Understanding the legal and political debate over Pat Utomi’s ‘Shadow Government’

The Federal Government, through the Department of State Services (DSS), has now taken the extraordinary step of dragging Professor Pat Utomi before the Federal High Court over his formation of a shadow government. What began as a bold civic experiment in democratic accountability is now being cast as a subversive act—one allegedly capable of destabilising the Nigerian state. This moment deserves more than outrage. It demands a sober examination of what we consider legitimate dissent, innovation in governance, and the health of our democracy.

According to the DSS, the mere act of assembling a shadow cabinet, comprising individuals tasked with tracking government policy, offering counter-ideas, and engaging citizens, is an attempt to usurp executive power. They argue that it violates the Constitution, poses a national security threat, and might embolden separatist groups. That interpretation, if left unchallenged, risks criminalising dissent and delegitimising political alternatives outside the narrow gate of incumbency.

Let us be clear: the Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria vests executive authority in the President. But the Constitution also guarantees freedom of association, speech, and political participation. Nowhere does it criminalise civic organising, policy critique, or opposition formation. If anything, the Constitution envisions a robust democratic space in which ideas are contested, not suppressed.

Shadow governments are not coups in disguise. They are, historically and politically, tools of opposition readiness. The DSS, in its suit, conflates civic opposition with sedition. It equates critique with insurrection. And that is profoundly dangerous.

In the United Kingdom, Canada, and even parts of Africa, shadow cabinets are recognised as part of the democratic culture. They do not govern; they prepare to govern. They offer scrutiny. They create a credible pipeline of ideas and talent. Nigeria’s democratic backwardness stems, in part, from the absence of such continuity, where governance becomes a fresh experiment every four years, without institutional memory or policy discipline.

Is it not ironic that, as citizens cry out for better leadership, sound policy, and accountability, the state responds not with engagement but litigation?

The DSS argues that Pat Utomi’s initiative undermines public confidence in the government. But that confidence was not lost because of shadow governments; it was lost due to persistent economic hardship, widespread insecurity, and broken promises. To shoot the mirror rather than address the reflection is both illogical and counterproductive.

What should worry every Nigerian is not just the lawsuit itself but the message it sends: that independent political thought outside ruling party structures is a threat. That attempts to mobilise citizen engagement around alternative governance models will be met with the force of the state. That our democracy can tolerate only one voice at a time.

If the courts declare the shadow government unconstitutional, what next? Will political parties be barred from forming policy teams before elections? Will think tanks be scrutinised for proposing reform agendas? Will critics who gather to assess ministerial performance be labelled as insurgents?

We are inching toward the criminalisation of civic imagination.

In truth, Professor Utomi’s coalition is an invitation to democratic renewal. Whether it succeeds or fails, it challenges our civic lethargy and offers a platform for collective political reawakening. That should be debated in the public square—not prosecuted in court.

The courts must uphold the Constitution—but they must also defend its spirit. A democracy without space for opposition voices, counter-ideas, or innovative political structures is not a democracy; it is a carefully managed illusion.

In defending its authority, the government must avoid overreach. National security cannot become a pretext for silencing those who dare to imagine better.

History rarely remembers the powerful for their fear. It remembers them for how they handled challenge, dissent, and reform. The question before us now is not whether we agree with Pat Utomi. It is whether we are still allowed to imagine alternatives without fear of handcuffs.