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)
