THE BRIEFLESS ADVOCATE (PART 3)

THE BRIEFLESS ADVOCATE (Part 3)

“The Gatekeepers at the Bar:

Who’s Really to Blame?”

We often hear that the legal profession in Nigeria is in crisis.
But we must ask: Who is holding the keys to the gates that lock many lawyers out?

It's no longer just about the lawyers on the streets — it's about the institutions and structures that keep them there.

From the outside, it seems like:

• The Nigerian Bar Association is active.
• The Body of Benchers is prestigious.
• The Council of Legal Education is strict and respected.

But inside the profession, many junior lawyers feel like orphans in their own house.

They pay their dues — both literally and figuratively.
They attend conferences.
They sit through lectures.
But when it’s time for briefs, clients, or opportunities, they’re left out in the cold.

So we must ask, who exactly is benefitting from this imbalance?

⚖️ The Brutal Truth:

• Law School trains students to be competent.
  But the system trains them to be dependent.
• The NBA makes rules to protect prestige.
  But not rules to prevent suffering.
• Senior lawyers promise mentorship.
  But many offer servitude instead.

👨🏽‍⚖️ A Profession of Gatekeepers

We can no longer pretend that this crisis is just about market forces or unemployment.
It’s about a profession that punishes innovation, resists reform, and fears change.

Many talented, ethical young lawyers are now leaving legal practice altogether.
Not because they are lazy — but because the gates are shut.

And even worse, the few who make it inside often forget to hold the door open for others.

🛠️ What Must Change?

1. Mentorship must be structured, not sentimental.
2. Law firms must be regulated on intern welfare, pay, and training.
3. The NBA must create a support system for early-career lawyers:
   • Access to legal aid work
   • Government briefs
   • Professional placement programs
4. Gatekeeping must be replaced with guidance.

Prestige should not mean exclusion.
Discipline should not mean deprivation.

🗝️ Until the gatekeepers become bridge-builders,
the profession will remain divided — between the robed and the robbed.

We can either protect the profession’s pride or protect its people.
But if we’re wise, we’ll do both.

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Read other parts of this series:

• 📖 Part 1 – The Briefless Advocate
• 📖 Part 2 – The Briefless Advocate

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— F. P. Olowu
A Concerned Law Student, University of Port Harcourt

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The Briefless Advocate (Part 1)

The Briefless Advocate (Part 1): Is the Legal Profession in Nigeria Choking Its Own?

In the grand halls of our courts and the quiet corners of our chambers, a silent struggle is playing out — one not often spoken of, but deeply felt. It is the struggle of the Nigerian lawyer, particularly the young one, who has been told that the law is a jealous mistress — and so must give her undivided attention, even if she gives nothing back in return.

We call it prestige. We call it tradition. We call it professionalism.

But let us also call it what it is in a harsh economy like ours in Nigeria: unsustainable.

Every year, thousands of passionate young Nigerians are called to the Bar — full of dreams, eager to serve justice, and ready to uphold the dignity of the legal profession. But months after the call, many find themselves doing more waiting than working, more watching than practicing. The briefs do not come. The clients are nowhere. The courts remain formal, but the bank accounts remain empty.

And yet, the rules are clear: no other business. No job. No trade. No side hustle. Just the law… and farming, if you must.

This restriction, no doubt, was intended to preserve the sanctity of the profession — to keep lawyers from distractions and from conflicts of interest. But in practice, it has birthed a bitter irony: many of our learned colleagues are now forced to crowd police stations and court premises, not as officers of the court, but as hustlers — desperately asking strangers, "What do you want to do? I’m a lawyer. I can help you for something small."

Society now calls them “Charge and Bail” lawyers — a label soaked in mockery. But behind every one of them is a story of bills to pay, children to feed, and dreams that are slowly bleeding to death.

Is this truly the dignity we swore to protect?

Let us be clear — this is not a condemnation of the law, nor of those who struggle honestly within it. It is a plea. A plea for honest reflection. A plea for reform. A plea to acknowledge that if we do not evolve, we risk watching the prestige of the Bar collapse under the weight of hypocrisy and hunger.

Maybe it’s time we asked difficult questions:

• Can the legal profession remain “jealous” while its practitioners remain impoverished?
• Can we truly uphold ethics in an environment that forces desperation?
• And more importantly — is banning all other forms of work the only way to preserve the dignity of legal practice?

This is the first part of a conversation we must have — not just among ourselves as students or young lawyers, but with senior members of the profession, magistrates, judges, and our Bar leadership. Because it is not enough to defend the law — we must also defend those who live by it.

Silence they say is gold, but we owe the future of the profession something more than silence.

Continue Reading the Series:
👉 Part 2 – The Briefless Advocate
👉 Part 3 – The Briefless Advocate

Until the next post,

Fidelis Peter Olowu 
A Concerned Law Student

(University of Port Harcourt)