EDITORIAL.
Self-Representation as Political Statement
Sunday | 26, October 2025.
Nnamdi Kanu’s decision to abandon his legal team and defend himself in court is, in my view, less a purely legal tactic than a deeply calculated political move.
Announced publicly, his family stated that Kanu “would be taking the bold step of defending himself in court” rather than relying on lawyers.
He and his supporters argue that the courts and legal process are stacked against him and the cause he represents. By acting as his own counsel, Kanu appears to try to strip away the buffer that traditional legal representation provides, bring the spotlight to himself, and dramatise the nature of the proceedings.
But self-representation is double-edged. On the one hand, it gives him control over narrative and positioning. On the other hand, from a strictly legal standpoint, it exposes him to great risk, procedural missteps, failure to comply with evidentiary and legal norms, and potential disadvantage compared to a trained defence lawyer.
There are several legal fault-lines in this case that demand close attention:
1. Jurisdiction and procedural defects:
Kanu has challenged the court’s jurisdiction vigorously. He argues the trial is being held in the wrong venue, that the statute under which he is being tried may have been repealed, and that his rendition from Kenya to Nigeria was unlawful.
For example, legal expert Barrister Christopher Chidera has argued that Kanu’s trial under the repealed Terrorism Prevention (Amendment) Act 2013 may be “legally untenable.”
Further, a Kenyan High Court ruled in June 2025 that Kanu’s abduction and removal from Kenya to Nigeria violated his rights under Kenya’s constitution.
If a court finds a lack of jurisdiction, or that the statute is invalid, the entire process could be rendered void. As one of his defence lawyers argued, Nigeria’s Supreme Court decision may be “per incuriam” and “a judicial error of historic proportions.”
2. Evidence and rights of the accused:
Another key issue, the admissibility of evidence. In May 2025 a Nigerian court ruled that certain exhibits in Kanu’s case were inadmissible because his statement had been taken without his legal counsel present.
In criminal law, the right to counsel, the right to a fair hearing, and a proper chain of evidence are foundational. If those are breached, the defence can argue the trial is fundamentally unfair and seek its nullification or discharge.
3. Self-representation risk:
By defending himself, Kanu may believe he is better able to make political arguments in court, challenge the court’s legitimacy, and expose alleged bias.
But courts expect defendants to comply with procedural rules. Without skilled counsel, he runs the risk of missing key deadlines, mishandling witness evidence, or otherwise inadvertently weakening his case.
If his own defence is found wanting, the prospects of conviction and continued detention increase.
4. Implications for regaining freedom:
For Kanu to secure his freedom (either via acquittal, discharge, or release) several pathways are possible:
A finding that the trial was invalid (jurisdictional defect) could lead to discharge.
A successful challenge to evidence and procedural fairness could lead to a reduced case or acquittal.
A negotiated settlement or plea could lead to release under conditions, but that seems politically fraught given the secessionist dimension.
Alternatively, a conviction would likely mean continued incarceration and possibly harsher restrictions.
In short: his self-representation raises the stakes. If he wins, he could emerge not just legally free but politically enhanced. If he falters legally, his freedom may be further deferred.
The broader significance is perhaps even greater. The movement for a renewed Biafra or secession (particularly via his organisation Indigenous People of Biafra, IPOB) has long been constrained by the Nigerian state’s hard line. Kanu’s trial, and his method of defence, are emblematic of that tension.
Should Kanu succeed in defending himself and overturning major aspects of the case (jurisdiction, evidence, rights breaches), this would be a symbolic boost for the secessionist cause, showing that the Nigerian state’s legal apparatus can be challenged and potentially defeated.
A high-profile victory would energise the movement’s supporters, possibly expanding its appeal beyond the Igbo south-east region.
If the federal government fears an adverse verdict or exposure of rights violations, it may become more open to political dialogue or negotiated settlement.
On the flip side, if Kanu fails the court’s test, the state may feel emboldened, clamp down harder, and argue that secessionist agitation will be met with legal force.
In my judgment, Kanu’s self-representation is bold but perilous. It is less about legal strategy and more about theatre, using the courtroom as a stage to expose what he and his supporters view as structural injustice.
In the process, he gambles heavily on his ability to navigate the technical complexities of criminal law without traditional counsel.
If he wins, the effect could ripple far beyond his personal liberty. It could shift the dynamics of power in Nigeria’s south-east, force the state to reconsider its approach to secessionist demands, and perhaps open a back door to political dialogue on self-determination.
However, if he loses, or trips on a procedural error, his personal freedom will remain constrained and the movement may lose momentum. The self-representation gamble will then have backfired, perhaps reinforcing the state’s narrative of IPOB as lawless.
The case of Nnamdi Kanu stands at the intersection of law, politics, and history. The historical echoes of the Republic of Biafra’s 1967–70 secession attempt loom large; the legal irregularities and rights‐question marks feed into a narrative of a marginalised region fighting for voice.
The decision to defend himself is symbolic, but also legally risky. Whether it leads to his freedom and bolsters the Biafra cause, or results in further legal confinement and political setback, remains to be seen.
I lean to the view that his best hope is not simply winning a clean legal victory, but converting any partial legal success into a broader political and social settlement.
The courtroom may offer a stage, but the lasting change will happen outside of it.
