A political anthem, On Your Mandate We Shall Stand, blasted out yesterday during the opening ceremony of the 2025 All Nigeria Judges Conference in Abuja, disturbing many who expected a completely judicial atmosphere. Wale Igbintade takes into account the moment’s appropriateness as well as political handlers’ need to use better judgment in hallowed democratic venues.
There are moments in a nation’s public life that seem little on the surface, yet they shout so loudly that they cannot be ignored. One such instance occurred during the 2025 All Nigeria Judges Conference opening ceremony in Abuja, a meeting intended to represent neutrality, dignity, and the gravity of the judicial profession.
Instead, as President Bola Tinubu approached the platform, the air filled with a familiar political tune: “On Your Mandate We Shall Stand.” In a hall full of judges—guardians of our constitutional order, arbiters of conflicts, and stewards of impartiality—a song that belongs to the intensity of campaign rallies abruptly emerged.
The song didn’t go long. It was played by the Nigerian Army Guards Brigade band, not the judiciary. However, the implication persisted long after the boom had subsided. Many Nigerians, including some members of the legal community, felt that it was an overreach. Songs carry meaning. In the wrong setting, they carry harm.
On Your Mandate We Shall Stand is a political base’s rallying cry for the majority of Nigerians, making it more than just a catchphrase. It invokes recollections of campaign seasons, violent election contests and the intensity of partisan loyalty. So when that melody entered a hall full of judges, it quickly clashed with the environment. Political culture met with judicial culture, and the latter lost ground.
It was this uncomfortable clash that prompted Senior Advocate of Nigeria, JibrinOkutepa, to raise the alarm. His reply encapsulated what many felt but could not put into words.
He expressed what he perceived as disgusting and dangerous. In his words, it was “as if the music was intended to tempt the judges, and of course some fell for it and sang. It was improper for that music to be played at that time, and it was unacceptable for any judicial officer to sing it.
His caution was less about the song itself and more about what it represented: the creeping, silent erosion of boundaries that should never be crossed.
The irony was increased by the fact that the song was released just after President Tinubu had cautioned judges against corruption. The President had delivered perhaps his strongest message yet on judicial integrity. “Justice must never be for sale, and the Bench must never become a sanctuary for compromise. Corruption in any arm of government undermines the nation, but corruption in the Judiciary destroys it at its core.”
These were powerful remarks, words Nigerians urgently needed to hear. However, when the incorrect symbols come at the wrong time, even strong words can lose their impact. And for many watching, the playing of a campaign song within a judicial occasion was the incorrect symbol.
Quick action was taken by the National Judicial Institute (NJI). It’s assertion was clear, factual, and necessary. Judges did not sing the chorus. They only performed the national anthem as a group.
Not the judiciary, but only the Guards Brigade Band performed the song “On Your Mandate.” Judges did not stand out for political loyalty, but rather out of respect for the President’s office. They are important clarifications. They aid in rectifying the situation. But they do not eradicate the core problem, because, public opinion typically moves quicker than official explanations.
The reality is that in a society still mending from questionable election petitions, dubious court rulings, and long-standing suspicions about judicial independence, even the least indication of partisanship can turn into a wildfire. This one did as well.
Nigerian judges are frequently subjected to unfair scrutiny. In public debates, every decision, every expression on the face, every handshake, and every rumor can be used as weaponry. Trust in judicial neutrality is already frail; it does not require more breaches. By putting a political tune into a room of judges, even unwittingly, you place them in a situation where innocence can look like endorsement.
A camera angle can lie. One can use a moment of bewilderment as a weapon. A judge adjusting his robe could be framed as dancing. In Nigeria today, nothing is too tiny to be misunderstood. What was supposed to be a standard ceremonial event has now become a topic of national discussion. That indicates exactly how delicate, how fragile, the judiciary’s public standing has become.
Part of the reason this episode has received so much criticism is that many Nigerians genuinely feel something is shifting in the Judiciary since Justice KudiratMotonmoriKekere-Ekun became Chief Justice of Nigeria.
She has brought a distinct temperament to the role: calm, measured, disciplined, and quietly reforming. Lawyers report that under her direction, the National Judicial Council has become more serious, judicial officers are more disciplined, administrative procedures are cleaner, court coordination has improved, and there have been small but noticeable attempts to regain public trust. Our judiciary is not flawless, far from it. But those paying attentively can notice signals of change.
It is precisely because of these fragile, valuable achievements that times like the “On Your Mandate” episode feel so disheartening. They impede advancement. They provide cynics new talking points. They give their detractors an opportunity to argue. A judiciary that is attempting to ascend should not be dragged back by poor optics.
The sacredness of court areas must be understood by government handlers, security personnel, and protocol officials. Certain environments require more sensitivity than others. The judiciary is among them. “We didn’t choose the song” is insufficient. It is not enough to say, “It was a brief moment.” It is obviously not enough to say, “Nobody meant any harm.” Events in the judiciary are not political. Neutrality in appearance is just as vital as neutrality in actuality. Those who handle state ceremonies must internalise this distinction.
If a political song can unintentionally creep into a court meeting in 2025, what might slip in next year? What if another political cry is played? What if a picture, a flag, a phrase, a gesture enters the frame? The line is drawn where? If we don’t draw it now, we may not be able to draw it later.
This situation is less about blame and more about awareness. It reveals how open our institutions remain to misinterpretation, how every detail matters, how every symbol carries weight, and how the judiciary must continually protect not just its verdicts, but its image.
It also illustrates the significance of closer cooperation between the court and the executive during joint activities. Both houses of government must understand: the court is not a political ally; it is not a cheering mob; it must be shielded against even the idea of political influence. Mistakes will happen. But lessons must be learned.
Fortunately, there was no conspiracy behind what transpired at the conference. It was more likely an oversight or a moment of thoughtlessness. But even innocent mistakes might carry devastating effects in the wrong atmosphere. The judiciary deserves insulation. It deserves care. And Nigerians deserve a court that looks, and remains, beyond politics.
Nigeria’s judiciary is in a moment of transition. It could develop into something more robust, disciplined, and trustworthy with the right care. If overshadowed by extraneous controversies, it could lose momentum. This is why a political music played in the wrong area is a problem, not because of its content, but because of its connotations.
It is not acceptable for the judiciary to be accidentally painted with the colors of any political party. The 2025 Judges Conference should have been remembered for the President’s challenge to the judiciary, for the Chief Justice’s reforms, and for the meeting of some of the most prominent brains in Nigeria’s legal system. Instead, it risks being remembered for a thoughtless tune that never should have been played.
It is imperative that those in charge of ceremonial arrangements improve. Those who recognize the weight of judicial neutrality must speak up. And the judiciary must continue to preserve its dignity, furiously, jealously, constantly.
The song was not a crime. But it was a miscalculation. An excessively long moment. And if Nigeria is truly devoted to developing a stronger, more trusted judiciary, then situations like today must never happen again.
