but also on public confidence. People are far more likely to cooperate with law enforcement when they regard police officers as members of their own communities rather than distant representatives of an impersonal bureaucracy. They are more willing to report suspicious activities, identify criminal elements, and volunteer intelligence that could prevent crimes before they occur. In the fight against insecurity, timely information is often the most powerful weapon, and that information flows most readily where trust has been earned.

Yet, if the promise of state police is considerable, so too are the risks. No constitutional reform should be judged solely by its potential benefits; it must also be tested against the possibility of unintended consequences. It is here that the debate becomes more complex.

Nigeria’s political history gives critics ample reason for caution. Governors already wield significant influence within their states. Entrusting them with operational control over police formations inevitably raises difficult questions. Could state police be used to intimidate political opponents? Could elections become even more contentious if security agencies are perceived to serve incumbents rather than the law? Could legitimate dissent be treated as political disloyalty? These are not hypothetical concerns. They arise from Nigeria’s own political experience and deserve credible constitutional and institutional safeguards.

Beyond the question of political misuse lies an equally practical challenge: funding. Professional policing is expensive. It requires far more than uniforms and patrol vehicles. Officers need rigorous training, competitive remuneration, modern equipment, reliable communication systems, forensic capabilities, intelligence infrastructure, and continuous oversight. Many states already struggle to pay salaries and finance essential public services. Without a sustainable funding framework, some states could build highly professional police services while others struggle to maintain basic operational capacity. That would not strengthen national security; it would simply replace one centralised policing problem with thirty-six unequal policing systems.

There is also the issue of coordination. Criminals do not stop at state borders to admire welcome signs. They move across jurisdictions with ease. Any state policing framework must therefore establish clear rules for cooperation between state and federal agencies, intelligence sharing, joint operations, and conflict resolution. Otherwise, confusion could become as dangerous as the insecurity the reform seeks to address.

These are difficult questions, but difficult questions are precisely what serious legislatures exist to confront. That is why the Senate’s handling of the State Police Bill deserves plaudits.

Under the leadership of Senate President Godswill Akpabio, the 10th Senate has chosen engagement over avoidance. Few constitutional questions are as politically sensitive as those touching the nation’s security architecture. They evoke competing interests, regional anxieties, constitutional concerns, and deeply held convictions about the nature of the Nigerian federation. Faced with such complexity, the easier course would have been to postpone the debate or leave it to another Assembly. Instead, the Senate elected to confront the issue directly, recognising that a nation under relentless security pressure cannot indefinitely defer difficult decisions.

By encouraging public hearings, inviting diverse perspectives, and steering deliberations through the constitutional process, the Senate has transformed what was once an endless national argument into structured legislative engagement. That is how democratic institutions are supposed to function. The objective is not to eliminate disagreement. It is to channel disagreement into laws that strengthen the republic.

The State Police Bill is certainly not a magic wand. No legislation, however well crafted, can eliminate insecurity overnight. Laws create frameworks; institutions and leadership determine outcomes. The success of state police will therefore depend not merely on the passage of the Bill but on how faithfully its provisions are implemented and how effectively its safeguards are enforced. Independent oversight, merit-based and transparent recruitment, sustainable funding, clear operational protocols, professional accountability, and robust protection against political interference will determine whether state police emerge as trusted guardians of public safety or degenerate into instruments of partisan power.

Achieving those objectives is not solely the responsibility of the National Assembly. It demands a sustained commitment from every stakeholder in the security ecosystem. State governments must resist the temptation to politicise the police. Security professionals must uphold the highest standards of professionalism and integrity. Civil society must remain vigilant in demanding accountability, while citizens must embrace the civic responsibility of cooperating with law enforcement. Only through such a shared commitment can the promise of state police be translated into lasting public safety.

Still, there is value in recognising progress when it occurs. For too long, Nigeria’s security conversation has revolved around managing recurring crises instead of questioning whether the structures themselves require reform. The State Police Bill signals a willingness to examine first principles and ask whether yesterday’s solutions remain adequate for today’s realities.

That willingness matters. Nation-building is seldom about finding perfect answers. More often, it is about having the courage to ask the right questions and the wisdom to improve institutions one reform at a time.

The Senate has opened that door. What remains is to ensure that what ultimately emerges from it strengthens security, deepens accountability, and restores public confidence in law enforcement. The true test of state police will not be the passage of the Bill but whether it produces police officers who know the communities they serve, share in their hopes and anxieties, and recognise that every threat to those communities is also a threat to their own families, neighbours, and future. Only then will Nigerians have renewed confidence that the institutions established to protect them are not distant enforcers of the law, but trusted guardians of the communities whose fate and destiny they share.

Ken Harries Esq is an Abuja based Development Communication Strategist

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By Michael Agbaji

As Senator Patrick Abba Moro marks another birthday, it is fitting to celebrate a distinguished statesman, visionary leader, and compassionate philanthropist whose life has been defined by selfless service, exemplary leadership, and an unwavering commitment to the advancement of humanity.

A proud son of Okwungaga in Ugbokolo District, Okpokwu Local Government Area of Benue State, Senator Moro has continued to distinguish himself as one of the most accomplished sons of Idomaland. Okpokwu Local Government has produced many outstanding men and women who have served the nation with honour and distinction, and Senator Moro remains one of its finest ambassadors.

After his meritorious service as a Minister of the Federal Republic of Nigeria, Senator Moro returned home with an unwavering determination to improve the lives of his people. Rather than retreat into personal comfort after years in public office, he chose the path of sacrifice by dedicating himself to education, youth empowerment, community development, and support for the less privileged.

Through his leadership and representation, numerous developmental projects have been executed across Benue South Senatorial District. These include the provision of potable water, healthcare facilities, educational support, road infrastructure, agricultural equipment, and empowerment programmes for youths, women, and the elderly. These interventions have positively transformed lives and will continue to benefit generations to come.

Senator Moro’s impact extends far beyond physical infrastructure. During his tenure as Minister, he facilitated opportunities for many qualified young Nigerians to serve their country. His mentorship, encouragement, and commitment to human capital development have positively influenced countless lives, not only in Benue South but across Benue State and Nigeria as a whole.

The English philosopher Herbert Spencer once observed, “The great aim of education is not knowledge but action.” Senator Patrick Abba Moro has consistently demonstrated throughout his public life that genuine leadership is measured not by promises but by meaningful action and lasting impact.

To me, Senator Patrick Abba Moro is far more than a respected elder statesman and accomplished politician. He is a mentor, a role model, and a source of inspiration to everyone who believes that leadership is rooted in selfless service to humanity.

By the grace of God, I aspire to emulate his example by dedicating my life to serving humanity, empowering young people, and contributing meaningfully to the development of Benue South Senatorial District, Benue State, and Nigeria.

As you celebrate another year today, I pray that Almighty God grants you continued good health, divine wisdom, renewed strength, and many more years of impactful service to our nation and humanity.

May your remarkable legacy of leadership, education, philanthropy, and community development continue to inspire the present generation and those yet to come.

Your life remains a shining reminder that true greatness is not defined by the offices one occupies but by the positive difference one makes in the lives of others.

Happy Birthday, Distinguished Senator Patrick Abba Moro. May your tomorrow be greater than today, and may God’s abundant blessings continue to rest upon you.

Signed:

Comrade Michael Ojonigwu Agbaji
News Editor, Dargic Online Media

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By Yemi Itodo

There is an old saying that one does not decorate a leaking roof while the house is on fire. Sadly, that appears to be the picture Benue State presented to the nation as it marked its 50th anniversary with pomp and pageantry, despite the enormous challenges confronting its people.

The event was grand. President Bola Ahmed Tinubu was represented by his Chief of Staff, Rt. Hon. Femi Gbajabiamila. The Ooni of Ife, His Imperial Majesty, Oba Adeyeye Enitan Ogunwusi, Ojaja II; state governors, ministers, traditional rulers, and other distinguished Nigerians converged on Makurdi to honour the occasion. The speeches were inspiring. The photographs were beautiful. The atmosphere was festive.

But outside the banquet halls and ceremonial grounds lies a different Benue, a state bleeding from insecurity, weighed down by poverty, and desperately searching for purposeful leadership.

Anniversaries are not celebrated merely because a state has existed for fifty years. They are celebrated because there are milestones worth showcasing.

Golden jubilees are opportunities to unveil legacy projects, commission transformative infrastructure, celebrate economic growth, and reassure citizens that the future is brighter than the past.

For many Benue people, that opportunity was missed.

The unavoidable question remains: What exactly did Governor Hyacinth Alia ask the nation to celebrate?

Were visitors invited to commission world-class hospitals? No.

Did they commission industrial clusters capable of creating thousands of jobs? No.

Were they taken to inspect modern agricultural processing facilities that would justify Benue’s acclaimed status as Nigeria’s Food Basket? No.

Did they witness massive road infrastructure connecting rural communities to markets? Again, no.

Instead, visitors were treated to ceremonies while many communities continued to bury their loved ones.

With due respect, it was a cocktail of propaganda and political theatre

Nothing exposes the contradiction more than the state of security.

Benue has become one of Nigeria’s most vulnerable states to recurring attacks by armed groups. Communities have been displaced. Villages have been deserted. Thousands remain in internally displaced persons’ camps. Farmers, the very backbone of Benue’s economy, can hardly cultivate their ancestral lands without fear.

What, then, is the meaning of celebrating the Food Basket of the Nation when farmers can no longer safely access their farms? Is it merely for the fun of celebrating an empty and torn basket?

A hungry farmer cannot celebrate.

A displaced widow cannot celebrate.

An orphan produced by violence cannot celebrate.

Entire communities living under constant fear cannot celebrate.

Development is not measured by press conferences or social media propaganda. It is measured by the quality of life of the ordinary citizen. It is measured by whether children attend school safely, whether hospitals function, whether roads are motorable, and whether investors have confidence in the economy.

By these standards, many citizens believe Benue deserves far better.

Equally troubling is what many perceive as the systematic exclusion of the Idoma people from the mainstream of governance. Across appointments and political patronage, many stakeholders argue that the principle of equity has suffered serious setbacks under the current administration. Whether this perception is entirely accurate or not, it has become too widespread to dismiss lightly.

Unity cannot flourish where significant sections of the population feel neglected.

Leadership must not only be impartial; it must also inspire confidence that every ethnic group has a meaningful place in government.

Beyond governance, the administration has also become associated with seemingly endless political confrontations. Rather than consolidating the coalition that brought him to power, Governor Alia has found himself in prolonged political disagreements with influential figures within his own party, including the Secretary to the Government of the Federation, Senator George Akume, the Benue APC leadership, and several elected lawmakers.

Political disagreement is normal in any democracy. However, governance suffers when political battles become the defining feature of an administration.

The people did not elect a governor to wage perpetual political wars. They elected a governor to secure communities, grow the economy, create opportunities, and unite the state.

When political battles appear to overshadow governance, the people become the ultimate losers.

Citizens are now more interested in who wins internal power struggles than in whether roads are constructed, schools function, hospitals are equipped, jobs are created, and communities are secured.

Leadership is measured by results, not rhetoric.

So, when fighting and intra-party rivalry become the major achievements of a government, the people end up celebrating who secures which ticket through a rancorous, crisis-ridden selection process rather than celebrating monumental projects befitting a state that is 50 years old.

As a state at fifty, Benue deserves sober reflection on its current condition rather than self-congratulation.

The state’s greatest monument is not the colourful anniversary logo or the impressive list of guests. Its true monument should be peaceful communities, thriving farms, functioning schools, modern hospitals, expanding industries, and citizens who genuinely believe tomorrow will be better than today.

Those are the achievements history remembers.

Ceremonies last for a day. Legacy lasts for generations.

As the applause from the golden jubilee gradually fades, the difficult realities remain. Displaced families are still in camps. Farmers still fear returning to their fields. Unemployment persists. Communities continue to mourn. The ordinary Benue citizen still waits for the dividends of governance.

The true celebration of Benue at fifty will not come through elaborate ceremonies or distinguished guests. It will come when every farmer can cultivate without fear, every child can sleep without the sound of gunfire, every ethnic group feels fairly represented, and government becomes known more for development than for political disputes.

Until then, many will remember Benue at 50 not as a celebration of remarkable progress, but as a lavish birthday party held while the house itself cried out for rescue.

(Itodo is a journalist, public affairs analyst, and communications strategist. He writes on governance, democracy, public policy, and national development.)