When Justice Ijeoma Agugua took the oath on September 26, 2025, she didn’t just become Imo State’s Acting Chief Judge—she ended five months of judicial silence. The ceremony, held in the state capital Owerri, marked the quiet but monumental collapse of a power struggle between Governor Hope Uzodimma and the National Judicial Council (NJC), a conflict that left courts shuttered, cases unassigned, and public trust fraying. This wasn’t just about who gets to wear the robe. It was about whether the rule of law still meant anything in Imo State.

The Impasse That Stopped the Courts

The crisis began in April 2025, when Governor Uzodimma appointed T.N. Nzeukwu as Acting Chief Judge—a move the NJC swiftly rejected at its 109th meeting. The Council didn’t mince words: Section 271(3) of Nigeria’s Constitution is crystal clear. When the Chief Judge’s position is vacant, the most senior judge must step in. Justice Agugua, with over 18 years on the bench, was that judge. Nzeukwu, though experienced, wasn’t senior enough. The NJC repeated its stance in June, demanding Uzodimma reverse the appointment and even recommended Nzeukwu’s compulsory retirement for accepting an unconstitutional post. Meanwhile, the state’s High Court ground to a halt.

From April 30, 2025—when Nzeukwu officially stepped down—until September 26, no judge received a new case. Not one. Not for five months. Legal filings piled up. Defendants languished in detention without trial. Civil suits stalled. The Chief Registrar, caught between a governor who ignored the law and a judicial body that refused to bend, did nothing. The silence wasn’t just administrative. It was a constitutional collapse.

The Hidden Law That Changed Everything

Then came the twist: a law. Not just any law, but one that had been quietly tucked away for three years. According to a coalition of Imo State lawyers who petitioned the Chief Justice of Nigeria, a 2022 amendment to the Imo State Judiciary Act had stripped the Acting Chief Judge of the power to assign cases—giving that authority to the Chief Registrar instead. But here’s the odd part: no one knew about it until Justice Agugua was sworn in. Not the bar association. Not the public. Not even most judges.

And the timing? Suspicious. Between April 2 and April 30, 2025, Nzeukwu assigned cases normally—no reference to the amendment. Then, from May 1 to September 25, the Chief Registrar did nothing, even though the amendment supposedly gave him the power. Why? Because if the law had been real and in force, he’d have started assigning cases immediately. Instead, he froze everything. The lawyers argue the amendment was backdated—created not to fix procedure, but to justify the governor’s interference.

Justice Agugua’s Appointment: A Victory for the Constitution

Justice Agugua’s swearing-in wasn’t a political compromise. It was a retreat. After months of pressure from the NJC, legal scholars, and civil society, Uzodimma had no choice. The appointment followed the Constitution’s letter. The NJC’s position was legally unassailable. And yet, the delay—nearly three months after the July announcement—wasn’t just bureaucratic. It was a message. The governor was making it clear: he’d do things his way, even if it meant letting the courts rot.

But the real test is what comes next. On the same day, Uzodimma swore in Barrister Paul as Attorney General and Commissioner for Justice. His full name remains undisclosed. That’s not a typo. It’s a red flag. In a state where transparency is already in short supply, naming a top legal official without a surname raises eyebrows. Who is he? What’s his track record? Why the secrecy?

What This Means for Nigeria’s Judiciary

This isn’t just an Imo problem. It’s a national warning. Across Nigeria, governors have repeatedly tried to manipulate judicial appointments. The NJC has been the last line of defense. But when it takes five months to enforce a constitutional rule, when courts go dark, and when laws appear out of nowhere to justify power grabs—what’s left? The lawyers’ petition to the Chief Justice of Nigeria is more than a legal filing. It’s a plea for institutional survival.

The NJC’s credibility is on the line. If it doesn’t act decisively on the backdated law and the silence of the Chief Registrar, it risks becoming a paper tiger. And if the courts stay paralyzed in other states because governors think they can wait out the system? That’s the real threat.

What’s Next?

The lawyers’ coalition gave the Chief Justice of Nigeria 14 days to respond to their petition. If nothing happens by mid-October, they’re taking the matter to court—likely the Supreme Court. Meanwhile, Justice Agugua faces a mountain: clearing a backlog of hundreds of unassigned cases, restoring confidence in the judiciary, and navigating a legal environment where the rules seem to change depending on who’s in charge.

One thing’s certain: she didn’t get this job because the governor liked her. She got it because the Constitution demanded it. And in a system that’s been bent, that’s the only kind of legitimacy that lasts.