CBN and institutional cruelty
By Kehinde Nubi The Court of Appeal’s recent judgment ordering the Central Bank of Nigeria (CBN) to release N2.5 billion to 110 former staff of Ahmadu Bello University (ABU) is,
By Kehinde Nubi
The Court of Appeal’s recent judgment ordering the Central Bank of Nigeria (CBN) to release N2.5 billion to 110 former staff of Ahmadu Bello University (ABU) is, on its face, an enforcement decision arising from a labour dispute. In reality however, it is something far more unsettling: a judicial exposure of a governing culture that has grown comfortable with cruelty, almost professional at procedural sabotage, and indifferent to the suffering of those it exists to serve.
The court was unequivocal in stating that the CBN was not the judgment debtor, as it merely held funds already deposited by ABU for the satisfaction of a lawful judgment. Yet for years, inexplicably, the CBN resisted payment, filed obstructive appeals, and acted as though it had a personal stake in denying workers the fruits of their victory. The appellate court’s rebuke, including its warning of sanctions and condemnation of wasted public resources, was therefore not excessive.
The court’s language, in my view, was appropriate, its findings measured, and its conclusions grounded firmly in law — making the institutional rebuke all the more damning.
This judgment must be read not as an isolated reprimand, but as a broader indictment of systemic governmental and institutional misconduct, and a condemnation of the seeming normalisation of institutional cruelty.
What the CBN did is not exceptional; it is a familiar and perfected pattern by Nigerian public institutions. When a citizen wins in court, the state responds with silence, delay, technical objections, and attrition. Letters go unanswered, and files go missing. Appeals are often filed without merit, hoping that time will do the dirty work.
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This is not bureaucratic inefficiency; far from it, it is calculated indifference, nay wickedness. The unspoken assumption is that the citizen will eventually give up — or worse, succumb to illness, poverty, or death. Justice is not denied outright; it is slowly strangled. The CBN case matters because it lays bare this instinct.
This conduct is reprehensible and incompatible with the Constitution. Section 6 vests judicial powers in the courts, not as ceremonial gestures but as binding authority, yet those powers are rendered hollow when institutions deliberately frustrate enforcement. Section 15(5) obliges the state to abolish abuse of power, which clearly includes the intentional obstruction of lawful court orders where foreseeable hardship ensues.
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The withholding of a judgment sum without lawful justification is thus a constitutional wrong, striking at the very foundation of citizens’ rights. While some of these provisions fall under Chapter II of the Constitution and are not directly justiciable, they nonetheless express binding constitutional values against which the conduct of public institutions can and should be measured. What the CBN did was an attempt at using a seeming veneer of legality to destroy substance.
If the CBN case illustrates institutional cruelty in its bureaucratic form, the case of Oluwasegun Olayinka Oluwarotimi reveals it in its most human and devastating expression.
On August 9, 2021, at Araromi Junction in Akure, Oluwarotimi — a commercial motorcyclist — was unlawfully shot by an officer of the Ondo State Security Network Agency, Amotekun Corps. The shooting resulted in the amputation of his leg and permanent disability, obliterating his means of livelihood in an instant.
What followed was not accountability, but abandonment. From October 2022 onward, letters were written to the Amotekun Commandant, the then governor of Ondo State, and later the Attorney-General, seeking compensation and acknowledgment. There was no reply, and litigation became inevitable. On March 29, 2023, the Ondo State High Court awarded N30 million in damages, and as usual, the government appealed. On November 19, 2024, the Court of Appeal struck out the appeal, affirming the judgment. Not surprisingly, and quite characteristically, the government refused to pay.
For over two years after judgment, repeated appeals were made detailing Oluwarotimi’s deteriorating health and worsening condition. Not a single response came. Public funds were instead deployed to sustain procedural resistance. Garnishee proceedings were eventually initiated in December 2025. Sadly, Oluwarotimi died on February 4 before justice could reach him. This was not a failure of law; it was a moral collapse, in short, treachery and betrayal of an Ondo State citizen by the Ondo State government.
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The Segun Oluwarotimi case also exposes the role of uniformed services in this architecture of wrongdoing. The initial harm was inflicted by an armed agent of the state. The prolonged suffering was sustained by civil authorities who chose silence over responsibility.
This pattern is not rare. It is systemic. Whilst the harm may have been initiated by uniformed officers, the stock-in-trade of men of the uniformed services in Nigeria, it was needlessly prolonged by bureaucratic actions and inaction. It is deeply troubling that administrative delay can compound the effects of such incidents, leaving citizens to endure prolonged hardship.
What deepens the tragedy is that these institutions are not abstractions. Governments are run by people — men and women who publicly identify as Christians and Muslims, who speak fluently of God, quote scripture, attend mosques and churches, and present themselves as children of the Almighty. Yet their actions tell a different story.
A government that starves judgment creditors, abandons disabled victims, and deliberately frustrates justice does not act as an instrument of God. Whatever faith they profess, the conduct of these officers aligns more closely with cruelty than compassion, with oppression than righteousness. When power is exercised without conscience, when suffering is knowingly prolonged, those wielding authority become public officials who betray the trust vested in them.
Whereas bandits and terrorists destroy lives and property through direct violence, administrative abuse terrorises through files and memos, and bureaucratic delay allows life to wither systematically. This is terrorism by other means. The effect on the citizen is the same: fear, helplessness, and the knowledge that the state is not a protector but a predator.
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This is why the CBN judgment must remain the focal point. It proves that even where funds exist, even where liability is clear, and even where the institution is not the original wrongdoer, the state will resist justice unless compelled.
The Court of Appeal did not merely order payment, it exposed a mind-set, and in that exposure, every public institution should see itself. The Court of Appeal has now ordered the CBN to release the N2.5 billion. Apparently, the CBN may have come to the end of the road in this case. It would be senseless appealing this kind of judgment, even if they could. The workers may finally receive what is theirs. That is welcome, but the lesson is larger than this case.
This judgment is not merely about garnishee proceedings or labour entitlements. It is about the moral state of governance in Nigeria. It is not just the CBN as an institution that should hang its head in shame.
History will record not only what the courts decided, but who chose to obey — and who did not. Until obedience to court orders becomes instinctive, until empathy informs power, and until justice is delivered without citizens dying while waiting for it, cases like this will continue to recur.
