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 suitability of the situation and the duty of political handlers to use greater discretion in hallowed democratic settings.
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. At the opening ceremony of the 2025 All Nigeria Judges Conference in Abuja, a meeting intended to represent dignity, impartiality, and the gravity of the judicial calling, one such instance took place.
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 system, arbiters of conflicts, and stewards of impartiality—a song that belongs to the intensity of campaign rallies erupted out of nowhere.
It was a short song. It was played by the Nigerian Army Guards Brigade band, not the judiciary. Even after the sound had subsided, the inference persisted. Many Nigerians, including some members of the legal profession, felt that it was an overreach. Songs carry meaning. In the wrong setting, they carry harm.
On Your Mandate We Shall Stand is more than just a catchphrase for the majority of Nigerians; it serves as a political base’s rallying cry. 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 the music to be played at that time, and it was improper 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.
Irony was increased by the fact that the song was released immediately 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 moment, 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.
The National Judicial Institute (NJI) was quick to react. It’s assertion was clear, factual, and necessary. Judges did not sing the chorus. The national anthem was the only song they performed as a group.
The Guards Brigade Band, not the judiciary, performed the song “On Your Mandate.” Judges did not stand out for political affiliation, but rather out of respect for the President’s office. These explanations are important. They assist in correcting the record. 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, too.
Judges in Nigeria are frequently unfairly scrutinized. Every decision, every expression, every handshake, and every rumor can be used as leverage in public discussions. 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. It is possible to use a moment of confusion as a weapon. A judge adjusting his robe could be framed as dancing. In Nigeria today, nothing is too minor to be misconstrued. What ought to have been a standard ceremonial event has suddenly sparked a national dialogue. 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, judicial officials’ discipline has improved, administrative procedures have become cleaner, the National Judicial Council has regained its seriousness, court coordination has improved, and there have been subtle but noticeable attempts to restore 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 divert attention from advancement. They provide cynics new talking points. They give their detractors a fair shot. A judiciary that is attempting to ascend should not be dragged back by poor optics.
Government handlers, security personnel, and protocol officers need to be aware of the solemnity of courtrooms. Stricter sensitivity is required in some contexts than in others. Among them is the judiciary. Saying, “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.” Political events are not the same as judicial happenings. 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? Where is the line drawn? 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.
Luckily, 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 might become stronger, more disciplined, and more trustworthy if given 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.
The judiciary cannot afford to be unintentionally painted in 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.
Those in charge of making ceremonial arrangements ought to perform better. 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. A moment gone too far. And if Nigeria is truly devoted to developing a stronger, more trusted judiciary, then situations like today must never happen again.
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