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#EndSARS: Picking up the pieces

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 -By Simon Kolawole

How can a peaceful protest end up with killing and maiming, burning and looting in a matter of days? For those of us who have seen plenty “peaceful” protests in our lives, it is not too hard to explain. The moment you hit the streets and fail to read the road signs — so that you will know where and when to turn, reverse or park — you are at the risk of losing control of the steering wheel. You will end up carrying all kinds of passengers — thugs, hoodlums, gangsters, cultists, politicians and all manner of opportunists. In fact, you may unwittingly provide cover for state agents to target the assets and possibly the lives of perceived opponents and rivals. So it goes.

In the best of times, peaceful protests can go awry — much less in these hard times, with oil prices down, government revenue falling, the currency losing value, prices of goods and services rising, and, to add fuel to the fire, COVID-19 taking our breath away. A majority of the people are already bleeding and groaning with the removal of subsidies on petrol and electricity. And with the huge population of unemployed, underemployed and unemployable youth, we knew all along that an uprising was a strong possibility at some point. That a peaceful protest against police brutality, tagged #EndSARS, would spark off this massive carnage was what we probably did not budget for.

With the protests infiltrated by rogues, the anarchy was inevitable. My biggest fear was military involvement. Those who witnessed the massacres by soldiers during the pro-June 12 protests in 1993 and other riots under military regimes would agree with me that it was not a pretty sight. I was praying that troops would not be called in to quell the #EndSARS protests. But I was wrong. On Tuesday evening, soldiers invaded the Lekki ground and started shooting. Initial reports said there was a massacre, although there is yet no identified victim: no names, no addresses, no relatives; just grainy videos with tailored commentaries. Hopefully, we will have a much clearer picture soon.

This is my “executive summary” of the #EndSARS campaign. It started as a genuine protest on social media. It went to the streets. Government saw the danger and accepted the five demands of the protesters. Police disbanded SARS. States set up judicial panels to probe police brutality. Despite getting these concessions, protesters remained adamant. Then came the partisan and sectional dimensions — with #BuhariMustGo and #EndNigeria added to the hashtags. Mayhem started. Looting. Shooting. Lynching. Curfew. Then Lekki happened. And President Muhammadu Buhari, silent for so long, finally addressed the nation, basically declaring: “The fire next time!”

After Buhari’s broadcast, I could see defeat on the faces of the youth. Many started tweeting about relocating to Canada, declaring a total loss of faith in Nigeria. #ItIsFinished began trending. This is sad but I would like to appeal to the Nigerian youth not to give in or give up. The #EndSARS protest did not fail. For one, the protesters got the government to act on their demands — which is a major victory by any definition. SARS has been disbanded. I can bet that whatever police unit replaces SARS will come under stricter scrutiny. Judicial panels have been set up. We expect to see the murderous police officers face justice. Police reform is now an imperative. These are big wins.

Moreover, the youth have shown that they have the ability to organise. These are the same youth we condemn for voting more in Big Brother Naija than in general election. We have often described them as lazy, entitled and obsessed with Instagram, fast cars and bling. By starting a campaign against SARS and taking to the streets to protest police brutality, they brought the country to a halt and attracted international interest. Everybody started paying attention to them. We started celebrating the coming of age of our youth. Older people started scrambling to associate with the cause. Ladies and gentlemen, this is surely a positive development. Let’s not discard it.

What next? According to data from the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) released before the 2019 general election, the youth — described as those between ages 18 and 35 — made up about 51 percent of the 84 million registered voters. If you expand the age bracket to 50 years (to accommodate other young Nigerians like me), the figure jumps up to 81 percent. That is mind-boggling. What the youth should be thinking now is how to use these humongous figures to bring about new things in Nigeria in 2023 — rather than flee to Canada. They should realise Canada was not built in a day. Its people fought hard to build the country with their sweat and blood.

Just a brief journey into Canada’s history: there were two rebellions against “bad governance” between 1837 and 1838. The rebels were arrested after the uprisings and put on trial. Samuel Lount, one of the organisers of the Upper Canada Rebellion, was publicly hanged. He is regarded as a martyr till today. Over 100 rebels were sentenced to life imprisonment. What the rebel leaders wanted was political reform. They had a common agenda for Canada. Even though they paid the ultimate price, Canada was never the same again. Reform came. Today, Canada is one of the most developed countries in the world. But Canada was not always like this. People paid the price.

What’s my point? The youth must begin to conceive a new political order and the role they can play in birthing it. The #OccupyOjota protests of 2012 helped in building the momentum that uprooted the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) from power in 2015 and installed the All Progressives Congress (APC). In 2023, the #EndSARS momentum can become a movement that will help uproot both APC and PDP from power and birth a new political culture where government officials will begin to pay less attention to the perks of office and more to their responsibilities to Nigerians. And I mean at all levels — local, state and federal. That would be the best legacy of #EndSARS.

Behold, how good and how pleasant it would be for Nigerian youth to unite in the quest for good governance!  They can be more politically active. They can be more involved in choosing councillors, council chairpersons, state lawmakers, governors, federal lawmakers and the president. It does not mean only the youth will occupy these positions. In addition to contesting, the youth can engage with the aspirants and candidates, scrutinise them, advance the agenda of good governance, monitor the performances of those elected or appointed, and mobilise for recall or removal if they fail to deliver. Canada was not built in a day. Nation-building is not a sprint. It is a marathon.

I hope the youth have also learnt their lessons from the #EndSARS fiasco. One, you don’t go to war without visible leadership. You will end up creating anarchy and mob action. We can now see the consequences. Things completely went out of control and there was nobody to call the mobsters to order. Leadership is key in every life endeavour. Two, you don’t go to war without a plan. There should be Plan A, Plan B and even Plan C. I did not see any plan apart from “we no go gree o”. Three, because of lack of leadership and strategy, the protests continued when they should have been called off. Now over 70 people are dead. This is extremely disturbing and disheartening.

Four, you must take your wins and know when to retreat without surrendering. When SARS was disbanded and judicial panels set up, that was the time to retreat. That was the time to say: “We are suspending the protests. If nothing changes, we will return to the streets.” Some people were even demanding that Buhari should sign an “executive order” to show that SARS had been disbanded. It got that ridiculous. Some rejected the panels because there was no “youth” and declared a boycott. I have come to learn that boycott is not an effective strategy. Campaign for youth inclusion in the panels but mobilise to engage with the process and follow through to get justice.

Five, you must stay the message. Nigerians were united in the call to stop police brutality. It was nationwide. Contrary to the propaganda, there were #EndSARS protests in Kaduna, Kano, Kwara, Nasarawa, Adamawa and some other northern states. It was not a purely southern thing. Unfortunately, some people sneaked in their #BuhariMustGo and #EndNigeria agenda and things began to fall apart. More so, protesters started losing focus when they moved from the unifying agenda against police brutality and expanded it to an omnibus campaign for restructuring and ending corruption and bad governance. It is impossible to achieve everything at a go.

Finally, the youth must learn from their elders. As the Yoruba would say, no matter how many Gucci shirts a child has, he can never have as many rags as an elder. Some youth actually think the story of Nigeria started in 1999 or 2015. Actually, people have been fighting for a better Nigeria for 100 years. Our forefathers played their roles and left. We are still fighting for a better Nigeria. We cannot all adopt the same style and strategy. Ultimately, we need to engage constructively to change the rigged and warped system. From my little experience, starting a mass action without a strategy, without a fall-back plan, and without giving an inch can only lead to anarchy. Lessons learnt?

Simon Kolawole is chief executive officer of The Cable, an online news platform.

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War against Nigeria’s academic title fraud, By Farooq Kperogi

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Kperogi is a renowned columnist and United States-based Professor of Journalism 
Farooq Kperogi

War against Nigeria’s academic title fraud, By Farooq Kperogi

The federal government’s decision to prohibit recipients of honorary doctorates from prefixing “Dr.” to their names is one of the most unexpectedly sensible things to come from officialdom in a long while. It is a small decision with large symbolic consequences, which strikes at the heart of one of Nigeria’s most ridiculous epidemics: the vulgar worship of titles by vain, title-crazy, empty-headed “big men” and “big women” who use purchased honorary academic garlands to conceal the poverty of their intellect.

For years, I have called attention to this national embarrassment. In my October 13, 2012, column titled “Finally, Some Good News from Our Universities,” I praised the Association of Vice Chancellors of Nigerian Universities for its Keffi Declaration on honorary doctorates.

The declaration had four main resolutions: serving government officials should no longer be awarded honorary doctoral degrees, universities without PhD programs should not award honorary doctorates, honorary degrees should be limited to three a year, and recipients of honorary doctorates should not prefix “Dr.” to their names.

I wrote then that this gladdened my heart because honorary doctoral degrees had become cheap candies tossed at anybody with access to stolen public funds, political influence or obscene wealth. I also wrote that the hardest part to enforce would be the directive forbidding recipients of honorary doctorates from styling themselves “Dr.”

I ended the column by wishing the vice chancellors and the NUC good luck in enforcing the “don’t-call-yourself-a-doctor” declaration because, even then, I knew that the vanity economy in Nigeria was too entrenched to be defeated by a gentleman’s agreement.

I returned to the subject on June 7, 2025, in a column titled “Fight Against Vanity Academic Titles in Africa” and again in a September 27, 2025, column titled: “Rarara: There is No Such Thing as ‘Honorary PhD.’” In the June 7, 2025 column, I commended Ghana and Malawi for confronting this same disease.

Ghana’s Tertiary Education Commission had issued what it called a “final caution” to politicians, businessmen and businesswomen, men and women of God and other public figures to desist from publicly using honorary doctoral and professorial titles. It described the practice as deceitful and unethical, said it dilutes the integrity of higher education and warned that it would name and shame violators and take legal action against them.

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That was the right tone. Nigeria now needs the same hard-tackle approach.

The new federal directive, announced by the Minister of Education, Dr. Tunji Alausa, gives legal and executive muscle to what the Keffi Declaration lacked. Alausa said the recent trend in the award of honorary degrees revealed “a growing abuse and politicisation of this academic privilege.” He said honorary awards had become instruments of political patronage and financial gain, including the conferral of degrees on serving public officials, which he said should not happen.

He was right. In Nigeria, honorary doctorates have become ceremonial laundering machines for mediocrity. A man can pillage a state treasury, donate a fraction of the loot to a financially desperate university and emerge at convocation as “Dr.”

A politician who cannot compose a sentence in English can be decorated with an honorary doctorate in letters. A businessman whose only contribution to society is predatory proximity to power can become “Dr.” before the sun sets. A pastor or an imam can weaponize congregational awe by adding a fraudulent academic halo to ecclesiastical authority.

The tragedy is that the fraud works. In a country where titles can stand in for thought, the prefix “Dr.” confers instant solemnity on vacuity. It intimidates the unlettered, flatters the insecure and deceives the undiscerning. It allows intellectual lightweights to parade themselves as sages. It turns empty suits into “thought leaders.” It enables barely literate political hustlers to sit in front of television cameras and be introduced with the academic reverence they never earned.

Alausa’s directive, which he says has the backing of the Federal Executive Council, is emphatic that recipients of honorary degrees should not prefix “Dr.” to their names in official, academic or professional usage. They may use the proper post-nominal form after their names, such as D.Lit. (Honoris Causa), LL.D. (Honoris Causa), D.Sc. (Honoris Causa) or D.Arts. (Honoris Causa).

That is the established convention in most serious academic cultures. An honorary doctorate is ceremonial recognition. It is not an earned research degree. It is not a medical qualification. It is not a license to impersonate scholarship.

The NUC’s February 2026 guidelines reinforce this point. The commission said honorary doctorates are non-earned degrees awarded honoris causa to acknowledge distinguished merit, outstanding public service, scholarly impact, creative achievement or significant contributions consistent with the mission of the awarding institution.

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It also said recipients may use the approved title after their names, though they may not use “Dr.,” which is reserved for holders of earned doctorates and medical professionals. The NUC also barred recipients from using honorary doctorates to practice as scholars, supervise research or oversee academic units.

That is an important clarification because Nigeria’s title maniacs do not stop at social vanity. They convert symbolic recognition into institutional fraud. Some use honorary doctorates to join university governing councils as if they were scholars. Some supervise intellectual work they cannot understand. Some convert fraudulent professorships and honorary doctorates into political capital. The distinction between honor and qualification disappears.

Minister of State for Education, Professor Suwaiba Ahmad, supplied the missing link between 2012 and 2026. The Keffi Declaration, she explained, was originally a guide developed by vice chancellors, but it had no legal backing. The new federal approval gives it authoritative backing and makes implementation possible. That is the difference between wish and policy.

Still, policy without enforcement is mere decorative “grammar,” as we like to say in moments of joviality in Nigeria. But we do know that our country is a graveyard of beautifully phrased directives. If the government is serious, enforcement must begin immediately and publicly.

First, the Federal Ministry of Education and the NUC should issue a gazetted directive to all universities, polytechnics, colleges of education, ministries, departments, agencies, state governments, professional bodies, media houses and corporate institutions. The directive should make clear that honorary doctorate recipients cannot be addressed as “Dr.” in official correspondence, convocation brochures, government documents, event programs, university publications or institutional websites.

Second, the NUC should create a searchable national registry of honorary doctorate recipients. Each entry should include the recipient’s name, awarding institution, year of award, approved post-nominal title and a prominent warning that the award does not entitle the recipient to use “Dr.” This registry should be updated annually, as Alausa has proposed. It should also identify universities that violate the rules.

Third, every university should be required to send the names of proposed honorary degree recipients to the NUC before convocation. No pre-clearance, no award. A university that awards an honorary doctorate to a serving public official, exceeds the permitted number or fails to orient recipients on proper title usage should lose the right to award honorary degrees for a fixed period.

Fourth, the NUC should adopt Ghana’s name-and-shame method. There should be a public list of offenders: “Mr. X, recipient of an honorary LL.D. from Y University, continues to fraudulently use Dr. in official communication.”

Nigerians fear public disgrace more than they fear rules. Ghana understands this cultural psychology. Its Tertiary Education Commission did not merely whisper disapproval. It threatened legal action and public exposure. That is how to deal with vanity addicts. Soft persuasion will not cure people who have converted self-inflation into an identity.

Fifth, the media must be recruited as an enforcement partner. Alausa already hinted at this. Newspapers, television stations and online platforms should adopt a style rule that forbids the use of “Dr.” for honorary degree holders. When a politician sends a press statement as “Dr. So-and-So,” editors should strip the title. Television anchors should refuse to introduce honorary degree holders as doctors. News reports should use their earned titles or plain names.

Sixth, government institutions should reject documents that misrepresent honorary degrees as earned credentials. Nomination forms, procurement documents, board appointments, conference programs and official biographies should require credential accuracy. Anyone who lists an honorary doctorate as an earned doctorate should be treated as having made a false claim.

Seventh, the Corporate Affairs Commission, INEC and professional licensing bodies should update their templates to distinguish earned degrees from honorary awards. If a candidate’s public profile says “Dr.,” the source of the doctorate should be declared. If it is honorary, the prefix should be removed.

This might seem like pettifoggery. It is not. It is intellectual hygiene. Academic titles exist because they signify arduous training, disciplined research and certified expertise. When politicians with more money than mind rent those titles from compromised institutions, they degrade the labor of people who spent years earning them.

Nigeria has tolerated too many counterfeit majesties. We have fake prophets, fake patriots, fake democrats, fake philanthropists and now fake doctors. The federal government has made the right move. The harder task is to make the move bite.

Without Ghana-style public humiliation, legal consequences and institutional refusal to dignify fraudulent prefixes, Nigeria’s vanity doctors will continue to swagger through public life with borrowed feathers. The country should strip them of the feathers. Let them answer their fathers’ names.

 

 

War against Nigeria’s academic title fraud, By Farooq Kperogi

Kperogi is a renowned columnist and United States-based Professor of Journalism.

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Atiku, Obi, Kwankwaso are Tinubu’s most reliable campaigners, By Farooq Kperogi

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Kperogi is a renowned columnist and United States-based Professor of Journalism 
Farooq Kperogi

Atiku, Obi, Kwankwaso are Tinubu’s most reliable campaigners, By Farooq Kperogi

There is really no opposition in Nigeria in the true sense of the word. There are only politicians who have been temporarily kicked out of the inner sanctum of power and influence but who share no fundamental difference with the current temporary occupants of the power structure. Nonetheless, if all the people vegetating on the margins of the power structure came together, they could easily displace those within it in 2027.

Although the coalition of so-called opposition politicians angling to get back to power in 2027 has not articulated a coherent blueprint to show that it will be different from President Bola Tinubu (I strongly believe they are indistinguishable from him), it can effectively instrumentalize the crying incompetence, in-your-face corruption, ethnic bigotry, insufferable arrogance, unabating misery and insouciance that have become the hallmarks of Tinubu’s administration to convince a traumatized nation that it can offer an alternative.

It doesn’t matter if they will replicate or even exacerbate Tinubu’s unrelieved disaster when they get to power. Even the prospect of temporary relief from Tinubu’s unending torment is enough to get most people to give them a chance. But they have shown that they lack the discipline, cohesion and foresight required to wrest power from Tinubu.

Even before they have had a chance to come together, they are splintered. This became clear in the aftermath of the Supreme Court ruling that restored David Mark’s leadership of the ADC. Neither Peter Obi nor Rabiu Kwankwaso said a word about it.

There are credible rumors that Obi and Kwankwaso didn’t react to the Supreme Court judgment because they had already moved on. They are said to be heading to the NDC and no longer care about what happens to the ADC.

In other words, we are back to the 2023 factionalization of the “opposition.” Both Obi and Kwankwaso appear to be allergic to the internal democratic processes of political parties. They want to be canonized as candidates without contest. Since they can’t find that, they are moving away.

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Atiku Abubakar may emerge as the candidate of the ADC, if the ADC survives, that is. He might choose Rotimi Amaechi as his running mate. Should this happen, the opposition will be fatally fractured, as it was in 2023.

Even now, the verbal darts between Atiku’s supporters and Obi’s and Kwankwaso’s supporters are more caustic and more venomous than the exchanges between either camp and Tinubu’s supporters.

In fact, Tinubu is the net beneficiary of their maximalist posturing and internal warfare. Obi and Kwankwaso supporters say they would rather let Tinubu continue for another four years than support Atiku’s aspiration to replace him. Atiku’s supporters, for their part, say they would rather put up with another Tinubu term than support an Obi/Kwankwaso presidency.

Beyond their crude, petulant name-calling, Obi and Atiku supporters advance arguments in support of their positions, both of which benefit Tinubu. Obi’s supporters say since it isn’t the turn of the North to produce a president, Buhari having ruled for eight continuous years before Tinubu took over, if another southerner can’t be presented as the opposition’s candidate, they would rather support Tinubu to complete the South’s turn.

Atiku’s supporters, on the other hand, turn that logic around and say that if Obi is supported to displace Tinubu in 2027, he would “eat into” the North’s turn, which they believe should start in 2031. They don’t believe Obi’s promise to rule for only one term since there is no legally binding or constitutional constraint that would forbid him from reneging on his promise.

There is a precedent for this in Goodluck Jonathan, who was “allowed” to complete Umaru Musa Yar’adua’s term on the understanding that he wouldn’t seek another term in 2011. He not only ran and won in 2011, he ran again in 2015 and almost won.

So, the argument of Atiku’s supporters is that supporting Tinubu to complete his term benefits the North more than supporting Obi because there is certainty, in their reckoning, that power will move to the region without contest after Tinubu’s term. It’s irrelevant if Tinubu’s policies incinerate them before power rotates back to the North.

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It isn’t the logic or admissibility of the arguments of both camps that is the issue here. The point at issue is that in fighting each other, the opposition is fighting for Tinubu. His economic strangulation of the masses of our people takes the back seat. The insecurity that is ravaging the country, which he seems either unable or unwilling to confront and stamp out, is rendered irrelevant.

In other words, Tinubu’s most potent weapon isn’t INEC with its partisan chairman or a compromised judiciary. It is the opposition. Interestingly, the two main groups in the opposition like to accuse each other of “working for Tinubu” to ensure that their candidate doesn’t win. The truth is that they are both assets to Tinubu and are working for him for free. They are both weapons fashioned against each other for the benefit of Tinubu.

And that’s why I consider Tinubu’s excessive, underhanded zealousness in suffocating the ADC and other opposition parties from becoming viable platforms to challenge him a self-sabotaging strategic blunder. He could have a clear win, because of the selfishness and disunity of the opposition, and still be dogged by a crisis of legitimacy because he didn’t allow a fair contest.

On April 23, I wrote a Facebook post about two contradictory impulses of Nigerian politicians. I said Nigerian politicians are some of the most incurably optimistic specimens of humans you can find on earth. That’s why you have opposition politicians who can’t even agree on who their candidate will be in 2027 say with cocksure certitude that they can wrest power from a man who defied all odds to get to power while out of it and has since consolidated power by ensuring that INEC and the judiciary are in his pocket.

But I also pointed out that Nigerian politicians can be some of the most cowardly people while outwardly projecting faux bravery. That is why a politician who has 32 governors, INEC, the judiciary, an unrivalled war chest and a gravely divided opposition is still so fearful of his chances of winning that he doesn’t want the opposition to even have a platform to challenge him.

Tinubu joked on April 14, 2026, that he could send Godswill Akpabio to the opposition to “scatter them.” Days later, on April 20, his chief of staff, Femi Gbajabiamila, publicly urged ADC lawmaker Leke Abejide to remain in the party so that he could “fight them” and “scatter them.” Abejide said yesterday that Gbajabiamila was only joking, just like his boss, Tinubu.

An English proverb says, “Many a true word is spoken in jest.” That is, people often reveal serious truths while pretending to joke.

ADC’s fate is currently hanging in the balance, and if the past is any guide, the David Mark leadership of the party might lose in the federal high court. That would be an avoidably self-inflicted political injury for Tinubu. He doesn’t need to use the instruments of the state to “scatter” the ADC, the NDC, the PRP or any other potential platform opposition politicians might need. The opposition is doing a better job “scattering” itself than he can ever do, even with the instruments of the state.

Tinubu may not need to defeat the opposition because the opposition appears determined to defeat itself. An opposition that lacks the self-denial, strategic patience and moral urgency necessary to galvanize popular resentment and win power doesn’t deserve power.

Until Atiku Abubakar, Peter Obi, Rabiu Kwankwaso and others understand that power is rarely handed to the disunited, the vain and the impatient, they will remain Tinubu’s most reliable unpaid campaigners.

 

Kperogi is a renowned Nigerian columnist and United States-based Professor of Journalism

Atiku, Obi, Kwankwaso are Tinubu’s most reliable campaigners, By Farooq Kperogi

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A coup trial without precedent, By Farooq Kperogi

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Kperogi is a renowned columnist and United States-based Professor of Journalism 
Farooq Kperogi

A coup trial without precedent, By Farooq Kperogi

came of age in Nigeria during absolutist, totalitarian military regimes and was shaped by the anti-military rhetoric and activism that surrounded me.

Although democracy hasn’t lived up to its promises, which has fueled what I consider misguided and amnesiac nostalgia for military rule, I would rather we fix our badly deformed civilian system through trial and protest than return to the dark days of brutal military monocracy.

That is why news of an alleged abortive coup plot last year unsettled me, particularly because many of those implicated are northern Muslims. In a country riven by deep primordial fissures, I doubt we can recover from the northern-led overthrow of a civilian government headed by a southerner.

The Defence Headquarters initially denied it. It described reports of a coup attempt as not just “false and misleading,” “entirely false,” and “malicious” but as deliberately fabricated to “cause unnecessary tension and distrust among the populace.”

The Director of Defence Information, Brigadier General Tukur Gusau, said what Sahara Reporters described as a coup was merely “indiscipline and breach of service regulations” by 16 officers who felt stymied by “perceived career stagnation caused by repeated failure in promotion examinations, among other issues.”

But news platforms such as Sahara Reporters, Premium Times, and Daily Trust quoted unnamed sources in the upper echelons of the military and the Tinubu administration who insisted the Defence Headquarters was being economical with the truth and that there had indeed been a real attempt to overthrow the government.

The confidence with which these reports were presented, despite the anonymity of the sources, led me to write my November 1, 2025, column titled “The Coup That Dare Not Speak Its Name,” in which I argued that the government owed the public transparency about what had happened.

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I wrote: “Secrecy accelerates suspicion. Nigeria’s citizens have matured politically; they can process national challenges without descending into chaos. Shielding the public from reality infantilizes the electorate and breeds cynicism.”

On January 26 this year, the Defence Headquarters, which had earlier dismissed the reports as “false and misleading,” made a dramatic reversal and acknowledged that there had indeed been a plan to violently overturn the Tinubu government. It also said the implicated officers would face military tribunals.

After multiple peaceful protests by the wives and relatives of the accused, formal charges were eventually filed. Six suspects, including a retired major general and a serving police inspector, were charged with terrorism and treason. In a 13-count charge sheet, the federal government alleged that they “conspired with one another to levy war against the state to overawe the president of the Federal Republic.”

Although respected analysts such as Chidi Odinkalu have questioned the plausibility of the evidence cited in media reports to substantiate the alleged coup, I do not have sufficient information to independently assess the credibility of the claim.

What is not in dispute, however, is that what we are witnessing is uncharted territory. Since Nigeria’s independence, there is no clear record of military officers being tried for an alleged coup attempt under a civilian administration.

The closest parallel is the 2004 episode during the Obasanjo presidency, when the government announced that it had uncovered and foiled a coup plot. The Guardian quoted presidential spokeswoman Remi Oyo as saying that Hamza al-Mustapha, then in prison in Lagos, was suspected of involvement.

From what I recall, that episode produced neither a formal court-martial proceeding nor a full civilian trial. Instead, scores of senior and mid-level officers were detained, questioned and then retired or dismissed. What is unfolding now is therefore without precedent.

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This is why the intervention of respected human rights lawyer Femi Falana deserves careful attention. In an April 23 statement, he called for the immediate suspension of the government’s secret court-martial of 36 soldiers accused of plotting a coup. He described the proceedings as unconstitutional, illegal and a violation of due process.

Falana argued that trying the soldiers behind closed doors undermines transparency and the right to a fair hearing, especially in light of the gravity of the charges against them. His central legal contention is that offences such as treason and terrorism fall within the jurisdiction of civilian courts, not military tribunals, even when the accused are soldiers.

He warned that subjecting some suspects to court martial while others implicated in the same alleged plot face civilian prosecution creates a two-track system of justice that affronts the principle of equality before the law.

He urged the Attorney-General to halt the military proceedings, transfer the case to the Federal High Court, and ensure that all suspects are tried openly and uniformly under civilian law.

Falana’s argument raises a deeper question that goes beyond this case. What does it mean to be governed by law in a democracy that still carries the institutional reflexes of military rule? A state that derives its legitimacy from and is bound by the constitution cannot choose opacity when transparency is inconvenient, nor can it apply different standards of justice to people accused of the same crime.

If the government is confident in the strength of its case, in the unimpeachability of its evidence against the accused, it should have no fear of public scrutiny. I know there is legitimate argument to be made about the risk of inspiring copycats if the trial is open, but coups are not crimes of imitation like bank robberies. They require coordination, access to arms, insider networks, and timing. Those conditions are not created by watching a public trial. If they exist, secrecy will not eliminate them.

Second, secrecy is more likely to breed suspicion than prevent instability. When the state hides proceedings, it invites rumors, conspiracy theories, and loss of trust, which can be more destabilizing than any supposed copycat risk.

Third, transparency is a deterrent. A public, evidence-based trial exposes the consequences of plotting against the state and demonstrates that institutions can respond lawfully. That is more likely to discourage would-be conspirators than embolden them.

Fourth, courts already have tools to protect genuinely sensitive information. Specific details can be redacted or heard in camera without turning the entire process into a secret proceeding.

But there is also a broader political risk. In a country with a long and traumatic history of coups, secrecy around allegations of military insurrection heightens suspicion. When the government first denied the existence of a coup and later admitted it, it created a credibility gap that only openness can close. Conducting trials behind closed doors only deepens that gap and invites speculation about what is being concealed.

If the accused are guilty, a transparent trial will expose their culpability and reinforce the legitimacy of the state. If they are not, secrecy will have compounded injustice. Either way, opacity serves no one except those who benefit from weakening public trust in institutions.

If the suspects are found guilty through a fair, transparent and evidence-based process, they should face the full consequences of their actions. I would never defend any attempt to seize power through violence. But guilt must be established beyond all shadows of doubt. It is not enough to allege; the government must prove its case in the open.

 

 

Kperogi is a renowned columnist and United States-based Professor of Journalism.

A coup trial without precedent, By Farooq Kperogi

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