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The
Country Of Anything Goes
By
Olusegun
Obasanjo
originally
written and published on September 24, 1998
For over
four and a half years - from November 17, 1993 to June 8, 1998 - Nigeria,
which had been under military rule since the end of 1983, was reduced to a
police state: a big prison with gallows, where intimidation, assassination,
and deprivation were the instruments of misgovernance of the state by
General Sani Abacha, a sadistic, apparently mentally deranged, corrupt,
incompetent, arrogant, and ruthless military dictator. The question on
almost everybody's lips was: why? What went wrong in a country of well over
one hundred million people which used to take pride in its large educated
and cultured population?
The answer lies in the
gradual but steady erosion of moral and ethical standards that took
place during the earlier military administration of General Ibrahim
Babangida, who carried out a military coup at the end of 1984 and ruled
between 1985 and 1993. It was at this time that, facing the gun,
civilian political leaders acquiesced and abandoned their
responsibility.
Some adopted the attitude
of "sit down and look on". Others joined in the pillaging of the
country by seeking patronage, recognition, and easy money from the
ruling military cabal. As a result, the economy was shattered during
the 1980s. Whether you were a politician, a businessman, an
intellectual, or a retired military man, the seemingly easy avenue
for personal economic gain was to accept a job from the military or
to seek favour from or support by the military. Some academics
abandoned their lecture rooms or research laboratories where they
could only make a pittance; they accepted the cozy, cushy embrace of
a corrupt, deceitful, and unscrupulous military administration.
Previously,
independent and respected intellectuals became the mouthpiece
and apologists for the military; they made excuses for General
Babangida and his fellow military leaders, and helped them
deceive and confuse the people. Respected social critics
accepted money from the government and became compromised. To
take an independent stand became an exception and an extremely
risky one. Many outspoken critics of the government were
assassinated. Dele Giwa, the founding editor of the weekly
Newswatch, was killed by a letter bomb in 1986.
The Nigerian
military men, who once could claim to be officers and
gentlemen, became men of double-talk, unkept promises, and
devious actions and behaviour inimical to public order and
proper military conduct. But what was most deplorable was
that with the pillaging of the society and the destruction
of moral and ethical standards, those who might have been
expected to try to sustain such standards - the by-now
bought-up, co-opted, and corrupted members of civil society:
politicians, intellectuals, journalists, business people -
made excuses. They became defenders of a military
administration which consciously or unconsciously embarked
on systematic destruction of all that matters in a society -
politically, economically, socially, morally, ethically, and
culturally. The press and publishers who were not directly
under government control were corrupted; they in turn hired
and corrupted writers who pretended to be objective and
independent, but who vigorously and viciously attacked
opponents of the military regime.
In this way
Nigeria became a nation of "anything goes", where
anything could be rationalised and justified. Babangida
shifted his ground and broke his promises so often that
he earned the popular nickname "Maradona" for his fancy
dribbling; his deceitfulness was widely defended and
even praised as political cleverness, dexterity. There
was no moral standard left in public life. Corruption
and fraud became habits that trickled down to every
level of society.
Nonetheless, the citizens of Nigeria persisted in
calling for democracy. And Babangida, who had been
promising a return to civilian government since
September of 1987, and who was also facing
increasing pressure to relinquish power, both from
the international community and from members of his
own divided military regime, finally seemed to be
taking steps in that direction late in 1992. In
December of that year he replaced his Council of
Ministers with a civilian Transitional Council,
headed by the businessman Chief Shonekan, which was
given the task of monitoring and overseeing a return
to democratic government by August 27, 1993. And on
June 12, a presidential election was indeed held,
although the only parties allowed to compete in it
were two that had been created by the military
regime in 1989. This election was apparently won by
Moshood Abiola, of the Social Democratic Party.
Even
though the election was considered a fair one by
international observers, however, it was
annulled a week later without any plausible
excuse being given. Although, both a national
commission monitoring the voting and one of the
Nigerian courts were involved in the rigmarole
of challenging the election, it was General
Babangida who acted to invalidate it. Riots
broke out in Lagos, and there followed a chaotic
summer in which a number of possible solutions
to the situation, including promises that the
election would be rescheduled, were floated and
then quickly cancelled; no one seemed sure what
would happen next.
Finally, at the eleventh hour, Babangida
decided to relinquish power. On August 26,
the day before the deadline he had set
himself the previous year, he stepped down,
naming Chief Shonekan the head of an Interim
National Government. On the same day,
General Sani Abacha - who had been
intimately associated with the Babangida
regime since 1983 - was promoted to minister
of defence.
The responsibility of leading Nigeria
was too much for Shonekan; he had had
power thrust upon him only because he
posed no serious threat to the
continuing power of the military. The
real power in this government belonged
to Abacha, and Shonekan had neither the
savvy nor the backing to challenge him.
Within a month, Abacha had arranged to
replace all the chief supporters of
Babangida within the new government.
Then, on November 10, the High Court
pronounced the Interim National
Government unconstitutional. A week
later Shonekan stepped down, in favour
of Abacha.
It had been clear to many discerning
observers well before Abacha struck
that he had his own ambitions. But
even after he took power, there was
also a great deal of confusion about
his intentions and abilities. Many
Nigerians thought him nothing more
than a light headed and empty-minded
military officer who wanted nothing
more than to occupy the presidency
long enough to enrich himself and
reward his supporters. But in the
confusion surrounding the annulled
election, some politicians and their
followers looked for a "messiah",
who, they believed, would proclaim
the annulled election valid after
all. That was the situation in which
Abacha was able to take power. Some
of the people who gave him
encouragement and support believed
that he would act in the public
interest; that they could
successfully use undemocratic means
- the installation of a military
government - to attain democracy.
They ignored the fact that the man
in charge was undemocratic at heart,
as his record clearly indicated.
For his part, Abacha showed an
unexpected capacity for
deception. He brought the key
men in the two political parties
he had disbanded into the
government he appointed,
apparently with the promise that
he would hand over power to
Abiola within three months. But
he made sure that he never
committed himself to any
definite date for the transfer
of power, he used the nebulous
phrase "brief period". Meanwhile
he consolidated his position.
As could be expected,
through all this time some
people stood firm,
un-purchasable, advocates,
despite all intimidation and
discouragement, of truth,
good governance, and the
interests of the country.
But by November 1993 - when
lying and deception of the
people by the government,
and deprivation of the
rights of the people, and
pervasive corruption had
been made into an art -
there was no critical mass,
not enough of such men and
women of integrity and
conscience, to stand solidly
against Abacha.
His model, as it soon
became clear, was Mobutu
of Zaire; it was his
ambition to be the
richest man in black
Africa and the
longest-ruling Nigerian
leader. He could not
achieve these two
objectives without
silencing the opposition
of anyone who might
stand in his way.
Babangida had tried the
tactics of domination
through patronage,
corruption, acquisition,
deceit, and selective
elimination of his
opposition. Abacha had
learned that these
methods were
insufficient; they had
not worked for his tutor
and they would be enough
for him - and in any
case, he did not have
his predecessor's knack
for subtlety.
So he used those
people he thought
could help him, and
then, particularly
if they seemed
capable of
questioning him,
discarded them. His
first cabinet, for
example, included
many important
figures from the
civilian government
of the early 1980s,
and even human
rights activists;
but within a year
Abacha felt secure
enough in power to
replace almost all
of these people.
After that he
embarked on a
ruthless campaign of
oppression, directed
not only against
those who opposed
him but against
those he believed
uncompromising
enough that they
might oppose him. In
this way, Abacha
stole the property
he was meant to
guard and prevented
the promised
rescheduling of the
annulled election.
In the end he
brought about both
his own death and
that of the presumed
winner of that
election. But before
he died this summer,
he managed to become
the worst affliction
suffered by Nigeria
since it became an
independent nation
in 1960.
I fell into the
group of those
whom he could
not corrupt and
who would not
make a deal with
him. He knew
this from my
criticism of
Babangida for
holding on to
power through
error and
intimidation. He
decided to take
preemptive
action, and
manufactured
claims that I
was plotting an
impending coup.
He used this
fiction as a
pretext for
jailing, in
addition to
myself, some
forty of his
potential
opponents
including my
former deputy,
Major General
Shehu Yar'Adua;
Dr. Beko
Ransome-Kuti,
head of the
Campaign for
Democracy;
prominent
journalists; and
some of the most
capable
middle-level
officers of the
army.
At my secret
military trial, Colonel Bello Fadile falsely accused me of connivance in
planning a coup, although I could prove during the trial that I had been in the
US on the days of the alleged meetings. Later, after I was imprisoned, Colonel
Fadile sent me a handwritten letter of apology, passed from prison cell to
prison cell. He said that he had been tortured almost to death to bear false
witness against me (and he was the only witness). In his somewhat incoherent
letter he wrote:
"I was put
under unbearable threats to my life and by torture and other dehumanising
treatments during the investigation. Noting that I have a first degree heart
blockade that has put me on daily medication for the past 10 years; and
realising that a heart attack could be induced under the situation and of course
put an end to my life at that stage. Thus as a human being I had no option but
to succumb to the whims of the interrogators and made the statements they wanted
about you and General Shehu Yar'Adua. I had hoped for a fair trial under the law
which would have cleared all of us arrested as I was not planning a coup d'etat.
Sir, the rest of the stories you know and it is better left for posterity.
Therefore Sir, it is my wish and personal desire (to borrow your words spoken
some 20 years ago when I was a second lieutenant) that you accept your current
situation as your further contribution to democracy on a strong footing in the
country where our children can live in peace and freedom without fear".
The trial was a
mockery. I was not allowed to have my own lawyer whether military or civilian.
The military lawyer assigned to me had only seven minutes' discussion with me
before he commenced his defense. I was jailed.
Instructions were
given to the prison authorities to treat me as a common criminal. I was
handcuffed on being transferred from one prison to the other. I was made to
sleep on a bare floor. Until I protested vehemently, I was not allowed to see or
be seen by any member of my family. It was only after I protested that I was
allowed to use my own funds to buy medicine for my diabetes and hypertension.
Attempts were made
to inject me with a deadly virus. I managed to refuse to have my blood taken
when I was told the authorities wanted to give me a physical examination and
take blood for tests. My doctor, who had connections with the local hospital,
was able to make his own arrangements for the tests. Later, I came to realise
that such tests were probably used to poison General Shehu Yar'Adua. Christine
Anyanwu, the editor of The Sunday Magazine who was one of those jailed at the
same time I was, lost an eye in Abacha's prison.
There is no way
that Abacha's government can be absolved from responsibility for Abiola's death.
If Abiola had not been unjustly detained for over four years, he could have had
good medical attention and he would not have died. I received from other
political prisoners many accounts of torture by interrogators and prison
officials. Although I was not beaten or physically tortured, I was mentally
tortured by isolation and strict instruction to prisoners and wardens never to
have anything to do with me, even talk to me. They were threatened with death if
they did so. I had no access to news or information. I was only allowed to read
the Bible, the Koran, and religious books.
How does one
maintain sanity and balance in such a situation? I realised very early that the
people in charge of my treatment meant to break my spirit and kill me slowly if
quick and direct killing by poison was not possible. I decided that three types
of exercise were essential. Each day I took physical exercise for at least an
hour - running or jogging indoors or outdoors. Spiritual exercise took the form
of Bible study, prayers, and regular fasting in solitude; the closest companion
one has is God, through faith and trust in him. The third type of exercise was
mental. With no intellectual companion, hardly anyone to talk to, I wrote on
whatever pieces of paper I could get my hands on. I had a small garden, and
occupied myself watering, weeding, planting, or harvesting vegetables.
As we came to
realise later, those of us who were imprisoned could count ourselves lucky.
Abacha himself said this to a well-known foreign visitor: "They are lucky to be
alive". He meant that. He soon found ways to assassinate other enemies,
including Mrs. Kudirat Abiola and Chief Alfred Rewane, to mention only two. In
my case it was obvious to me that God saved me; but the outcry of my
international friends gave Abacha no peace, and being in prison actually
provided some limited security from hired assassins when he started to use that
method.
Abacha did not
restrain his mad pursuit of power. Seeking popularity in Africa in order to
compensate for his rejection by the West and to divert attention from his
ruthless oppression at home, he embarked on murderous ventures in Cameroon to
claim the Bakasi peninsula - whose status was more controversial than he
claimed. Last year he launched a military adventure into Sierra Leone, eight
days after a coup in that country, on the pretext that he was fighting to
install democracy. What a ridiculous irony for the most oppressive military
dictator who had ever emerged in Nigeria to claim to be fighting for democracy
in a sister West African country. A man who can creditably fight for democracy
elsewhere must be able to provide an example of democracy in his own country.
Abacha also
promised Mobutu his full support when Kabila had taken over more than 75 per
cent of Zaire. He boasted that he would cause trouble for Kabila if ever Mobutu
was removed. It took all the political and diplomatic experience and ingenuity
of President Mandela to get Abacha to desist from his intended murderous
adventure in Zaire. If not for the timely intervention of God, Abacha would have
succeeded in continuing to rule by terror in his own country while exporting
murderous oppression and conflict and confrontation to other African countries.
With the death of
Abacha, where is Nigeria today? We have to hope that the administration of
General Abubakar, the new head of state, knows that Nigerians cannot be taken
down the path leading to nowhere again. Nigerians have been twice subjected to
vicious military rule. They want democracy, true and genuine democracy, and most
of them will tell you that they cannot count on the military to be an honest
midwife for democracy in Nigeria. That is the reason why some people are
clamouring for a transitional government of national unity excluding military
leaders. They want such a government to be charged with responsibility for
conducting free and fair elections that are not manipulated by the armed forces.
They also hope it would supervise a national conference to consider the
relationship between the peoples who make up Nigeria and the central government.
Many believe that
the central government is too powerful and appropriates to itself too many
resources. This makes it attractive for constant military intervention -
intervention not for altruistic reasons but for selfish motives and
self-aggrandizement. Whatever method is adopted for arriving at a democratic
process, the military has not much time. The longer the military leaders linger
on in power the more unstable the situation will become in our country. Whatever
the precise democratic method adopted, an absolutely independent national
election commission is a sine qua non. The military in Nigeria must know that.
They have lost reputation and prestige and they must devote their time and
ability to re-learning their profession, and to becoming efficient as soldiers,
and to eliminating corruption within their ranks. People will always outlast any
government no matter how oppressive and wicked it is.
I have had two
discussions with General Abubakar. I have told him that in spite of all that has
happened in Nigeria during the last 12 years or so I believe that most of our
people are committed to genuine democracy and that this commitment will steadily
grow in strength. Nigerians have endured much in the quest for democracy and I
believe that it will come sooner rather than later. After my prison experience,
I am committed more than ever to the ideals for which I have lived and suffered
- democracy, peace, human rights, alleviation of poverty, transparent
government, and popular participation.
The reality of
Nigeria is that we need a stable base for our development; and the only kind of
government that can give us stability and involve all citizens is one that is
based not only on formal elections but on a continuous democratic process in
which all can participate and upon which all can continue to build.
-Abeokuta, Ogun
State, Nigeria- August 25, 1998.
General Olusegun
Obasanjo (as he then was) wrote this piece originally for The New York Review of
Books, Sept, 24, 1998, pp.55-57.
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