“Justice too long delayed is justice denied,” Martin Luther King Jr. once declared. In the rolling hills and fertile valleys of the old Nsukka Division, this maxim is more than an aphorism—it is a living testament to the generations who have watched their hopes for equitable development wither under decades of neglect.
The call for Adada State is not a fleeting political gambit but a deeply rooted cry for fairness that began in earnest with a formal proposal to the National Assembly in 1983. The moment of triumph was almost within reach, only to be snatched away by the military coup of December that year, consigning the people’s dreams to another round of constitutional limbo.
When the old East Central State split into new entities, the seven local government areas of what is now the proposed Adada—Nsukka, Udenu, Igbo-Eze North, Igbo-Eze South, Igbo-Etiti, Uzo-Uwani, Isi-Uzo—found themselves sorely underrepresented.
Despite accounting for over half of Enugu State’s population, these communities have suffered an abysmal shortage of infrastructure, roads riddled with potholes, clinics starved of equipment, and schools forced to operate under tin roofs or in borrowed classrooms. Their neglect stems from a late embrace of Western education during the colonial era and successive administrations that prioritized other zones, leaving the Nsukka people to harness community spirit if they were to see even a single secondary school.
Time and again, panels and commissions—most notably the Mbanefo Panel in 1996—heard the case for Adada. Each time, the logic was unassailable: geographic contiguity, a shared cultural tapestry, unanimous local support. Yet political expediency led to the creation of Ebonyi State, a reuniting of northern Igbo communities whose own historical argument was based on reunification of old Afikpo and Abakaliki provinces. It was a compelling narrative, but one that sidelined an equally compelling plea from the Nsukka Division. Government at the time chose symmetry over equity, yielding a State that served one narrative of justice while leaving another to wait.
Fast forward to March 2006, when the South East caucus of the National Assembly convened a ten-member committee under Senator Ifeanyi Ararume. In a hall in Owerri, surrounded by governors, traditional rulers, ethnic leaders, and academics, four state creation proposals vied for supremacy: Aba, Adada, Njaba, and Orashi. When the votes were tallied, it was Adada that emerged with a clear majority. These lawmakers, including Chief Achike Udenwa who hosted the gathering, recognized that the old Nsukka Division’s case transcended parochial interests and embodied the founding principle of bringing government closer to the people. Yet that parliamentary nod never translated into constitutional amendment.
Every subsequent forum reaffirmed the singularity of Adada’s claim. The 2005 Political Reform Conference called by President Obasanjo explicitly recommended an additional state in the South East. The 2014 National Conference under Justice Idris Kutigi reiterated that only Adada had met the stringent criteria laid out in Section 8(1) of the 1999 Constitution, which demands clear geographic boundaries, unified local support, and demonstrable viability. But between nods and inked resolutions, the corridors of power remained unmoved.
On a balmy afternoon in Enugu, during the Senate’s South East Zonal Public Hearing on constitutional review, Chief John Nnia Nwodo stood before senators and dignitaries, every word honed by decades of advocacy. In a presentation hailed as masterful, he unfolded stacks of endorsements from local government chairmen, councillors, state lawmakers, and federal legislators—all affirming unified support for Adada’s creation. He reminded the august gathering that the people of Nsukka are not asking for charity; they are demanding justice as laid out in the nation’s supreme law. Every clause of Section 8(1) has been scratched off, every signature secured, every demographic study accounted for.
He painted a portrait of political disenfranchisement: a lone senator representing a constituency larger than those of his two counterparts combined, LGAs split across senatorial zones by arbitrary redistricting, and a sense that no matter how vociferous the petition, the machinery of state would churn on without pause. He contrasted this travesty with the reality that every other geopolitical zone in Nigeria boasts six states, while the South East limps behind with five. A sixth state is not a luxury—it is the missing piece of a national jigsaw.
Skeptics who question Adada’s viability have never set foot in its communities. They would miss how community-driven initiatives have spurred the construction of scores of secondary schools, clinics, rural electrification projects, and water boreholes. They would fail to see the potential of its rich oil and gas fields, its fertile farmlands stretching toward the Cross River tributaries, and the international reputation of the University of Nigeria, Nsukka, as a cradle of enlightenment. These are not backwaters awaiting rescue but vibrant hubs ready to govern themselves effectively.
Support has coalesced across party lines and social strata. Enugu State Governor Peter Mbah has pledged unwavering support, while his predecessor and Igbo political titans like Chief James Ugwu—who traces the first formal plea to 1970, when a youthful committee petitioned General Gowon—underscore the breadth of this pursuit. Even the Enugu State House of Assembly, in a unanimous resolution of April 2008, lent its voice to the chorus. All that remains is for the National Assembly to take up its constitutional duty.
The path forward is indeed simple: amend the 1999 Constitution to insert Adada State as the sixth member of the South East. Transmit the bill in accordance with legislative procedure, channel it to INEC for a referendum among the affected communities, and upon ratification, recognize Adada as a full-fledged federating unit. No new legal theory is required. No fresh political philosophy must be invented. The Constitution provides the mechanism. The people have supplied the political will.
History will judge the lawmakers who rise to this occasion. They can choose to perpetuate an illsuited status quo that has for too long marginalized the heartland of northern Igbo land, or they can seize this moment to affirm that Nigeria’s promise lies in balancing its diversity, not in perpetuating imbalances.
Adada State is more than lines on a map. It is a symbol of renewed faith in democratic equity, of government returned to the governed, and of a people whose only crime has been an unyielding demand for what they rightfully deserve.
As the National Assembly concludes ongoing public hearing on constitution amendments, let the Senate and the House of Representatives remember that when justice is delayed beyond reason, it is indeed justice denied. Adada has waited for its day in the sun. Today, that day beckons.
Comments 3