By Chinedu Agu
For one year and three months, the Imo State Judiciary found itself marooned on a court it did not choose, playing under rules it did not write, and subjected to power plays by actors who treated constitutional governance as a high-stakes singles match at Wimbledon; intense, ruthless, and indifferent to collateral damage.
The Executive and Legislative arms emerged as the two competing players, each eager to out-maneuver the other, not in defence of constitutional order, but in a grim contest over who could press hardest and longest against the judicial arm, reducing a co-equal institution to an object of ridicule rather than a partner in governance.
The judiciary, meant to be the umpire, was rather reduced to the tennis ball: served, reserved, redirected, smashed and tossed from one ruthless racket to another. No umpire. It was the players who arrogated points to themselves gleefully as they wished.
The Executive served delay after delay. The Legislature returned with amendments timed and angled to keep the rally alive. This was not sport. It was attrition. The opening serve was delivered by the executive. Following the ill-advised and experimental appointment of a number four in seniority as Acting Chief Judge — an appointment firmly rejected by the National Judicial Council in April 2025 — the judicial arm was left rudderless.
With no lawful hand on the racket, cases accumulated, files lay idle, and the machinery of justice stalled for want of case assignments. Amid this disorder, an Attorney-General was shown the red card. Justice froze mid-rally. And while the court stood still, the Executive calmly held serve, winning point after point from an opening advantage that lasted far too long. Our courageous Bar raised its voice. Individuals did, too. One of them, this writer, was sent to prison. Many months after NJC had said so, the most senior judge was sworn-in as Acting Chief Judge on 26 September 2025. One might have expected the game to reset. Instead, the match escalated.
Just as the Judiciary prepared to step back into position, the Legislature unleashed a sharp cross-court shot: an amendment to the High Court Law that purported to vest the power of assigning cases in the Chief Registrar during any vacancy in the office of Chief Judge. An affront to s. 271[4] of the Constitution. It was a move designed not to win the point outright, but to wrong-foot the opponent; an unexpected angle that exploited administrative uncertainty.
This amendment, suspected in some quarters to be backdated, arrived after months of executive hesitation, as though the net had been quietly lowered to permit a smash against judicial independence. The effect was immediate and devastating. Cases piled up. Over 160 filed matters, at last count, remained unassigned. The Owerri Judicial Division became a court without rallies; files frozen in place, litigants stranded in procedural limbo, and lawyers reduced to pacing the sidelines, watching justice fail to leave the baseline.
For those who suspect that the offending law was backdated, two profoundly uncomfortable questions refuse to go away. First: where was this law when the former Acting Chief Judge freely assigned cases during his brief tenure from 2 April to 30 April 2025? Second: if the law had indeed existed since 2022, why did the Chief Registrar herself not assign cases between May and 25 September 2025, when the State had neither a substantive nor an Acting Chief Judge? The judiciary scrambled from corner to corner, trying to keep the ball in play while justice waited in the stands.
This was a prolonged baseline exchange. The Executive and Legislature rallied power between themselves — serve, return, smash — each move reinforcing the other. The Judiciary, meant to control the tempo of justice, was itself the tennis ball being tossed. The spectators — citizens seeking justice — grew restless as the match dragged on with no winner declared. Every great tennis match has a moment when a player challenges a call. That challenge came from the chairmen of the five branches of the Nigerian Bar Association in Imo State.
Like Senegalese players in the just-concluded AFCON Finals in Morocco, the Branch Chairmen, led by Captain Sadio Mane [Chief Chris Ihentuge of Owerri Branch] approached the Referee [a High Court of Imo State, Coram Hon. Justice L.C. Alinnor Jnr] in Suit No: HIH/138/2025 – CHRIS IHENTUGE & 4 ORS v. GOV. IMO STATE & 3 ORS to rescind the recommendation of the biased VAR [Imo House of Assembly].
The question placed before the High Court was deceptively simple: can a State law displace a constitutional function and hand it to an administrative officer? Beneath that question lay a deeper issue: whether the Judiciary would remain a passive object in a singles match between two political arms, or reclaim its role as the arbiter of the game. In its historic judgment yesterday, Wednesday, 4 February 2026, the High Court delivered a return that changed the match.
With calm authority, it struck down the offending provision, declaring it inconsistent with the Constitution. It reminded all players that the Constitution is the rulebook, not a suggestion; that assignment of cases is a core judicial function; and that no amount of legislative spin or executive delay can lawfully transfer that power elsewhere. This was not a reckless smash. It was a precise winner down the line; clean, constitutional, and decisive.The court did not attack the entire amendment; it simply removed the “dead fly” that had poisoned it, restoring balance without collapsing the framework of governance. Matchpoint! With that judgment, the rally ended. The judiciary was no longer the tennis ball. It stepped back into its rightful place as umpire; calling lines, enforcing rules, and ensuring fair play.
The Acting Chief Judge was authorised to assign cases without delay, justice resumed its rhythm, and the crowd finally saw movement on the scoreboard, albeit, potentially. The Executive and Legislature may insist they were merely playing their parts. But history will remember that for 1 year and 3 months, the Judiciary was forced to absorb smashes it never deserved, until constitutional courage returned the game to order.
This episode offers a lesson larger than Imo State. When political actors treat judicial institution like sporting equipment — objects to be hit rather than partners in governance — democracy itself becomes unstable. It takes courage for the judiciary to resist it.The judicial arm is not a tennis ball. Laws are not rackets. And power is not a game played without an umpire.So, could the Imo Judiciary have emancipated itself with a historic judgment? The answer, emphatically, is yes — at least to my mind. Not by winning a political contest, but by enforcing the rules of the game.
By doing so, it reminded us all that constitutional redemption does not come from the strength of a smash, but from fidelity to the rulebook, and courage to point to that rulebook. The match is over. The court is restored. And justice, is back in play, at least, hopefully.
Chinedu Agu is a Solicitor and Notary Public | Former Secretary of NBA Owerri | Human Rights and Good Governance Advocate | Ex-Political Detainee [EPD].
