By Abraham Amah

THE events unfolding around the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) convention litigation present not merely a legal disagreement or procedural misunderstanding, but a deeper constitutional moment-a moment that reasserts the supremacy of law over political convenience, jurisdiction over improvisation, and institutional discipline over partisan expediency.

The story of the Ibadan convention is, in substance, the story of how constitutional guardrails can be tested, stretched, misinterpreted, and ultimately reaffirmed through judicial correction. It deserves to be revisited not with bitterness or triumphalism, but with sober reflection, philosophical clarity, institutional humility, and a commitment to ensuring that the mistakes of the past do not become the traditions of tomorrow.

Before the controversial gathering in Ibadanan event that has now become a legal reference point for political overreach-two Federal High Courts sitting in Abuja issued explicit orders barring the conduct, recognition, or continuation of the proposed PDP national convention. These were not minor or ambiguous injunctions. They were grounded in deep questions surrounding internal party compliance, leadership legitimacy, subsisting litigation, and violations of both the PDP Constitution and the Electoral Act.

More importantly, these orders were issued by the only court constitutionally empowered to supervise disputes involving the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC), federal agencies, and national political processes. By operation of law, these orders were binding in rem-that is, binding on all persons, all authorities, and all institutions, including INEC itself. Yet, faced with these federal restraints, the Damagun-led faction opted for jurisdictional adventurism. In a frantic move that reflected more desperation than democratic prudence, they approached an Oyo State High Court in Ibadan to procure an ex parte order that sought to override, neutralize, or nullify the binding orders of two Federal High Courts.

This, in plain jurisprudence, amounted to forum shopping-a practice that the Supreme Court has condemned repeatedly because it undermines judicial integrity, encourages institutional confusion, and creates parallel centers of legal authority where only one should exist. The ex parte order granted in Ibadan purported to achieve the impossible: it commanded a national political convention to proceed despite subsisting federal court restraining orders.

Even more troubling, it compelled INEC-a federal body shielded by the Constitution and insulated by the Electoral Act-to supervise, monitor, and legitimize a process that the Federal High Court had expressly barred. This was not judicial activism. It was judicial adventurism. It was a moment where the law seemed poised on the edge of an institutional precipice, where politics attempted to eclipse legality, and where a state court was draggedwittingly or unwittingly-into a national dispute far beyond the boundaries of its constitutional jurisdiction.

But history has a way of correcting its own missteps, and institutions-when guided by conscience-often find the courage to retrace their steps. In a recent development, the same Oyo State High Court delisted INEC from the suit, admitting by implication-if not by explicit confession-that it lacked jurisdiction to have issued orders binding on a federal agency. This singular action rendered the earlier ex parte order defective, hollow, and constitutionally unsustainable. It was, in effect, a court rescuing the Constitution from its own earlier error; a judicial acknowledgment that jurisdiction is not a matter of political convenience but a matter of constitutional precision.

A court cannot command and later disclaim. A court cannot bind and later confess impotence. To attempt both is to reveal, inadvertently, that its earlier order was void from inception. This brings us to a fundamental truth every student of constitutional law must internalize: jurisdiction is foundational, not ornamental. Once absent, everything built upon it fails. Once missing, every command given in its name collapses. A building without a foundation may be impressive for a moment, but it is doomed from the start.

Amah, a philosopher and public affairs analyst, lives in Abuja.