UNIZIK, not a failure of process, but a victim of hijack

BY CHINEDU OKONKWO

Nnamdi Azikiwe University, Awka, a citadel once admired for scholarship, fairness, and institutional honour, has become the theatre of one of the most troubling leadership crises in recent Nigerian academic history.

The university’s descent into turmoil has left many stakeholders, particularly those who followed the selection process with hope and confidence, deeply wounded and bewildered. And as the dust settles around the controversial appointment of Prof. Bond Anyaehie, the unavoidable truth confronting the institution is this: what happened at UNIZIK was not a failure of process, it was a hijack. A loud, shameless hijack by political forces who bulldozed due process in order to install one of their own.

This is why, for many observers who watched the process closely, the pain is not merely legal, it is personal. No one understands this more than the camp of Prof. Joseph Ikechebelu, who, despite being appointed temporarily by the NUC as an Overseer in June 2024, put his reputation, influence, and resources on the line to stabilise the institution and prepare it for a transparent leadership transition. The university had no governing council at that time, and the NUC stepped in to avoid an administrative vacuum. That temporary appointment was never meant to be permanent, but it placed him at the centre of the university’s governance in a time of turbulence, a responsibility he handled with full commitment.

However, with the inauguration of a new Governing Council under Ambassador Greg Mbadiwe in July 2024, the NUC stepped aside and the Council replaced Ikechebelu with Prof. Carol Arinze-Umobi as Acting VC. Even so, those who knew the internal dynamics at UNIZIK understood that Ikechebelu remained a strong contender, arguably the most experienced administrator in the race and the one most familiar with the institution’s structural challenges. He had the goodwill of many staff, the trust of internal stakeholders, and a clear vision for the university’s future. His confidence was not arrogance; it came from competence, experience, and the sacrifices he had already made for the institution.

But while these leadership changes were unfolding, an entirely different current was running underground, one that would later expose how little the rule of law would matter in the contest that followed. A lawsuit filed by Prof. Anthony Okoye had already led to a consent judgment delivered on October 16, 2024 by the National Industrial Court in Awka. That judgment created a framework that the Council relied on to commence and conclude the process of selecting a substantive Vice-Chancellor. Yet, as time would reveal, the judgment, the process, and even the best of intentions were no match for the creeping shadows of political influence.

The university advertised the vacancy, shortlisted candidates, and conducted its interviews. But the process, instead of becoming a celebration of merit and fairness, became a battlefield of unseen forces. Political actors emerged from corners no one expected. Interests clashed. Power brokers aligned. And at the centre of this storm, deserving candidates, particularly ones like Ikechebelu who had carried the load when the university needed stability, found themselves swimming against currents far stronger than anything the law or due process could restrain.

What followed in November 2024 was nothing short of an ambush. On 19 November 2024, in a move that blindsided many, the Tinubu administration removed the Governing Council and invalidated the process midstream. This single act set the foundation for the chaos that followed. It violated everything the University Act stood for and left candidates, stakeholders, and the larger academic community in shock. Days later, on 24 November 2024, in another dramatic twist, the Minister of Education pushed through the reappointment of Ikechebelu as Acting Vice-Chancellor—an act that would later be declared contrary to the University Act, which vests such powers solely in the Governing Council. By this time, it was clear that the university was no longer being guided by law; it was being tossed around like a pawn in the hands of political players.

Yet, even within this confusion, hope remained, hope that after Ikechebelu’s imposed six-month tenure, the university would finally settle into a lawful, transparent appointment process. And when Professor Carol Arinze-Umobi was later reappointed as Acting Vice Chancellor, many believed that the institution would now truly reset. But that hope was short-lived. Despite a subsisting court judgment and despite the Industrial Court dismissing MDCAN’s appeal in both Awka and Abuja, the university, now heavily influenced by external forces, proceeded to start a fresh selection process. It was an act of contempt so blatant that the National Industrial Court issued Form 86 and Form 87 to warn that such defiance carries consequences, including imprisonment.

But even these warnings were brushed aside. Politics had taken full control. Decisions were no longer about merit, law, or institutional dignity, they were about allegiance, connections, and bloodlines. And that was how, in the heat of unresolved litigation and active contempt, the university announced the appointment of Professor Bond Anyaehie, a man publicly known to be closely related to a powerful political figure in Imo State. To many within the academic community, especially those who believed in the fairness of the process, this was the final betrayal.

For the camp of Ikechebelu, the sting is especially deep. Not because he was entitled to victory, but because the process was never allowed to be fair. He had spent his own resources, his time, his goodwill, and his reputation fighting for a lawful outcome. He had 100% confidence in the process because he believed in the institution he served. But what unfolded was not a contest of vision, merit, or integrity. It was a hijack—plain and simple. A hijack designed to uproot established candidates and force through the installation of a politically connected figure whose appointment emerged from the ashes of contempt, confusion, and barefaced disregard for the law.

And now, the question confronting UNIZIK is more than a legal one, it is moral. How did a university named after Nnamdi Azikiwe, a man who stood for justice and the sanctity of public institutions, find itself in the hands of those who treat court orders as optional suggestions? How did merit become so cheap, and political lineage so powerful, that the institution’s leadership could be decided not by competence but by proximity to government houses?
UNIZIK stands today at the edge of a dangerous cliff. On one side lies law, order, and fairness. On the other lies chaos, embarrassment, and a future where appointments are decided by who you know, not what you know. The truth is simple and painful: lawless appointments do not stand the test of time. Institutions built on contempt for the law eventually collapse under the weight of their own contradictions. The fate of the university will not be determined by politicians; it will be determined by the immutable demands of the law. And the law, no matter how long it takes, has never been kind to illegality.

If this university must heal, if it must reclaim its dignity, then it must first confront the storm that brought it to this point. It must acknowledge that politics hijacked a process meant to be fair. It must admit that loyalty was punished and bloodlines rewarded. And above all, it must return to the path of law, for only then can UNIZIK rise again as the great institution it once was!

Okonkwo, an ex-employee of UNIZIK, wrote from Anambra State