By the time the police van screeches to a halt, most Nigerians have already lost the argument in their minds. The uniform has spoken. The siren has decided the case. In our peculiar republic, guilt often arrives before facts. And so it is that a man who borrowed money to trade pepper in Mile 12, a woman who defaulted on a cooperative loan, or a small business owner whose deal went sour, suddenly finds himself or herself standing before a police officer, being asked to “explain” a matter that is purely civil. This is Nigeria, where civil disputes routinely take a criminal detour.
Let us be clear, before emotions enter the witness box. Owing money is not a crime. Breach of contract is not a crime. Failed business arrangements are not crimes. These are civil matters, designed by law to be resolved through negotiation, mediation, arbitration, or at worst, the slow and sometimes painful process of civil litigation. But in practice, many Nigerians have learnt the hard way that the law on paper and the law on the street are not always on speaking terms.
The journey into criminal trouble often begins innocently. Two friends agree on a business. No lawyer, no written agreement, just trust and optimism. Or a trader collects goods on credit with promises that sales will settle the account. Or a tenant falls behind on rent because the economy has once again reminded him that hope is not legal tender. When the expected payment does not come, patience wears thin. Tempers rise. And then someone says the fatal words, “Let us go to the police.”
At that point, the matter has crossed a dangerous bridge. Instead of a civil court, where evidence is weighed calmly and remedies are compensatory, the dispute enters a space where intimidation, detention, and fear can replace justice. The debtor becomes a suspect. The business disagreement is suddenly labelled fraud. Words like stealing, obtaining by false pretence, and criminal breach begin to fly around like reckless birds. The goal is no longer justice. It is pressure. Pay or sleep in a cell.
This is how ordinary Nigerians are jailed for civil matters. Sometimes for days. Sometimes for weeks. Occasionally, with charges filed that collapse at first contact with a competent judge. But by then, the damage is done. Reputation bruised. Business disrupted. Family traumatised. And a quiet lesson learnt that in Nigeria, the police can be turned into debt recovery agents if you shout loudly enough.
The courts have said it repeatedly, almost to the point of exhaustion. The police have no business enforcing contracts or recovering debts. Their constitutional role is to prevent and investigate crime, not to settle private commercial disagreements. Judges have warned against the criminalisation of civil disputes. Yet the practice persists, fuelled by ignorance, desperation, and sometimes, complicity.
Until then, many Nigerians will continue to learn, painfully, that in this country, you can be jailed not because you committed a crime, but because a business deal failed.
Part of the problem lies with us, the citizens. Many Nigerians still believe that the police are the first and final bus stop for every grievance. We run to the station because it feels faster, more frightening, and more effective. Civil court looks slow. Lawyers look expensive. Negotiation looks weak. So we choose the shortcut, even when the shortcut leads straight into illegality.
Another part of the problem lies in institutional failure. When police officers accept civil complaints and threaten arrest where no crime exists, they lend the weight of the state to private bullying. When they detain people over debts, they erode public trust and blur the line between law enforcement and oppression. The law becomes less of a shield and more of a stick.
The irony is cruel. Nigeria operates a constitutional democracy that loudly proclaims the right to personal liberty. Yet citizens are routinely deprived of that liberty over matters that should never leave the pages of a civil writ. The fear of arrest has become a negotiation tactic. The cell has become leverage. And justice, once again, waits outside.
What then is the way forward. First, Nigerians must unlearn the reflex of criminalising every dispute. Not every wrong is a crime. Second, citizens must understand their rights. Being invited by the police does not mean you are guilty. Owing money does not turn you into a criminal. Third, the police must return to the discipline of their mandate. Civil matters belong in civil courts. Anything else is abuse of power.
Finally, the judiciary must continue to speak clearly and firmly, not just in judgments, but in moral authority. When civil disputes are dragged into criminal courts, judges should not hesitate to dismiss them and call out the abuse for what it is. The law must stop being a weapon in private quarrels.
Until then, many Nigerians will continue to learn, painfully, that in this country, you can be jailed not because you committed a crime, but because a business deal failed. And that is not justice. That is a warning sign flashing in red, telling us that the line between law and lawlessness is still dangerously thin.
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