When justice is forced on vacation, silenced by deliberate state action, what you get is not just absence of law, but the reign of lawlessness and terror. This is the reality in Imo State today; a chilling reminder that when power is unchecked and courts are closed, the people become prey.
In most civilized democracies, the judiciary is a constant, like the air we breathe. Even during its annual recess, vacation courts are established to handle urgent and time-sensitive matters. In Enugu, Abia, Ebonyi, Anambra States [deliberately mentioning our contemporaries who have left us behind] and virtually every progressive state in Nigeria, vacation courts ensure that justice doesn’t sleep, that rights are not violated in silence, and that oppression does not take the stage while the judges are away on vacation.
But in Imo State, the story is different, as it is tragic. The courts are closed, and justice has been kidnapped, not by bandits in the bush, but by bandits in government.
The foundation of this legal crisis lies in a decision that can only be described as administrative sabotage. The Governor of Imo State, despite appointing a Chief Judge three months after the directive of the National Judicial Council [NJC] is yet to swear same perosn into office. This singular act has created a dangerous vacuum, leaving the judiciary without the leadership required to function, especially during its annual vacation.
Because only a Chief Judge has the power to appoint vacation judges, the refusal to swear one in effectively shuts the gates of justice for the entire period of the vacation.
Let that sink in: an entire state, with over five million citizens, has no access to the courts for weeks, not because the law requires it, but because the executive arm of government has simply refused to do what is right.
And the consequences? They are devastating.
With the courts locked, victims of unlawful arrests, illegal detentions, and human rights abuses now wander in despair, like sheep without a shepherd. The police stations, particularly the Tigerbase Unit — those specialists in the act of unchecked barbaric, brutish savagery and calous human rights abuse — have now assumed the roles of accuser, judge, and executioner.
Reports continue to flood in: Citizens detained indefinitely without trial; torture and extortion as tools of interrogation; landlords harassed and dispossessed of their properties; private citizens brutalized with no recourse.
In this vacuum, Tiger Base thrives, emboldened by the knowledge that no court will call them to order. They operate unchecked, unaccountable, and unashamed, feeding fat on the tears of the powerless.
This is not governance. This is tyranny draped in stinking bureaucracy.
On the morning of Wednesday, 27 August 2025, while I was enjoying the peace and hospitality that Enugu unreservedly offered during the Annual General Conference of the NBA, I received a distressed call rom a client, a Nigerian citizen living in the United States. His duplex located behind Concord Hotel, Owerri, had been marked for demolition without any notice, and his family living in the house was given just 48 hours to vacate.
He asked a simple question: “Can we get a court injunction to stop this madness?”
And for the first time in my professional life, I had no legal path to offer. The courts were on vacation, and no vacation court had been set up. Our hands were tied. The law was asleep. Justice was on forced sabbatical.
This is not an isolated incident. The government appears to have found a wicked loophole: if the courts are closed, we can do as we please. Demolish homes. Chase families out into the streets. Detain at will. And who will stop us?
No judge! No court! No voice!
And you still call this a State, or an animal farm!
It’s no surprise that the police are unusually busy in this period. With no judicial oversight, extortion becomes easier. Arbitrary arrests become routine. Bribes become bountiful. And human dignity becomes currency.
This legal blackout is a breeding ground for corruption, and the people benefitting from it are not the ordinary citizens — they are the same state actors and enablers who should be upholding justice. The executive gains unchecked power. The police operate with impunity. And the ordinary Imolite suffers in silence.
The question must be asked: Why would a government deliberately cripple its judiciary? The answer is as bitter as it is clear — to carry out its illegitimate acts unchallenged.
Across Nigeria, vacation courts serve as the backbone of emergency justice. They are established to ensure that: No citizen is left to suffer irreparable harm during court recess; urgent applications, such as bail, injunctions, and fundamental rights enforcement, can be heard; administrative continuity is maintained in the temple of justice.
To deny a state access to vacation courts is to turn off its legal oxygen supply. It is to say, “If you’re abused, suffer it. If your house is taken, cry alone. If your rights are violated, wait until we feel like doing something.”
What kind of government tells its people to wait weeks before they can seek justice?
Certainly not one committed to democracy. Certainly not one interested in the rule of law.
Imo State has become an outlier, a throwback to the dark days when might was right, and governance meant oppression. The absence of courts during this period is not just a legal failure; it is a spiritual attack on the soul of democracy.
Without functioning courts investors are scared off, disputes go unresolved, the police become the judge, and the state becomes the law.
This is how states collapse, not in a day, not with a coup, but quietly, when institutions are weakened from within and justice is forced into silence.
No society grows when its people live in fear. No economy thrives where property rights can be trampled at night. No democracy survives where citizens are denied a voice in court.
The people of Imo deserve better. Lawyers, civil society, religious leaders, the Nigerian Bar Association, the media, and indeed, all lovers of justice must speak loud and clear.
Imo State is bleeding, not just from political instability or economic uncertainty, but from the deliberate burial of its justice system.
We must not normalise and trvialise this. We must not excuse it. We must not be silent.
Let no one be deceived: this is not about judicial technicalities. It is about human lives. About children sleeping in fear. About fathers being dragged away without warrants. About mothers watching bulldozers approach their family homes.
This is not vacation. This is state-orchestrated injustice. And we must name it, shame it, and stop it.
O thou justice, forced on vacation by the executive might, how long shall we wait for thy return?
Chinedu Agu is a Solicitor & Notary Public, past secretary of NBA Owerri, and can be reached on ezeomeaku@gmail.com | 08032568512.
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