Forged Credentials, Selective Justice, and the Test of Accountability in Nigeria

By Demola Bakare fsi

Abuja-Nigeria.

Nigeria’s crisis of accountability is not rooted in the absence of laws. It is rooted in the uneven courage to apply them.

Allegations of forged academic or professional credentials in public office are not new. What is new—and deeply troubling—is the growing public perception that the consequences of such allegations depend less on the offence itself and more on the status of the accused. This perception strikes at the heart of Nigeria’s anti-corruption efforts and raises uncomfortable questions about selective justice, institutional integrity, and the credibility of public office.

Under Nigerian law, falsification of credentials is neither trivial nor ambiguous. The Criminal Code Act (Sections 463–465) criminalises forgery and the uttering of false documents, prescribing penalties that include imprisonment. The Penal Code, applicable in the northern states, contains similar provisions. Beyond criminal statutes, the 1999 Constitution (as amended) sets clear eligibility requirements for public office, while disqualifying individuals who present false information or are found guilty of dishonesty-related offences.

In addition, the Code of Conduct for Public Officers, enshrined in the Fifth Schedule to the Constitution, demands honesty, transparency, and integrity from those entrusted with public power. False declaration or misrepresentation of qualifications is not merely an administrative lapse; it is a breach of constitutional obligation.

Yet, despite this robust legal framework, enforcement remains inconsistent.

This inconsistency fuels the perception of selective justice—where investigations move swiftly in some cases and stall indefinitely in others.

 Selective justice is not always expressed through overt interference; often, it manifests through silence, delay, and procedural hesitation. Files remain “under review.” Investigations are said to be “ongoing” without clear timelines. Institutions that should speak with confidence retreat into cautious ambiguity when politically exposed cases arise.

The cost of this inconsistency is enormous. Anti-corruption institutions such as the Independent Corrupt Practices and Other Related Offences Commission (ICPC) and the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) derive their legitimacy not only from statutory powers but from public trust. When enforcement appears uneven, that trust erodes. Citizens begin to believe that the law is elastic—firm for the weak, negotiable for the powerful.

Nigeria’s courts have, in several landmark cases, affirmed that qualifications and eligibility are not cosmetic issues. The judiciary has repeatedly held that constitutional requirements for office are sacrosanct and that false information strikes at the root of democratic legitimacy. These precedents reinforce a simple truth: public office is a trust, not a prize to be won by deception.

Defenders of institutional caution often warn against “trial by media.” This concern is valid. Allegations must be tested through due process. However, due process does not justify institutional paralysis. Transparency, timely investigation, and clear communication are essential components of justice. Silence creates suspicion. Delay invites cynicism. In a democracy, accountability mechanisms must not only function; they must be seen to function.

There is also a preventive dimension that Nigeria has neglected for too long. Weak verification systems make credential fraud easier than it should be. Fragmented databases, poor inter-agency coordination, and limited digitisation create gaps that dishonest actors exploit. A serious anti-corruption strategy must prioritise systemic prevention—centralised credential verification, real-time cross-checking of academic and professional records, and mandatory pre-election screening that goes beyond formality.

For policymakers, the implications are clear. Accountability must be institutional, not selective. Anti-corruption agencies must be shielded—legally and practically—from political pressure. Oversight bodies must act proactively, not only when public outrage peaks. Above all, the law must speak with one voice, regardless of the officeholder involved.

For the general public, vigilance remains indispensable. Civic engagement, lawful scrutiny, and sustained demand for fairness are not acts of hostility to government; they are expressions of democratic responsibility. Nigeria’s history shows that accountability often advances when citizens refuse to be distracted or fatigued by scandal cycles.

The fight against corruption is ultimately a fight for credibility—of institutions, of leadership, and of the Nigerian state itself. When allegations of forged credentials are addressed decisively, transparently, and in accordance with the law, public confidence is strengthened. When they are avoided or inconsistently handled, the damage extends far beyond individual cases. It weakens the social contract.

Nigeria stands at a defining moment. We can continue to normalise selective justice, managing controversies until the next one emerges. Or we can reaffirm a simple but demanding principle: that integrity in public office is non-negotiable, and that the law applies equally to all.

Accountability delayed is accountability denied. And a nation that tolerates falsehood at the gates of power should not be surprised when trust collapses within its walls.