Tag: Nigeria

Charles Omole’s newly launched book on the Muhammadu Buhari presidency titled  “Soldier to Statesman: The Legacy of Muhammadu Buhari,”has detonated like a carefully placed charge beneath Nigeria’s political establishment. Though my ordered copy remains in transit, the reverberations from its revelations—and more tellingly, the reactions it has provoked—tell us everything we need to know about the fragility of our governance structures and the dangerous personalization of power that continues to plague this nation.

The allegations and disclosures reportedly contained in Omole’s work have sent shockwaves through political circles, not merely because they are sensational, but because they apparently lay bare the fundamental dysfunction at the heart of recent Nigerian governance. The book’s reception, characterized by defensive outrage from some quarters and knowing nods from others, reveals a nation that has become dangerously accustomed to leadership opacity. What the reviews and public discourse since it’s launch demonstrate is that Nigeria remains trapped in a vicious cycle: we elevate individuals, even those not elected to positions of immense power, grant them near-imperial latitude, then express theatrical shock when we discover that unchecked authority has been exercised in ways contrary to the national interest.

This pattern must end. The Omole book, whatever its ultimate historical verdict, serves as yet another clarion call for the structural transformation of Nigerian governance. We must transition from a system that allows individuals to set themselves up against the nation’s interest—whether through incompetence, malice, or the simple reality that power without institutional constraints inevitably corrupts—to one where robust institutions provide the guardrails in preventing such a concentration of power on individuals.

The case for institutional deepening in Nigeria is not abstract theory; it is existential necessity. Consider what apparently transpired during the Buhari years: decisions made or deferred, appointments that privileged loyalty over competence, policy paralysis masked as integrity, and the concentration of power in informal networks rather than constitutional structures. These are not failings unique to one man or one administration—they are the predictable consequences of a system designed around personalities rather than processes.

Strong institutions would have prevented many of the alleged missteps documented by Omole. An empowered civil service, insulated from political interference, does not wait for presidential whim to implement policy. An independent judiciary, properly resourced and respected, does not allow executive overreach to go unchallenged. A legislature conscious of its co-equal status does not rubber-stamp executive proposals or remain silent in the face of governance failures. A free press, protected by law and practice, does not wait for post-tenure exposés to reveal what should have been reported in real-time.

Yet Nigeria’s institutions remain weak by design. We have created a hyper-presidency where success or failure hinges almost entirely on the character, capacity, and circle of whoever occupies Aso Rock. This is not governance; it is a lottery, in local parlance it is kalokalo and governance has become similar to a set of odds. And the Nigerian people, regardless of ethnicity, region, or religion, deserve better than to have their futures determined by chance.

Which brings me to Nasir El-Rufai’s response to the Omole book—a response that, despite coming from a man I admire greatly for his intellect and administrative competence, fundamentally misunderstands the nature of democratic accountability.

El-Rufai’s criticism of the book appears to rest on several premises, all of which deserve interrogation. The first seems to be that there is something inherently unseemly or disloyal about former insiders publishing accounts of their time in government. This is untenable. When Muhammadu Buhari—or any Nigerian—chooses to seek and accept the presidency, they voluntarily enter the public sphere in its most intense form. The office belongs to the people, not its temporary occupant. Everything done in that capacity, every decision made, every word spoken in official capacity, becomes part of the public record and subject to public scrutiny. This is not cruelty; it is democracy.

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To suggest otherwise is to argue for a cult of silence that protects power from accountability. It is to claim that those who serve in government owe greater loyalty to their principal than to the Nigerian people who are the ultimate employers of every public servant. This is precisely the mentality that has enabled decades of unaccountable governance.

El-Rufai’s second apparent premise—that such accounts are not balanced and that the book was meant to serve the interests of one faction against the other faction—is equally flawed. Nigeria cannot afford to wait for a village/ umunna / kindred  meeting of sorts between these factions before one can give his verdict, particularly when the consequences of governance failures are being lived in real-time by millions struggling with insecurity, economic hardship, and diminished opportunities. The urgent work of learning from our mistakes, of understanding what went wrong and why, cannot be postponed for the sake of seeking balance which may not occur on its own, it takes the efforts of persons like Professor Omole to do such and perhaps provoke the other side to air its own story.

El-Rufai ought to have suggested that those with alternative accounts should write their own books.  The marketplace of ideas works best when multiple perspectives compete, when different participants in the same events offer their interpretations, and when the public can weigh competing narratives against available evidence. Omole has contributed to this marketplace; others, including El-Rufai, should do likewise rather than attempting to delegitimize the very act of bearing witness.

But come to think of it, can Nigerians ask El Rufai if he sought this balanced point of view when he published his book the “ Accidental Public Servant” that is with barbs and the exposures the book exhibited? Haba Sir!!!

Moreover, the Omole book, from all accounts, is not a simplistic character assassination of Buhari as a person or leader. It is, rather, an attempt to document what occurred during a consequential period in Nigerian history. That the buck stopped at Buhari’s desk is not Omole’s invention—it is the constitutional reality of presidential systems. If uncomfortable truths emerge from that documentation, the appropriate response is not to shoot the messenger but to grapple with the message.

The fundamental issue revealed by this entire episode transcends Buhari, Omole, or El-Rufai. It is this: Nigeria will not progress significantly until we stop organizing our political life around the mythology of the strong man who will save us, and instead build institutions strong enough to constrain bad leaders and enable good ones. We need systems where competence is rewarded over connection, where merit trumps loyalty, where processes matter more than personalities.

This means constitutional reforms that genuinely distribute power. It means judicial independence backed by budgetary autonomy. It means a professional civil service with security of tenure. It means a legislature that understands itself as a check on executive power, not an adjunct to it. It means transparent processes for appointments, procurement, and policy-making. It means protecting whistleblowers rather than persecuting them.

Until we undertake this institutional reconstruction, we will remain trapped in an endless cycle: messianic expectations, inevitable disappointment, recriminatory revelations, then the search for the next savior. The Omole book is merely the latest chapter in this tragedy. Let it be a catalyst for the fundamental change we desperately need—the building of a republic that works regardless of who temporarily leads it.

Merry Christmas my dear readers, may the joys and hopes cradled in the Christmas Story be ours as a nation and a people.