By Sar Terver
The standoff between FCT Minister Nyesom Wike and Naval Lt. A.M. Yerima over access to a disputed land parcel in Abuja has ignited a fierce national debate, pitting civil authority against military obedience and raising urgent questions about what the rule of law truly means in Nigeria.
On November 11, 2025, Wike personally went to Plot 1946, Gaduwa, to enforce a stop-work order on a construction allegedly lacking proper title and planning permission.
Accompanying him were officials from the FCT Development Control Department, but when they arrived, they were blocked by uniformed naval personnel, led by Lt. Yerima, who insisted he was acting on “superior orders” from a retired officer. The confrontation turned heated, culminating in a verbal showdown.
Voices from Nigeria’s legal and political sphere have erupted since, offering sharply divergent readings of who was in the wrong and what is at stake.
Constitutional heavyweight Prof. Sebastine Hon, SAN, has strongly condemned Yerima’s actions, calling them a “clear breach of the law and an affront to civil authority.”
He draws on Supreme Court precedent, reminding that even in the military, obedience has limits: orders that are “palpably illegal or manifestly unjust” cannot be blindly followed. In Onunze v. State (2023), the Court reaffirmed that officers’ sworn allegiance is first to the Constitution, not to any superior who commands unlawful conduct.
Hon further argues that Lt. Yerima had no legal basis to bar the minister from accessing the site, stressing that a serving military officer has no mandate under service law to guard a “private construction site” even one linked to a former senior officer. And if there were concerns about security or potential trespass, he says, civil police, not naval personnel, should have been summoned.
Importantly, Hon holds that Wike, in his capacity as FCT Minister, wields constitutionally delegated power over land in Abuja. Under sections 297(2) and 302 of the 1999 Constitution, all lands in the FCT are held in trust by the Federal Government; the President has empowered the FCT Minister to administer them.
From this perspective, blocking Wike amounted to resisting “the civil authority of the President.” Hon warns that failure to discipline Yerima could set a dangerous precedent, encouraging uniformed officers to challenge civilian leadership.
Human rights advocate Femi Falana, SAN, echoes parts of this argument, but also holds Wike to account. While he affirms that Wike was legally entitled to inspect the land, citing Section 11 of the Land Use Act, he criticizes the minister’s public insults directed at the naval officer. Falana has called on President Tinubu to demand a public apology from Wike, arguing that no public servant should insult any Nigerian, no matter how tense the encounter.
But Falana does not absolve Lt. Yerima. In his view, the officer’s behavior was illegal, he should not have used his uniform to shield a construction project under questionable ownership.
On the other side of the argument, some commentators defend Yerima’s actions as loyalty to the chain of command.
On social media analyses, such as that by Adedamola Adetayo, the officer’s refusal to yield is framed as discipline and yet they don’t shy away from alarm over what they call “undermining duly constituted government authority.” Adetayo describes the incident as insubordination so grave that it parallels a coup d’état, warning that it should “not be swept under the carpet.”
Another perspective, offered by a broadcast journalist, Thomas Sadoh, suggests that while Wike may have overstepped in tone, his act of demanding documentation was technically justified.
Sadoh notes that the land is “owned by a retired general … now a civilian,” and in his view, protecting that property should fall under the remit of police, not armed soldiers. He argues Wike acted on behalf of the federal government and was within his rights to inspect the site, even if his manner was confrontational.
This tug-of-war between legal interpretation and political symbolism is framed, for some, as a test of Nigeria’s democratic maturity.
On one side, the drawing of a hard line, civil power must always stand above military overreach. On the other, concern that the minister’s behavior could dilute respect for the uniform, emboldening unruly civilians in uniforms.
Yet, at the heart of the matter, the law is clear. The Land Use Act vests inspection power in governors, or in Abuja, the FCT Minister, with an obligation on occupiers to grant free access. Military service law, meanwhile, does not permit soldiers to serve as a private security force for individuals, nor to disobey civil authority without legal justification. Prof. Hon’s invocation of Section 114 of the Armed Forces Act reinforces this: by obstructing a public officer, Yerima arguably exposed himself to criminal liability and court-martial.
If anything, the clash has laid bare a vulnerability in Nigeria’s civil-military relations. It reveals a risk that military officers might feel empowered to shield the interests of powerful individuals, even at the expense of public institutions.
Legal analysts warn that celebrating such defiance could erode civilian supremacy and embolden others to ignore lawful directives.
At the same time, critics of Wike worry that ministers must balance forceful enforcement with decorum. Falana’s call for an apology is not just about civility, it is a reminder that even when acting legally, public officers must still uphold respect for citizens (including those in uniform).
In a democracy, this episode is more than a squabble over land; it is a referendum on the rule of law itself. It forces Nigerians to ask: who really holds authority in this republic; the man in uniform, or the law? And when the two clash, which must yield?
If the country is to move forward, lessons must be learned. Civil authority must not be trivialized by force. Military obedience must not be twisted into a shield for private interest. And when the rule of law is challenged, the response must not only be legal but principled.
