By Favour Godwin
When the National Assembly forwarded the Federal Road Safety Corps (FRSC) Amendment Bill for presidential assent, one provision instantly dominated public discourse. It was not the stiffer penalties for traffic offences or the broader reforms to road safety administration. It was the proposed restriction on preaching, hawking and trading inside moving commercial vehicles.
Predictably, social media erupted. For many, the proposal represented yet another attempt by government to police citizens’ freedoms. Religious groups described it as an assault on the constitutional right to freedom of worship. Others dismissed it as evidence that lawmakers were preoccupied with trivialities while millions of Nigerians grapple with inflation, insecurity and an economy under severe strain.
Those reactions are understandable. Nigerians have every reason to scrutinise the actions of those who govern them. Public scepticism did not develop overnight; it is the product of years of broken promises, misplaced priorities and policies that too often fail to improve the lives of ordinary citizens.
Yet, even justified scepticism should not become a substitute for careful reasoning.
Long before this debate became a national conversation, I had my own encounters with what has now become the subject of legislation. More than two decades ago, while travelling with my family to eastern Nigeria, our commercial bus became a revolving stage. Different Christian preachers boarded to evangelise passengers. Shortly afterwards came traders selling everything from herbal remedies to snacks and household items. Years later, I experienced the same pattern on journeys across the South-West.
These experiences are not unique. They are woven into the culture of road transportation in Nigeria.
As a practising Christian, I listened to many of those sermons. Some inspired reflection; others presented doctrines I did not share. But that is beside the point. What struck me was how a moving commercial vehicle had become many things at once—a church, a marketplace and, occasionally, a noisy contest for the attention of passengers. The one person whose attention mattered most—the driver—was expected to navigate busy highways amid all of it.
That is where this conversation ought to begin.
For days, much of the public discussion has revolved around freedom of religion. That constitutional right is sacred and must never be undermined. But rights, however fundamental, do not exist in isolation. They are exercised alongside another equally compelling obligation: the responsibility of the state to protect lives.
Road crashes remain one of Nigeria’s most persistent public safety challenges. Poor road infrastructure, speeding, reckless driving, vehicle defects and weak enforcement all contribute to the grim statistics. Yet distraction is another factor that receives far less attention than it deserves.
We readily accept laws against using mobile phones while driving because they distract motorists. We prohibit driving under the influence because impaired judgement kills. Seat belt regulations exist because they reduce fatalities. These measures are not viewed as attacks on personal liberty but as reasonable limitations imposed in the interest of public safety.
Should activities capable of diverting a driver’s concentration inside a moving commercial vehicle be treated differently simply because they are religious or commercial in nature?
That is the question we should be debating.
Contrary to some public impressions, the proposal is not an outright prohibition on preaching the Gospel or practising one’s faith. Neither does it criminalise legitimate commerce. Its focus is considerably narrower: activities carried out inside moving commercial vehicles that could compromise road safety.
The distinction matters.
To argue that preaching may be restricted in a moving bus is not to argue that preaching should be banned in society. The Great Commission was never confined to commercial buses. Christianity flourished long before public transport became a platform for evangelism, and it will continue to flourish without it.
The same reasoning applies to hawking. No honest observer can ignore the harsh economic realities that compel many Nigerians to earn a living wherever opportunity exists. But economic hardship cannot become sufficient justification for activities that may expose dozens of commuters to avoidable danger.
This is where emotion must give way to evidence.
One weakness of our national conversations is our tendency to evaluate every government proposal through the lens of accumulated frustration. Because government has often failed, we instinctively assume that every policy is either oppressive or misplaced. While that suspicion is understandable, it is not always intellectually fair.
