One Tuesday on 11 November 2025, the convoy of Nyesom Wike, Minister of the Federal Capital Territory (FCT), drove into the expanse of Gaduwa District, Abuja. His destination: Plot 1946, a parcel of land whose story has now become a public domain of interest. For Wike, it was enforcement of the law and exercise of his ministerial duties as minister of the capital city of Nigeria. For others especially for the civilians, it was a test of who actually governs land in the capital and who holds ultimate power. For some, it was an uncomfortably and for some reasons an amusing clash between the occupant of a ministerial office and uniformed military personnel.

The visuals speak glaringly for everyone to see: stern looking naval officers led by Lt. A.M. Yarima—denying the minister and his team access to the site. In a tension-filled exchange captured onvideo posted by a user on X, Wike accused the officers of carrying out an “illegal land grabbing” by persons who enjoyed military backing. The officer retorted: “I am an officer with integrity. Everything was acquired legally.” The minister shouted back: “You are a very big fool… as at the time I graduated, you were still in primary school.” The bitter voice-exchange ended with the minister walking away in visible anger.

But beneath the spectacle lies a set of entrenched structural issues: contested land rights, blurred civil-military lines, governance of the capital’s land, impunity, and the uneven application of the law. This is not simply about one plot of land, or one dispute. It is about the way power, property and procedure intersect in Nigeria’s fast-changing capital.

The Incident Unpacked

According to multiple reports, the plot in question — Plot 1946 in Gaduwa District — The property in question, is allegedly linked to the former Chief of Naval Staff, Vice Admiral Awwal Zubairu Gambo (rtd.). According to a report, the land was under alleged development without the necessary title documents or building approvals. The FCT Development Control department claimed the land was neither allocated by the FCT Administration nor covered by valid title. Officials of the FCT attempted to enforce a stop-work order but they were reportedly chased away by uniformed military personnel.

Wike, present at the scene with the FCT Commissioner of Police, Mil­l­er Dantawaye, accused the military of shielding a former Chief of Naval Staff, Vice Admiral Awwal Zubairu Gambo (rtd.), who was linked to the plot.The naval officer at the site claimed to be acting under orders from “above” and insisted documents had been submitted. The naval side has yet to issue a full public statement, as of press time.

The clash raises immediate questions: Who legitimately holds land rights in Abuja’s expanding districts? What is the role of military or retired military personnel in civilian land development? How does the FCT Administration enforce its planning laws? And critically, does the rule of law apply equally, regardless of who claims land?

Land in Abuja: The Governance Terrain

To understand the significance of the dispute, one must consider the broader terrain of land governance in the Federal Capital Territory and even other parts of the country. Abuja’s rapid growth, expanding suburbs such as Gaduwa, and rising demand for residential and commercial land have placed pressure on land allocation systems, title documentation, planning approval and enforcement.

Whether the land was for personal development, public interest or even allocated to the military, we have seen from history how large tracts of land around Abuja have been allocated to the Ministry of Defence and the armed forces. A legal case noted that one 4,509.975-hectare parcel was long held by the Army after being split from an initial 7,488-hectare allocation in 1989. When these large military holdings exist alongside informal allocations, overlapping claims and contested conversions, the system becomes messy and opaque.

Reports in recent years highlight that many developments in the FCT occur without proper approval, that land-allocation records are contested, and that enforcement action has often been inconsistent. In this context, the FCT Minister’s campaign against “illegal development and land grabbing” (as he frames it) is a politically charged and operationally difficult endeavour.

The Gaduwa plot dispute encapsulates the tension: a site allegedly under illegal development, military involvement (or alleged backing), enforcement by a ministerial team, and public spectacle. It reveals how land is a site of power, not just property, more like land disputes we see in various communities.

Civil vs. Military Authority: A Complicated Relationship

One of the most striking elements of the confrontation was the involvement of uniformed military personnel in what has now appeared to be a land-development dispute. The officer at the site repeatedly emphasised his military rank, claiming “I am a commissioned officer… you cannot talk to me like that.” Meanwhile the minister asserted: “No one, not even a former Chief of Naval Staff, is above the law.”

In most democratic systems, land development, planning, and enforcement are civilian responsibilities. The presence of armed military personnel at a disputed civilian site invites questions of civil-military boundaries. Is the military being used as a shield for private claims? Are retired officers leveraging rank and connections for private land advantage? Where does the role of the FCT Administration end and the role of the armed forces begin?

Former militant leader Asari Dokubo, while critical of Wike in other contexts, commented on this affair that he was not taking sides with the minister but with the institution of law. He said the act of deploying soldiers to obstruct a ministerial inspection was “uncalled for” and violated civil-military norms.

This raises a deeper societal concern: When key state actors (civil or military) enter into property disputes without clarity, the result is not only confusion but also erosion of trust in institutions. If military rank can override civil enforcement, what recourse does the ordinary citizen have?

Power, Privilege and Property: The Substance Beneath the Show

Observing the episodes that have been at play requires acknowledging the fault lines on both sides.

On one hand, the FCT Administration under Wike might have committed to a crackdown on illegal development and land-grabbing in the capital. The minister’s statements reflect a desire to apply the rule of law in the FCT, regardless of how powerful the actors. In his remarks, Wike asked: “What about those who do not have the military behind them?” That question resonates with many Nigerians who feel the enforcement of land and building regulations is often selective.

On the other hand, the military personnel at the site claims legitimate acquisition and forwards that they acted under orders. If documents exist, if the chain of title is valid, then one could argue they are being unfairly confronted in public. Moreover, in a country where paperwork is often misplaced or contested, the burden of proof can become a moral question.

Under Nigeria’s Land Use Act of 1978, all land within a state is vested in the Governor, who holds it in trust for the people and has the authority to allocate, revoke, or regulate land titles and usage. In the case of the Federal Capital Territory (FCT), however, this power is delegated to the Minister of the FCT, who functions in the capacity of a ceremonial governor. This means that, by law, Nyesom Wike as FCT Minister possesses the same administrative rights over land allocation, documentation, and dispute resolution within Abuja as any governor does in their respective state in the country. The legal structure gives him the mandate to act on behalf of the President, including intervention in cases of illegal occupation or title irregularities. However, the complexity of Abuja’s governance, where military, civil, and federal interests often overlap, makes the exercise of this power a delicate one. The real question, therefore, isn’t whether Wike had the right to intervene, but whether his execution of that right respected the principles of civility, due process, and the delicate balance between civil authority and military decorum. In a democratic space governed by the rule of law, authority must be exercised not just legally, but proportionately and ethically and this is where the Abuja incident sparks its most heated debate.

That tension between rule-by-law and rule-by-power reflects more than a single land dispute. It encapsulates issues of privilege (retired admiral, military backing), precedence (who gets to claim land around the capital), process (title documents, approvals, demolitions), and performance (public spectacle or genuine governance).

A Mirror for Nigeria’s Land Challenge

While this event is high profile, it mirrors common experiences across Nigeria: land disputes, overlapping allocation, document forgery, weak enforcement. Ask any property developer or homeowner, the hazard of building without proper title, of receiving demolition notices, of navigating multiple layers of bureaucracy. The magnetic appeal of Abuja land intensifies the risk.

In this sense, the incident is a microcosm of greater dysfunction: when power is entangled with property, when enforcement is selective, when documentation is weak, and when the military enters civilian disputes. The fallout is not just conflict between an individual minister and a soldier, it is a message to Nigerians about the integrity of land governance and institutional authority.

What turns the Gaduwa dispute into a public story is not just the rank of the parties involved, but the spectacle of confrontation. It invites questions about transparency: Why was the minister forced to appear? Why the uproar, couldn't there have been better ways to resolve the dispute? Why were armed officers shielding the site? Why have the documents not been publicly available? And crucially, what does this mean for the citizen whose land is contested yet lacks the backing like that of a retired service chief?

Consequences: For Abuja, For Nigerians, For Rule of Law

Several consequences arise from the incident:

1. Institutional credibility. If citizens perceive that even an FCT minister must battle armed guards to enforce planning laws, public confidence in the rule of law suffers. The impression becomes that certain actors are above enforcement.

2. Land-market stability. Uncertainty about title, enforcement and real winners makes property investment riskier. For Abuja to remain viable for investment (residential, commercial, infrastructure) the perception of fairness and transparency matters.

3. Civil-military relations. The occasion raises concerns about whether military personnel are appropriated into private land disputes. If so, the military’s institutional neutrality is tarnished. And for the minister, the willingness to personally engage in an enforcement role raises questions of capacity, precedent and escalation.

4. Equity and inclusion. Wike’s reference to “those who do not have the military behind them” highlights inequality in land enforcement. If enforcement is selective based on backing or rank, the system fails for ordinary Nigerians.

5. Governance culture. The incident invites reflection on whether governance in Nigeria favours spectacle over system. A minister onsite, shouting at a soldier, becomes a viral clip. But what about the thousands of unreported disputes that never make cameras? The culture of enforcement should be reliable, regular and invisible — not loud, selective and televised.

6. Economic instability of lands. This incident transcends beyond dispute and key financial institutions might actually approach the matter of landed documents with caution, scrutiny and even doubts, which might eventually make it difficult for individuals and establishments who want to use their landed properties as collateral in monetary issues and businesses that might apply for loans.

What Could Be Done Differently

While deep structural reform is required, there are pragmatic steps that could shift outcomes and reduce incidents like this.

a) Transparent land-allocation databases. The FCT Administration and relevant agencies should publish and maintain up-to-date records of allocations, ownership, title documents and development approvals for public inspection. If Plot 1946’s documentation is contested, transparency would clarify the facts.

b) Clear civil-military boundary protocols. Standard operating procedures should define under what circumstances military personnel may be posted to guard civilian property. In land disputes, civilian enforcement agencies must lead unless national security is implicated.

c) Fast-track dispute resolution chambers. Land disputes drag for years. A dedicated tribunal for FCT land contested claims could provide timely hearings and reduce informal, press-driven enforcement.

d) Reinforced institutional enforcement. Rather than ministers personally confronting sites, the FCT Administration should build capacity for consistent enforcement across all land classes, municipality scale, remote districts, regardless of claimant’s rank.

e) Public communication and accountability. When enforcement occurs, the responsible agencies should publish outcome reports: what was demolished, who received notice, what documents were submitted, what appeals exist. This builds trust.

A Broader Reflection

Perhaps the most sobering reality is that this incident reflects deeper questions about modern Nigeria: Who actually owns land? Who administers it? Who enforces rights? And who protects the powerless?, as a broader look has shown that if the individual in question was not backed by military aides and power, maybe we wouldn't have heard of the story and maybe, just maybe the land would have been forcefully taken.

Every citizen who builds a home, opens a business, or buys a plot in the FCT hopes that the system works because now uncertainty flies in the air. There should be hope that when an individual acquire a parcel of land, that they have a title, that they get approval and that they sleep in peace. But when we see a minister shouting at soldiers, when we see armed guards at disputed sites, when we see the rule of law appear optional, our hope becomes fragile.

Yet, there is reason for optimism. The fact that this dispute happened publicly, that the minister travelled to the site, that cameras recorded it, that the military felt compelled to respond (even if silently), indicates that enforcement is no longer entirely hidden. And the public engagement suggests Nigerians are watching. The question now: will transparency grow, or spectacle continue to dominate?

Conclusion: The Plot and the Principle

In the end, the dispute at Plot 1946 is not just about who will develop that piece of land. It is about whether in the FCT, Nigeria’s capital territory, the principle of equality before the law holds any real weight.

It is about whether a former Chief of Naval Staff (or someone acting in his name) can deploy armed support for a land claim without producing a valid title. It is about whether the FCT Administration can enforce planning rules regardless of rank or privilege. And it is about whether civil authorities and the military can operate clearly in their separate roles.

Definitely power met property here, but it should not defeat the process. For the ordinary Nigerian watching, the message is critical: rule of law matters more than rank; documentation matters more than influence; enforce­ment matters more than public posturing.

We should watch what happens next. Will the land be re‐allocated or settled transparently? Will the documents be made public? Will the adjudication process be visible? If yes, that would mark meaningful progress. If not, we will simply call it another episode in Nigeria’s long history of power struggle and land-power collisions.

Because when the capital territory of the nation shows how it treats land, it sends a message to the entire country: law for all, or law for some?