On Your Mandate Lyrics: When Politics Strays Into Judicial Space

A political anthem, On Your Mandate We Shall Stand, rang out  recently during the opening ceremony of the 2025 All Nigeria Judges Conference in Abuja, unsettling many who expected a strictly judicial atmosphere. Wale Igbintade considers the appropriateness of the moment and the obligation of political handlers to exercise better judgment in sacred democratic spaces.

There are moments in a nation’s public life that seem small on the surface, yet they speak so loudly that they cannot be ignored. One such moment unfolded at the opening ceremony of the 2025 All Nigeria Judges Conference in Abuja, a gathering meant to symbolise dignity, neutrality and the solemnity of the judicial calling.

Instead, as President Bola Tinubu approached the podium, the air filled with a familiar political tune: “On Your Mandate We Shall Stand.” A song that belongs to the heat of campaign rallies suddenly appeared in a hall filled with judges—custodians of impartiality, arbiters of disputes, guardians of our constitutional order.

The song was brief. It was played by the Nigerian Army Guards Brigade band, not the judiciary. Yet, the implication lingered long after the sound faded. It struck many Nigerians, and not a few members of the legal profession, as a moment carried too far. Songs carry meaning. In the wrong context, they carry danger.

For most Nigerians, On Your Mandate We Shall Stand, is no ordinary jingle; it is the rallying cry of a political base. It evokes memories of campaign seasons, fierce electoral battles and the heat of partisan loyalty. So when that tune entered a hall full of judges, it instantly clashed with the environment. Political culture collided with judicial culture, and the latter lost ground.

It was this uncomfortable clash that prompted Senior Advocate of Nigeria, Jibrin Okutepa, to raise the alarm. His reaction captured what many felt but could not put into words.

He described what he saw as disgraceful 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. The playing of that music at that occasion was inappropriate, and it was bad for any judicial officer to sing it.”

His warning was less about the song itself and more about what it represented: the slow, silent erosion of boundaries that should never be crossed.

That the tune came moments after President Tinubu had just warned judges against corruption added another layer of irony. 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 weakens the nation, but corruption in the Judiciary destroys it at its core.”

These were powerful words, words Nigerians desperately needed to hear. But even powerful words can lose their force when the wrong symbols appear at the wrong time. And for many watching, the playing of a campaign song inside a judicial event was the wrong symbol.

The National Judicial Institute (NJI) responded swiftly. It’s statement was clear, factual, and necessary. Judges did not sing the chorus. The only song they collectively rendered was the national anthem.

The “On Your Mandate” tune was played solely by the Guards Brigade Band, not the judiciary. Judges stood out of respect for the office of the President, not in political allegiance. These clarifications matter. They help set the record straight. But they do not erase the deeper problem, because, public perception often moves faster than official explanations.

The reality is that in a country still healing from suspicious election petitions, controversial court rulings, and long-standing doubts about judicial independence, even the smallest hint of partisanship can grow into a wildfire. And this one did.

In Nigeria, judges live under a microscope, often unfairly so. Every ruling, every facial expression, every handshake, every rumour can become ammunition in public debates. Trust in judicial neutrality is already fragile; it does not need new cracks. By introducing a political tune into a room of judges, even inadvertently, you place them in a position where innocence can look like endorsement.

A camera angle can lie. A moment of confusion can be weaponised. A judge adjusting his robe could be framed as dancing. Nothing is too small to be misinterpreted in today’s Nigeria. What should have been a routine ceremonial moment has now become a national conversation. That shows just how sensitive, how fragile, the judiciary’s public standing has become.

Part of the reason this incident has drawn so much commentary is that many Nigerians genuinely feel something is shifting in the Judiciary since Justice Kudirat Motonmori Kekere-Ekun became Chief Justice of Nigeria.

She has brought a different temperament to the role: calm, measured, structured, and quietly reformist. Under her leadership, lawyers speak of improving discipline among judicial officers, cleaner administrative processes, renewed seriousness at the National Judicial Council, better coordination across courts, and subtle but visible efforts to rebuild public confidence. Our judiciary is not perfect, far from it. But those paying attention can see signs of change.

It is precisely because of these fragile, valuable gains that moments like the “On Your Mandate” episode feel so disappointing. They distract from progress. They give cynics new talking points. They hand critics a free argument. A judiciary that is trying to rise should not be dragged back by careless optics.

Protocol officers, security units, and government handlers must understand the sacredness of judicial spaces. Some settings demand stricter sensitivity than others. And the judiciary is one of them. It is not enough to say, “We didn’t choose the song.” It is not enough to say, “It was a brief moment.” It is definitely not enough to say, “Nobody meant any harm.” Judicial events are not political events. Neutrality in appearance is just as important as neutrality in fact. Those who manage state ceremonies must internalise this distinction.

If a political song can accidentally slip into a judicial conference in 2025, what might slip in next year? What if another political chant is played? What if an image, a flag, a slogan, a gesture enters the frame? Where does the line gets drawn? If we don’t draw it now, we may not be able to draw it later.

This incident is less about blame and more about awareness. It shows how vulnerable our institutions remain to misinterpretation, how every detail matters, how every symbol carries weight, and how the judiciary must constantly defend not just its rulings, but its image.

It also shows the importance of better coordination between the judiciary and the executive during joint events. Both arms of government must understand: the judiciary is not a political ally; it is not a cheering crowd; it must be protected from even the perception of political influence. Mistakes will happen. But lessons must be learned.

Fortunately, what happened at the conference was not a conspiracy. It was more likely an oversight or a moment of thoughtlessness. But even harmless mistakes can carry harmful consequences in the wrong environment. The judiciary deserves insulation. It deserves care. And Nigerians deserve a judiciary that looks, and remains, beyond politics.

Nigeria’s judiciary is in a moment of transition. If nurtured properly, it could become stronger, more disciplined, more trusted. If overshadowed by unnecessary controversies, it could lose momentum. This is why a political song played in the wrong place is a problem, not because of its lyrics, but because of its implications.

The judiciary cannot afford to be painted with the colours of any political party, not even by accident. 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 gathering of some of the most important minds in Nigeria’s legal system. Instead, it risks being remembered for a careless tune that never should have been played.

Those responsible for ceremonial arrangements must do better. Those who understand the weight of judicial neutrality must speak up. And the judiciary must continue to guard its dignity, fiercely, jealously, consistently.

The song was not a crime. But it was a misstep. A moment carried too far. And if Nigeria is truly committed to building a stronger, more trusted judiciary, then moments like this must never happen again.