The Forgotten Architecture of Community Justice, by Prince Charles Dickson – THISAGE

Prince Charles Dickson Ph.D

There is an old saying widespread in many African communities: when two elephants fight, it is the grass that suffers. In northeast Nigeria, however, another truth silently competes with it: When neighbors fight over land, everyone inherits the conflict. One of my many profound learnings during my study trip to the Northeast.

Housing, land and property (HLP) disputes are rarely just about land. Beneath every contested boundary lies a story of memory, identity, belonging, displacement, legacy, dignity and survival. A farmer doesn’t just defend a field; protects the work of generations. A widow seeking her husband’s land asks for more than just property; he is asking if justice remembers his name. A returning family doesn’t just reclaim a home; tries to recover a life interrupted by the conflict.

This is why the conversations that took place between traditional leaders, community justice actors and representatives of the governments of Borno and Adamawa over the course of three extraordinary days were so significant. They weren’t simply discussing alternative dispute resolution (ADR). They were discussing the architecture of peace itself.

The Bornese have a saying that reminds us that “the road knows the traveler before the traveler knows the road”. The Hausa equally remind us that “zaman lafiya yafi zama ɗan sarki”… living in peace is better than being a prince. Throughout Adamawa you hear variations of the timeless wisdom that a river does not drink its own water. Every institution exists for others. Justice, therefore, is never about itself; it exists so that communities can continue to live together.

Perhaps this explains why traditional institutions have survived centuries of political transitions. Governments have changed. Constitutions have evolved. Administrative boundaries have changed. However, when disputes emerge in villages in northeastern Nigeria, people continue to head to the palace before heading to the court.

This reality should neither alarm lawyers nor offend judges. It should instead challenge politicians to recognize what communities have always known: justice works best when it is closest to the people.

One of the most fascinating discussions during the training centered on the remarkable experience that has emerged from Adamawa State through the Kabara Mediation Centre, a locally rooted dispute resolution mechanism that has quietly demonstrated what happens when tradition, community ownership and structured mediation meet with mutual respect.

The Kabara approach deserves more than just admiration; deserves a reply.

Its strength is not the rejection of formal justice. On the contrary. It completes it. It recognizes that not all disagreements require litigation and that not all disputes benefit from producing a winner and a loser. Sometimes communities need something much more precious than victory. They need restoration.

There is profound wisdom in a system where respected traditional rulers, religious scholars and trusted community elders sit together to help warring parties speak before they shout, understand before they accuse, and reconcile before parting forever.

Kabara’s brilliance lies in its simplicity.

It includes something that modern institutions sometimes forget: People are more likely to respect the agreements they help create than the judgments imposed on them.

Imagine it.

Centuries of conventional wisdom reach the same conclusion that modern behavioral science now celebrates. Perhaps our ancestors were involved in social psychology before universities gave it a name.

Yet the conversations in Maiduguri also highlighted uncomfortable truths.

Documentation remains weak. Tracking of agreements is inconsistent. Women still struggle to occupy the spaces where decisions affecting family land are made. Young people are often treated as observers rather than contributors. People with disabilities continue to be insufficiently represented.

Many mediators possess enormous practical wisdom but have limited exposure to structured conflict analysis, ethical mediation standards, or systematic record keeping.

These are not failures.

They are opportunities.

One participant noted that “a good mediator listens more than he talks.”

That simple sentence contains an entire philosophy of justice.

Listening is not passive. It is investigation without intimidation, respect before resolution, and listening is conflict prevention disguised as conversation.

Another participant reminded those present that “every conflict has a story and every story deserves to be heard.” How different our communities might become if institutions competed not just to make judgments but to understand stories.

The conflict analysis taught throughout the program further reinforced that what communities often call “the problem” is usually just the visible branch of a much deeper tree. Behind every land dispute lie the roots: displacement, poverty, unclear documentation, inherited grievances, damaged trust, competing identities, or historical injustices.

Removing just the branch guarantees that another will grow. Addressing the roots changes the forest.

This is exactly why alternative dispute resolution represents not just another legal option, but perhaps Africa’s oldest innovation. Long before ADR became fashionable in conference rooms, African communities practiced it under trees. The classroom arrived later.

The conversation came first. That’s why ADR seems familiar to us. Talk that linguistic communities already understand. He prefers dialogue to domination. Consensus on conquest. Restoration instead of revenge. Reports on records only.

This does not diminish formal justice.

The courts remain indispensable. Some disputes require an authoritative judicial decision. Rights must be protected. Criminal responsibility cannot be negotiated. Yet there is a vast middle ground where mediation prevents the litigation of tomorrow.

That middle ground deserves investment.

The pilot project implemented through the Norwegian Refugee Council’s Information, Advice and Legal Assistance (ICLA) program demonstrates exactly what strategic investments in community justice can achieve.

Instead of importing solutions, it has strengthened institutions that communities already trust. Instead of replacing traditional leaders, he equipped them. Instead of creating dependency, it created capacity.

Participants walked away not only with certificates but with action plans, referral paths, documentation tools, mediation skills, and renewed confidence to serve their communities more effectively.

This is a development done wisely. True development is not measured by the number of workshops conducted.

It is measured by the number of conflicts that never occur because someone learned to prevent them. It is measured by widows who recover property without years of litigation. Upon returning the families were welcomed rather than resisted. From young people who choose dialogue instead of violence. By traditional rulers who mediate with greater confidence because they now possess both inherited wisdom and professional skills.

As northeastern Nigeria continues to rebuild after years of conflict, disputes over the HLP will remain inevitable.

The choice before us is extraordinarily simple. We can continue to wait until disagreements become crises. Or we can invest in community justice before complaints become emergencies.

The latter is infinitely cheaper. He is infinitely wiser. And it is profoundly African.

For making this vision tangible, the Norwegian Refugee Council (NRC) deserves praise for recognizing that lasting peace begins long before a court opens its doors. The Plateau Multi-Door Courthouse (PMDC) institutional partnership has demonstrated how formal justice systems can strengthen community justice without overshadowing it. Similarly, the Tattaaunawa Roundtable Initiative (TRICentre) brought together a faculty whose hands-on experience transformed technical concepts into tools that participants could immediately take home.

There is one final lesson from the training that is worth remembering. Peace does not come because communities stop disagreeing. Peace comes because communities learn to disagree without destroying each other.

Perhaps that has always been the oldest courtroom in Africa. And perhaps it is still the wisest thing: let Nigeria win.

Post views:
154