The gavel is one of the most powerful symbols of constitutional democracy. Its authority does not derive from the force with which it strikes, but from the public confidence reposed in its impartiality. Only when that confidence endures does democracy flourish.
In advance democracies, the sound of the gavel reassures citizens that justice has prevailed over power. In more fragile democracies such as Nigeria, however, the same sound can provoke anxiety, anger and doubt raising questions about the possible “repurposing” of the courtroom to an arena for partisan politics by judges who like Caesar’s wife were expected to be above board.
The recent decision of the Federal High Court sitting in Lokoja to set aside its December 2025 judgment directing the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) to register the Nigeria Democratic Congress (NDC), is one such instance. The ruling has generated heated legal debate and heightened public concern about the intersection of law and politics.
Justice Isah Dashen did not hold that the NDC is permanently disqualified from registration. Rather, the court vacated its earlier judgment on procedural grounds, holding that the Peace Movement Party (PMP), whose alleged interest in the disputed logo could be affected by the proceedings, ought to have been joined as an interested party. The court consequently ordered that the matter begin afresh with all relevant parties before it.
What makes the judgment particularly consequential is its timing. It was delivered at a critical period when political parties are finalising and uploading the names of their candidates to INEC’s portal ahead of the 2027 elections. Against the backdrop of the continuous efforts through subterfuge or outright braggadocio to emasculate the opposition political parties by the ruling All Progressives Congress (APC), the ruling is likely to reinforce perceptions that the APC does not want any serious opposition to emerge to challenge it in the 2027 elections.
While the judgment appears to apply the constitutional principle of fair hearing, it also raises important questions about proportionality, jurisdiction, judicial discretion and, ultimately, the future of Nigeria’s multiparty democracy.
No serious student of constitutional law disputes that a person whose legal interests may be affected by litigation is ordinarily entitled to be heard before judgment is delivered. The principle of audi alteram partem remains one of the oldest and most enduring pillars of justice. Nigerian appellate courts have consistently held that the failure to join a necessary party may render proceedings liable to be set aside.
Yet procedural fairness is only one dimension of justice. Justice also demands proportionality. If the central issue before the court concerns the similarity of a political party’s logo, must the entire registration process necessarily be nullified? Or would a more proportionate remedy have been to preserve the status quo while directing that the logo dispute be determined on its merits?
Where the dispute primarily concerns ownership or use of a logo, intellectual property law ordinarily offers a range of remedies. Courts routinely grant injunctions restraining the continued use of disputed marks, award damages where infringement is established, or direct modifications to offending designs. Reversing the registration of an entire political party is a far more intrusive constitutional remedy. Whether such relief was necessary or proportionate is a legitimate question for appellate court consideration.
The Nigerian Constitution does not specifically address trademark infringement or disputes over political party logos. Such matters are principally governed by the Trademarks Act, the Electoral Act 2022, and the common law doctrine of passing off. Likewise, while the Constitution establishes the legal framework for the formation and regulation of political parties, the protection of party names, acronyms, symbols and logos is primarily the responsibility of electoral legislation.
The Electoral Act 2022 requires every political party to have a unique name, logo, symbol and acronym. It prohibits INEC from registering any political party whose identity is identical to, or insufficiently distinct from, that of an existing registered political party. The Act further protects the names, logos, symbols and acronyms of deregistered political parties for five years after deregistration.
Accordingly, if a political association adopts a logo or symbol that is identical or confusingly similar to that of an existing registered political party, INEC has the statutory authority to refuse registration. The legal question therefore is not whether logos deserve protection, they clearly do, but whether the remedy adopted in this case was proportionate to the procedural defect identified by the court.
It is at this point that the Lokoja judgment invites legitimate debate on the issue of standing. While the Peace Movement Party may well possess sufficient legal interest to qualify as a necessary party, broader questions remain. If its own legal status or registration has been contested over the years, does that affect the scope of the rights it may assert? Does a claim of prior use of a logo automatically confer standing to seek orders capable of nullifying another political party’s registration?
These questions cannot be answered by assertion alone. They deserve careful judicial examination.
Across democratic jurisdictions, political party logos function as constitutional brands. They communicate identity, ideology and recognition. Yet even in commercial law, where trademark disputes are commonplace, infringement rarely results in the dissolution of the business accused of infringement. Courts instead examine the likelihood of confusion, prior ownership, public perception and the availability of less intrusive remedies.
Political parties should not enjoy immunity from intellectual property principles. Equally, disputes over logos should not automatically escalate into existential threats to political participation. Party registration is not merely an administrative act; it involves constitutional freedoms of association, political participation and democratic representation. Reversing a party’s registration inevitably affects its members, prospective candidates and citizens who wish to associate with that political platform.
Comparative constitutional practice offers valuable guidance. In India, disputes over party symbols are frequently resolved by reallocating or freezing the disputed symbols while preserving political competition. Kenyan courts have generally favoured remedies that protect political participation while directing electoral authorities to comply with statutory requirements. South African constitutional jurisprudence similarly insists that restrictions affecting political participation must satisfy the tests of legality, rationality and proportionality. In the United Kingdom and the United States, disputes involving political names, logos and trademarks are more commonly resolved through electoral regulators or intellectual property proceedings than through judicial orders that effectively exclude political organisations from the democratic process.
The underlying constitutional philosophy is remarkably consistent: protect electoral integrity, uphold procedural fairness and preserve political pluralism. Nigeria should aspire to no less.
The Kogi High Court’s verdict extends beyond the fortunes of a single political party. Its broader significance lies in the precedent it may set. If procedural defects become sufficient grounds to cancel a political party’s registration after it has been granted, every emerging political party in Nigeria could find itself entangled in prolonged litigation before ever presenting its candidates to the electorate.
Democracy thrives on competition. The 1999 Constitution (as amended) guarantees freedom of association precisely because no democratic society should become captive to political uniformity or the dominance of a single political force.
Courts occupy a uniquely delicate position within the constitutional order. They neither create political parties nor determine who governs. Their legitimacy rests on public confidence that judicial decisions are guided by legal principle rather than political expediency. That confidence remains one of democracy’s most valuable assets.
When judicial decisions generate widespread legal controversy, the appellate process exists to provide clarity and certainty. Appeals should therefore be regarded not as acts of defiance, but as legitimate constitutional mechanisms for testing the correctness of judicial decisions. Equally, if credible evidence, not speculation or partisan accusation, ever establishes judicial misconduct, the National Judicial Council must discharge its constitutional disciplinary mandate firmly, impartially and transparently by sanctioning the erring judge.
Judicial independence must never be mistaken for judicial immunity. At the same time, criticism of judicial decisions should not degenerate into indiscriminate attacks on judges or the institution they serve. A constitutional democracy requires both an independent judiciary and an informed, responsible public willing to subject judicial decisions to reasoned scrutiny.
Ultimately, this case is about far more than the NDC as a party. It raises fundamental questions about whether Nigeria’s constitutional and electoral architecture adequately provided safeguards to political pluralism. Electoral disputes should be resolved without necessarily constricting the democratic space. Above all, it is about preserving public confidence in both the ballot and the bench. Perhaps that is the most enduring lesson of the Kogi verdict.
Nigeria’s democracy deserves courts that inspire confidence, electoral institutions that command public trust, and political competition that offers citizens genuine choice and hope. That future will not be secured by weakening the constitutional guarantees of political participation, nor by sacrificing proportionality in the pursuit of procedural perfection.
It will be secured when every institution remembers that the Constitution exists not merely to regulate the exercise of power, but to preserve the people’s faith that justice remains impartial, the rule of law remains supreme, and democracy belongs equally to every citizen. Hence the judicial as an independent arm of the government, should not yield itself as a tool in the hands of corrupt politicians and the government in power to stifle opposition parties and create a fait accompli for the APC and its candidates in the 2027 elections.
Kalu Okoronkwo is a communications strategist, a leadership and good governance advocate dedicated to impactful societal development and can be reached via kalu.okoronkwo@gmail.com.
