The Route to Power in Nigeria: A Dynamic Engagement Option for Current and Aspiring Leaders

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Th e Rou t e to Pow e r i n Nig e r i a

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Th e Rou t e t o Pow e r i n Nig e r i a A D y na m ic Eng ag e m e n t O p t ion for Cu r r e n t a n d Aspi r i ng Le ade r s

M.J. Ba l o g u n

THE ROUTE TO POWER IN NIGERIA

Copyright © M.J. Balogun, 2009. All rights reserved. First published in 2009 by PALGRAVE MACMILLAN® in the United States—a division of St. Martin’s Press LLC, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010. Where this book is distributed in the UK, Europe and the rest of the world, this is by Palgrave Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited, registered in England, company number 785998, of Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS. Palgrave Macmillan is the global academic imprint of the above companies and has companies and representatives throughout the world. Palgrave® and Macmillan® are registered trademarks in the United States, the United Kingdom, Europe and other countries. ISBN: 978–0–230–61934–0 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Balogun, M.J. The route to power in Nigeria : a dynamic engagement option for current and aspiring leaders / M.J. Balogun. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978–0–230–61934–0 1. Political leadership—Nigeria. 2. Nigeria—Politics and government—1960– I. Title. JQ3090.B354 2009 303.3⬘409669—dc22

2009003154

A catalogue record of the book is available from the British Library. Design by Newgen Imaging Systems (P) Ltd., Chennai, India. First edition: October 2009 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Printed in the United States of America.

Con t e n t s

List of Figures, Tables, and Boxes

vii

Foreword

ix

Preface

xi

Acknowledgments

xiii

Part I One

The Leadership-Governance-Development Nexus: Separating Coincidences from Correlations

Part II Two

Conceptual Framework

The Nigerian Environment

Values, Vision, and Leadership in a Diverse Society: A Review of Nigeria’s Environmental Engagement Challenges

Three Leadership Selection, Governorship, and Development: The Institutional Dimension Four Five Six

3

19 39

Role of Civil Society in Leadership Recruitment and Renewal

63

Soft Choices in a Hard Environment: Meeting Post-independence Governorship Challenges

85

Engaging the Environment from the Macro-economic Angle: Economic Management after Independence

99

Seven Balancing Domestic Welfare Needs with External “Conditionalities”: Leadership Engagement with the People and the International Environment

125

vi / contents

Part III Eight Nine Ten

Civility in the Lion’s Den: Leadership Selection and Retrenchment in the First Republic

147

Leadership as an Imposition: The Military Shortcut to Power

163

Enter the Fourth Republic: Another Shot at Dynamic Engagement or a Return to Neo-military Governorship?

195

Part IV Eleven

Factors in the Rise and Fall of Leaders

Lessons for Current and Aspiring Leaders

Visionary Leadership and Management of Uncertainty: A Summation

221

Notes

241

References

249

Index

257

Fig u r e s, Ta bl e s, a n d Box e s

Figures 4.1

Respondents’ View on the Need for Civil Society’s Role in Verifying the Purposes of Budget Allocations at the Local Level 4.2 Respondents’ Assessment of the Effectiveness of Civil Society in Verifying Purposes of Local-Level Budget Allocations

75

75

Tables 2.1 4.1 6.1 6.2 6.3 7.1 7.2 7.3 9.1

Year, Location, and Apparent Causes of Religious Disturbances in Nigeria, 1980–1993 Respondents’ Opinions on Whom Public Officials Should Be Directly Accountable To Sample of Economic Management Institutions Operating in Nigeria between 1959 and 2007 Nigeria at a Glance Ratio of Insider Credit in Selected Banks-in-Liquidation, 1994–2002 (at Time of Closure) Percentage Distribution of Households by Major Source of Water in 2005 (for Drinking and Cooking) Installed Generation Capacity and Electricity Production, 2002–2007 Unemployment Rates (as on December) 2001–2005 Breakdown of State Governors, by Branch of Service from Which They Came, 1966–1999

35 76 100 104 118 132 134 138 189

viii / figures, tables, and boxes

Boxes 3.1 The Evolution of Nigeria’s National Police Organization 9.1 Regime Entry and Exit Routes: 1960–2007 9.2 Military High Command a Day before and Immediately after the January 1966 Coup 10.1 Atiku Abubakar: The Presidential Candidate Who Refused to Go Away

54 165 171 206

For e wor d

I took my time reading The Route to Power in Nigeria: A Dynamic Engagement Option for Current and Aspiring Leaders. I am delighted to note that every second I spent reflecting on its vital but often ignored lessons was well worth it. As the author rightly observes, vilifying their leaders is Nigerians’ favorite pastime. It is seldom acknowledged that the crimes of which we accuse them are committed in equal measure by the majority of our compatriots. Balogun identifies the villains in our midst—among them, the ordinary citizen who is swayed by ethnic separatist movements, the perpetrators of grand and petty corruption, the e-mail con artists whose antics hurt Nigeria’s image abroad, the spiritualists that market miracles to the exclusion of meaning, and the “strongmen” who hold national and local politics hostage. This book’s strength lies in its admirable combination of analytic clarity with empirical rigor, and applying both to dissect the root causes of Nigeria’s leadership crisis. From my own experience I am particularly delighted to identify a convergence between what is often termed “practical politics” and political theory. Nowhere is this affinity between practice and theory more clearly demonstrated than in the chapter on governorship institutions (chapter three). I fully endorse the book’s conclusion that we are unlikely to progress as a nation until we understand how to construct institutions that can ensure a predictable selection and replacement of leaders, offer an effective response to contemporary national challenges, and provide an objective evaluation of the leaders’ performances while in office. I have no doubt that this book will resonate with academic institutions, particularly, university departments of political science, public administration, economics, as well as faculties of social and development studies. However, current and aspiring leaders will find the book a useful companion as well. Its longitudinal analysis of Nigeria’s political development and of the socioeconomic policies implemented over the years makes the book a must-read for whoever holds or aspires to any meaningful leadership position in our country. I particularly commend the book to federal

x / foreword

and states executives and their immediate lieutenants, senior judicial appointees, members of the national and the state assemblies, chairmen and managing directors of government corporations, boards, and commissions, local chairmen and councilors, political party officials and organizers, senior civil servants, as well as aspiring politicians and leaders of nongovernmental organizations. A LHAJI SHEHU USMAN A LIYU SHAGARI Nigeria’s First Executive President

P r e fac e

It is customary for Nigerians to vilify “the leaders” and to blame the latter for every ill that befalls their country. Nigeria’s literary genius and pride, Chinua Achebe, once laid Nigeria’s problems at the doorstep of the leaders. This book concludes that he could not have been more wrong. The crime of which the leaders stand accused is routinely committed by the proverbial “average Nigerian,” the author not an exception. The ordinary citizen who is swayed by ethnic sentiments rather than reason, the economically weak who “alleviates” his poverty by following money-bags and bartering his voting rights for less than three pieces of silver, the traditional ruler who is more interested in accumulating wealth than in safeguarding the moral values and security of his people, the self-appointed leader of an ethnic separatist movement that has no links with the grassroots, the 419-con-artist whose get-rich-quick antics hurt Nigeria’s image, the traditional spiritualist (or his modern-day counterpart, the “prosperity” gospel preacher) who markets miracles to the exclusion of meaning, and the “strongman” that holds national and local politics hostage—these and other members of the leadership class have contributed to making Nigeria what it is today. It is my hope that this book that I started working on more than three years ago will enable Nigerians, including myself, to see the leadership of their country in a new light. I had started out thinking, like many other Nigerians, that our problems were “caused” by our leaders. That is why I enthusiastically embraced the opportunity to participate in a cross-cultural study of leadership selection practices in Africa and, as I hoped, to correct the failings in the “recruitment” and “retrenchment”— yes, “retrenchment”—of leaders. However, the more immersed I got in the study, the clearer it became that the binary, black-and-white, approach to leadership was terribly flawed. As I compared the rise and fall of leaders, military, or civilian, I became acutely aware of the fact that meeting Nigeria’s state construction challenge was not simply a question of “hiring” good leaders, and “firing” their bad counterparts. I do not wish to be understood as declaring a truce with bad leadership. My views on that subject have not and will never change. However, I now

xii / preface

know that there is a more effective way of getting rid of bad leaders than “firing” them. That new approach consists in empowering their opponents through information and knowledge sharing, and through mobilizing support for visionary leaders. A few readers might find some of the conclusions in this book not to their liking, particularly, the conclusions that challenge old prejudices, and warrant a rethinking of long-held beliefs. I wish to state emphatically that upsetting anyone is far from my mind. At the same time, even if making people happy is part of my terms of reference, I do not think that fudging the facts is the best way to go about it. As it turns out, my aim is neither to please nor to enrage the reader. My aim in writing this book is simply to assemble the evidence and follow it wherever it leads. The reader is at liberty to join me in the search for Nigeria’s leadership holy grail, or to marshal contrary evidence which points in another direction. It is possible that in interpreting available data, I have overdramatized or underplayed the significance of events in Nigeria’s history. I am nonetheless convinced that when the reader reflects on this book’s account of what became of Nigeria within various historical epochs—at critical times when the country’s sovereignty fell into the hands of different generations of leaders—s/he will be able to determine what role, tacit or explicit, that s/he as a citizen might have played to create an environment favoring the emergence of each group. The book is divided broadly into four parts. Part I contains only one chapter in which the conceptual framework is sketched out. Grouped under part II are chapters two to seven, each of which examines the Nigerian environment from different angles. The factors accounting for the rise and fall of succeeding generations of leaders are examined in chapters eight, nine, and ten, all of which constitute part III. Part IV comprises only one chapter, chapter eleven, which attempts to draw from the preceding chapters, lessons that current and aspiring leaders might find useful.

Ac k now l ed gm e n t s

I am highly indebted to a number of organizations and individuals that facilitated my data-gathering efforts. They are too numerous to mention, and I would be forgiven if, due to space constraints, I am able to mention only a few. I am particularly grateful to H.E., Dr. Yakubu Gowon, Nigeria’s former head of state and commander in chief. Despite his hectic schedule, the former Head of State provided valuable information on the antecedents to the Nigerian Civil War. My gratitude also goes to QuestionPro, a survey research firm that placed its online research facility and software at my disposal. For this, I must thank Deniz Susar, my former colleague at the United Nations Department of Economic and Social Affairs, New York. He not only linked me up with QuestionPro but also provided urgent helpdesk services as and when required. I must place on record my gratitude to those who completed the questionnaire, as well as several other Nigerians who by granting my request for personal interview, wittingly or unwittingly enriched my knowledge of Nigeria’s leadership. In addition I am grateful to the following for acceding to my unending request for assistance: H.E., Dr. Muhammad Wali, Nigeria’s former ambassador to Argentina; Professor A.D. Yahaya, my successor as directorgeneral of the Administrative Staff College of Nigeria, and former political adviser to vice president Atiku Abubakar; and his son Adnan Yahaya. Mr. Atolagbe Gambari of the Administrative Staff College of Nigeria was in the middle of an important assignment when he received my request for some vital data. He, like many others who I approached, promptly responded to my request for assistance. Alhaji A.K. Yusuf of the Nigerian Permanent Mission in New York drew my attention to a few secondary sources that might otherwise have escaped my attention. I am eternally grateful to him. Dr. Oladejo Ajayi, former director-general, Federal Office of Statistics, was instrumental in securing the permission that I need to reproduce data from official sources. I must also express my deepest gratitude to the director-general, directors, and staff of the National Bureau of Statistics, as well

xiv / acknowledgments

as officials of other agencies that readily acceded to my request for permission to cite data originally generated by them. Finally, I would like to thank members of my family for the support they gave me while working on this book. My wife, Kunbi Balogun, is, as usual, a tower of strength and source of inspiration. I benefited immensely from the brainstorming sessions with members of my family inner circle, particularly, Dr. Jibrin Hassan, Hidayat O. Hassan, Fatai Damola Balogun, and his sister Lawunmi Balogun. I must, however, underscore the fact that none of the aforementioned organizations or individuals should be held liable for any residual errors in this book. The responsibility for the book’s contents is entirely mine.

Pa rt I Conc e p t ua l Fr a m e wor k


Ch a p t e r O n e Th e Le ade r sh i p- Gov e r na nc eD e v e l opm e n t Ne x us: Se pa r at i ng Coi nc i de nc e s f rom Cor r e l at ions

Introduction It is fair to ask what point there is to leadership. Although some observers are of the view that the term presents limitless theoretical possibilities, others argue that it is a mere chance occurrence—a concept that eludes taxonomic, analytic, and data interpretation efforts besides posing momentous deductive reasoning challenges. Thus in contrast to the theoretically inclined analysts who see a correlation between the prevailing leadership regime and social change, the pragmatists argue that other factors besides leadership choices determine the tempo and direction of change. In interrogating the significance of leadership, this chapter begins with concept clarification. It then proceeds to test a few hypotheses on the role of leadership in state construction and development. The third section traces the relationship between leadership and the evolution of some abiding values, while the fourth examines the linkage between leadership and the operation of governorship institutions. Leaders, Strong Men, and Self-appointed Spokespersons: Who They Are, How They Emerge, with What Consequences Precise and universally acceptable definitions of leadership are rare to find. As a concept that is frequently associated with changing personalities and equally fluid environments, the term could hardly be pinned down for the purpose of ascertaining its true nature. In this chapter, leadership is viewed basically as the capacity to envision a future that a growing number of people find sufficiently worthy of their time, resources, and if it comes

4 / the route to power in nigeria

it, their very life. Although seldom realized, this capacity (to dictate other people’s choices) has to do neither with the lust for, nor the acquisition of, wealth, position, and power. In its purest form, leadership entails affirming a position, propagating a set of values, igniting emotions, commanding loyalty and admiration, and bequeathing enduring legacies. Leadership is thus essentially about power and/or influence in society. In normal day-to-day discourse, it means being in control of something, a situation, a social trend, or a group of people, including, in varying degrees, how the followers think, act, and live, as well as the template they adopt in arriving at conclusions on right and wrong. A leader has a lot in common with the Aristotelian ruler insofar as they both see beyond the present. Commenting on the relationship between the ruler and the ruled, the sage (Aristotle, 1992:57) noted: For the element that can use its intelligence to look ahead is by nature ruler and by nature master, while that which has the bodily strength to do the actual work is by nature a slave, one of those who are ruled. . . .

Leaders, particularly in hierarchically structured societies, are easily identifiable. Their high ranks and sometimes intimidating titles mark them apart from their followers. This is the case with the pope and the papal council at the Vatican; the imams and the Ulama’a among the Muslims; and the president and commander-in-chief of a sovereign state, along with his/her entourage in the executive, the legislative, and the judicial arms of government. It is not every time that a position at the top of the hierarchy defines one’s leadership status. The prophets that shaped their disciples’ minds, softened their opponents’ hearts, and stirred their troops to acts of unimaginable bravery held no formal government or political offices. Individuals that eventually rise to the positions of chief of state and the like probably started as trade unionists, civic activists, and ordinary citizens. Indeed, it is possible to argue the proposition that merely having a room at the top and occupying a seat at the decision table may be a most unreliable indicator either of a person’s leadership “worth” or of how he/she would perform when assigned this important role. To put it in a slightly different language, a natural born follower may, for reasons that have nothing to do with his/her ability, sneak, or be pushed, up to a leadership position—one in which s/he wields enormous power and is looked upon to exercise grave responsibilities. The “strong men” (and women) that have combined shrewd manipulation of government patronage with systematic application of terror fall under a unique leadership category. Nigeria has, for reasons that are yet

leadership-governance-development nexus / 5

to be ascertained, thrown up a disproportionately high number of “strong men.” A “strong man” known for brutality is the late General Sani Abacha who as military head of state routinely jailed or otherwise eliminated his opponents. Among the politicians, Alhaji Lamidi Adedibu stands out as a “strong man.” He consolidated his grip on Oyo State politics by terrorizing his opponents while ensuring that he and his supporters remained sufficiently connected with power to be immune from prosecution. Among other “strongmen” mentioned in subsequent chapters are Olusola Saraki of Kwara State, and Chris Uba of Anambra. Charisma, Aura, Vision, and Other Key Leadership Identification Marks Unlike loose associations and other informal arrangements, formal organizations have fairly well defined rules or procedures for picking those to serve in leadership positions and exfoliating those that fall short of accepted standards. However, as we shall later discover, these rules are not fool-proof, and following them does not always guarantee the best result. The military is reputed to have the most demanding method for picking members of the officer corps, but this method did not work well in places where the likes of Mobutu Sese Seko, Idi Amin, and Sani Abacha climbed to “leadership” positions—positions in which they wreaked the most unimaginable havoc on their opponents, caused their peoples great distress, and destroyed their economies. For those aspiring to purely political leadership positions, the electoral process provides, at least, in theory, a litmus test of eligibility and ultimate acceptability. It does not matter whether the position is that of chief of state, legislator, city mayor, local government chairperson, or community spokesperson: the aspiring leader has to demonstrate certain qualities that the contemporaries (party leaders and supporters, the voting public, and/or an entire community or a section of it) attest to during party congresses, at electoral colleges or primaries, on election day, and as the actual or potential leader weathers storms and handles difficult challenges. In politics, as in other spheres where leaders are being selected, no quality beats charisma to the second position. To command a following and enjoy unquestioned loyalty, the leader has to be credited with rare, nay, super-human, attributes but, at the same time, ones with which the followers could easily identify. Examples of attributes that are not randomly distributed in the population are intellectual brilliance, eloquence and oratorical skill, patience, tenacity, courage in the face of adversity, magnanimity in the hour of victory, honesty and reliability, or, at the minimum, the ability to touch hearts and sway minds.


Charisma, in its quintessential form, goes deeper than personal looks and may have little affinity with affluence. Burns (2003) puts it succinctly when he contends that charismatic leaders display convictions, take stands, and appeal to followers on an emotional level. With his slender frame, Gandhi towered above many leaders of his age, and, thanks to his seminal philosophy of non-violent resistance, remains to this day an icon in different parts of the world. Mandela’s place in history is assured, not by his commanding and impressive physical presence, or any claim to wealth, but by the values (of justice and human dignity) that he championed. Tanzania’s Mwalimu Julius Nyerere, northern Nigeria’s Ahmadu Bello, the Sardauna of Sokoto, and Leopold Sedar Senghor of Senegal are among leaders that died materially poor but who bequeathed lasting legacies. A measure of charisma is the degree to which the leader’s vision, behavior, comportment, utterances, and public persona are perceived with admiration. By admiration, we do not mean hero worship, or the worship of the leader as a person, but emotional identification with his/her past feats, current accomplishments, and above all, future aspirations. In any event, what the leader stands for is not as important as the perceptions of his/her opponents, associates, and followers. Within the context of the governorship and development challenges facing government and public administration institutions in Africa, charismatic leadership entails aligning the vision of one person with the strongly held convictions of adversaries. A leader that sets him/her self the task of changing the environment must realize that there are no-go areas. Changes that offend a group’s religious sensibilities, collide head-on with their moralities, or disparage their cultures are likely to be resisted from the beginning to the very end. Leadership Index and Score Card As noted in the preceding sections, leadership is a highly complex and elusive subject. The frequent tendency to view it in general and qualitative terms constitutes another barrier to understanding. To surmount the conceptual and empirical research hurdles, this chapter favors the adoption of a technique which would make it possible to isolate leadership’s key elements prior to assigning quantitative values to each. Failure to do this will render any conclusion on its (leadership’s) linkage with governorship and development, at best, highly speculative, at worst, erroneous and misleading. Based on the various definitions of leadership discussed in the preceding sections, the chapter identifies a cluster of indicators critical to our


understanding of the concept, notably: a. Foresight and prevision (including the prophetic thrust, originality, and clarity of vision; the belief or otherwise that the vision “speaks to” some underlying problems and/or offers credible solutions to a major crisis; and the vision’s emotional appeal to followers); b. Charisma (i.e., the image or aura portrayed by the visionaries to immediate lieutenants, the followers, and the masses, as well as the effectiveness of the communication strategies applied); c. Capacity to build and hold together widening and concentric cycles of supporters and followers (notably, teams of lieutenants, alliances of ethnic nationalities, united front of secondary associations, and coalitions of otherwise antagonistic cultures and religious sects); d. Grassroots penetration and support (otherwise known as mass appeal as different from measure of admiration by the elite or by members of the leader’s own social circle); e. Depth of understanding of the environment and foreknowledge of the consequences of policy choices. Though the relevance of any indicator would depend to a large extent on the uniqueness of each leadership situation (and would be determined by the application of a suitable weighting system) the chapter suggests the adoption of a 10-point scale to assess the suitability of candidates for leadership roles in general as well as their performance once in office. In other words, the question who qualifies to be termed “a leader” should be resolved not by the adoption of a rule of thumb method but by scores attained by different candidates when evaluated against the five general indicators. Scores of between 6 and 10 on each indicator would place a candidate within the leadership range; a score of 5 is a borderline case; while scores falling below 5 (say, 4 to 0) render the assessed person ineligible for further consideration. The same 10-point scale could also be applied to assess the performance of incumbent or disengaged leaders. Leadership and Development: The Theory and the Reality One question that is yet to be answered is whether there is any relationship between leadership, as earlier defined, and the entrenchment of sound governorship practices which would, in turn, enhance the prospects for development and structural transformation. This question assumes added significance in light of the skepticism sometimes expressed by a number of scholars on the possibility of constructing a logical framework making it


possible to track the linkage between leadership and social change (Wilson, 1989; Allen, 1995; and Adedeji, 1992). Even where attempts have been made to draw a correlation between leadership and the environment, different conclusions have emerged on the nature of the relationship. While some regard leadership as an independent variable (or the catalyst), others see it as, at best, a prime mover, at worst, a variable that is subject to, or dependent on, the vagaries of the environment. There are in fact four ways of looking at the relationship between leadership and development—the plainly skeptical, the transformational, the transactional, and the situational (Allen, 1995; Wilson, 1989; Burns, 1978; and Hersey, Blanchard, and Johnson, 2007). The first is basically a negative view of leadership and as such could not be regarded as a model. That leaves us with the remaining three (the transformational, the transactional, and the situational). While elements of the three models could help in the study of leadership in general, the circumstances prevailing in Sub-Saharan Africa dictate the adoption of a slightly different classification scheme, one that draws on the strengths of three without inheriting their limitations. Environmental or dynamic engagement is the essence of the new model. Before providing highlights of the model, the succeeding paragraphs examine the skeptical view of leadership, and then focus on leadership patterns that have been discerned in different parts of Sub Saharan Africa, that is, the charismatic and visionary type, the strong men, and self-appointed spokespersons. The Skeptics’ View of Leadership The skeptical view (typified by the contributions of Wilson, 1989; and Allen, 1995) sees no correlation between leadership and social change. Wilson’s doubts about leadership’s theoretical promises lies in the concept’s evasiveness and imprecision. In his view (Wilson, 1989), leadership hinges on personalities, and, by implication, on accidents of history. He contends that: It is not easy to build a useful social science theory out of “chance appearances” (like leadership personalities).

Allen (1995) is even more categorical in his rejection of “leadership theories” particularly, when such theories are not put within “the appropriate historical sequence.” Adedeji’s concern is not so much about the impossibility of leadership’s theoretical mission, as about how to locate the role of leadership among other roles simultaneously performed within complex and constantly changing environments. He (Adedeji, 1992) sees


the risk of leadership becoming a “captive,” rather than molder, of the environment. Charismatic, Visionary, and Transformational Leaders Yet, that leadership is a coincidental factor is not enough ground to dismiss its theoretical potential. Indeed to refuse to explore leadership’s theoretical possibilities simply because of its coincidental nature is to evade what is a truly worthy scholastic challenge. Life itself is, at the surface, a combination of coincidences, but that has neither killed the curiosity nor dampened the enthusiasm of those researching its mysteries. The same could be said about the concept of leadership. While it is premature to speculate on causality, both history and the nebulous term called “environment” suggest a correlation of sorts between the prevailing leadership regime and change. The question is whether a leader that scores high (for instance, from 6 to 10) on vision or charisma will, for that very reason, succeed in changing societies and accelerating the pace of economic growth. The most optimistic assumption projects leaders as persons capable of “transforming environments” and influencing the course of history (Rotberg, 2002 and 2004; Kauzya, 2003), or at the very least, guaranteeing political order in rapidly changing societies (Huntington, 1968). This is synonymous with what may be termed the “political-will hypothesis,” one which holds that the viability of the environment and of existing institutional arrangements depends on the protective cover provided by incumbent leaders. The elevation of leadership to the make-or-break status raises at least two fundamental questions. First, does change have to wait until persons with the “right” leadership attributes are born and raised to positions of power? Second, does it mean that change happens because the leaders want it to, or are there other factors at work? Third, is the “will” of the charismatic leader always coterminous with the commonweal? To put it in a slightly different language, by transformational leadership, are we to understand that leaders are always fired by altruistic motives rather than self-interest? Is it a general rule that leaders “will” (as in “choose”) what is not necessarily in their own best interest? We shall return to these and other questions later. In the meantime, it is essential to understand the concept of transformational leadership as introduced by James MacGregor Burns (2003). The transformational leader is the same as the charismatic and visionary one described in the first section. Such a leader is “endowed” or “born” with some rare, possibly, super-human, attributes. For instance, s/he has a long-term vision that addresses the followers’ intrinsic needs. S/he inspires


motivation, challenges existing assumptions, stimulates the intellect, applies the most effective means of communicating his/her ideas, builds consensus around noble (or reprehensible) ideals and takes measures to ensure the transmission of good (or bad) practices across generations. Above all, the transformational leader leaves behind values, institutions, or messages for which s/he would be long remembered. The assumptions underlying transformational leadership are at best questionable, at worst, plainly false. First is the assumption, though implicit, that the signs of transformational leadership are easy to read and act upon. It is true that where the signs are easily (and properly) read, the persons with the desirable (charismatic and visionary leadership) attributes would be recognized and accepted by the followers. However, in real life, and due to the prevailing set of circumstances—among them, miscellaneous information gaps, grinding poverty, widening inequality, high illiteracy rates, low rates of social mobilization, ethnic bigotry and religious prejudices—the signs are most frequently misread, thus allowing others, besides the genuinely charismatic and visionary personalities, to assume leadership roles. It is in fact possible that rather than “transform,” a leader has only managed to deepen the changes already initiated by others. The bulk of the changes that observers often confuse with “reforms” are anything but. A reform is a unique type of change—one so drastic it was never once contemplated. A reform is also different from ordinary changes in the sense that it (reform) has moral connotations, and implies taking on powerful interests while protecting the weak and the oppressed. To qualify as reform, a change must not only challenge the status quo, but must do so while substantially improving the status of a group previously excluded and disempowered. In this context, neo-liberal policy changes are simply that—changes in policy direction—rather than “reforms.” Insofar as these so-called reforms are instituted under external pressure, and to the extent that they roast the poor to feed the rich, it would take moral courage to embark on genuine reforms—changes designed to rework the existing socioeconomic arrangements. Environmental Engagement—Another View of Leadership The conclusion thus emerging is that none of the preceding models by itself stands the chance of explaining, let alone predicting, the patterns of relationship between leadership and development. The transformational model makes a promise that in reality is well nigh impossible to fulfill. The transactional (or should we say, strong-man) alternative takes too pessimistic a view of leadership to account for the impressive development


outcomes that a combination of foresight, altruism, and other leadership virtues made possible at different times and places. A leadership founded on sectional or primordial loyalties may for some time engineer change at the periphery, but will be hard put to capture the centre and to command the cross-cultural allegiance that is so essential to the success of social transformation efforts. In any case, as long as leadership is viewed exclusively as a concept built around personal attributes, rather than, as implied in our earlier definition, one that is founded on constant interactions among a complex network of personalities, institutions, and environments, it would be difficult if not impossible to construct a viable theory of leadership-driven change. “Environmental (or dynamic) engagement” is the term that approximates this view of leadership. The term projects leadership as an evolutionary process—a process under which negative and positive visions collide, leaving the conflict to be settled by the prevailing social forces. The key assumptions of the environmental engagement theory are: a. Visionary leadership is a necessary but insufficient condition for the transformation of social systems; b. Leadership resources are not the exclusive preserve of an individual or of a group of individuals, but are randomly distributed among the various social groups (e.g., the political class, the religious establishment, the legislative and judicial branches of government, the career civil service, the academia, civic and community-based organizations, trade unions and professional associations, the private sector, the class of retired leaders, and the intelligentsia, howsoever defined); c. A group’s capacity to influence the course of governance and development depends on the clarity of its vision, the vision’s anticipation and accommodation of the people’s underlying concerns, the extent to which, the group’s leaders project sufficient charisma and command enough credibility to get the group’s message across to adversaries and supporters alike, and above all, its ability to build an intergroup consensus around a few fundamental and abiding values; d. The ultimate governance and development outcome depends on the motives of the group in power as well as the end(s) to which the power is directed; e. Since the needs and concerns of the various social groups change from time to time, orderly intergenerational leadership change is critical not only to the institutionalization of good governance ethos and practices, but also to socioeconomic transformation.


Therefore, rather than regard visionary leadership as a chance or occasional appearance, the dynamic engagement model holds that individuals with the required attributes are to be found in one of the social groups existing at any point in time. Indeed, the failure to harness and integrate leadership talents from different sources accounts for the lack of progress on various fronts. Corruption is one challenge that remains impregnable due to the prevailing assumption that all it takes is “government leadership” or “political commitment.” Unless leaders from other sections of society (the clergy, trade unions, market women associations, and traditional rulers) are enlisted in the battle, corruption would continue to win. The categorization of leadership as an intergroup approach to environmental transformation is not the only attribute of the dynamic engagement model. Instead of taking the visionary leaders’ “transformational role” for granted, the model presupposes that forces within the environment would erect obstacles that would, in turn, test the leaders’ true worth. Leaders seeking to eradicate cultism on university campuses should not expect the cult leaders and their external sponsors to give up without a fight. Above all, and going against conventional wisdom, the model no longer assumes that leadership—both of the visionary and the charismatic kind—would automatically trigger good governance and development. Proceeding from this notion of leadership as a collaborative but conflictdriven process, the next two sections examines the options that might be—and have been—explored to resolve conflicts encountered at the strategic visioning and vision implementation stages. Leadership Vision and Abiding Values, Institutions, and Practices As noted earlier, the environmental engagement model recognizes conflict, rather than harmony, as the greatest challenge facing leadership. A true test of leadership therefore is the ability to acknowledge, encourage, and ultimately harmonize, diversity of views and perspectives. Even in the business world where the goals are pretty much clear, leaders do not emerge until their visions have been debated in the boardroom and tested against their rivals’ products in the market place. One ethnic group’s worldview is never the same as that of another. Political parties disagree internally, and, naturally, with their external rivals. Religious leaders compete for the soul (and sometimes, the purses) of their congregations, and with the leaders of the opposing sects. In spite or probably because of the deep-seated differences in worldview, leaders generally begin with a vision of a good life—one that is


meant to appeal to a wide cross section of society. In fact, whether a leader would be held in high esteem or loathed and despised depends largely on the clarity of his/her vision. As Adedeji once argued, a leader without a vision is a fraud on society (Adedeji, 1992). The success of a prophetic mission hinges on how far and how strongly the target groups identify with the temporal and the afterlife gains that a religious dogma promises. It was the vision of a willed future that energized the nationalist leaders1 to mobilize their peoples against colonial domination, and to negotiate acceptable terms of independence. Without the vision of a just society, Nelson Mandela and his colleagues in the African National Congress would not have succeeded in toppling apartheid and bringing majority rule to South Africa. Conflict of Leadership Visions It is, however, not enough to have a vision. No matter how lucid the message transmitted by a scripture, those opposed to it will never allow their life to be regulated by it. All the same, unless a vision is shared, the leader’s appeal would tend to be localized rather than universal. Notwithstanding the clarity of his vision and his impact on the evolution of Nigerian politics and political thought, the late Chief Obafemi Awolowo was unable to live down the image of a sectional leader and to gain the broad national acceptance that he badly needed to realize his presidential ambition. Therefore, in addition to the vertical integration of the leaders’ vision with the followers’ concerns, it is essential to approach the visioning process from a lateral angle, by which is meant, seeking common ground on conflicting worldviews. A vision shared with the people may still fail to serve its charismatic leadership objective where it neither reckons with, nor accommodates conflicting visions. Perpetuating Visions through Institutions Leaders are after all human. They have to look forward to the day when they would relinquish, or be separated from, their exalted positions. To ensure that their visions outlive them or, at least, stand a chance of being remembered with a measure of admiration, it is essential that the institutions to implement the visions be established, or where they already exist, strengthened. By institutions, we are not simply referring to the structures that are created by executive fiat one minute and erased by another the next. As noted elsewhere (Balogun, 2006), an institution is made up of the core values, the supportive structural and legal arrangements, and the behavior patterns that have consistently proved capable of achieving


predetermined objectives, adapting to inter-generational changes, and outliving their human progenitors. Examples are the state and civil society institutions along with the do’s and don’ts associated with each, and the symbols or totems by which one is marked apart from the other. Aligning Practices with the Followers’ Daily Concerns Equally important in ensuring that leadership vision is fully shared is the formulation of policies and measures that anticipate the people’s needs and address their underlying concerns. The needs and the concerns change over time, depending on the prevailing set of circumstances. The nationalist leaders were visionary insofar as they foresaw a day when their peoples would be liberated from external bondage. However, what to do with the newly achieved independence was not quite clear in a number of countries. Indeed, the tragedy of the post-colonial state in Sub-Saharan Africa is the failure to come up with a new but shared vision—one that might have foreseen the socioeconomic and political crises that exposed the region to the pains of structural adjustment in the 1970s and 1980s, and shifted policy initiatives from indigenous leaders to international financial institutions. The stringent structural adjustment measures that were implemented at the behest of these institutions could hardly be regarded as a “shared vision,” and the pains that the measures inflicted on the majority of people widened the gulf between the leaders and their followers. In any case, if any leader holds a copyright on the neo-liberal reforms implemented in many African countries in the 1970s up to the 1990s, it is either the late president Ronald Reagan (the moving force behind “Reaganomics”) or former prime minister Margaret Thatcher, who left a legacy of Thatcherism. In the meantime, many African leaders have staked their reputations on programs that, instead of burnishing their visionary leadership credentials, are practically driving wedges between them and their peoples. The argument is not that the leader’s choices would be admired, applauded, or approved by the followers all the time. However, insofar as the followers were not privy to decisions with harsh consequences, and the leaders were not seen to be assiduous in the search for alternatives, the former will be increasingly distrustful of the latter. The same conclusion can be reached where there are perceived gaps between the pronouncements of the leaders and their actual behavior and comportment. If the leaders embark on a policy that places high premium on “self-sacrifice” and discipline while at the same time they are seen to be amassing wealth and/or cuddling the rich, the followers will tend to lose faith not only in the leaders but also in the leaders’ precepts. The leaders cannot appeal to


the followers at the emotional level so long as the disparity between promises and delivery remains wide. The Leadership Class, Governorship, and Development: A Summation To appreciate the role of leadership in development, it is necessary to look for alternatives to existing conceptual frameworks, particularly, those that either credit leaders with super-human powers, or regard them as thoroughly weak and inconsequential. Leadership is neither the miracle worker that the transformational model makes it out to be, nor a prisoner of circumstances as portrayed by the skeptics and the environmental determinists. The true leader is somewhere in between these two polar extremes. The true test of leadership is the ability to project enough charisma and command sufficient admiration to keep supporters united and to persuade opponents to subscribe to some abiding values. The leader is, however, not a total captive of forces around him/her. The leader accommodates outside views without abdicating the responsibility for the final outcome. This explains the preference for the term “governorship” over the rather loose and vague “governance.” The relationship between charisma and the abiding values is reciprocal. To build the former, the leader needs to show what he/she stands for (core or underlying values). Once these values are endorsed (first, by a significant minority, and ultimately, by the generality of the people), they become not only the message that rally the troops, but also one that assures continued admiration of the leaders’ persona. Fully cognizant of the fact that life is complex and is pregnant with inscrutable mysteries, the leader approaches it with humility. He/she recognizes the limit of the human mind and ingenuity. That is why the true visionary leader does not impose his/her religious dogma or take a final and categorical stand on disputes that neither fact nor reason has yet been able to settle.


Pa rt II Th e Nig e r i a n En v i ron m e n t


Ch a p t e r Two Va lu e s, Vision, a n d Le ade r sh i p i n a Di v e r se S oc i e t y: A R e v i e w of Nig e r i a’s En v i ron m e n ta l Eng ag e m e n t Ch a ll e ng e s

I think there are clearly religious implications whenever you start to discuss the origins of the universe. . . . But . . . most scient ists prefer to shy away from the religious side of it. —Stephen Hawking (1990:100) I have never found a better expression than “religious” for this trust in the rational nature of reality and of its peculiar accessibility to the human mind. Where this trust is lacking science degenerates into an uninspired procedure. —Albert Einstein (1956:102–3); quoted in Flew (2007:101)

Introduction Nigeria illustrates, albeit, in a rather curious way, the connection between the environment and leadership. The country’s diversity poses, particularly at the centre, serious and intimidating challenges to visionary leadership while, at the same time, curbing authoritarian tendencies. Those aspiring to leadership roles on the national stage have very few options, besides displaying their bargaining skills, notably, the skills for managing conflicting allegiances and transacting business with friends and foes alike. In arguing the proposition that the Nigerian environment in general promotes transactional and strong—as against visionary—leadership tendencies, this chapter focuses on the country’s diversity, as well as the implications of the multiple and competing identities for leadership, examines the mindsets that various belief systems beget, and the challenge that the ensuing conflict poses to leadership.


The Peoples and Cultures of Nigeria From the leadership point of view, the Nigerian environment poses daunting, and times, menacing, challenges. The peoples inhabiting it belong to diverse ethnic groups, speak dissimilar languages, operate a variety of social control and child-rearing systems, worship differently characterized deities, and have conflicting visions of afterlife experiences. Each constituent group’s idea of what is right or wrong may be clear within, and to members of, the group. However, good and evil take on new meanings when transactions involve “outsiders,” “stranger elements,” and “nonindigenes.” In some instances, truth depends on who is telling it, and more specially, on the group to which he/she belongs or what he/she stands to gain or lose. Conflicting and Competing Identities In ordinary circumstances, leadership is a challenging task. It is particularly so in an environment like Nigeria’s which is characterized by schisms and competing loyalties. In such an environment, values and visions become negotiable items and success as a leader may well hinge on his/her capacity for inter-group bargaining and compromise. Besides discouraging prevision and promoting “short-termism” (a trademark of transactional leadership) diversity within the population allows leaders to evade responsibility for their actions (De Graft-Johnson, 1986:224–25). Among “his people,” a leader that is caught with his hands in the till is beyond reproach; only his external “detractors” and the envious “stranger elements” deserve to be roundly condemned. Basden’s observation on the Igbo notion of good and bad conduct fits practically all the Nigerian ethnic groups.1 According to Basden (1966:6), the Igbo believe that it is wrong to steal, commit murder, lie, or cheat if the actual or potential victim is a member of the culprit’s ethnic group. However, as soon as a criminal steps outside his own border to another locality, he enjoys total immunity from condemnation for any misdemeanor or felony he commits. Outside his community, he is free to declare open season on who- or what-ever stands in his way, and return with his loot to the warm embrace of his people. The diversity of the environment (as well as the complexity of the leadership challenge) is a result of how Nigeria came to be. Reflecting on the origin of the country, a prominent nationalist leader, Chief Obafemi Awolowo concluded that it was “a mere geographical expression” (Awolowo, 1947). In a way, the sage was right (even though the calculus has since changed radically). Nigeria did not naturally evolve from within, but was

values, vision, and leadership / 21

created almost arbitrarily from without. It came into existence with the amalgamation of the Northern and the Southern Protectorates and the Colony of Lagos on January 1, 1914. However, rather than disappear with the imposition of the British colonial rule, the allegiances carried over from the traditional, pre-colonial society were magnified by the indigenous elite to serve their interests. At the time of the amalgamation, Nigeria was at least two countries in one, that is, the Southern and the Northern Provinces (Kirk-Greene, 1968:67; Balogun, 1986:46). Present-day Nigeria covers an area of 923,768 square kilometers,2 stretching from the Atlantic Ocean and the forested lowlands of the south, through the arid savannah plains of the middle belt, the rocky hills, and plateaus of the southeast, to the wide expanse of territory bordering the Sahara Desert to the north. The 2007 estimated population of 131.85 million is a far cry from the paltry figure of 16.75 million recorded for the country at the turn of the twentieth century. Senior citizens (i.e., persons aged 65 years and above) constitute a mere 3.1 percent of the population, in contrast to children aged 14 years and below that account for 42.3 percent. Those falling within the 14–65 age-bracket belong to the largest demographic group, representing 54.60 percent of the total. The population is made up of no less than 250 ethnic groups which among them speak close to 400 different languages and dialects. Although the Hausa-Fulani (29 percent), Yoruba (21 percent), Igbo (18 percent) are the most frequently mentioned in the discourse on ethnicity in Nigeria, there are other important—the so-called “minority”—groups. Among these are the Ijaw (10 percent) Kanuri (4.0 percent), Ibibio (3.5 percent), and Tiv (2.5 percent) (http://www.theodora.com/wfbcurrent/nigeria/ nigeria_people.html). A few others currently playing significant roles, particularly, at the local and state levels, are the Ogoni, Kwa, Ekoi, Kalabari, Ijaw (in Rivers and Bayelsa States); Bolewa, Ngizim, Karai-Karai (Yobe), Nupe, Gwari (Niger); the Ebirra, Ogori, Igala (Kogi); Birom, Angas (Plateau); Jukun (Taraba); Efik, Anang (Cross River, Akwa Ibom); Edo, Akoko-Edo, Ijaw, Urhobo, Itsekiri (Edo and Delta). The differences between and among the various ethnic groups are sometimes compounded by internal (i.e., within-group) differences. On the surface, the Yoruba of the south-west is sometimes, though erroneously, referred to as a “race.” However, its origin is a subject of controversy among historians,3 and its solidarity as a group has never been conclusively proved. If Nigeria is a “mere geographical expression,” the Yoruba race is, at best, its historical equivalent, at worst, a figment of some historians’ imagination. Unless the Yoruba and other ethnic groups have evidence to the contrary,


Bala Usman (2000) believes that their irredentist or separatist claims have no historical basis. The Yoruba in particular derived their name from “Yarriba,” a term coined not by Oduduwa or another Yoruba ancestor, but by a seventeenth century Hausa Muslim scholar, Dan Masani. What is more, the term was not widely used until the early nineteenth century when Sarkin Musulumi Bello wrote a book referring to the Yoruba, and historians like Reverend Samuel and his brother Obadiah Johnson began to disseminate the name in their writings. If this revelation is shocking, Bala’s contention that waves of migration had diluted the purity of the Yoruba, Hausa, Fulani, Igbo and other ethnic categories would leave the Nigerians who thrive on separatism dazed. If truth be told, therefore, the Yoruba—or indeed, the “Hausa-Fulani,” or “Igbo”—is not a homogeneous group, much less a “race.” While the concentration of Yoruba-speaking people in the south-west and parts of Kwara and Kogi States is a numerical temptation that vote-seeking politicians from the south-west sometimes find difficult to resist, the reality is that identity with the group competes with other—particularly, territorial, clan, linguistic, and religious—identities (Balogun, 2001). The Yoruba of Kwara and Kogi States, for instance, are geographically located north of the south-west. They were, for decades, administratively grouped with the defunct Northern Region, and are likely for some-time to retain ties with their old northern acquaintances. Clan and linguistic differences most frequently deepen the geographic or territorial ones mentioned earlier. Notwithstanding the frequent assertion of their common origin, the Yoruba belong to fairly distinct clans each identifiable by its dialect, its objects of worship, local panegyric or “oriki,” the days set aside for local festivals and celebrations, and possibly, peculiar mannerisms. With respect to language, the Yoruba of Oyo, Ibadan, Ilorin, and Offa have little difficulty communicating with one another. However, they are likely to be lost if their brothers and sisters in Ife, Ondo, Akure, Ilaje, Ekiti, Akoko, Owo, and Bunu-Kabba, suddenly decide to switch from pure (Oyo) Yoruba to their own “native tongues.” The heterogeneity that defines the Yoruba is not strange to many other groups. Otherwise homogeneous groups (such as the Igbo, the Edo, and the Efik) are divided along territorial, clan and kinship, if not linguistic, lines. The battles between the Aguleri and Umuleri, two Ibo-speaking communities of Anambra State (which, in July 1999, claimed several lives and property worth millions of Naira) underscore the fact that ethnic or linguistic affinity is no guarantee against internal discord. The 80-year-old land dispute involving the two communities is similar to the border clashes between Offa and Erin-Ile, between Ife and Modakeke, and among many other communities that would in normal times celebrate their affinity of


language, culture, and religion. When economic interests are at stake, an otherwise homogeneous community would resurrect latent differences to justify their claims as well as the violence unleashed on one and the other. Identity Politics: The Wardrobe Hypothesis This is not to say that diversity always translates into conflict or violence. However, it (i.e., diversity) expands opportunities for political entrepreneurship if not outright mischief-making. More often than not, individuals and their groups make bids for power, positions, or access to resources based solely on claims of differences in civic or spatial identity. Identity politics thrives best where an individual has a choice among multiple and competing identities, say, territorial, ethnic, linguistic, cultural, religious, as well as identity measured by level of resource endowment and/or deprivation. Depending on which one confers maximum advantage at any given time, it is not unusual for an individual to assume an ethnic identity one minute, and discard it in favor of religious affiliation, the next. In such circumstances, the range of identities becomes a wardrobe from which an individual or group could pick as the occasion demands. Pressure toward Conformity The environmental engagement challenge would have been easy to manage if the identity borders were permeable, and customs were sufficiently flexible to stimulate inter-group exchange and communication. However, due to a number of factors, mostly cultural, individuals stay within, and conduct themselves in ways acceptable to, their groups. By ensuring conformity with the group’s norms and behavioral codes, the kinship system as it exists in different parts of Nigeria fosters group solidarity as well as distrust of outsiders. These norms and rules have themselves been legitimized by traditional religious and superstitious beliefs, incorporated in child-rearing practices, and transmitted from one generation to the other. Members renounce the “ways of the ancestors” only at the risk of upsetting the departed ancestors, stoking the anger of evil spirits, and bringing disaster upon their heads and to the community. As an outgrowth of the kinship system, a number of ethnic advocacy groups have sprung up in recent years not only to defend the interests of their members, but also to promote the groups’ culture and religious beliefs. Among these are Ohaneze Ndigbo (a pan-Igbo association), Afenifere, and the Yoruba Council of Elders (for the Yoruba), Arewa Consultative Forum (for the north), the Niger-Delta Elders Forum, and the plethora of town improvement and ethnic-based student associations.


As pointed out later, indigenous religious beliefs serve as a powerful political mobilization and social control mechanism. Besides imposing certain moral obligations on adherents, traditional—that is non-Islamic and non-Christian—theology defines “piety” to mean holding a special class of human beings with the awe and with the deference and obedience ordinarily reserved for the local deities. As such, parents, community elders, social superiors, and those in positions of authority tend to be raised to the divine level, and viewed as too holy to be held to account by ordinary mortals. As a matter of fact, deference to age, authority, and seniority is built into the child-rearing practices adopted by many Nigerian communities. As reported by Fadipe (1970:262) hero- and ancestor worship is, for instance, an important element in Yoruba religion. A man who dies becomes an orisa, and therefore, an object of worship by his children. Based on his study of the system of child-rearing among the Yoruba, Fadipe concludes, The principle of seniority as developed among the Yoruba reinforces the principle of authority and obedience on certain rather well-defined lines. . . . It (the Yoruba society) is a society ruled by custom in which the element of individual judgement and initiative is very small.4

However, the authoritarian pattern of social control is not limited to Yoruba society. Basden (1966) finds that among the Igbo, religious beliefs and superstitions are, deeply ingrained in the minds and lives of the people; they are blindly accepted by the adherents. No questions are raised as to whys and wherefores.

Among the Hausa-Fulani, respect for authority (including obedience to those in leadership positions) is an Islamic religious obligation. Faith, Values, and Public Morality: Followership and Leadership Implications Up to now, attention has focused on the range of identities that influence the environmental dynamics prevailing at any point in time. The question may be asked why an understanding of religious identity as a separate and unique category is deemed necessary in a study on environmental engagement. Insofar as religion serves as a powerful mobilization tool, it is necessary to enquire into its role in shaping the attitude of leaders and their followers. As Tucker (2007:70) succinctly put it, religions, by themselves,


provide a spiritual depth and moral force that purely secular approaches lack. Free from secularist interferences, religion is capable of providing a moral compass so essential in navigating humanity’s increasingly turbulent life. As a moral guide, religion could serve as a powerful social control and political mobilization instrument, and as a foundation upon which the vision of a good life is constructed. However, as Nigeria’s experience indicates, faith could become so secularized that it risks not only being hijacked by cynics—to hasten personal, sectional, or purely political agendas—but also losing its spiritual force and moral authority. In Nigeria the sacred coexists with the secular in much the same way as the worship of nature runs parallel with monotheism. This is probably where religious identity differs from other forms of civic identity. For instance, in contrast to ethnic identity whose dividing line tends to be sharp and clear, religious affiliations are difficult to sketch, since they intersect with other—for example, ethnic, linguistic, economicclass, and sectarian—identities. Probably because of the overlap, but also due to the frequent incursion of secularism into the spiritual arena, a nominal believer is likely to find it difficult pinpointing his/her belief or maintaining a clear religious identity. In succeeding paragraphs, cases will be cited of marginal Christians or Muslims who, when overwhelmed by life’s struggles, deem it necessary to switch religious labels, or to defect to idolatry, demonism and absolute faithlessness. In a harsh socioeconomic and political climate, the nominal believer tends to look for miracles rather than meaning. Unfortunately, the more desperate the search becomes, the greater is the likelihood of both (miracles and meaning) proving elusive. On the face of it, Nigeria is a country in which religion is taken very seriously. This is reflected in the number of mosques and churches that constantly spring up all over the country. However, this chapter argues that while Nigerians may be prayerful, they are not necessarily God-fearing. Many supposedly pious Nigerians crave the Almighty’s love and support, but they flout His laws and religious injunctions all the time. Regardless of the huge sums expended building places of worship and elaborate religious monuments, and in spite of the thousands of persons killed purportedly in the name of God and His religion(s?), it is hard to find any evidence of a connection between individual claims of piety and adherence to basic codes of public integrity. Still, and for better or worse, spirituality is deeply rooted in Nigeria. While some communities believe in only one God, others worship other lesser deities but acknowledge the existence of a Supreme Being. For adherents of Islam, there is only one Supreme Being worthy of being worshipped, that is, Allah. In Islamic theology, Allah Almighty is Omnipotent,


Omniscient, Omnipresent, Beneficent, and Merciful. Everything visible or invisible is within His sight, and nothing is hidden from Him. In fact, no leaf drops from a tree without the knowledge of Allah. The Qur’an (112:1–4) anticipates and then debunks the atheists’ argument about infinite regression. It states categorically that Allah is no human person’s offspring or parent: Say (to the entire world, O Mohammad) He is Allah, One, Eternal, Absolute, Self-Sufficient, Master. He begets not, nor was He begotten. And there is none equal with or comparable to Him.

Islam requires the believer to plan not just for earthly challenges, but also, in fact, more emphatically, for the Hereafter. As the Qur’an constantly reminds the believer, this earthly life is nothing but fleeting enjoyment, nay, a life of hypnoses and delusions. Besides living according to the moral and legal injunctions set out in the Shareeyah, a good Muslim should hold firm to the belief that there is no god but Allah and that Mohammad is His Prophet and Messenger (this is the essence of the shaahadat). He/she is also expected to pray five times a day, fast for thirty days during the Ramadhan, perform the holy pilgrimage to Mecca and Medina if s/he has the means to so do, and pay the Zakat (to help the poor and others similarly placed). Above all, a Muslim is forbidden to take innocent human life, renege on promises, betray trust, accept usury or other unlawful remuneration (haraam), bribe judges or court officials, give false testimonies, or pay tainted monies, that is, monies from unlawful sources, into the Zakat treasury. Consumption of alcoholic beverages and other psychogenic substances and of pork is on the prohibited list. So are adultery, gambling, backbiting, reneging on promises, embezzlement of other persons’ funds, and corrupt management of orphans’ estates. For a diverse society like Nigeria, the tipping point is the Islamic guidelines on relations with other faiths. Muslims are enjoined to live in harmony with adherents of other belief systems,5 but under no circumstances should they allow anyone or anything to compromise their underlying Islamic values. This is what sometimes brings the Muslims in conflict with their Christian brethren, and possibly with the adherents of the indigenous religions. On the surface, Christianity has a lot in common with Islam. They are both monotheistic religions. They both have elaborate doctrines for separating “wrong” from “right.” At least, in theory if not always in practice, their adherents know the moral or ethical boundaries beyond which they are not supposed to go. However, the two otherwise monotheistic religions


differ in some significant respects, for example, regarding what they mean by “God,” whether Jesus is a prophet or a higher being, how far human choices should comply with religious decrees, and the balance between individual freedom and self-restraint. Whereas Islam recognizes no other god besides Allah, the doctrine of trinity that has evolved with Christianity over centuries directly pitches the later against the former.6 The Muslims hold that the tendency among many Christians to use “Jesus” and “God” interchangeably smacks of “shir’k,” and when tested against reason, is liable to trigger a crisis of faith.7 As the Qur’an insists, Jesus was a human being who displayed extraordinary powers even in infancy. Still, the Qur’an teaches that he was no more than a Messenger of Allah, albeit, a very important one with a significant prophetic mission. Besides rejecting the Qur’an’s “relegation” of Jesus to the status of a mortal—specifically, a Prophet and Messenger—many Christians, like the nominal or “secular” Muslims, refuse to acknowledge the embargoes which the Qur’an imposes on believers, for example, on consumption of alcohol and pork and on pre- and extramarital sex. Overall, and in contrast to Islam which, based on the doctrine of taoheed, sees earthly life and the Hereafter as inseparable,8 Christianity is not averse to de-linking the spiritual from the secular, that is, the Church from the State. The Islamic and the Christian doctrines summarized in the preceding paragraphs represent the external appearances of the two religions—that is the formal stipulations. Actual practices vary from one individual to another, but seldom meet the scriptural standards. To determine how far the adherents’ daily lives mirror, or distort, their declared beliefs it is essential to go below the surface—that is, below the religious symbolisms and affirmations of faith. Indigenous Belief Systems The indigenous environment provides a clue as to whether the balance would tilt toward true devotion or opportunism and hypocrisy. There is no doubt that even before the advent of Islam in the eleventh century and of Christianity in the nineteenth, indigenous Nigerian communities were deeply religious. Besides paying obeisance to the Supreme Being Who superintends over the affairs of men and women, the traditional Nigerian society took lesser deities as objects of veneration and worship. Among the Igbo, belief in superstitions was (and probably still is) widespread. Rather than assess individual behavior according to its rationality, the traditional Igbo method was to put human choices on a piety scale. The “pious” and “good” individual lives by the gods’ rules, and


unquestionably accepts the various superstitions. S/he also moves on the side of God and of the other lesser deities in His service. In contrast, the “sinner” takes his cue from the devil and communes with evil spirits. As a “bad” person, the sinner is always teaming up with God’s arch-enemy, Ekwensu, the devil, “whose one purpose is to frustrate the goodness of God and to disseminate evil.”9 The Igbo belief is largely influenced by the expected benefits and the dreaded costs. The material rewards for obedience and the likely punishment for impiety serve as constant reminders for staying in God’s camp and turning against Ekwensu (Basden, 1966:39). However, while believing in a just God, the Igbo, like practically every other ethnic group, never lowered their guard when dealing with fellow humans. Taking the cue from the traditional belief that enemies lurk in dark places plotting evil, the Igbo and other Nigerians take wide-ranging precautionary measures—including, joining the faithful in church or mosque prayers in daytime, but, at dusk, enlisting the support of soothsayers, occultists, sorcerers and other powerful allies. Yoruba traditional theology is similar in several respects to the Igbo’s. Like the latter, but unlike the “otherworldly” orientation of Islam, the Yoruba traditional belief leans toward the material world while acknowledging the existence of an all-powerful God. In Yoruba metaphysics, Islam’s notion of submission to the will of God, ee-maan, emerges as “kadara” or “akomo,” meaning what has been “destined” or “written.” The premise underlying akomo is that whatever happens on earth has been decreed by Oloun Eledumare (i.e., Owner of Heaven and Earth, or God). However, according to the Yoruba, the Heaven that determines what takes place on Earth contains not just one God, but several. While Oloun Eledumare is consistently merciful, forgiving, beneficent, and above all, just, the lesser gods could be highly temperamental. Even when an individual does no wrong, he could still be pulled down by his “enemies”—with the backing and connivance of powerful but evil spirits. The Supreme Being is not visible, but the lesser deities are. Indeed, in contrast to the former Who is instinctively feared but most often disobeyed, the lesser gods, specifically their images, are plain for all to see. The gods are after all inanimate objects and heroic individuals that were perceived to have had, and continue to have, direct bearing on human life. Examples are hills, rocks, fire, thunderstorm and iron, as well as ancestors and folk heroes. They are known individually and collectively as orisa. There are local as well as national orisas. The former include the Oke’badan, the Ibadan hill worshipped annually in Ibadan; the Osun, a river in Oshogbo; and the Obalogun, the folk-hero who was reputed to have successfully led the Ijesa in their war with the Nupe. The orisas that are worshipped


throughout Yorubaland include Ifa, the oracle of palm nuts; the Esu, the stone-god whose evil spirit needs to be constantly propitiated; the Ogun, the god of iron; Sango, the god of lightning and fire; and Oya, the goddess presumed to be in charge of thunderstorms. Hero- and ancestor-worship is an important aspect of Yoruba belief system. As Fadipe discovered, a man who dies becomes an orisa to be worshipped by his children. The founder of each family is also “ . . . an orisa to all members of the extended family” (Fadipe, 1970:262). The existential, earthly bias of Yoruba religion is confirmed by Ojo (1966:159). According to him, no person or inanimate object is worshipped unless some visible and specific changes in people’s lives are attributable to the orisa in question. Highlands and hills, for instance, were never worshipped for their own sake, but for one and only one reason, that is: . . . they had an inestimable protective value: during war and intertribal hostilities they afforded the safest hide-outs and places of refuge. (Besides) . . . they struck fear into the hearts of the inhabitants because of their dominating size and their dense basal vegetation, which was taken to be the lurking-place of many wild animals and spirits.10

Interface between Indigenous and “Alien” Belief Systems The threat that the growing materialist, this-worldly preoccupation poses to religious integrity needs to be viewed within the context of Nigerian traditional values, particularly, the values underpinning basic social relations. It is tempting to attribute the corruption of these values to “outside,” particularly, western colonial influences. However, as argued in a separate work (Balogun, 1987), the traditional society contains the seed of its own corruption. Apart from the traditional belief systems which, like the Janusfaced door, looks in two—in this case, spiritual and secular—directions at the same time, the concept of reciprocity, as developed among the various Nigerian communities, is both materialistic and spiritual, although more of the former than the latter. For instance, in sharp contrast to the Islamic and Christian doctrines that enjoin on believers unrequited acts of charity, the traditional Nigerian society takes the view that one good turn deserves another. As such the society expects that a favor done by one person ought to be returned at the earliest opportunity, not by a deity, but by the recipient. The only exceptions are gifts from relatives and close neighbors. Gifts from “strangers” must be returned in cash or kind (Bohannan, 1968:143). The institution of owe (or aro) in Yoruba society does not even make any distinction between relatives and strangers. Literally translated, owe is a favor granted in return


for another. The quid pro quo nature of the practice is reflected in the fact that whoever refused to participate in one person’s owe project—be it construction of a house, cultivation of land, or harvesting or crops—would be turned down when he too made a request for a similar form of assistance (Balogun, 1972). Among the people of the Oil Rivers area, the “trade dash” ostensibly started when the Portuguese sought to establish trade relations with the indigenous population. In actual fact, the practice of offering gifts as a means of preparing the way for favors existed in the area long before the arrival of the Portuguese (Jones, 2001). The Yoruba have a saying for this kind of foresight and “forward planning”: Eni t’o da mi siwaju ni yio tele tutu (translation: “It is only s/he that wets the ground that could hope to walk on cool ground”). As noted in chapter eight, it was one of the sayings which the Oyo State “strong man,” Lamidi Adedibu, loudly and repeatedly drummed into the ears of his former political “son” (former governor Rasheed Ladoja) to remind the latter of his “obligations.” The upshot of the preceding analysis is that in Nigeria, and excepting those who have chosen for themselves a truly ascetic life, belief in God and in lesser deities is partly a “spiritual” experience, and partly a struggle for the realization of materialist, earthly ambitions. Even the decision in many parts of the country to embrace Christianity (and probably Islam before it), was largely influenced by the picture of a sensuous life—a life similar to the one on earth—which the new religions taught converts to expect to materialize in heaven. Indeed, no inducement was more powerful than the Christian missionaries’ promise of a blissful life to those who die believing in the gospel—that is, of a heaven with golden streets, of angels with shining faces, and of a heavenly choir with golden harps (Fadipe, 1970). Where the alien churches did not live up to local expectations of perpetual bliss—the ban on polygamy being an instance—the congregations simply responded by breaking away from the parent bodies and establishing new churches. In the belief that as it is on earth, so it would be in heaven, the autonomous churches incorporated merrymaking in acts of worship. Among the innovations introduced by the indigenous churches are singing and clapping by energetic laities, as well as dancing to tunes played by equally motivated live bands. The Yoruba doctrine of kadara notwithstanding, it is widely believed that human beings are capable of intervening to change another person’s destiny. Much as the worldly orisas are perceived to be beneficent, the impression that has gained ground over centuries is that they or the evil spirits answerable to them could be employed to serve negative purposes. Like the Igbo and other groups, therefore, the Yoruba are convinced that no one is immune from the evil machinations of their fellow


human-beings—particularly, witches, political rivals, envious neighbors, malevolent colleagues, ambitious subordinates, and sworn enemies. To ward off the evil plots that enemies unceasingly hatch, the wise individual takes steps to “insure” himself and his family. While not genuinely God-fearing, he is likely to be among the most loudly prayerful members of church (or mosque) congregations. In this nominal role as a member of revivalist church or other faith groups, he is unlikely to have complete and enduring faith in the power of prayer. In fact, once he concludes that his supplications are not having the desired instant effect, he would lose no time in abjuring faith-based acts of worship and switching to other “safeguards.” As indicated in the case study below, the recourse to fetishes, amulets, incantations, and demonic forces is no longer a traditional preserve, but a fact of life even among the modern elite. Okija Shrine: A Study in Unorthodox Interfaith Dialogue The sordid picture that emerged after a police raid on a shrine in Anambra State provides clear evidence of the modern elite’s foray into the supernatural world, and of the religious elders’ craving for worldly riches. Acting on a tip-off from Okija indigenes (who had been following the flow of traffic to and out of their small community), the police in 2004 went to Okija to conduct investigations. The Police subsequently discovered that on arrival in Okija, the august visitors to the village headed only in one direction— that is, to a shrine run by the Ogwugwu cult. Horror is no stranger to policemen and women, since they routinely come face to face with it at crime scenes every working day. However, they were least prepared for what they saw in the Evil Forest of Okija. They saw decomposed bodies of probable victims of ritual sacrifice, pots filled with decaying skulls of goats, feathers and black gourds, and, most significant, a register containing over 5,000 names. Many of the visitors went to great lengths to conceal their identities. They entered fictitious names and addresses on the register. However, the priceless find still turned up names of prominent politicians, high-ranking government and police officials, and well-known corporate leaders and businessmen.11 What were these social notables doing in far away Okija? They certainly did not go on a picnic or to play golf. Investigations carried by a reputable publication, Tell revealed that the eminent personalities came in search of shortcuts to riches, power, and fame (Tell, 2004:23). Business men anxious to ride a bad patch or to accumulate more wealth, contractors praying for a big break and lucrative government contracts, individuals without any visible means of livelihood but enticed by the prospects of coming into sudden wealth after drinking the Money Potion, and politicians looking for ways


to eliminate the competition—all came seeking supernatural backing and ready to swear oaths of secrecy.12 Like their hosts, the visitors included professed Roman Catholics and Anglicans. If challenged, as some cult adherents were, the shrine’s minders and their clients would have defended their doings as a contribution to “inter-faith dialogue.” After visiting the scene of what was now treated as a full-blown crime, the former Inspector-General of Police, Tafa Balogun, wondered how “ . . . in 2004, in the 21st century, a group of people could so debase humanity as we have seen here in Okija. . . . ”13 The Inspector-General swore to root out the Okija evil. Regrettably, he did not remain in office long enough to finish what others started. He was booted out and publicly humiliated when he was accused of stashing billions of Naira away in sundry bank accounts—while on regular police salary. In any case, the former IG might have been convinced that the Okija cult represented evil—according to him, the worst he had ever seen. Nonetheless, its adherents strongly believed that it was a traditional judicial system that “neither delays nor denies justice.” The Chief Priest of Ogwugwu related the story of three young men who conspired to murder their friend. The deceased’s parents took the case to Okija where the three were found guilty and condemned to death. Two of them subsequently died under mysterious circumstances—as foretold by the Okija priests. The third would have joined his brethren in the world beyond but for the adverse publicity that Okija received after the police raid. Similarly, a youth leader who had unlawfully appropriated his community’s property was dragged to Okija where he not only owned up to his crime but also pledged to return the loot. A week to the pay-up-orelse deadline, the police came to Okija and shut the shrine down. Taking advantage of this setback, the youth leader reneged on his promise. In other words, rather than refund the amount embezzled, he began to celebrate the calamity that befell the shrine. While fugitives from Ogwugwu justice continued to gloat, the priests lamented the loss of their major source of income. Their wealthy clients had reciprocated the supernatural favors provided by showering the cult elders with gifts and money. It was a question of everyone getting what he wants—the VIPs obtaining out-of-the-world backing for their worldly schemes, and the priests laughing all the way to the bank. The Ogwugwu cult probably started with noble intentions—that is, to dispense justice swiftly and fairly. However, sensing that a lot of fortune could be made by diversifying, the priests placed their supernatural knowledge at the service of the affluent members of society—individuals whose motives were at best, opaque, at worst, diabolical.


No doubt, religion cannot remain indefinitely insulated from the surrounding socioeconomic and political influences. However, even though “secularization of faith” is a contradiction in terms, secularized is what faith has become under the leadership of the clergy and with the connivance of the laity. Rev. Fr. Kukah sees this as a natural development in situations where religion had served as an instrument for perpetuating or challenging the hegemony of one group over the other. Referring to the defunct northern region (Kukah, 1993:x) asserted that: . . . the ascendancy of Hausa-Fulani hegemony has coincided with the alienation and marginalization of the non-Muslims, Christians and adherents of traditional religions in the (northern) region. . . . Many Christians would seem to have come to the conclusion that since religion has been a major determining factor in determining the staying power of the Muslims, it has become imperative for Christians now to use religion for achieving their socio-political (objectives). . . .

By viewing religion as a natural extension of politics, the Rev. Fr. must have misconstrued the essence of the Islamic doctrine of taoheed. Far from canvassing the “use” of religion for political or any other worldly end, Taoheed simply enjoins upon whoever believes in Allah to realize that whatever he thinks, says, or does is within the sight and knowledge of the Almighty, that the visible and invisible, the heavens and earth are part of a unity. A second and more serious objection to the backdoor secularization (nay, devaluation) of faith is the lack of clarity regarding the level of analysis. It is not clear whether the focus of the analysis is on Hausa Fulani (ethnicity), or the hegemonic group termed “Sarakuna” (socioeconomic class), or on Muslims (religion) By lumping all the possible identities under one separate heading, the Reverend Father risks mistaking the tree for the forest. As it so happens, Rev. Fr. Kukah’s cynical interpretation of the role of faith—an interpretation that devalues religion’s intrinsic moral authority—does not enjoy a universal endorsement, even among Christians. Drawing attention to the role of religious entrepreneurs and the decadence that had crept into houses of worship, Bishop Olubunmi Okogie (http:// www.saharareporters.com/print.php?pid=19§ion=interview, June 14, 2006) declared: Look at Nigeria, look at the number of churches that we have today . . . Look at the Corporate Affairs Commission, CAC. If you want to start a church, you just go and register, and it is nothing but a business enterprise. . . .


Balancing Tradition with Change: Leadership and State Construction Challenges The clash between the spiritual and the secular indeed clearly poses a threat to the integrity of religion, and a profound challenge to visionary leadership and state construction. Insofar as contemporary religious beliefs are, in Nigeria, anchored on the expectation of some rewards, and on fear of worldly calamities or everlasting punishment, it stands to reason that whoever is held as an object of veneration would equally be credited with the power to dispense or withdraw favors. It does not matter whether that person is a senior civil servant, a local government council chairman, a legislator, or a state governor. The pressure to play god is strong and irresistible. Just as it is normal to turn to a loving and caring God in an hour of need, the follower sees nothing wrong bombarding the leader with requests for various forms of assistance, for example, for payment of children’s school fees, for jobs when the children leave school, or to pick up a sizeable proportion of wedding, health care, funeral and other expenses. This is the predicament facing visionary leaders—particularly, leaders who are desirous of making a substantive difference in the life of the people. Curiously, it is also an opportunity that their transactional and “strong” counterparts heartily welcome. The rigid system of social control in particular poses threats to visionary leaders but presents wide-ranging transactional leadership opportunities. By keeping individuals cloistered in groups, the system prevents the global and forward-looking messages of visionary leaders from reaching the grassroots. This suits their “transactional” counterparts perfectly well. The greater the number of sectional, primordial groups whose claims need to be balanced there is, the wider the scope for displaying the transactional leaders’ wheeling and dealing skills. However, it is not only “transactional” leadership that waxes in such an environment. Insofar as it places high premium on obedience and conformity (by preserving kinship ties, deferring to on age or social status, and fostering authoritarian child-rearing practices) the environment also leans toward leadership of the “strong” or authoritarian variety. Besides, by employing symbols which invest leaders with supernatural attributes, the system consolidates the position of transactional and strong leaders, and renders them immune to accountability demands. Yet, taking into account the magnitude of the state construction and development challenges facing Nigeria (described in the next section), the odds would appear to be in favor of visionary leadership.


Social Change, Diversity, and State Construction Challenges On the surface, socioeconomic change would appear to have reshaped the Nigerian environment. However, on close examination, the change has only paved the way for the emergence of new structures to carry out old functions and to perpetuate, or even magnify, age-old differences and worldviews. Ethnic and religious conflict, for instance, has become accentuated in the face of rising population and urbanization growth rates, and the increasing competition for economic resources. Between 1999 and 2000, no less than 10,000 lives were lost as a result of communal and religious conflict. Table 2.1 is a breakdown of conflicts attributed solely to religious differences between 1980 and 1993. Table 2.1 Year, location, and apparent causes of religious disturbances in Nigeria, 1980–1993 Year/Date

Location of Disturbance

Principal Actors, Possible Motives, and Consequences

May 1980

Zaria (Kaduna State)

December 18–29, 1980

Yan-Awaki Ward, Kano (Kano State)

October 29–30, 1982

Bullumkutu, Maiduguri, Borno State Kano, Kano State

Disturbances leading to the destruction of property belonging mainly to Christians. Riots by Maitatsine in which 4,177 people died and property extensively destroyed. It took a combination of police action and military force to bring the situation under control. Kalakato and Maitatsine sects went on the rampage (118 deaths, and extensive damage to property). Muslim demonstrations and burning of churches (possibly, a spill-over from Bullumkutu). Riots by Maitatsine sect; 568 deaths, extensive destruction of property.

October 29–30, 1982 February 27–March 5, 1984 April 26–28, 1985 March 1986

May 1986

Dobeli Ward, Jimeta-Yola, Gongola State Pantami Ward, Gombe, Bauchi State Ilorin, Kwara State

Ibadan, University of Ibadan, Oyo State

Maitatsine riots; 105 deaths, extensive destruction of property. Muslim-Christian clashed during Christian Easter procession; no death reported. Demonstrations by Muslim students, leading to the incineration of the Risen Christ in the University’s Chapel of Resurrection.

Continued

Table 2.1

Continued

Year/Date

Location of Disturbance

Principal Actors, Possible Motives, and Consequences

March 1987

(a) Kafanchan, Kaduna State

March 1987

(b) Katsina, Funtua, Zaria, and Gusau (all in Kaduna and Sokoto States) Kaduna Polytechnic, Kaduna State

Christian-Muslim clashes, leading to loss of life, and setting of mosques on fire by Christians and native Kajes. Wave of riots in which Muslims, possibly in response to events in Kafanchan, set church buildings and property belonging to Christians on fire. Many lives lost. Riots in which students destroyed the foundation walls of the Christian chapel. Religious violence speared by one Malam Yahaya Yakubu, leader of the Shi’ite sect in Katsina, in protest against a blasphemous publication in the Fun-Times. Several lives lost and valuable property destroyed. Started as a quarrel between a Fulani man and a ‘suya’ meat seller in Tafawa Balewa. Later escalated into a full-blown riot, and then took the character of a religious war in Bauchi. Several lives lost, and property valued at hundreds of millions of Naira was destroyed. A peaceful procession initiated by the Izzala sect to halt Rev. Reinhard Bonnke’s planned crusade in Kano, a Muslim heartland. Later degenerated into bloody violence with thousands of lives lost and property estimated at millions of Naira destroyed. A communal feud between the Katafs and the Hausas which soon took the character of a religious (ChristianMuslim) war. Several lives lost, and valuable property destroyed. The Kalakato religious sect assaulted the village head and burnt down police vehicles. Lives and property were destroyed.

February 1988

April 1991

(a) Katsina, Katsina State

April 1991

(b) Tafawa Balewa, Bauchi State

October 1991

Kano, Kano State

May 1992

Zango Kataf, Zaria, Kaduna, Ikara (all in Kaduna State)

January 1993

Funtua, Katsina State

Note: Casualty figures (where cited) are from official sources. Source: J. Isawa Elaigwu, 1993, The Shadow of Religion on Nigerian Federation, 1960–93 (Garki, Abuja: National Council on Intergovernmental Relations), NCIR Monograph Series No. 2, pp. 13–14.


Environmental Engagement: Challenges, Options, and the Way Forward Even with all the heterogeneity, Nigerians would seem to have a common way of viewing the world. Tribe and tongue may differ, but they react the same way to external stimuli, albeit from diverse angles and with dissimilar motives. Among the characteristics that they have in common are cultural practices that promote group solidarity and adherence to group norms, as well as spirituality—that is, substantive or symbolic belief in, and allegiance to, a heavenly power. With regard to religious identity, it is significant to note that while some groups believe solely in one Supreme Being, others worship the lesser deities. The believers’ glimpses of the Hereafter most probably conflict, but they are likely to be united in the assurance of afterlife accountability, and in their embrace of organized religion. The problem up to now is the frequent tendency to exploit differences in civic identity to achieve individual and sectional ends. Insofar as the multiple and competing identities are viewed from opportunistic or cynical angles, only those leaders would triumph that specialize in fulfilling short-term demands, and playing one interest against another. For visionary and development-oriented leaders to recapture the initiative, it is essential that they fully understand the scope and magnitude of the environmental challenge. The focus of this chapter is on what may be characterized as the “hard” environment. It is an environment in which individuals and groups are set in their ways. However, to argue that the environment is hard is not to imply that it is totally unchangeable. The first step in bending disagreeable customs and habits—without breaking the will to “associate together”—is to understand the scope and magnitude of the engagement challenge. At the minimum, it is essential to disaggregate the critical components (like the competing identities, the conflicting views about the ideal life and about afterlife expectations, and, most important, the forces driving conflict or promoting harmony. Having fully grasped the nature of the challenge before them, visionary leaders at the local and national levels should forge an alliance of ideas and values—an alliance founded on a consensual understanding of the essence of decent conduct and of the good life, and built on the active participation of leaders from a wide cross section of society. By involving all the stakeholders, visionary leaders should be able to make up for whatever limitations the “hard” environment imposes, and capitalize on its intrinsic strengths. However, while involving leaders from a wide cross-section of society in the visioning as well as the ultimate implementation process, due


precaution should be taken against unwittingly empowering wheelerdealers thereby restoring the status quo ante. As a matter of fact, the success of the environmental engagement initiative lies partly in downgrading the importance of leaders of the old school—the transactional leaders and the “strong men”—and partly in strengthening alternative power centers. The next chapter, chapter three, focuses on the institutional dimension of leadership selection.

Ch a p t e r Th r e e Le ade r sh i p Se l ec t ion, Gov e r nor sh i p, a n d D e v e l opm e n t: Th e I nst i t u t iona l D i m e nsion

For as man is the best of all animals when he has reached his full development, so he is worst of all when divorced from law and justice. . . . [Man] without virtue is the most savage, the most unrighteous, and the worst in regard to sexual licence and gluttony. —Aristotle (1992)

Introduction Institutions, when properly conceived and adequately insulated from undue human interferences, provide a reliable mechanism not only for selecting candidates for leadership positions but also for evaluating their performance once in office. Nigeria’s experience shows how the choices made during the lifecycle of a structure might determine whether it would remain just that, that is, a structure constantly held captive by politics and power, or a viable, autonomous, and resilient institution. Although successive leaders had little problem creating new structures, the discipline needed to transform these structures into viable institutions was generally lacking. The more politically sensitive or significant the structures were the greater was the likelihood of their being manipulated or taken in directions totally different from the intended ones. In examining the impact of institutions on leadership selection, this chapter identifies the attributes and “properties” of an institution, focuses on the origin and evolution of Nigeria’s governorship institutions, examines the factors responsible for the ebb and flow in the life of the institutions, as well as the constitutional doctrines underpinning the establishment of Nigeria’s governorship institutions. The chapter also highlights the challenges encountered in managing the relationship between personalities and institutions.


From Structures to Institutions: A Review of the Linkages between Form and Substance That the fate of development and democracy hangs on viable institutions is by now generally accepted (Huntington, 1968; Argyriades, 2003; Cheema, 2005:1–21). What is not yet clear is how institutions that are supportive of democracy move from their origins, through good and bad times, to the stage of maturity, and, precisely the role that human beings, particularly, leaders, play in this evolutionary (or revolutionary) process. The tendency among analysts up to now is to give greater prominence to the role of personalities over that of institutions (Jackson and Rosberg, 1984:421–42). While not totally discounting the influence of personalities, this chapter argues the proposition that building viable leadership selection systems hinges on the creation and strengthening of institutions that are immune to human interference. This leads to the question what is meant by institutions. At least two mutually contradictory definitions come to mind. The first, which is basically teleological, regards institutions as purposive, goal-directed entities. The second, inspired by evolutionary biology, sees institutions as a system of values, norms, rules, and practices that, based on random variations in the nature of societies, emerge on their own—that is, without any predetermined purpose or any human helping hand. The first question to settle therefore is whether institutions performing leadership vetting and selection roles are consciously created, or, following the natural process of evolution, they “self-assemble.” This further raises the question what institutions are, how they originate, and the preconditions for their survival in a period of rapid change. In an attempt at answering these questions institutional economists have coined two terms, that is, “institutional environment” and “institutional arrangements” (Williamson, 1985, 1993). By “institutional environment” is meant the background constraints or “rules of the game” that at once prescribe and predict individual (and group) behavior. These rules can be formal and explicit (as in state constitutions, electoral laws, political parties’ standing orders and rules of procedure, and civic groups’ as well as private firms’ articles of association). The rules might also be informal and implicit. Examples of informal, unwritten rules are traditional beliefs about the making and mandate of leaders, social conventions on the prerogatives of rulers, norms of right and wrong for determining suitability for retention in office, encoded symbols, totems and superstitions associated with the ruler’s office and personality—all transmitted from one generation to another. Since it has evolved over time rather than emerge “spontaneously,” the institutional environment is an

the institutional dimension / 41

aggregation of values that could not be manipulated, “modernized,” or changed overnight by a few individuals. By contrast, the “institutional arrangements” are malleable organizational entities. They include the structures and processes consciously established to mediate interpersonal and intergroup relationships. Parliaments, the judiciary, cabinets, or executive councils, civil service bureaucracies, the police force, political parties, business firms, civic organizations, and enforceable contracts are examples of institutional arrangements. They are liable to change depending on who controls them and the purposes that the human handlers wish the arrangements to serve. Useful as it may be, the distinction (between institutional environment and institutional arrangements) leaves unanswered the question why the supposedly unchangeable environment undergoes change, while the variable arrangements (structures and processes) tend to be rigid and inflexible. As a matter of fact, the assumption that the environment is impervious to change ignores a major historical lesson—that values once held dear tend to be supplanted by others, depending on the configuration of forces at any point in time. Why else would medieval feudalism have been toppled in the industrial revolution of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and South Africa’s apartheid system dismantled by majority rule in 1994? By contrast, the “institutional arrangement” that economic institutionalism curiously assumes to be flexible may be anything but. Once organization structures and processes team up with the rules regime, that is, with the environment, and harden into a “culture,” changing them becomes a most difficult task. In examining the prevailing “culture” of leadership selection in Nigeria, this chapter takes a broad and holistic view of the term “institution”—a view that presupposes a constant interaction between the evolving environment and the human engineered or created arrangements. According to the chapter, an institution is made up of the core values, the supportive structural and legal arrangements, and the behavior patterns that have consistently proved capable of achieving predetermined objectives, adapting to intergenerational changes, and outliving their human progenitors. The building blocks of an institution, as here defined, are: a. Core values and underlying purpose(s) (made up of informal rules and conduct); b. Structure and processes (formally and consciously enacted rules); and c. The consequences of the interactions between (a) and (b) for change and stability.


Nigeria’s experience reveals that where the values underpinning a formal arrangement are asymmetrical to the arrangement, and are not sufficiently entrenched in society as a whole, it would take created structures an unduly long time to evolve into institutions. By the same token, opportunities for human interference would tend to diminish as the values become widely diffused and accepted, and the rules of the game (including the structure and processes, the formal and the informal rules of conduct) coalesce and harden sufficiently to be internalized by all actors. The Rise and Fall of Nigeria’s Governorship Institutions: An Overview Establishing institutions has not been a problem in Nigeria. What has proved rather difficult is exercising the discipline which would enable the institutions to serve intended purposes. As table 6.1 shows, institutions with politically sensitive mandates risk being hijacked to serve partisan or private ends. The risk of an institution becoming politically distracted increases as its leadership lacks the courage to stand up to outside interference and to resist extraneous influences. Whether the institution will bend to the politicians’ will or serve its constitutionally mandated purpose depends on the character of those running it. Institution Building Stage: Role of Personalities Personalities and institutions are intimately connected. The human hand is visible at the origin and early life of an institution. It is only when the latter reaches maturity that it begins to take on a life of its own and to structure the former’s behavior. As far as Nigeria is concerned, the institution building process formed part of the wider struggle for independence. At constitutional conferences preceding the transfer of power to indigenous elites, the issue of the adaptation of colonial institutions to meet postindependence requirements and the creation of new ones was prominent on the agenda. Among the institutions deemed critical to the attainment of the country’s sovereign objectives was the 1960 Constitution which, besides transferring power to the people of Nigeria, entrenched a charter of rights and freedoms, and provided for the creation of supporting institutional arrangements. Institution Decay and Obliteration Notwithstanding the initial differences between and among the nationalist leaders (see chapters five and eight for an account of the differences) the


struggle for independence from Britain provided an opportunity to unite behind a set of values. The values cherished by leaders, regardless of their political differences, included the creation of a state called Nigeria, the transfer of sovereign powers from Britain to the new state, respect for citizen rights and freedoms (even if this was a mere constitutional platitude), and improvement in the people’s living standards. However, it is not enough to espouse highly inspiring values, or even to “entrench” them in constitutions. Failure to reach a consensus on the underlying values will always set back efforts at building, nurturing, and operating sound democratic institutions. Whether the values will thrive and grow or wither away thus depends on how acceptable they are to the generality of the people. The lack of consensus among the constituent units of the federation, that is, the regions, on the essence of the Nigeria state served as a major threat to the survival of whatever values and institutions the first generation of leaders incorporated in the 1960 and 1963 constitutions. Added to the interregional rivalry was the systematic weakening of the imported institutions. Debates in the federal House of Representatives were lively mainly because no single party was in absolute control. This was not the case in the regions each of which was controlled by a dominant political party, and where the Houses of Assemblies were mere rubberstamps of the executive. Agencies under the direct control of the executive (such as the police, tax assessment committees, alkali and customary courts) operated as instruments of political harassment. The western region was an exception. As noted in the following chapters, the crisis that erupted in the Action Group in 1962 had turned the region into a political battle zone. The instability in the region was not a sign that pluralism was on the rise but that parliamentary democracy was seriously endangered. It was in fact in the western region that the failure of the institutional “heart transplant” first became conspicuous. In 1962, following a disagreement among members of the region’s House of Assembly, an irate legislator seized the Speaker’s Mace and smashed it on a colleague’s head. In other words, a symbol of the speaker’s authority in Westminster had become a weapon of war in the west regional House of Assembly. The military coup of January 1966 was meant to check the excesses of the politicians and, according to the organizers, to “correct” the ills of the past. However, as argued in chapter nine, that singular act caused the institution building process a serious harm—one from which the process has to-date not fully recovered. Out of 46 years as an independent nation, Nigerians have had no more than 18 (years) to learn how to operate democratic institutions and to master the Tocquevillian art of “associating


together”—including the art of party formation and organization, of candidate screening, and of voting at free and fair elections. For 29 years, Nigeria was ruled by a succession of military strong men. Institution Re-creation and Reorientation To be fair, it should be noted that some of the military rulers acknowledged the need to fill the institutional gap. The Murtala Mohammed/Obasanjo regime did not stop with demolition, but went on to produce a construction design of its own. Examples are the Public Complaints Commission, the Code of Conduct Bureau, the Constituent Assembly, and the promulgation of a political program that culminated in the transfer of power to civilians in 1979. However, it was Ibrahim Babangida who as military president took a proactive view of his institution engineering, or more specifically, institution cloning role. He started in June 1986 by imposing a 10-year ban on all leading politicians. Fourteen months later (September 1987), he widened the scope of the ban to include all civilian and military rulers who had served in the first and second republics. Those among them found guilty of abuse of office were banned for life. Rather than wait for society to organize itself into political parties that would produce “new-breed” leaders, or for the rich (derogatively termed “money bags”) to hijack the party formation process, the Babangida regime decided on its own to create two political parties, details of which are provided in chapters nine and ten. The first, the Social Democratic Party, was to lean “a little to the left,” and the other, the National Republican Convention, “a little to the right” (Balogun 1996:308). The “Self-succession” Instinct Unless created with the active participation and support of its operators, an institutional arrangement runs the risk of being dismantled when its creator disappears from the scene. This is probably why a few leaders are anxious to prolong their tenure or take other measures to insure their legacies against being erased by successors. Probably because of the strong forces he had to contend with, President Babangida did not attempt to “succeed” himself in office—at least, not overtly like General Sani Abacha, or like those behind former President Obasanjo’s “third-term” constitutional amendment plan. If Babangida had any “self-succession” ambition, it must have been limited to the perpetuation of his programs and institutional arrangements. Backing up this thesis is his decision to leave a lieutenant, General Sani Abacha behind when he, Babangida


“stepped aside” in 1993. The idea was for Abacha, as defense secretary (minister) in the Interim Government of Unity headed by Chief Shonekan, to serve as a bridge between the departing head of state and Shonekan’s administration. Babangida’s idea of perpetuating his legacy suddenly went awry. General Sani Abacha who was to keep an eye on Shonekan decided to sweep the interim government aside, and seize power for himself. Instead of perpetuating Babangida’s legacy, Abacha began to have his own “selfsuccession” dream. His first action was to dismantle the “new-breed” structures created by Babangida. It was easy for General Abacha to demolish the structures and impose his own brand of personal rule because they (the structures) were neither underpinned by any core values, nor linked to civil society at large. More or less the same thing could be said of the political parties that were hurriedly formed to contest the 1999 elections. The death of Abacha in 1997 might have stopped the General’s “self-succession” bid, but it also caught the civilian leaders totally unprepared. Unlike the African National Congress1 that, in defiance of the apartheid regime, had kept its structure intact and maintained its links with the grassroots during the long struggle, the parties of the Fourth Republic—the People’s Democratic Party, the All Nigerian People’s Party, and the Alliance for Democracy—were products of haste. They rushed into the 1999 elections without coherent policies, clear reporting and accountability structures, and grass roots support. Little wonder that the new parties were plagued by internal crises, with factions forming and breaking away from the main bodies. As at January 2007, no less than 50 political parties had been registered to contest the April elections (International Crisis Group, 2007: 23). Nigerian National Values and Leadership Change: A Review of the Linkages Under normal circumstances, the constant change in the leadership of Nigeria ought to work to the advantage of national values. Yet, rather than give the values the space they need to grow and then finally mature— that is, to “evolve” into resilient, tamper-proof institutions—the constant, but inevitable, change in personalities tends to leave the environment with mutating and unstable norms and practices. In such circumstances, the environment of rotating personalities becomes not the bedrock of the institutionalization of structures and processes that it ought to be, but a captive of changeable, human-engineered “institutional arrangements.” Such an environment acts according to the will of those into whose hands it falls at


any particular time. To put it in a slightly different language, leaders come and go, but they rarely find on arrival, or leave behind on departure, a set of enduring values. The situation whereby the environment bends to the will of constantly exfoliated generations of leaders is a no-win one for both. The first loser is the environment which may exist for long periods without boasting any strong tradition—a tradition binding disparate groups into a solid whole. The second casualty of tradition-erasing change are the succeeding generations of leaders who, working on a clean slate, are obliged to relearn old lessons. This has been Nigeria’s experience. From 1960 when the country attained its independence, through the giddy years of military rule and of aborted civilianization, to the Fourth Republic’s uneasy return to civilian rule, the leaders and the citizenry at large have yet to reach a consensus on a set of abiding values—values that could be relied upon to settle questions of power and how it is to be legitimately acquired or lost. It is tempting to blame the lack of enduring values (along with the instability in norms and practices) on Nigeria’s origin as a multicultural society. However, if Nigeria’s diversity was ever a threat to the evolution of a set of unifying values, the leaders’ reluctance to involve their followers in the state construction (including constitution-making) efforts constitutes even a more formidable obstacle. Nigeria’s diversity has received a lot of attention in previous, and would be further addressed in the succeeding, chapters. The ethnic, religious, linguistic, and cultural differences are, as earlier noted, sharpened by diversity in each group’s notions of right and wrong. However, most fundamental to the process of public leadership selection is the divergence of perspective on the purpose of the new state, and what constitutes its abiding interest. The tendency among the leaders is to equate their individual cravings with their ethnic or primary groups’ aspirations, and to package both as Nigeria’s “national interest.” This peculiarly elitist habit of projecting individual and sectional desires as the collective will is, as the next chapter indicates, noticeable in constitution making and state construction efforts. With the possible exception of the 1979 Constitution drawn by a Constituent Assembly,2 Nigerian constitutions mostly owe their origins not to the people but to those into whose hands the governorship of the day falls. Yet, this fundamental law of the land almost invariably conveys the impression, largely erroneous, that it derives its inspiration and legitimacy from the people. Thus a reader not familiar with Nigeria would go away with the impression that the latest constitution, the one promulgated by military decree in 1999, was the outcome of mass deliberations. Like its precursors, the constitution falsely claims that all the people of Nigeria


(sitting together or speaking through their duly accredited representatives) not only “firmly” but also “solemnly” resolved to live in unity and harmony. Its preamble reads as follows: We the people of the Federal Republic of Nigeria, Having firmly and solemnly resolved, to live in unity and harmony as one indivisible and indissoluble sovereign nation under God, dedicated to the promotion of inter-African solidarity, world peace, international co-operation and understanding; And to provide for a Constitution for the purpose of promoting the good government and welfare of all persons in our country, on the principles of freedom, equality and justice, and for the purpose of consolidating the unity of our people; Do hereby make, enact and give to ourselves the following Constitution. . . .

The first question is when or where the people met to so decide—that is, give themselves a constitution and live harmoniously ever after. If they did resolve to “live in unity and harmony” as citizens of the same country, how come Nigerians were taking up arms against their compatriots— particularly, against those regarded as “non-indigenes,” or despised on religious and sectarian grounds? Contrary to the affirmation in its opening paragraphs, the 1999 Constitution is a document most probably authored by bureaucrats acting on the instructions of the government of the day—a government which, after making suitable modifications, foisted the final text on the people. There is no doubt that if the government had sought the opinion of the people, the vast majority would have voted “firmly and solemnly” for “a strong, united, indivisible and indissoluble sovereign Nigeria under God. . . . ” The potential benefits of living and seeking livelihood within a country the size of Nigeria are too overwhelming to be ignored, and even if they were not readily appreciated, they would have been brought out in an open dialogue. However, by refusing to carry the people along in the constitution drafting exercise, succeeding generations of leaders have lost the opportunity to make the case for a united Nigeria, and have instead, strengthened the hands of the opponents of the existing political order—particularly, the advocates of a Sovereign National Conference, of a loose federation or a confederation, of ethnic separatism, and of outright secession. The process by which the nation’s fundamental law was produced could not but lead to differences of opinions on its status and meaning. These differences of opinion would latter affect the way civic obligations are understood and discharged, and determine the extent to which public


officials (from the highest to the lowliest) would carry out their constitutionally mandated functions. The 1999 Constitution rightly accepted the premise that the Nigerian state is an indisputable fact. The state might have been a creature of the colonial authority, but none of the leaders that fought for independence ever contemplated breaking it up on the departure of the British. As a sovereign state, it is older than many of those seeking to dismantle it. It is on this mere fact of its long existence as a nation-state that the 1999 Constitution rested its basic assumption—the assumption that Nigeria was founded on the “will of the people.” Based on this assumption, the constitution recognizes the sovereignty of the People. The people is the font et origo of power, particularly, the power to decide among contestants who would be given the mandate to rule, and of the authority that agents of the state would exercise. The only snag is that in confirming this strategic role of the people, the authors of the Nigerian constitution have consistently forgotten to bring them (the people or their elected representatives) into the discussion. The chapter on the “Fundamental Objectives and directive Principles of State Policy” (Chapter II of the constitution) makes for interesting reading. It is a long wish list of what the Nigerian state expects to accomplish in the medium to long-term. No sector is left without an objective to accomplish or a function to perform. The substantive part of the constitution begins in Article 14 (1) with the stipulation that the Federal Republic of Nigeria “shall be a state based on the principles of democracy and social justice.” To this end, “sovereignty belongs to the people . . . from whom government through this Constitution derives all its power and authority.” However, as noted in subsequent chapters of this book, sovereignty might in name belong to the people, but it had for years been confiscated either by military juntas or by civilian oligarchies. It is even doubtful that the leaders earnestly believe that power lies with the people, or that the people are aware of their own significance under the constitution. Further betraying the naiveté (or cynicism) of the constitution’s drafters is the task they set the Nigerian state in Article 15 (5), that is, the task of “abolish[ing] all corrupt practices and abuse of power.” The security and welfare of the people, they insist, shall be the primary purpose of government. Moreover, the participation by the people in their government would be ensured in accordance with the provisions of the constitution, although the same constitution is silent on how this would happen in real life and time. To promote a sense of belonging among a wide cross section of the country, the constitution requires that the composition of


government and the implementation of its programs should reflect the country’s diversity. Perhaps not aware that neoliberalism was about to disrupt the erstwhile socialist and central planning arrangements, the constitution decreed that the economic system would not be operated in such a manner as to permit the concentration of wealth or the means of production and exchange in the hands of few individuals or of a group. It promised all citizens suitable and adequate shelter, suitable and adequate food, reasonable national minimum living wage, old age care and pensions, unemployment and sickness benefits, as well as welfare for the disabled. It thus failed to anticipate the widening socioeconomic deficits highlighted in the latter part of this book. Other important clauses in the constitution deal with the Nigerian citizenship and how to possess or acquire it. The fundamental rights of citizens (and non-citizens) are spelt out in detail, even though how to enforce these rights remains an open question. Implementing the Supportive Institutional Arrangements: The Moral Hazards The values enshrined in any constitution or law would have no meaning until they begin to govern relations among the actors or stakeholders. This underscores the importance frequently attached to the creation of structures as part of the process of perpetuating and “institutionalizing” the values. The normal dictionary definition of a structure is the “arrangement of and relations between the parts of something complex.” It is not unlikely that a structure that was once established for a specific purpose (say, detection and investigation of crime) has wandered off in another direction (for instance, protection of criminal syndicates, fingering of potential witnesses, and checking out of firearms from police ordinance depots for subsequent use by criminal gangs). A research institute may become more famous for infighting than for breakthroughs in science and technology. A leadership group that championed the cause of democracy and good governance while in the opposition might be the worst human rights violators when in power. It should further be acknowledged that not every rule or law enacted deserves to live long enough to be “institutionalized.” Laws that violate the principles of natural justice, equity, and “good conscience” (notably, those condoning human sacrifice, infanticide, apartheid, slavery, and internal colonialism) ought to be overturned lest they become the sole rationale for absurd action.


The assumption is that early in the life of an institution, formally enacted rules will be fluid and changeable, but over time, as the institution rolls with good and bad times, the formal and the informal rules of conduct will intermix, and then harden into a culture that determines “how the system works.” At the early stage of its life, the stage at which the formal and the informal rules have not fully coagulated into a “culture,” the institution will begin to wrestle with what economists term “moral hazards”—that is, the risk that actual behavior will not necessarily conform to formal stipulations. Institutional Arrangements: Formal Provisions versus Substantive Action The 1999 Constitution acknowledges the significance of structures to the institutionalization process by providing for the establishment of a number of organs and agencies. Among the structures that have been created in pursuit of the Nigerian state objectives are, as earlier noted, the legislature, the executive (and its agencies), and the judiciary. However, the more politically sensitive and malleable an arrangement is, the greater will be the likelihood of its being diverted from its formally stated objectives. The legislature and the judiciary are politically sensitive, but are not necessarily susceptible to extraneous influences. Under effective leadership, an otherwise politically significant structure is likely to resist external interference, and to carry out its mission taking into account the underlying values. To argue that institutions have a structural dimension is, in any case, not to equate the former with the latter. Viewed in the narrowest sense, a structure will be synonymous with an organization, and neither could be more than a sub-set of an institution. Indeed, to institutionalize is not necessarily to “lead,” much less, “organize” or “bureaucratize” (Alberti and Balogun, 2006). The most durable and ubiquitous institution is that of “marriage.” Yet, it is rarely, if ever, formally or bureaucratically “organized.” Conversely, a structure like the Nigeria Police is not an institution, even though its head, the Inspector-General is prominently mentioned in the 1999 Constitution. The Nigeria Police is a classic example of a bureaucracy, with the Inspector-General sitting at the top and, directly or through surrogates, overseeing the performance of Deputy and Assistant InspectorsGeneral, Commissioners, Deputy and Assistant Commissioners of Police, Chief Superintendents, Superintendents, Inspectors, Sergeants, Corporals, all down to the ordinary constables. This hierarchical structure does not


guarantee that the basic law enforcement functions would be carried out as statutorily defined, or that the officers and the men would behave with the police’s professional code of conduct as their guide. The hazards of deviation from the norm tend to increase as the agency is confronted by gravitational forces stronger than itself. At the most, a structure that is “bureaucratized,” rather than “institutionalized,” will be under the control of hierarchical superiors, and of persons entrusted with the interpretation and application of rules. This will still not insure the structure against moral hazards. The risk of noncompliance with stipulated guidelines will heighten where the values “internalized” by the operators of the agency (e.g., rent-seeking) differ from the constitutionally or statutorily prescribed ones (say, impartiality or integrity). In the case of the Nigeria Police, members would take instructions mainly from the top cadre, who in turn would be assisted by the internal enforcers of rules and discipline in the organization’s administration and finance units. In contrast, when the structure of the Police becomes fully “institutionalized,” the values underpinning it will be the officers’ and the men’s main guide to action. Thus, in an ideal state—the state at which the spirit and the letter of the law are fully imbibed and deeply “institutionalized”—a police constable would, as dictated by the ethics of his/her profession, apprehend offenders rather than wait to be so instructed by his/her superiors. By the same token, the Police Commissioner will not declare an assembly unlawful on the say-so of a high-ranking political functionary, but only in accordance with the law of the land. A truly independent tribunal of inquiry will not conduct its hearing or draft its report under the supervision of interested parties.3 This is easier said than done. As indicated in the subsequent chapters, Nigeria still has a long way to go to bridge the gap between formal structural precepts and effective institutional behavior. A question arising from the preceding analysis is whether leadership is by itself an “institution” or a “structure. Even in its purest, most visionary, dynamic engagement form, leadership cannot be equated with an institution. It is relevant to the institutionalization process only insofar as it champions, in addition to upholding, some cherished and enduring values. Otherwise it is no more than a changeable part of the “institutional arrangements.” Like the rest of Africa (Southall, Simutanyi, and Daniel, 2006:1–6), Nigeria’s experience from the 1960s to the present clearly testifies to the ephemeral nature of leadership. Chapters eight and nine in particular show that since the attainment of independence, the leadership of Nigeria had rotated among different personalities, with each leaving


footprints (mostly structures and programs) that successors quickly erased or replaced.4 As indicated in subsequent paragraphs, the failure of succeeding generations of leaders to identify Nigeria’s abiding interest and “stay the course” (dictated by the interest), has warranted their having to relearn old institutional lessons ad infinitum. Former president Shehu Shagari lucidly makes the point about the risk in adopting new structures and practices without reckoning with ingrained habits, and without giving the operators adequate time to master the latest “knowhow.” Commenting on the first four years of the adoption of the presidential system of government in Nigeria, the president laments the dearth of experience in how to make the system work. He particularly notes that we (the actors) tended to have mixed up the presidential system with the parliamentary system, which most of us were used to. It took us a great deal of time to actually grasp the essence of the executive presidential system which did not provide for the opposition, the shadow cabinet or the alternative government of the parliamentary system.5

Before the civilians had time learn how to make the system work, the military seized power and took the country in a completely different direction. Time is thus of essence in the institutionalization process. It provides an opportunity to learn from mistakes, and for practices to mature based on the experience in rolling with the good and the bad. Legislature: Practices without a Tradition The legislature was one of the institutional arrangements that gave the operators of the presidential system a lot of headache in the first four years of the Second Republic. The reasons are not far to seek. The 13 years of military rule (from 1966 to 1979) had not only interrupted the sixyear (1960–1966) experiment in parliamentary democracy but had also erased whatever memory there was of the adoption of legislative practices and procedure. The military ruled by decree and not based on laws duly enacted by representative assemblies. Among the institutional arrangements set out in the 1979 (and reproduced in the 1999) constitution are a bicameral National Assembly comprising the Senate and a House of Representatives, and State Assemblies. The former is empowered to legislate on subjects on the “exclusive list” (notably, foreign affairs, currency, defense, banking, citizenship, and naturalization), while the latter, the State Assemblies, could legislate on subjects on the “concurrent” list (for instance, electric power stations, local


government and local government elections, industry, agriculture, and commerce, and administration of justice). As autonomous institutions, the legislative assemblies have developed their own norms and rules of decorum—backed by symbols such as the speaker’s procession before the opening of legislative sessions, the gavel, the Mace, and the Sergeant-at-Arms, all signifying the authority of the presiding officers, and the committee system. To the credit of the members and the principal officers of the National Assembly of the Fourth Republic, they demonstrated great tenacity in working out and sticking to their internal rules of procedure. The National Assembly clearly proved the skeptics wrong when it overturned plans to amend the constitution to allow former President Olusegun Obasanjo to contest for a third term. However, it remains to be seen whether this demonstration of autonomy signaled the beginning of a strong legislative tradition—a tradition that will survive changes in the leadership of the National Assembly and resist external interference. Executive Agencies: Infinite Evolution of Created Structures The executive is another institutional arrangement provided for under the constitution. Executive powers are vested in the president of the Federation and in the state governors. Among the agencies coming under the Federal president and the state governors are the federal and the state executive councils, the career civil service, state-owned corporations, statutory boards, and regulatory commissions. As an extension of the traditional society’s deference to authority, the allegiance of the agencies is mostly toward their administrative heads that, in turn, might bend to the will of the “political masters.” National security is the primary responsibility of the president. This places the law enforcement agencies, particularly, the police, under his control. As provided for in the 1999 Constitution, the president is empowered to issue instructions to the Inspector-General of Police when, in his opinion, the security of the nation so dictates. The state governor is also responsible for the security of his/her state. He too can issue instructions to the state Commissioner of Police, but the latter is not bound to carry out the instructions until s/he has obtained clearance from the president (through the Inspector-General of Police). This has serious implications not only for law and order but also for the conduct of free and fair elections As Box 3.1 on the establishment and evolution of the Nigeria Police shows, this public agency plays a critical role not only in maintaining law and order, but also in suppressing political disturbances arising from electoral contests.


Box 3.1

The evolution of Nigeria’s national police organization

In the absence of strong and courageous leadership, the police is susceptible to political interference. Its statutorily mandated role is to maintain law and order. However, it has over the years turned out to be a crucial ally in the quest for and retention of power. No major election has been held in Nigeria without the police being accused of breaching its professional ethos and siding with the ruling party or favoring one candidate over the other. One of the first acts of an incoming regime is to appoint a new Inspector-General of Police. As provided for in Article 215(1) of the constitution, the InspectorGeneral of Police, is to be appointed by the president, on the advise of the Police Council. This does not mean that the Inspector-General is a free agent. The Police Council that “advises” the president on this critical appointment is headed not by a police professional, or any other neutral citizen, but (as provided for in the Third Schedule, Part I, Section K(27) of the Constitution) by the president himself. How the president will reject his own “advise,” which carries a lot of weight on the Police Council, is still a mystery. The Nigeria Police is a creature of the colonial administration, but it has been restructured on countless occasions by succeeding indigenous regimes. It started in 1861 as a thirty-member consular guard for the Lagos Colony. In 1879 a 1,200-member Hausa Constabulary was established with paramilitary capability. In 1894, the Niger Coast Constabulary was created in Calabar as part of the then newly proclaimed Niger Coast Protectorate, followed in 1896 by the Lagos Police. In the north, the Royal Niger Company set up the Royal Niger Company Constabulary in 1888, with headquarters at Lokoja. When the Northern and the Southern Protectorates were inaugurated in 1900, the Royal Niger Company Constabulary formed the nucleus of the Northern Nigeria Police, and the Niger Coast Constabulary was transformed into the Southern equivalent of the northern force. Notwithstanding the amalgamation of the Protectorates in 1914, a police force under a unified command did not come into being until April 1930 when the Nigerian Police Force was established with its headquarters in Lagos. During the greater part of colonial rule, the police came under the control of local governments. This is particularly so with the Native Authority Police in the north, and the Local Government Police in the east and the west. After independence, the indigenous political elite realized the significance of the police not only for

o


the maintenance of law and order, but also for the consolidation of power. The new rulers consequently dismantled the native authority (or local government) police and created regional police formations which were soon replaced with one national police, the Nigeria Police Force. In 1986, and following tension between the police and the army (sparked by allegation of increasing usurpation by the latter of the former’s law enforcement role) the NPF was reorganized into seven area/zonal commands which were further split into state, divisional and local commands. In addition, five directorates (criminal investigations, logistics, supplies, training, and operations) were established. The basic unit is the police station approximately 1,400 of which operate in different parts of the country. Between 1964 when Louis Orok Edet was appointed as the first indigenous head of the force, and 2007 when Mike Okiro took over in an acting capacity, no less than thirteen Nigerians had occupied the post of Inspector-General—coinciding roughly with the number of civilian and military regimes in Nigeria within the period. The 1979 constitution had provided for a Police Service Commission which would be responsible for the formulation of policy, organization, administration, and finance (excluding pensions). In 1989, the Babangida regime abolished the Police Service Commission and established the Nigeria Police Council which, as noted earlier, is headed by the President. In 1989 the NPF was further reorganized by the Armed Forces Ruling Council. In the same year, the NPF created a rapid deployment force in each state, separate from the mobile police units. Each state unit was commanded by an Assistant Superintendent of Police, and was equipped with vehicles, communications and crowd control equipment, including light arms, cane shields, batons, and tear gas. The (rapid deployment) force was expected to monitor developments around the country and ensure that threats to public order were quickly contained. The rationale was that nothing must be allowed to halt or disrupt the plan for transition to civil rule. As it turned out, the plan was derailed not by rioters but by the military government itself.

The Economic and Financial Crimes Commission is another organ of government whose high-profile anticorruption role has wittingly or unwittingly drawn it into politics. As noted in chapters six and ten, the commission successfully investigated cases of corruption, embezzlement, and


money laundering, and prosecuted top government functionaries (among them, state governors who had earlier been shielded by the immunity clause of the constitution). However, at the height of the debate on the proposal to amend the constitution and thereby pave the way for President Obasanjo to contest for a record third term, as well as in the months preceding the organization of the 2007 elections, the commission was accused of serving partisan political objectives. However, even the commission’s bitterest foe would agree that its first head, Nuhu Ribadu, had demonstrated extraordinary courage in waging war on corruption, and had applied his skills as a top police official to investigate cases brought to the commission’s attention. If Ribadu had any flaw, it was his craving for publicity. Rather than carry out his task in a quiet and professional manner, he made profound statements on television and pages of newspapers about his intention to sanitize the Nigerian bodypolitic. He thoroughly enjoyed the media exposure accompanying each high-profile arrest that the commission made, and he sometimes found it difficult drawing a line between his role as public officer, and the growing public perception of him as an appendage of the ruling party. His conspicuous role played into the hands of his critics who maintained that instead of fighting corruption, he and the EFCC had become forces that the Presidency deployed against its opponents. Those threatened by the EFCC or piqued by its chairman’s abrasive style eventually got what they craved most—Nuhu Ribadu’s ouster. As if sending a message that the former anticorruption czar still had one or two things to learn about his job, the government ordered him to proceed on a training course, not in Abuja, but in far away Kuru, the location of the National Institute for Policy and Strategic Studies. If the EFFC had caught public attention through its capacity to humiliate once mighty and untouchable rulers, the Independent National Electoral Commission was noticed only for ineptitude and for being in the middle of electoral controversies. This is tragic considering the hope and expectations of the law regarding its “democracy deepening” role. As provided for in Section 2 of the 2006 Electoral Act, the commission is empowered to: a. Conduct voter and civic education programs; and b. Promote knowledge of sound democratic election processes. To enable the commission to perform the two important functions listed above, Section 85 of the same Electoral Act stipulates that: i. Every political party shall give the commission at least 21 days notice of any convention, congress, conference, or meeting convened for


the purpose of selecting members of its executive committees, other governing bodies, or nominating candidates for any of the elective offices specified under the Act; ii. The commission may with or without prior notice to the political party monitor or attend any convention, congress, conference or meeting which is convened by a political party for the purpose of (a) electing members of its executive committee or other governing bodies; (b) nominating candidates for an election at any level; (c) approving a merger with any other registered political party; iii. Notice of any congress, conference, or meeting for the purpose of nominating candidates for Area Council elections shall be given to the commission at least 21 days before such congress, conference, or meeting. It was not until the beginning of 2008 that the commission showed signs of exercising its supervisory powers, and even then, it had to wait for instructions from the Presidency before performing its statutory role. This is the only conclusion that could be drawn from its decision to derail the PDP’s plan for the 2008 national convention. The commission felt that a directive from the Presidency (to comply with existing stipulations on the conduct of primaries and conventions) was what it needed to stand up to the ruling party which had failed to preface its national convention with lower-level primaries as required under the extant guidelines.6 The Judiciary: The Resurgence of the Third Arm Judicial powers are shared between the federal and the state governments. Among the judicial bodies allowed under the constitution are the High, Appeal, Customary Court of Appeal, and Supreme Courts (handling cases falling within the jurisdiction of the federal government). The courts operating at the state level are the High, Magistrate, Customary, and Sharia Courts. Election tribunals are constituted from time to time to handle petitions filed by aggrieved candidates. For years, the judiciary stayed out of the political fray. It was in fact very rare for contestants aggrieved by the outcome of elections to get the courts to overturn the results and order fresh elections. However, after eight years of being treated with contempt by the Federal government (which was notorious for flouting or ignoring court orders) the judiciary became alive to its responsibility. The judiciary was particularly alert in the wake of the 2007 elections which were alleged to have been marked by irregularities and malpractices. From then on, state governors and legislators found to be unduly elected could no longer count on walking away with


undeserved victories. The election tribunals would and did scuttle the results of elections proven to be defective. As at December 2007, the tribunals had declared no less than four state governors’ elections invalid. Non-state Institutions: Political Parties and Civic Groups Although not part of the formal state apparatus, institutions such as political parties, civic groups, and nongovernmental organizations share the governorship space with the three arms of government mentioned earlier. As provided for in Part III, Section D, Articles 221–228, no person could vie for an elective office unless as a candidate of a duly registered political party. And no party would be so registered by the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) which does not meet the stipulated requirements and fulfill the prescribed conditions. Article 229 defines a political party as any association whose activities include canvassing for votes in support of a candidate for election to the office of President, Vice-President, Governor, Deputy Governor or membership of a legislative house or of a local government council.

A political party is different from any other type of “association” that the constitution views as any body of persons corporate or unincorporate who agree to act together for any common purpose, and includes association formed for ethnic, social, cultural, occupational or religious purpose . . .

The constitution provides adequate space for the participation of political parties as well as non-political associations, but prohibits the operation of quasi-military organizations. As provided for in Article 227, No association shall retain, organize, train or equip any person or group of persons for the purpose of enabling them to be employed for the use or display of physical force or coercion in promoting any political objective or interest or in such manner as to arouse reasonable apprehension that they are organized and trained or equipped for that purpose.

As indicated in subsequent chapters, associations whose activities contravene the above-mentioned provision of the constitution have in recent years sprung up in different parts of the country. Among these are the Oodua People’s Congress, the Bakassi Boys, and the Movement for the


Emancipation of Niger Delta. While the state has since regained the initiative and has reclaimed its monopoly of coercion, sustaining citizen faith in the state requires that the values underpinning the state be widely shared. The political parties and the civic associations, in particular, need to imbibe the principle of democracy. Many of the crises facing the political parties formed in 1999 stem from the overwhelming influence of party elders variously termed “strong men,” godfathers,” and “garrison commanders” (See chapter ten). While other parties have their own internal differences, the People’s Democratic Party faced insurrections from state and local wings of the party, mostly over the nomination of candidates for elective offices.7 Local party officials also bristled at directives from the National Working Committee on the ground that these directives did not reflect grassroots concerns. It is against the growing clamor for internal democracy that a recent amendment to the ruling party’s constitution needs to be viewed. Up to the end of Olusegun Obasanjo’s tenure as president of Nigeria, the chairmanship of the Board of Trustees (BOT) of the PDP was held by one of his loyalists, Chief Tony Anenih. However, shortly before Obasanjo stepped down as head of state, the constitution of the party was amended to pave the way for his election as BOT chairman, in place of Anenih. This is likely to draw any former head of state produced by the party into partisan politics, thereby reducing whatever leverage he, as an elder statesman, may have when commenting on national issues or arbitrating conflict between or among groups. Specifically, Article 12 (77) of the party’s constitution was amended to read as follows: a. The Board of Trustees shall elect Chairman and Secretary from members of the Board. The Chairman and Secretary shall also be members of the National Executive Committee; b. Without prejudice to the provision of this constitution, the Board shall ensure that an elected Chairman is: i. either a former President of the Federal Republic of Nigeria produced by the party or in the absence of such, ii. a former National Chairman of the party who has distinguished himself in the service of the party; iii. a person of proven integrity who has contributed immensely to the growth of the party. . . .

The reconstituted BOT was also invested with extraordinary powers. As the “conscience” of the party, the Board would formulate policies which the government (if formed by the PDP) would implement. Besides


designating the Board as “the advisory council on policies and programs through its Chairman,” Article 12 (80) of the revised constitution expects the Board to: a. ensure a high standard of morality in all the activities of the party by acting as the conscience of the party; b. ensure high morale of members of the party; c. harmonize/coordinate/review and advise on party policies; d. coordinate the sourcing of party funds; e. be vested with the assets of the party and shall serve as custodians of such assets; f. mediate in disputes between the Executive and Legislative arms of Government; g. offer advice on party matters to the National Executive Committee of the party; h. Attend any meetings of any other organs of the party, except the National Caucus; i. Give advice on any party matters to the National Executive Committee of the party; and j. Undertake all other functions and activities as may be referred to it by the National Committee or the National Convention.8

President Obasanjo’s former deputy (vice president) Atiku Abubakar saw this coming. In a conversation with the author in February 2007, the then vice president was convinced that his boss would not give up in his attempt to remain politically relevant, notwithstanding the fact that the Senate had scuttled his third-term plan.9 This reading of the former president’s state of mind coincides with the assessment reported in another former president’s (Shehu Shagari’s) memoirs. Puzzled by Obasanjo’s vitriolic attack on his administration, Shagari had sent feelers to him (Obasanjo) to enquire where the hostility was coming from. Shagari subsequently traced the malevolence (as he termed it) to Obasanjo’s feeling of being left in the cold after his tenure as military head of state.10 If allowed to stand, the ruling party’s amendment to its constitution risks transforming the executive presidential system enshrined in the 1999 Constitution into a parliamentary one. Under the former, the Executive Branch implements the programs of the president, and not of his party. By contrast, the doctrine of collective responsibility that has evolved with the parliamentary system ties the fate of the government to the policies of the ruling party. The government rises or falls based on the support it receives in parliament. Under the presidential system, presidential candidates make personal pledges but draw on the support of political parties. In a parliamentary system, it is the party as a whole that goes to the electorate with a plank, manifesto, or program of action. Hopefully as Nigeria gains


additional experience in the operation of the presidential system, it will learn to avoid the pitfalls that a former president holds partly responsible for the collapse of the Second Republic.11 The political parties are not the only institutions that need to imbibe the ethos of democracy. The civic groups (including cultural associations) appear to have been afflicted by an equally deep malaise. The next chapter shows that while claiming to speak for the masses, these groups were in all probability formed by activists that had no contact with, or mandate from, the grassroots. Conclusion Strong and capable institutions are precisely what Nigeria needs to overcome the multiple sociopolitical and economic challenges facing it. However, efforts at nurturing such institutions are not likely to succeed until there is a broad measure of consensus on the underlying values. Regrettably, instead of viewing cultural diversity as a stepping-stone to a consensus on some enduring national values and to the establishment of viable governance institutions, the leaders and their followers have, until recently, chosen to exploit ethno-religious differences to capture or retain power (Diamond, 1995). In this respect, Nigeria has a lot to learn from the experiences of two countries—the United States of America and Haiti. In terms of attainment of independence, only 28 years separated one from the other, with the former casting off the yoke of colonialism in 1776, and the latter in 1804. Yet, while the United States has grown to be the most powerful nation on earth, the latter has been hobbled by instability, poverty, destitution, and governance failure. The explanation for the difference is not far to seek. While the United States from the beginning invested in institutions12 which have survived economic depressions, race riots, civil and world wars, as well as the Cold War, Haiti repeatedly fell into the hands of “strong men”—that is, leaders that ruled for some time before disappearing from the scene. In rejecting the personal-leadership hypothesis, this chapter holds that the problem with Nigeria lies not in leadership but in the persistent but naïve inflation of the importance of personalities relative to the paramountcy of values and institutions.


Ch a p t e r Fou r Role of Ci v i l Soc i e t y i n Le ade r sh i p R ec ru i t m e n t a n d R e n e wa l

Introduction The preceding chapters focus on the challenge facing Nigeria in working out a satisfactory formula for selecting and ensuring orderly succession of government leaders. The enduring nature of the challenge leads to one inescapable conclusion—that is, that the question of who leads is too important to be left to those holding or contesting leadership positions. Specifically, meeting the challenge of leadership selection and renewal requires the intervention of civil society at large. It is fair to ask what civil society has to do with leadership selection, more so, when other institutions (for instance, political parties, party primaries, and conventions, and, for better or worse, party elders) exist to perform this essential function. In theory, it (civil society) has a dual role to play in the leadership selection and renewal process. As an impartial entity, civil society is the whole nation rather than the sum of its parts. As the guardian of its own values, civil society is well-placed to arbitrate conflict between and among those seeking the mandate to lead. The second role, which is that of active engagement with the selection process, would at first appear as mutually inconsistent with the first. Yet, the contradiction is more apparent than real. Civil society may be impartial, but it is hardly, if ever, totally disinterested. As the body that bears the brunt of governorship failure, civil society cannot sit idle while the leadership selection process looks like placing wrong candidates in strategic positions, or triggering conflict that it (the selection process) is unable to contain. In practice, the impact that civil society will have on leadership selection depends on the context. In the specific case of Nigeria, for example, civil society has proved largely incapable of performing the advocacy and balancing roles in support of the leadership selection process. There are at least two reasons for this. First, what passes for “civil society” in


Nigeria is nothing but a medley of activist-dominated, largely urban-based pressure groups, elite-oriented professional associations, and self-styled spokespersons of ethnic or cultural solidarity fronts. Second, and due to the narrow focus of, as well as the internal leadership crises facing, the politically active groups, Nigeria’s civil society has not been sufficiently mobilized to be fully engaged in the governorship process. Where a section of civil society—particularly the section dominated by advocates of ethnic separatism or hegemony—chooses to intervene in leadership disputes, it is liable to be partisan, uncompromising, and given to mutually exclusive demands and bluster. In highlighting the weaknesses of civil society, this chapter locates the groups falling under the heading, examines civil society’s role in governorship, identifies obstacles to its participation in the leadership selection process, and discusses measures needed to overcome the obstacles. Nigerian Civil Society: What and Where Is It, and How Does It Operate? Nigeria’s civil society comprises two broad categories, notably, primary groups, and secondary associations. Falling under the first category are ethnic nationalities, clans, and kinship groups, cultural organizations, and religious denominations or sects. The second category is made up of groups championing the interests of business enterprises and employers, workers, consumers, professional bodies, landlords, tenants, women, and students. The secondary associations also include civic advocacy groups, nongovernmental organizations, and freelance sociopolitical activists. Civil Society in Its Primeval Form Much of the pressure from and on civil society comes from groups built around primordial allegiances. As noted in chapter two, the 130 million people of Nigeria belong to no less than 250 ethnic groups and speak up to 400 different languages. Besides the Hausa/Fulani, the Igbo, and the Yoruba, other ethnic nationalities exist to assert their interests and demand what they believe to be rightly theirs. Claiming to represent the “big three” are ethnic-cum-cultural organizations established between the pre- and the post-independence periods. Cultural organizations started mostly as popular fronts against colonial rule. In the north where the native authority or government provided the only opportunity for employment, the educated class was restrained by civil service regulations from showing overt interest in politics. This left the field wide open for trade unions or sociocultural organizations. Examples

role of civil society / 65

of such organizations are the Barewa Old Boys Association formed in 1939, the Northern Elements Progressive Association, the Mutanen Arewa Yau, and the Ja’miyyar Mutannen Arewa—all established between 1945 and 1946 (Shagari, 2001: 66). The relationship between a few cultural associations and political parties soon became symbiotic. Afenifere for instance is an offshoot of the Action Group1 which itself traced its roots to the Egbe Omo Oduduwa. Its mission is to look out for the interest of the Yoruba. Competing with Afenifere is the Igbimo Agba Yoruba (meaning, Yoruba Council of Elders). The Igbo bloc is represented by the Ohaneze Ndigbo (which replaced the former Ibo State Union, itself a significant NCNC backbone). Unlike the Yoruba and the Igbo umbrella organizations, however, the third group, the Arewa Consultative Forum, was founded on a regional rather than on a specific ethnic or religious identity. In terms of objective and composition, the Arewa Consultative Forum may be described as a reincarnation of the Jammar Mutannen Arewa that preceded the formation of the Northern People’s Congress (NPC). Other ethnic communities have since followed the footsteps of the “big three” by creating rival organizations. The Middle Belt Forum brings together a narrow circle of people (mostly, friends and former school or class mates) from the Middle Belt region. In the Niger-Delta, a group answering to the name “the Niger-Delta Elders Forum” was inaugurated with the aim of championing the region’s cause. Running parallel to the Forum are the South-South Forum as well as the ethnic solidarity groups established in the region and in other parts of Nigeria. Among these are the groups created to advance the interests of the Ijaw (e.g., the Ijaw National Congress), the Kalabari, Afenmai, the Urhobo, the Itsekiri, the Edo, the Efik, the Ibibio, and the Annangs, among others. Town Improvement Associations, which once specialized in pooling resources to award scholarships to deserving “sons of the soil,” have reinvented themselves into groups lobbying for cabinet positions and government patronage. As leaders of their communities, traditional rulers sometimes show keen interest in the placement of their subjects in government positions. How influential each traditional ruler is, however, depends on the extent to which the central government could count on his support in lining the people behind its policies, popular or otherwise, or in stabilizing situations when things get out of hand. The latter is based on the assumption that traditional rulers were always associated with their domains’ peace and security. This assumption is not totally valid. According to This Day of December 22, 2007, the traditional ruler of Okrika, Rivers State, His Royal Majesty, Captain Nemi Iyalla Oputibeya X, was arraigned in court, accused of sponsoring kidnappers and participating in the activities of a


secret cult called “the Icelanders.” The traditional ruler faced the charge along with two of his kinsmen, Chief Stephen Nonjury Opungiriko and Nathan Sotonye Alabo. The traditional ruler’s case was one of many cited by a special Task Force on the Nigeria Delta. The Task Force (headed by General Lawrence Ngubane) alerted the Federal government to the fact that traditional rulers and top politicians were cuddling armed militants and lending the latter credibility. Apart from armed militants, secret societies operate in some communities with or without the support of traditional rulers. Examples are the Ogboni, among the Yoruba; the Efik’s Ekpe Society; the Egbesu that draws its membership from the Ijaw; and the Okija cult referred to in chapter two. The secret societies are essentially mutual-aid groups bound together by oaths of allegiance and (as the name implies) secrecy. They watch out for the interest of members, and come to the rescue of those within their fold that are under attack from without. It is widely believed that secret societies sponsored the candidature of members for key offices in the police, the judiciary and in the executive branch of government. In 1977, the Obasanjo regime issued a decree banning them. In addition, the 1999 Constitution forbids a member of a secret society to contest the office of president. How effective the proscription attempts have been is an open question. Of all the groups founded on primordial loyalties and consanguine relations, the most threatening are the ones operating as ethnic vigilantes or militias. Examples are the Oodua People’s Congress (OPC), the Bakassi Boys, the Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta (MEND), and the radical wing of the Movement for the Survival of the Ogoni People (MOSOB). The first two, OPC and the Bakassi Boys started well and with noble objectives. Concerned about the menace that crime constituted to the security of their neighborhoods (the Yoruba communities, in the case of the OPC, and the Igbo business establishments, in the case of the Bakassi Boys) the two organizations recruited young men to patrol under-policed areas and apprehend offenders. The vigilante groups recorded initial successes, as they took out dangerous criminals that had earlier enjoyed immunity from arrest or prosecution. The local communities often showed their gratitude by showering the vigilante groups with gifts and supplying anonymous tips on the hideouts of criminals (including armed robbers). Over time, however, the parallel law enforcement role performed by the groups pitched them against the police force. Besides, the instant conviction and summary execution of criminals did not go down well with the sticklers for regular judicial procedure. In the end, the rule of the state and of law prevailed.


Religious denominations and sects belong to the primordial wing of civil society. The state may be secular, but the Nigerian society is multireligious. At one time or the other, the practices and prohibitions of the various religious sects (particularly, Islam, Christianity, and the traditional religions) bring the adherents in conflict with one another, and warrant the intervention of the state. The deeper the state gets drawn into religion, the more interested the latter becomes in the affairs of the former, with adherents of the various religions openly sponsoring or vetoing the candidature of aspirants to public leadership positions. Struggle for Power Overall, while people of faith are content merely to speak truth to power (or massage the truth for the sake of money, as the case may be), the leaders of the various ethnic groups are inclined to go after power itself, and to make spirited efforts to capture it. The intense struggle for government leadership positions is a clear illustration of each ethnic group’s interest in beating its rivals to power. Behind this struggle lies a morbid, nay pathological, fear of not being in control of the governmental apparatus, combined with the profound distrust of political opponents. Thus, rather than collaborate on some enduring governorship philosophies and on the establishment of just and enduring institutions, the groups’ representatives and spokespersons prefer to invest time and considerable amount of energy on the installation of their kinsmen in public offices. The distrust among the defunct regions (and their three dominant “tribes”) has in fact survived long enough to infect the newly emerging but increasingly assertive minorities. Instead of reaching a consensus on governance values and institutions, civic and political leaders continue to reinvent ethnic animosities and religious cleavages, and to keep old regional rivalries alive as a way of achieving their personal objectives (Ake, 1994; Akinrinade, 2006:281). One minute they are talking about democracy, the next they are insisting that the presidency be “rotated” and that the number one post be immediately conceded to their “geo-political zone”—a nebulous, vaguely defined, but suffrage-preempting and powerconfiscating concept. The Afenifere is one of the groups championing ethnic causes, and laying exclusive claims to power. The group was active in the struggle against military rule. The Afenifere was a thorn in the flesh of the Abacha regime which responded by threatening the lives of the organization’s leaders, especially, Chief Abraham Adesanya.2 Its professed goals included reconstituting Nigeria into a federation of fairly autonomous states, transfer of control of resources to the states to enable them implement


people-oriented programs, and the convocation of a sovereign national conference (which would determine the future of the federation). It was this “progressive agenda” that the Yoruba cultural organization wished to advance when it backed the Alliance for Democracy (AD) at the latter’s inception as a political party in 1998. However, over time, both the Afenifere and its political wing, the AD, became closely identified with the advocacy of the Yoruba interest. Attempts by the two to project a panNigerian image were frustrated not only by unguarded statements by some of their leaders, but by the irredentist agenda pursued by other Yoruba organizations between 1999 and 2003. The utterances of some of the leaders of the Afenifere and the AD portrayed the two organizations’ leaders as ethnic chauvinists. For example, in opposing the candidature of Obasanjo for the office of president back in 1998, the two organizations had maintained that he was the candidate of the north, rather than of his own people, the Yoruba. This is how a prominent AD leader, Chief Ayo Adebanjo, put it: Obasanjo has just come to the show as a spoiler. That is all. There is no genuine intention to serve the people. The people who are pushing him want to use him to divide the Yoruba . . . I will not vote for him. Voting for him is like voting for a Northerner. That is why I am concerned. I don’t see any difference between Obasanjo and a Northern president and there are many people like me.3

Another AD sympathizer, Ebenezer Obadare, was equally scathing in his attack on Obasanjo, and on his presumed “northern backers.” He, Obadare, claimed to know who the Yoruba wanted as president, and he was certain that person was not Obasanjo, more so, as Obasanjo was carrying himself as “the favoured son of a barely obscure northern political machine.”4 The Igbimo Agba Yoruba (Yoruba Council of Elders) is another cultural organization with a clear ethnic hegemonic agenda. There is no evidence to back the speculation that the Igbimo was sponsored by the Obasanjo regime to checkmate the Afenifere in the south west. However, little was known about the organization before 1999. Compared to the Afenifere which had been active in the anti-military struggle, the Igbimo came to public attention only in the Fourth Republic. It was established by a few Yoruba elders, mostly from the southwest, who got together to constitute themselves into a caucus, or council. It is also significant that when the late Bola Ige failed to receive the endorsement of the Afenifere for the AD’s 1999 presidential ticket (which instead went to Olu Falae), Obasanjo exploited the internal Afenifere division by appointing its disaffected member, Bola Ige, into his cabinet. It was not long after this that the Yoruba Council of


Elders (YCE) was formed, with two prominent Awoists, Pa Emmanuel Alayande and Justice Adewale Thompson as two of its leaders. Like the Afenifere, the Igbimo was in favor of “restructuring” the Nigerian federation to devolve additional powers to states. It also backed the call for a Sovereign National Conference. Unlike the Afenifere, however, the Igbimo actively supported Obasanjo’s candidature for president, and backed him once elected to the office. In fact, when it appeared that Obasanjo’s hold on power was threatened, and that he might fail in his bid for a second term in 2003, the Igbimo came out in defense of their man. Relying on bluster and brinkmanship, the Igbimo pointedly asked Obasanjo’s rivals to back off. In an interview with Reuters on April 5, 2003, a few days to the presidential elections, the secretary-general of the Igbimo, Justice Adewale Thompson, announced that his Council had drawn up plans for a Yoruba state with its own constitution and national anthem.5 In the meantime, the Council was backing Obasanjo in his reelection bid in the belief that he would convene a “conference of ethnic nationalities” on the issue of self-determination. As noted later, Obasanjo never conveyed such a conference after his reelection in 2003. What he organized was a National Political Conference in 2005 to review the constitution, and, as the opposition feared, to insert new clauses which would enable the President to run for a third term. Notwithstanding Obasanjo’s failure to convene a sovereign national conference and “restructure” the country, the Igbimo continued to support him. This is where another Yoruba organization, the OPC disagreed with the Igbimo, and in fact with the Afenifere. The Congress had split into two factions—one headed by Dr. Frederick Fasheun, and the other by a militant Gani Adams. It was the latter faction that distanced itself from the moderate position taken by the Yoruba elders (in the Afenifere and the Igbimo). If Gani Adams had his way, the Yoruba would be out of the Nigerian federation and would drag all Yoruba-speaking communities (of Kwara and Kogi) along to form a new Republic, the Oodua Republic. While waiting for the new state, the OPC tried in vain to enthrone a Yoruba Oba (ruler) in Ilorin over which Hausa/Fulani (but Yoruba-speaking) Emirs had for centuries presided. The OPC was implicated in acts of violence at the onset of the Fourth Republic. Within the first four years of Obasanjo’s presidency (that is, between 1999 and 2003), the Congress raised vigilante groups which attacked members of their own (Yoruba) and other ethnic groups. In a 58-page report,6 the Human Rights Watch provides a grisly account of the killings and abuses traceable to the OPC since Obasanjo came to power in 1999. Hundreds of people were hunted down by the OPC militants


and slaughtered in cold bold. Some of the killings had ethnic overtones, as in the Idi-Araba area of Lagos where in February 2002 OPC members clashed with members of the Hausa ethnic group, resulting in the death of more than seventy people (OPC members included). Other victims of OPC violence were, as earlier indicated, persons suspected of committing crime in Yoruba neighborhoods. The OPC did not cease to be a threat to order until it was proscribed by the government, and not before its militancy had been met with brutal response from the police. It is not only the Yoruba that tends to be gripped by the fear of reins of government falling into the hands of stranger elements, and “enemies.” The Igbo were apt to be even more anxious than any other group to push the candidature of members of their ethnic stock for key positions. Although the Ohaneze Ndigbo was not able to identify a presidential candidate acceptable to all communities, having an Igbo as president of Nigeria was for years the organization’s overriding objective. Yet, like other ethnic groups, the Igbo had pursued a strategy of ethnic hegemony—strategy that alienates potential allies and creates new foes. An instance of how not to seek power was cited by Omoruyi (2003). He quoted passages from a book in which the Ohaneze’s Secretary-General, Professor Ben Nwabueze, had launched a savage attack on the Yoruba as a way of making his case for an Igbo president: Nice and friendly as they, the Yorubas have no sense of fraternity with other ethnic groups in Nigeria when it comes to federal appointments. They see nothing wrong in monopolizing all positions in a federal establishment, from messenger to chief executive. . . . 7

This xenophobic outburst sounds eerily familiar. As subsequent chapters show, Nwabueze’s accusation bears a striking resemblance to the one that the Northern People’s Congress and its ally in the Yoruba south-west, that is, the Akintola-led Great Nigerian People’s Party, levied against the Igbo in the dying days of the First Republic. In his eloquent commentary on the latest accusation, Omoruyi notes that the Ohaneze secretary-general’s open hatred of a major ethnic group like the Yoruba made him (Nwabueze) least qualified to promote the Igbo cause or help resolve the “Igbo question” in Nigeria (Omoruyi, 2003). Fortunately, the Ohaneze is not a monolithic group. It is made up of factions—one looking north and turning its back on the south west; another seeking rapprochement simultaneously with the north and the southwest; and yet another wanting out of the Nigerian attempt at state building. The third group is not even interested in Ohaneze since it is still nursing the ambition of carving a new Biafran state out of Nigeria. These


ethnic separatists are the radical Igbo youths led by Ralph Uwazuruike and his cohorts in Movement for the Actualization of the Sovereign State of Biafra (MASSOB). In contrast to the radical MASSOB elements that had no faith in the electoral process, prominent Igbo leaders were still optimistic that their dream of holding the Number One post would be realized if and when “rotational presidency” was enshrined in the Nigerian constitution. These optimists fall into two camps. The first group is represented by the organization’s secretary-general, Nwabueze, referred to earlier. Nwabueze’s antiYoruba rhetoric was shared by Odumegwu Ojukwu who, for some strange reasons, expected the Igbo vote to propel him to the presidency. He ran twice as the flag-bearer of the All-Progressives Grand Alliance (APGA). He lost twice. The second group that keeps an open mind on relations with other ethnic groups comprises a past president of Ohaneze, Professor Joe Irukwu and other leading Igbo politicians and intellectuals. Members of this group believe that reaching out to other communities was the best guarantee of the Igbo’s political success in Nigeria.8 To be sure, both camps in the Ohaneze fully endorsed the proposal for a Sovereign National Conference, and for the “restructuring” of Nigeria. Secondary Associations Thus far, attention has focused on the primary groups operating within Nigeria’s civil society. Socioeconomic and demographic changes have, however, produced another category of civil society—the secondary associations. As pointed out in chapter two, the population of Nigeria is made up not only of diverse ethnic nationalities, but also of different age groups, with senior citizens (i.e., persons aged 65 years and above) constituting just 3.1 percent, in contrast to children (aged 14 years and below) that account for 42.3 percent. Changes in the areas of education, health, urbanization and gender relations have spun off new interests, and served as an impetus to the creation of groups whose aspirations transcend the old primordial allegiances. Among these are youth, students, women, landlords, and tenants’ associations. The Agbekoya, though confined to the then Western State of Nigeria, was another offspring of sociopolitical change. It emerged at the height of the peasants’ disaffection with ineptitude and mismanagement at the local level, and manifested as a categorical rejection of unaccountable government. Secondary associations promoting the interests of the various professions have also emerged. Among these are the Nigerian Medical Association (NMA) and the radical National Association of Resident Doctors, the


Nigerian Bar Association (NBA), the Council for Registered Engineers of Nigeria (COREN), the Nigerian Pharmaceutical Society (NPS), the Academic Staff Union (ASU), the Nigerian Labour Congress as well as the parallel Trade Union Congress, and the Nigerian Union of Teachers (NUT). If these associations work together, their numerical strength9 makes them a formidable political force. However, these associations generally focus on matters falling within their remits, leaving “politics” to the politically active members. The labor unions are, however, likely to see their claims for better pay as well as improved conditions of service as inseparable from the contemporary political arrangements. They are therefore apt to team up with political activists to confront situations deemed unfavorable to democracy and sound governorship. Advocacy of Professional and Economic Interests In addition to professional and labor unions operating as part of civil society, there are associations championing the interest of the business community. Examples are the National Association of Chambers of Commerce, Industry, Mines and Agriculture (NACCIMA), the National Employers Consultative Association (NECA), and the Manufacturers Association of Nigeria (MAN). The latter (MAN) underscores one point about the secondary associations in general—that is, their singular pursuit of their narrow socioeconomic interests to the exclusion of the larger issue of who governs. This is not to say that the NMA or indeed, any other secondary association, is politically disinterested. Established in May 1971, MAN represents 2000 companies operating in the manufacturing, construction, and services sector of the economy. Its mandate is thus basically to advance the interest of manufacturers. However, it was reported that the organized private sector’s concern over the fate of the neoliberal reforms instituted by the former president Olusegun Obasanjo drew the sector into the debate on leadership succession, and particularly, on the desirability of plans to elongate the president’s tenure. Civic Activists and NGOs Nigerian civil society comprises, besides the previously mentioned associations, civic activists and civic groups, as well as nongovernmental organizations. The activists are the free-lance critics of government policies and programs. Examples from the early post-independence period include Isaac Jasper Boro, the Ijaw activist who lived championing the interest of the Niger Delta but died fighting to keep Nigeria united; the


internationally renowned mathematician, Chike Obi; the woman activist from the north, Hajiya Gambo Sawaba, her counterparts from the west and the east (Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti and Margaret Ekpo, respectively); and the late Tai Solarin. They were later joined by Gani Fawehinmi (who constituted a millstone around the neck of military rulers), Nobel laureate Wole Soyinka, Professor Ayodele Awojobi, the musician Anikulapo and his brother, Dr. Beko Ransome-Kuti, and Olisa Agbakoba (leader of the Campaign for Democracy). Ken Tsaro Wiwa lost his life defending the right and dignity of the Ogoni people of Rivers State. The National Democratic Coalition (NADECO) played a prominent role in defending the mandate of the late M.K.O Abiola, and in drawing international attention to human rights violations perpetrated by the Abacha regime. Nongovernmental organizations advocating governance reforms and improvement in the status of the people (particularly women, and rural dwellers) have also been created in different parts of Nigeria. The Consumer Protection Council is another nongovernmental organization safeguarding the interest of a wide cross-section of civil society—consumers of public and tradable goods. In general, however, recruitment and renewal of government leaders are not explicitly included in the terms of reference of the civic activists and groups. Elder Statesmen and Retired Government Officials Completing the Nigerian civil society picture is another category which is neither a primary organization nor a secondary association. This is the category of former heads of state and government and retired government officials. The constitution of Nigeria, in particular, provides for the establishment of a National Council of State whose membership includes former heads of state. However, while they (and other retired public officials) could offer advisory services to incumbents of leadership positions, the latter are not bound to accept the offer or the advice. At the height of the debate on proposals to amend the constitution (which might have allowed President Olusegun Obasanjo to run for the third term), former head of state, General (now Dr.) Yakubu Gowon, had advised the President to abide by the constitution. In his response, Obasanjo’s then special assistant, Femi Fani-Kayode, retorted that Gowon was not qualified to offer this “unsolicited advice” having been pushed out of office in 1975. Unlike Obasanjo who had voluntarily handed over power to a civilian regime in 1979, Gowon reneged on his promise to go back to the barracks and had to be flushed out in a military coup.10 Gowon was eventually vindicated when the Senate voted against the third-term constitutional amendment.


Civil Society Role in Governorship and Development: An Assessment The picture so far emerging is that civil society plays only a marginal and sporadic role in the leadership selection and renewal process. Although a few self-appointed spokespersons of “marginalized” groups sought to influence the process by mixing subtle lobbying with well-timed threats, it was not always the loudest noise that determined who got appointed to public leadership positions. In all probability, the process was tightly controlled by only a narrow circle of people—notably, the active participants in successfully executed coups, as under the military; and party chieftains as well as godfathers, under civilian administrations. Civil Society Role: Glimpses from the 2007 Questionnaire To find out if civil society’s participation in the governorship process had improved in recent years, the author administered a questionnaire to 100 respondents in 2007. One question that the respondents were expected to answer was that regarding the role of civic groups in tracking budget allocations at the local and national levels. The respondents were generally of the view that civic groups had a role to play in checking or verifying the purposes for which budget resources were allocated at the local level (see figure 4.1). However, they held that civil society was not yet performing this vital role (figure 4.2). According to the respondents, civil society’s limited or inadequate role in monitoring budget allocations at the local level tended to be replicated at the center. Although 92.93 percent of the respondents agreed that civic groups had a role in verifying the purposes for which budget resources were allocated at the national level, with only 7.07 percent disagreeing, a high proportion, 89.23 percent, felt that civil society was not yet performing this vital function. Another question that the respondents were requested to answer was that concerning the accountability of public officials. Specifically, they were asked to identify whom these officials should be regularly and effectively accountable to—God, their conscience, or to no one in particular? As indicated in table 4.1, only a few respondents (54.74 percent) had faith in accountability to God, and fewer (6.32 percent) trusted political power brokers or “godfathers.” Also, not many respondents (a mere 16.84 percent) had confidence in accountability to political parties, 22.92 percent in the officials’ bosses or other government functionaries, 24.21 in the press and 33.33 percent in individual “conscience”! Apparently, the only accountability that matters to the respondents is to the electorate (with 80.41 percent checking it).

Do you think that civic groups should have a role in checking or verifying the purposes/ends for which budget resources are allocated at the local level? Answer

No. of respondents

Percent

Yes

89

89.00%

No

11

11.00%

Total

100

100%

Figure 4.1 Respondents’ view on the need for civil society’s role in verifying the purposes of budget allocations at the local level.

Do they (the civic groups) play this role of verifying the purposes of local budget allocations?

Answer

No. of Percent respondents

Yes

11

11.00%

No

89

89.00%

Total

100

100%

20%

40%

60%

80% 100%

Figure 4.2 Respondents’ assessment of the effectiveness of civil society in verifying purposes of local-level budget allocations.

76 / the route to power in nigeria Table 4.1 Respondents’ opinions on whom public officials should be directly accountable to Public Officials Should Be Accountable to

God Almighty? Their conscience only? The electorate? Tax-payers only? The press? Political parties and chieftains? Their bosses and other top Government functionaries only? Political power brokers and “godfathers?” No one in particular?

No. of Respondents Checking “Yes” (% in Bracket)

No. of Respondents Checking “No” (% in Bracket)

No. of Respondents Total No. of Checking “Don’t Respondents Know” (% in (% in Bracket) Bracket)

52 (54.74%) 31 (33.33%)

14 (14.74%) 33 (35.48%)

29 (30.53%) 29 (31.18%)

95 (100%) 93 (100%)

78 (80.41%) 39 (40.21%) 23 (24.21%) 16 (16.84%)

3 (3.09%) 37 (38.14%) 38 (40.00%) 47 (49.47%)

16 (16.49%) 21 (21.65%) 34 (35.79%) 32 (33.68%)

97 (100%) 97 (100%) 95 (100%) 95 (100%)

22 (22.92%)

46 (47.92%)

28 (29.17%)

96 (100%)

6 (6.32%)

58 (61.05%)

31 (32.63%)

95 (100%)

8 (8.79%)

52 (57.14%)

31 (34.07%)

91 (100%)

The respondents were further requested to indicate who to hold accountable if and when access to public officials or to the services provided by the officials was restricted. Over 70 percent of the respondents were of the view that both the people (that is, civil society) and the leaders (particularly, the elite, the political parties, and the civil service bureaucracy) were at fault. In specific terms, the institutions held responsible for poor performance of government and its agents are the political parties (checked by 74.23 percent of the respondents), the elite (72.92 percent), civic society (72.16 percent), the civil service bureaucracy (65.98 percent), the press (63.44 percent), and individual citizens that pursue personal interests rather than organize as civic action groups (44.21 percent). The findings should not be interpreted as belittling the role of civil society. As indicated earlier, sections of civil society had for better or worse engaged in activities that impacted directly on the governorship process.


Participation in Primaries and Elections Overall, whatever role civil society has so played in influencing the governorship process is limited and sporadic. Besides voting at poorly managed elections, it does not as yet have an explicit role to play in selecting candidates for leadership positions. One opportunity that it has to influence the selection or recall of leaders is by participating at party primaries and electoral colleges. However, some party activists interviewed by the author during his field visit to Nigeria in January 2007 believed that candidates that had the backing of the party elders stood a better chance of running for office than those without. The author was informed that in at least one state, a top civil servant was cleared by the headquarters of a political party to contest the gubernatorial election in his state even though he did not participate in the state primaries.11 The interviewees were also certain that civil society had not been sufficiently empowered to ensure the impeachment and recall of even local officials, let alone top functionaries of federal and state governments. One other opportunity that civil society or the average citizen has to influence the leadership selection process is by participating at elections. However, voter turnout in Nigeria between 1945 and 1998 is among the lowest (46.7 percent) as against Mauritius’ 82.8 percent, Namibia’s 80.4 percent, Togo’s 69.3 percent, and Italy’s 92.5 percent.12 In any case, election outcomes were for years determined not by voter turnout and voter preferences, but by the willingness and capacity of the national electoral body (FEDECO, NEC, or INEC, howsoever designated) to ensure the integrity of the electoral process. Where the head and members of the electoral commission are beholden to the government of the day, and the law enforcement agencies are more than willing to condone electoral malpractices, the voice of the people will never be heard. Civil Society and Constitutional Reform The colonial authority, presumably in an attempt at undercutting or dividing the nationalist leaders, sometimes by-passed the latter to obtain the reactions of the people to planned change. Thus before handing power over to an indigenous ruling class in October 1960, the colonial administration conducted a plebiscite to determine whether British Cameroon wished to remain in Nigeria or be merged with the Francophone Republic of Cameroun. In the end, Southern Cameroons voted for the merger with Cameroun, while the northern part opted to stay in Nigeria. That was the last time constitutional changes or changes in political boundaries were


dictated by the people. The 1963 Republican Constitution, the abrogation of the Constitution by the military in 1966, the creation of new states in 1967, 1975, and 1993, and other earth-shaking changes were effected either by mere acts of parliament or by military decree. To cite recent examples, the delegates to the 1995 Constitutional Conference organized by General Sani Abacha were not elected at a constituent assembly, but handpicked by the government, for the purpose of rubber-stamping the general’s self-succession plan and paving the way for his anointment as the “consensus candidate” for president. The civilian regime of President Obasanjo did not fare better. When it decided to establish its own National Political Conference in 2005, it did not start with a constituent assembly elected by the people. It acted on a list of 400 delegates, among them those close to the regime, as well as nominees of state governments. In fairness to the authors of the list, serious efforts were made to include all sections of society. The list looked impressive, going by the categories covered. It included individuals listed under the following headings: • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Respectable Elder Statesmen Retired military officers Retired police officers Retired SSS personnel Retired civil servants and diplomats Traditional Rulers Universities Private sector (MAN, NECA, NACCIMA) Youth organizations Women group Civil societies (sic) The main political parties (PDP, ANPP, AD, and the others); Moslem (?) Leaders (the authors presumably meant, “Muslim” leaders) Christian Leaders The Press (Nigerian Union of Journalists) National Association of Nigerian Students (NANS) Nigerians in Diaspora (which raises the question how and where they met to nominate their representatives) Labor unions (NLC, and TUC) Sociocultural groups (Afenifere, Igbimo Agba Yoruba, Arewa Consultative Forum, Ohaneze Ndigbo, Ijaw National Congress, Middle Belt Forum) Special cases and State representatives (6 from each of the 36 states)


It is only when the reader examines the names appearing under each heading that he/she is likely to wonder how the authors came up with the list. For instance, the “Respectable Elder Statesmen” exclude those known and accepted as such, particularly, Yakubu Gowon, Shehu Shagari, or Abubakar Abdul Salami, but includes many personalities known only to the compilers of the list.13 The Igbimo was included either to serve as a counterpoise to the Afenifere, or in anticipation of the latter’s possible boycott, to give the conference a modicum of legitimacy in the south west. It did not come as a surprise that the opposition and other government critics were suspicious of the motive behind the “Political Conference.” The Alliance for Democracy and other groups belonging to the Conference of Nigerian Political Parties stayed away. A spokesman for the Conference (of Nigerian Political Parties), Osita Okechukwu, was of the view that President Obasanjo called the conference in order to change the constitution and clear the obstacles in the way of his third-term drive. In Okechukwu’s words, Our suspicion, and a very big suspicion, is that he is organizing his own friends to come and endorse him for a single five or six year term that will extend his regime.14

Leading activists (including elder statesman, Anthony Enahoro, and Nobel laureate, Wole Soyinka) also distanced themselves from the political conference, arguing that it was more of a diversion than a genuine attempt at national dialogue. The oil producing areas of the Niger Delta turned up at the Conference, but nearly brought the proceedings to a premature end by their mass walkout over the failure to address issues of concern to their region—resource control. Constraints on Civil Society’s Effectiveness Among the factors working against Nigeria’s civil society in its efforts at influencing the selection and recall of leaders are internal leadership and credibility crises, lack of a strategic focus, profound distrust of “outsiders” and half-hearted commitment to strategic alliances; and the frequent tendency to succumb to the lure of office and other short-term gains. Credibility and Acceptability of Civic Leaders Civil society has largely proved incapable of influencing the leadership of Nigeria because it is itself confronted with a serious leadership crisis. For a start, it is not clear how those parading themselves as leaders of the various


organizations—particularly, those claiming to represent ethnic nationalities or some fairly well-defined territorial areas—attained their lofty status. None of them is elected, nominated, or appointed by the people whose interests the leaders take upon themselves to defend. This is not to say that one has to be “elected” to be a leader. After all, traditional rulers do not have to submit themselves to the rigors of periodic elections. However, they have to meet certain eligibility requirements (like waiting for the throne to be vacant, belonging to royal families, and logging in a level of seniority or acceptability within the “ruling house” whose turn it is to produce the next ruler). Besides, the background of a contender for a vacant throne may have to be vetted (along with other contestants) by a traditional council of elders or a caucus operating as an electoral college. In contrast, the leaders of the ethnic advocacy or separatist groups merely link up with like-minded individuals, and pronto, a movement or council is born—with an elaborate program of what the ethnic group wants, and how it was going to get what it wants, with or without the support of rival groups. Over time, however, the unelected leaders “routinize” their authority—aided by the passage of time, and constant press coverage. Abetting the routinization of this form of imposed leadership are the occasional outbursts from rival groups. The Arewa Consultative Forum’s diverse composition compelled it to tread carefully before issuing press statements with ethnic tinges. However, other loose cannons were always ready to fire at the “enemy.” Wada Nas, minister for special duties in the Abacha government, was one who regularly aimed his salvos at the southern-dominated National Democratic Coalition, and the Yoruba southwest—both for standing up to his boss, Abacha. The more frequent he and others launched attacks on the Yoruba, the stronger the “evidence” that the Afenifere had to buttress the claim of outsiders’ hostility toward the Yoruba, and to unite the Yoruba behind the cultural association’s elders. By the same token, anytime the Yoruba attacked the Hausa/Fulani, or the Igbo found faults with the Yoruba, the law of self-fulfilling prophesy would come into force at the besieged group’s camp. The civic activists are another class of individuals that believe in the principles of “leadership by exposure” and self-fulfilling prophesy. Located at, and operating mostly from, state and national capitals, the activists constantly put out messages which barely reach the grassroots but which the press eagerly and dutifully disseminates. If only these activists, as genuine reformers, were able and willing to pool their resources with civic based organizations, they would have succeeded not only in building up a respectable nationwide following, but would also have strengthened their


hands in their dialogue with government on the management contemporary socioeconomic challenges. Attacking without Strategy and Tactics As argued in chapter one, leaders most often emerge when they come out with a strategic vision—that canvasses novel solutions to existing and future problems. Advocating ethnic hegemony or separatism is neither novel, nor visionary. Leaders of the nationalist movements broke into ethnic and regional camps while campaigning for independence. They kept themselves locked up in the ethno-regional boxes after independence, and remained cloistered therein until 1966 when a section of the Nigerian Armed Forces went to the other extreme of wanting to replace them with one box. Rather than banish ethnicity, years of military rule simply contained it. The genie was let out of the bottle as soon as the civilians returned to power (in 1979 and 1999). In effect, therefore, ethnic-based politics has been around since the inception of Nigeria as a state. The leaders of the various sociocultural groups are therefore right to argue that ethnicity is a fact that could not be wished away. However, with ethnicity comes diversity. Every ethnic group has a right to exist, and to compete for any position in Nigeria. No group can, on any logical, moral, or legal grounds, ask another, to give up its heritage as a condition for the citizenship of the country and the rights flowing there-from. Interethnic relations have so far proved difficult to manage in Nigeria largely because of the mutually exclusive strategies pursued by representatives of the various nationalities. The practice that has survived for a long time—in defiance of reason—is that which assumes that the only group that matters is the one to which an individual belongs. Based on this logic, derogatory statements are made in print, threats are issued on the air waves, and live bullets are fired in street battles. Omoruyi’s advice to the Ohaneze (Omoruyi, 2003) applies to practically all the groups championing narrow ethnic interests. Specifically, the groups should come up with strategies and tactics before ordering their troops to open fire. Each group should come up with a vision which defines its place, while fully acknowledging the presence of others, in a multi-cultural setting like Nigeria’s. Allies as Victims of “Unfriendly Fire” The need to go back to the drawing board is predicated on the fact that when ethnic groups fire aimlessly, what they hit may not be the enemy,


howsoever defined, but themselves or their allies. The history of Nigeria is replete with cases of friends turning deadly enemies—the NPC and the NCNC that entered into a coalition after the 1959 general elections, the Action Group and the NCNC whose UPGA partnership was short-lived, not to mention the military juntas installed in power by a group at one time and brought down by the same group at another. One lesson emerging from this is that having a vision is one thing, but getting others with different dreams to share the vision is another. The former (crafting a vision) is easy. The latter (turning it into a shared vision) is more challenging, and is the real measure of leadership. Holding a Position, Losing the War In the absence of a shared vision, the leaders of the various groups were left to their own devices, with each seeking to realize personal ambitions while purporting to be looking out for the interest of “his” or “her” people. This explains the internal leadership crises that had, for long, held the Ohaneze back in its efforts at finding a niche for the Igbo in the Nigerian power structure. It also accounts for the tendency on the part of the leaders of groups which claim to be “marginalized” to settle for consolation prizes. Believing in the old adage that a bird in hand was worth 10 in the bush, these leaders lobbied for ministerial or board appointments on behalf of themselves or their offsprings, and turned around to blame other groups for their own group’s perceived misfortunes. As long as they hold the positions and hang on to the spoils, they are likely to be oblivious of coming battles’ imperatives. They would in all probability be distracted from the overall war—which is to develop Nigeria and enhance the standards of living of its people, notwithstanding differences in “tribe” and “tongue.” Raising Civil Society Profile in Leadership Selection and Renewal: A Summation To make a difference not only to leadership selection and renewal but also to the quality of sociopolitical and economic life, Nigeria needs a new breed of leaders. The term “new breed,” as here conceived, has no gerontocratic connotation. It is simply a frame of mind. By new breed is meant not leaders falling within any particular age bracket, but those who, proceeding from the diversity of Nigeria, frame and share a vision of a country where competence and contributions displace tribe and tongue as eligibility for leadership positions. The new breed leaders would be firm believers in the Nigerian, rather than in a narrow ethnic, project. They would be


concerned about how to lift all the country’s people from poverty and destitution, rather proceed as if the universe revolves around a particular ethnic or cultural group. In any case, as Omoruyi (2003) observes, This Ohaneze [and for that matter, Afenifere, or Igbimo] argument . . . [that the] Hausa had it [power] for over 30 years and the Yoruba for about 8 years and it is the turn of the Igbo . . . is anti-democratic.

This is consistent with the position taken by the author (Balogun, 2005) in a memorandum that he submitted to the National Political Conference. In this memorandum, he likened the argument for “rotational presidency” to that of school children staking their claims to a bicycle. However, as he further noted, Nigeria was not a bicycle which school children could take their turns to ride. It is a country wrestling with serious and momentous challenges alluded to in this book—challenges that could only be met if candidates with the right qualifications were elected to legislative and executive positions, or appointed to other vacancies requiring managerial competence.


Ch a p t e r Fi v e S of t Choic e s i n a H a r d En v i ron m e n t: M e e t i ng Po st-i n de p e n de nc e Gov e r nor sh i p Ch a ll e ng e s

Introduction Commentators have wondered why Nigeria has largely failed to capitalize on its size and harness the energies of its people with a view to attaining the desired political and economic outcomes. Ever since the attainment of independence in October 1960 and as evidence presented in chapters six and seven suggests, the country has wrestled with mounting socioeconomic and governorship challenges. Yet it has lagged where it was supposed to excel—witness its failure to channel its abundant human, natural, and mineral resources toward self-sustaining growth and improved living standards. When it should be hailed as an African giant or a potential tiger, its citizens are viewed as given to criminality, violence, and corruption at home, and are randomly profiled abroad as leaders in drug trafficking, “419” con artistry, the perpetration of internet fraud and of related scams. According to this chapter, missteps in the governorship and development area represent a leadership failure, rather than a curse that is wholly blamable on the gods and the hard environment. In pursuing the argument, the chapter focuses on the governorship sub-set of the soft environment. It begins with an overview of contemporary governorship challenges. In the succeeding sections, the chapter takes a longitudinal view of the state building efforts from independence, through the heady days of military rule, to the dawn of the Fourth Republic. An Overview of Contemporary Governorship Challenges Ever since independence, if not before, Nigeria’s governorship challenge has almost invariably been viewed as a struggle between the north and the south. Such has been the gulf between the north and the south that no


issue of great moment escapes being viewed from this bifocal lens. Among the issues that polarized Nigeria along regional lines are those of localization of the civil service, appointment to posts in the federal public service, representation on boards and commissions, composition of the federal cabinet, and naturally, occupation of the office of head of state and commander of the armed forces. Rather than collaborate on the design and operation of viable governorship and public administration institutions, the various ethnic groups (particularly, the Hausa-Fulani of the north, the Yoruba of the southwest, and the Igbo of the southeast) prefer to invest time and considerable amount of energy on the installation of their kinsmen in public offices. Driven by the fear of key positions falling into the hands of stranger elements, and “enemies,” they energetically push the candidature of members of their ethnic stock first and let the entire country worry about the consequences later. A word of caution is necessary. Tempting, as it is, to portray the contemporary state construction challenge in Nigeria as a tussle between the north and the south, political restructuring and demographic shifts have introduced new variables into the equation. For a start, neither the north nor the south is as monolithic as it was at the inception of modern Nigeria. With the carving up of the former (northern, eastern, western, and midwestern) Regions first into 12, and then 36 States, communities that had once been lumped together found themselves, and began asserting their newfound autonomy, within new political boundaries. Clearly, there are visible changes in Nigeria’s governorship system— changes in the state structure, in the ethnic composition of the states, in geo-political power relations, and from the parliamentary to the executive presidential system of government. To these may be added the significant developments in the area of literacy (64.0 percent adult, and 72.7 youth literacy rates in 2003), urbanization (from 23.4 percent in 1975 to 46.6 percent in 2003), and social mobilization. Nigeria’s population is made up largely of young people. Approximately 44.9 percent of the population was under the age of 15 years in 2003, and only 1.9 percent fell within the 65-and-above bracket in the same year (UNDP, 2005:234). However, while the visible structure or the super-structure, is changing, the underlying values forming part of the sub-structure have either remained unchanged, or worse, have been corrupted by the pattern which the change (in the super-structure) has taken. Indeed, if the issues engaging the political leaders’ attention intersect with those of good governance and democracy (e.g., the issues of how to balance the powers of the federal with those of the state governments, and, from the point of view of oil-producing areas, to allocate national

soft choices in a hard environment / 87

revenue while at the same time reflecting the concerns of the oil and mineral producing areas in revenue allocation decisions), it is only by accident rather than design. Otherwise, when they engage one another in a debate, the political leaders rarely focus on topics such as the morality of power, the obligations of rulers toward the citizenry, or the ethos of good government (Ake, 1994; Akinrinade, 2006:282). The establishment or the strengthening of democratic institutions is the least of their concerns. Corruption is a major issue that is yet to be fully addressed. As in the case of a number of Latin American countries (Kliksberg, 2006) the deepening poverty, rising unemployment, and widening inequality have combined with other factors to reinforce the perception of Nigeria as a haven of corruption. In 2001, the country scored 1.0 and was ranked ninetieth on Transparency International’s corruption perception index, only slightly better than Bangladesh, the ninety-first and last country covered by the survey. In 2005, Nigeria was ranked 152nd with a score of 1.9 on the corruption perception index. It was trailed by Haiti, Myanmar, and Turkmenistan that tied with a CPI score of 1.8 and a ranking of 155th, and by Bangladesh and Chad, both scoring 1.7 and ranked 158th. The preceding challenges have been confounded by the persistent failure to empower the ordinary citizen. Civilian rulers frequently adopt a variety of tricks to frustrate the country’s democratic aspirations, among them, intimidation of candidates, bribery of voters, ballot stuffing, falsification of election results, and subversion of the autonomy of electoral administration agencies. Their military counterparts, having ridden to power by the grace of the gun, lay no claim to democracy or popular representation. They come to office after overthrowing another regime, and with the pledge that their sojourn in power would be temporary. However, any promise they make to organize free and fair elections or to hand over to a democratically elected government was rarely kept. With only two exceptions (the Obasanjo regime in 1979, and the Abubakar Abdul Salaami’s administration in 1999), military regimes were notorious for designing elaborate transition programs which they showed no intention of implementing. If the preceding sketch accurately describes Nigeria’s governorship profile (and captures the dominant challenges), it is necessary to look for explanations for the prevailing state of affairs. As argued in this chapter, the apparent difficulty so far encountered in effectively managing the governance environment is attributable not simply to the rigidity of the environment, but more especially to the lack of capacity to accommodate and harmonize patently conflicting willed futures.


Civilian Engagement with the Hard Environment: Early Post-independence Period A view that has gained ground over the years is that were it not for the British colonial power’s arbitrary and “forceful” amalgamation of the southern and the northern Protectorates in 1914, the entities making up the present-day Nigeria would have gone their separate ways and each would have made a success of its independent nationhood. As the argument goes, the Hausa Fulani of the north have nothing in common with the Igbo of the southeast, or with the Yoruba of the southwest and conversely (Kirk-Greene, 1971:5–7). Yet, it is possible to present evidence indicating that interactions among the peoples of modern-day Nigeria actually predated the arrival of the British. Before the arrival of the British, the societies of the east and the west maintained fairly well-developed trading relations with each other, with the north, and with the Sahel and the Sahara. In other words, amalgamation was not as arbitrary as it is generally believed. It is even possible to argue the proposition that if the British had not nudged the ethnic nationalities toward mutual accommodation, the nationalities would, to safeguard their economic interests, have moved toward formalizing their age-old relations. Probably due to their proximity to the Atlantic Ocean and their earlier contacts with Christian missionaries and European merchants, the southerners (of the east and the west) imbibed European values faster than the north. To these southerners, the north was largely inscrutable, and was simply dismissed as a feudal enclave controlled by the predominantly Muslim Hausa-Fulani (Awolowo, 1947). To the northerners, their neighbors to the south were nothing but infidels—individuals who still had a lot to learn in spite of their claims to western “education” (Paden, 1986). Leadership Struggle and Governorship Collapse The first two years after independence tested the environmental engagement capacity of the leaders. Independent Nigeria had started on October 1, 1960 with a parliamentary system of government. Under that constitutional arrangement, Dr. Nnamdi Azikiwe became titular president of the Federation, while Alhaji Abubakar Tafawa Balewa was sworn in as prime minister and head of government. As leader of the Action Group which was not part of the federal coalition, Chief Awolowo became leader of opposition. The adoption of the Republican Constitution in 1963 did not change the relationship between the president, as the ceremonial head of state, and the prime minister, the head of government.


The governing plan would have come together perfectly but for the crisis which erupted within the Action Group in May 1962. The exact origin of the crisis is shrouded in mystery. What was clear for all to see was the growing rapport between the new premier of the West, Chief S.L. Akintola, and his northern counterpart, Alhaji Ahmadu Bello— something that the leader of the Action Group did not take kindly to. After being routed at the 1959 poll, an understanding had emerged within the leadership of the Action Group that the party would never fraternize with elements in the federal coalition, least of all, with the premier of the north whose party, the NPC, Awolowo thoroughly detested. By cozying up to the Sardauna, Akintola was, in clear violation of this implied oath, or so Awolowo believed. Akintola initially resisted the temptation to confront his boss, choosing instead to counsel moderation in Action Group’s relations with the north, in particular, and with rival political parties in general. However, as far as Awolowo was concerned, the choice before his deputy was clear—toe the party line or decamp to the enemy. Within a few months, the Action Group had split into factions—with the national officials of the party remaining loyal to Awolowo, and party supporters in Western Region, including members of the regional premier’s cabinet, siding with Akintola. As the political temperature rose, Awolowo accused his deputy of disloyalty, of teaming up with “reactionary elements,” and of betraying the progressive cause that the Action Group stood for. Akintola responded in kind. According to him, what he, Akintola, was up against was not party ideology, but the party leader’s constant interference in the affairs of government—that is, the west regional government. In other words, rather than face his task in the House of Representatives as Leader of Opposition, Awolowo was behaving as though he was still the premier of the West, dictating who should be appointed to what cabinet position, what policy should be on the government’s agenda, and how decisions should be taken. Things reached a head on May 25, 1962 when, based on the purported removal of Akintola as Deputy Leader of the Action Group and premier of the West, the House of Assembly was summoned to debate a motion of confidence in a new government headed by one of Awolowo’s loyalists, Alhaji Dauda Soroye Adegbenro. The atmosphere in the House was very tense. Trouble began even before the substance of the motion could be heard or debated. To the accompaniment of war songs, a free for all fight broke out on the floor of the House. In the ensuing melee, an irate legislator picked the Speaker’s Mace and smashed it on the head of a colleague, Kessington Momoh (Balogun, 1983). Outside, rival party supporters replicated and, in fact exceeded, the violence on the floor of the House. The pictures flashed across the front pages


of Nigerian newspapers on May 26, 1962 were graphic. Among the lasting images are those of honorable members behaving dishonorably. The newspapers also captured the expression on Kessington Momoh’s face as he clutched his blood-soaked “agbada” (Nigerian flowing gown popular with politicians) and with the assistance of a few colleagues, was whisked off the premises of the House. From then on, it became clear that the days of the system of parliamentary democracy inherited from the British were numbered. Whatever hope of the system surviving was dashed by total breakdown of law and order in the region. Under “Operation wet e” (meaning “Operation Burn It/Him”) hooligans and party activists teamed up to commit acts of arson and violence against their opponents. During the “Operation” petrol bombs, daggers, and charms were freely used in street battles. A state of emergency which the Federal government declared in the region provided but a short respite. It did not help that while the west was burning, the north was also looking frantically for how to contain civil disturbances in the Tiv Division of the then Benue Province. Like “Operation wet e” in the west, the Tiv riots had claimed several lives and occasioned wanton destruction of property, including public assets. In other parts of the country, particularly, in the present-day Cross and Rivers States, ethnic minorities clamored for the creation of states within which they could control their own destiny. Time was running out not only for the Western Region but for Nigeria’s experiment in democratic governance and indigenous leadership. The regional governor, Sir Adesoji Aderemi, the Oni of Ife, believing he had the situation under control, sacked the regional premier. The latter wasted no time in mounting a legal challenge to the decision, and ultimately sending his own pink slip to the governor. The situation deteriorated further after the massively rigged 1965 election. From then on, any traditional ruler that crossed the NNDP government’s path was liable to be deposed and sent into exile, or otherwise humiliated.1 Opposition party supporters were harassed by overzealous customary court judges and by openly partisan tax assessment committees. Unknown to the quarrelsome civilian leaders and their equally bellicose supporters, elements within the military were watching and waiting. Governorship Errors and Corrective Regimes On January 15, 1966, a mid-ranking army officer, Major Patrick Chukwuma Kaduna Nzeogwu shocked Nigerians by announcing the overthrow of the civilian regime. More ominous than the putsch was what


appeared as the targeted assassination of civilian and military leaders from two of the four regions—that is, the north and the west. Among those killed were the north regional premier and Sardauna of Sokoto (Fulani), his west Regional counterpart, Chief S.L. Akintola (Yoruba), the Federal prime minister, Alhaji Abubakar Tafawa Balewa (Bageri), the minister of finance, Chief Festus S. Okotie-Eboh (Itsekiri), Brigadiers Samuel Ademulegun (Yoruba) and Zakariya Maimalari (Kanuri), Col. Ralph Shodeinde (Yoruba); Lt.-Colonels Abogo Largema (Kanuri), James Pam (Birom), and Arthur Unegbe (Igbo). This was how the route to power in Nigeria started by being littered with bodies of leaders, and over time, those of their followers. While those behind the coup felt they were moving Nigeria in a new and right direction, their opponents—mostly the people of the north— thought otherwise. If this was indeed a revolution meant to rid the country of bad leadership, they asked, how come that the leaders chosen to pay the supreme price were from the north and the west? They were waiting to hear that leaders of Igbo origin (in the Eastern and the Mid-Western Regions) had suffered the same fate as their non-Igbo counterparts, but no such news filtered through. Nzeogwu’s first address to the nation summed up the aim of the Majors coup—ridding Nigeria of the twin malaise of corruption and tribalism. According to him, the coup leaders were determined to end the “divide and rule” tactics of the civilian regime, and put the “ten per-centres” 2 out of business. To facilitate the upcoming housecleaning exercise, the group had decided to suspend the constitution, ban political parties as well as activities of a political nature, and rule by edicts and decrees. The Major’s revolution, if ever it was, was soon betrayed. The head of the army, Brigadier J.T. Aguiyi-Ironsi, who was on leave, hurriedly returned to his post. With the assistance of other senior officers, he coaxed the Majors into surrendering power to the military high command. Under normal circumstances, having power back in such a tested hand as that of Brigadier Aguiyi-Ironsi should have lessened tension. At the very least, dislodging Nzeogwu and his fire-spitting colleagues should have reassured the aggrieved north that the Major’s coup was an aberration which would soon be rectified—a display of youthful exuberance which age and experience would effectively contain. However, either because the new regime did not fully grasp, or it decided on its own to underestimate, the magnitude of the upcoming challenge, it proceeded with unseemly haste in a perilous direction. At that tumultuous period in Nigeria’s history, Aguiyi-Ironsi’s very first official act ignored the north’s deepening grievances and dashed any hope of appeasing the


region. As if reading from Nzeogwu’s script, the Brigadier and new head of state issued a decree (Decree 34) banning references to ethnicity on official documents and imposing a unitary system of government on the country. The unification decree Ironsi promulgated was indeed the cinder that ultimately set the country aflame. Within a few days of the issuance of the decree, rumor of the Igbo’s “grand plan” to dominate Nigeria began to circulate within and across the northern region. The first reaction of the north was to threaten to secede from the Nigerian Federation. At public demonstrations, protesters carried placards on which was boldly emblazoned “Ar-raba” (Hausa word for “Let’s divide it” or “Let’s cut it into pieces”). It did not take long for northern elders to reason that secession was in no-one’s interest, least of all, the land-locked north’s. However, while cool head prevailed on the issue of Nigeria’s continued existence, many northerners were still spoiling for a fight. They could not forget that their leaders had been killed in cold blood , or forgive the imposition of a unitary system, a system they as perceived a serious threat to their culture and way of life. Thus began the deadly and systematic attacks on Igbos resident in different parts of the region. Those who managed to escape mob lynching abandoned their properties in the north as well as in other parts of Nigeria, and began the long trek back to their homes in the east. This experience, according to Ojukwu (1969:39), would later influence the decision of the East to secede. It indeed was a season of interethnic bitterness and distrust. Unfortunately, Brigadier Aguiyi-Ironsi’s government lacked any clear and original idea as to how to bring the situation under control. In July 1966, during a visit to Ibadan, capital of the Western Province (as it became under the unification plan) the head of state and his host, Governor Adekunle Fajuyi, were killed by a group of army officers from the north. With the support of the various service chiefs (i.e., the chiefs of army, naval, and air staff) and other ranking military officers, Yakubu Gowon was picked to replace Aguiyi-Ironsi as head of state, Commander of the Armed Forces. To the War Front and Back At about the same time as Gowon was assuming duty as head of state, another Colonel, the Oxford-educated Chukwuemeka Odumegwu Ojukwu, was perfecting his secession plan (Uwechue, 1971:52). After a fruitless peace conference at Aburi, Ghana, he declared the eastern portion of Nigeria as an independent “Republic of Biafra.” The rebels, as the Biafrans were referred to by the Federal government of Nigeria, claimed that the failure to implement the Aburi Accord left them no choice but


to secede. However, when the author contacted the former head of state, General (Dr.) Yakubu Gowon, for comments, he noted as follows: What we agreed to in Aburi was enshrined in . . . Decree (No. 8 of 1967), and we were to implement it to the letter, giving Ojukwu almost all he wanted. We did that in order to achieve peace and return normalcy to Nigeria. But Ojukwu was the first to renege on our agreement. It was agreed that when we return to Nigeria, I, as Nigerian Head of State, should make the first broadcast after which the other Regional Governors (Ojukwu included) would make theirs. Ojukwu went on air as soon as he got back and claimed that we agreed to a Confederation which I have always strongly objected to. That and other actions taken by Ojukwu made us to carefully review the Aburi Agreement. I got the Secretary to the Government and some of Nigerian Senior Civil Servants to review it. They did, and pointed out some serious ramifications of it. Those points were carefully considered and taken into account in drafting the Decree No. 8. . . . 3

According to the former head of state, Ojukwu and his supporters had taken other actions which the Federal government considered illegal and provocative. Among these are the confiscation of Nigeria Airways planes and of the Nigerian Railways rolling stock; the seizure of the Central Bank assets, post offices, and revenue agencies located in the then Eastern Region; and—the real deal-breaker—the unilateral declaration of “Biafra” as a sovereign state. Gowon subsequently asked Ojukwu to reconsider his secession plan. However, when Gowon’s entreaties fell on deaf ears, he approved a plan for “police action.” Apparently it would take more than the entire police force and no less than thirty months to bring the secessionist Ojukwu to heel. The civil war tested Gowon’s capacity as a leader, but even his bitterest opponent would agree that he acquitted himself creditably. First, he assembled a team of highly educated and respected individuals. A few examples will suffice. Awolowo was released from the Calabar prison and promptly made commissioner for finance and vice chairman of the Federal Executive Council. This appointment immediately bought Gowon the critical support of the Yoruba southwest. Besides, wartime Nigeria needed a pennypinching finance minister. Awolowo’s history as a monetary disciplinarian fitted the job description perfectly. As commissioner (or minister for finance), he kept a watchful eye on government revenue and expenditure. It is a credit to him that Nigeria prosecuted the three-year civil war before the oil boom, and without borrowing a cent from any other nation.4 Other competent individuals head-hunted by Gowon to head key ministries include Okoi-Arikpo (Commissioner for Foreign Affairs); Anthony


Enahoro (Information); and, after the war, Adebayo Adedeji (Economic Planning and Reconstruction). Over and above the appointment of capable individuals to strategic positions, Gowon’s decision to create 12 states on May 27, 1967 was nothing short of a master stroke. This singular act brought him multiple gains and increased his popularity. First, he broke the erstwhile regions into small and politically controllable units. Second, he acceded to the long-standing demand from minorities for their own states and for liberation from domination by bigger ethnic groups. Third, and most important, he undercut Ojukwu’s secessionist plan in the east. With the creation of Rivers and Cross Rivers States out of the former Eastern Region, the Biafran leader was confronted with new but internal resistance to his secessionist agenda. He, Ojukwu, was also deprived of what he craved most—oil—which, according to the new political map, lay buried under the soils and waters of the new states. When the war ended in January 1970, Gowon further demonstrated his magnanimity as a leader. In his midnight broadcast of January 12, 1970, the Nigerian head of state welcomed the decision by the head of the rebel army, Lt. Col. Philip Effiong to lay down Biafran arms and surrender to the Federal government. While directing federal troops and police units to abide by their code of conduct and refrain from molesting or harassing local populations, Gowon declared that there were no victors or vanquished at the end of the war. Through the Revolving Door: The Military’s Exit and Reentry The Gowon regime remained in power until it was overthrown on July 29, 1975 and replaced by another headed by Murtala Mohammed. In keeping with Mohammed’s pledge to return Nigeria to civil rule once the Aegean stable of corruption and mismanagement had been cleared, the succeeding Obasanjo government duly handed over to a civilian president, Alhaji Shagari administration, on October 1, 1979—over the objection of the late Chief Obafemi Awolowo who felt that the 1979 election was inconclusive and ought, at the very least, to have been followed by a run-off. Due to a combination of factors—lingering controversy over the interpretation of the results of the 1979 election, impact of falling oil prices on the economy and public finance, and mounting allegations of corruption—the Shagari regime was itself overthrown at the end of 1983. The Buhari-Idiagbon regime, as the new military administration was popularly known, declared war on indiscipline, took measures to stem economic decline and to balance the budget, but refused to be drawn on the question of return to civilian rule.


In no time, the Buhari-Idiagbon regime was itself embroiled in a controversy. Capitalizing on the Buhari-Idiagbon regime’s public relations disaster, General Ibrahim Badamosi Babangida staged his own coup in September 1985. Unlike the previous regime, Babangida’s had a comprehensive and novel, if not altogether dependable, initiative on demilitarization. In what looked like a first in military governance, Babangida decided that the head of state should be properly addressed, that is, as Mr. President. He abolished the Supreme Military Council and replaced it with an Armed Forces Ruling Council. The new president then proceeded to establish a 34-person Political Bureau to advise the AFRC on the way forward. Based on the Bureau’s recommendation, the government introduced a two-party system, fixed and frequently shifted dates of return to civilian rule, banned and un-banned aspirants to political offices, and promoted “new-breed” politicians over “money bags,” ethnic bigots, and religious fanatics. Difficult as it is to believe, it was also the Babangida regime that organized in 1993 the first free and fair presidential election in Nigeria’s history. It was the decision to annul the result of the election—and by implication, the presidential ambition of Moshood Abiola—that proved to be the regime’s undoing. The decision infuriated the southwest, from where Abiola originated, and sparked protests which probably influenced Babangida’s decision to “step aside” later in the year. Conspiracy theorists argue that Babangida’s decision was part of an elaborate plan by the military top brass to rotate the number one post within its circle. However, when Babangida left, he handed over to an interim National government headed, not by a soldier but by a civilian, that is, Chief Ernest Shonekan, former chairman of the United African Company (UAC), and an Egba Yoruba like Abiola. Shonekan’s choice was attributed to the military’s desire to mollify Abiola’s constituency—the southwest, and in particular, the Egba. Another possible explanation is that as one without any partisan political leaning and without the baggage of corruption, Shonekan was the best equipped to reach and hold dialogue with the various competing groups. The conspiracy theory in the end prevailed. The perception that the military was going nowhere (and that Shonekan’s appointment was a smokescreen for military hegemony) gained momentum with the dissolution of ING, the summary dismissal of Shonekan, and the emergence of Sani Abacha as head of state. Abacha did not give himself the title of president, but his bearing was no less intimidating than that of a president. Indeed, in more ways than one, Abacha was the most brutal personality Nigeria ever had as its Number One citizen. An opponent that was lucky not to be erased by assassins on government payroll was most likely to spend the rest of


his or her days in detention. He organized a Constitutional Conference which in theory was to advise him on the future governorship of Nigeria, but in practice, was under instructions to come up with ways of perpetuating him in office. The self-succession strategy was perfected with the establishment of five political parties. Five parties in place of none—that ought to disarm the advocates of multi-party democracy. Curiously, however, when the five parties were looking for candidates to carry their banners at the next presidential election, they could not find any, except one “consensus candidate”—chief of state, General Sani Abacha. Under Abacha, many key state institutions—the central bank, the civil service, state and local government administrations, state-owned enterprises, and naturally, the National Petroleum Corporation—were corruption-ridden. This was a carry-over from the Babangida era (Ibrahim, 1995). The Rocky Road to Democracy and Good Governorship: A Review of the Post-1999 Experience It is remarkable that as the military administration headed by Obasanjo had in 1979 handed over power to a civilian successor on the due date, the regime of General Abubakar Abdul Salaami did not hang on to the reins of government which it inherited on Abacha’s sudden demise in 1998. With the death of Chief M.K.O. Abiola within a week of Abacha’s, the Abdul Salaami government had less than a year to design and implement a transition program. To its credit, it made the program simple and it stuck to its pledge to separate the military from the country’s governorship. It swept aside Abacha’s bogus transition program. It also sprang Olusegun Obasanjo from the prison in which he had been kept by Abacha. Running as the flag-bearer of a political party that was formed while he was still in prison, the People’s Democratic Party, and with one of the founder-members of the PDP, Alhaji Atiku Abubakar, as his running mate, Obasanjo easily won the presidential election organized in February 1999. He secured 62.6 percent of the votes, drawing solid support from the southeast, and the north, but losing terribly in his home-base, the southwest. He was sworn in as president, commander-in-chief on May 29, 1999. Like many of the previous regimes, Obasanjo’s civilian government started very well, only to get sidetracked by perceived and overly magnified environmental threats. Equally troubling is the possibility that the measure chosen would be in inverse proportion to the actual threat. For instance, if the leadership of the legislature remotely appeared to be taking an independent stand on an issue, the presidency was likely to go after it with all it had got. By the time Obasanjo left office in 2007, the presidency of the Senate


had changed not less than five times (from Evans Emwerem, through Pius Anyim, Chuba Okadigbo, and Adolphous Wabara, to Ken Nnamani). The office of Speaker of the lower house, the House of Representatives was occupied by no less than three individuals—Salisu Buhari, Ghali Na’Abba, and Aminu Bello Masari. This is in sharp contrast to the policy adopted by Obasanjo’s successor, President Umar Musa Yar’Adua—that of noninterference in the internal affairs of the legislature. Even Obasanjo’s party, the PDP, felt the weight of his presidency. The first chairman of the Party is Chief Solomon Lar. He was replaced in quick succession by Mr. Barnabas Gemade, Mr. Audu Ogbeh, and Colonel Ahmadu Ali. It is highly revealing that the Colonel who enjoyed the confidence of, and actively supported, Obasanjo’s presidency was also his minister of education when he, Obasanjo was military head of state back in the 1970s. Besides employing every trick to disqualify his deputy, the vice president, from contesting the 2007 presidential election, Obasanjo’s role before the election cast an ominous cloud on whatever results might be declared at the end. His casual and probably innocuous remark at Abeokuta on February 10, 2007 that the 2007 elections were a “do-or-die” affair was taken by his supporters as a call to arms and as an order to win by hook or crook.


Ch a p t e r Si x Eng ag i ng t h e En v i ron m e n t f rom t h e M ac ro -econom ic A ng le: Econom ic M a nag e m e n t a f t e r I n de p e n de nc e

Introduction Economic growth has been at the top of the agenda of governments from the immediate post-independence period to the contemporary era, and will continue as a dominant issue for the foreseeable future. This is the rationale behind the attention that this chapter gives to Nigeria’s development planning and management experience over the past 45 years. Proceeding from the position taken in the preceding chapter, the chapter notes that the discovery of petroleum in commercial quantities was a fortuitous event, but one that policy missteps eventually turned into a curse. The chapter begins by providing an overview of the Nigerian economy. It then examines the strengths and weakness of the country’s development planning and management system, discusses the macro-economic consequences of the choices made in the heady days of the oil boom, assesses the impact of the initial attempt (especially by the Buhari and Babangida regimes) at getting a grip on the economy, reviews the Abacha regime’s “revisionist” measures, and undertakes a critical appraisal of the neoliberal policy changes instituted by the Obasanjo regime from 1999. An Overview of the Contemporary Nigerian Economy Nigeria’s stunted growth is clearly at odds with the country’s potential. The statistics presented in tables 6.1 and 6.2 below tell but only part of the story—the story of a state constantly inching toward collapse only to pull back miraculously at the last minute (Rotberg, 2002). The country is endowed with a huge reservoir of natural resources (e.g., petroleum, tin, iron ore, manganese, fertile and arable land). As the biggest black nation on earth (with an estimated population of 140 million), it is not lacking in the human capital needed to propel it from underdevelopment to

Table 6.1

Sample of economic management institutions operating in Nigeria between 1959 and 2007

Institution

Year Established

Mandate (in Brief)

Highlight of Accomplishmentsto Date

Regime that Established Institution

Central Bank of Nigeria

1959

Central banking, implementation of monetary and exchange rate policy, supervision of banking and financial institutions.

Largely docile under the military, the Bank is becoming increasingly visible as manager of monetary and exchange policies. Through the consolidation exercise carried out between 2005 and 2006, the Bank weeded out a number of family-owned but badly run financial institutions, the “failed banks,” as they came to be known.

Colonial administration

Securities and Exchange Commission

1979 (vide Act 71)

Regulation of capital market; monitoring of stocks and shares; protection of investors.

Played a crucial role in picking up signs of distress in the banking sector, and in taking out failed banks.

Obasanjo/Military

Deposit Insurance Corporation

1990 (Cap. 301 of Laws of the Federation of Nigeria)

Insurance of deposits in licensed Winding up of failed banks, and banks; enforcement of extant corporate settlement of their sundry debts. governance standards to ensure sound banking practices; receivership and liquidation of “failed banks.”

Corporate Affairs Commission

1990 (Companies and Allied Matters Decree)

Regulation of formation and management of companies; company registration and de-registration; compilation of data on equity shareholding, and on membership of boards of directors.

Babangida/Military

Compilation of up-to-date information on Babangida/Military who owns what shares in which company. Such information helped dispel malicious rumours surrounding the former Senate president, Ken Nnamani—i.e., that a firm owned by him was one of those awarded contracts by the then embattled Independent National Electoral Commission.

Nigerian Stock Exchange

1960

National Insurance 1970 See also (Cap. 263, Corporation Laws of the Federation of Nigeria) of 1990

Clearing house for trading of stocks and shares, and sundry capital market operations; financial intermediation; compilation of All-share Index. Following the 1993 deregulation, internationalization of Nigeria’s stock market; and self-regulation to pre-empt insider trading and scandals. Provision of basic insurance services as demanded by corporate and individual clients; insurance of federal and state government property.

Deepening of the capital market, with all the leading banks, manufacturing and industrial conglomerates, and other up and coming enterprises being listed on the Stock Exchange. The Exchange has also opened Nigerian business to foreign investors by linking with counterparts in different parts of the world. Performance of regular insurance functions. It was privatized by the Obasanjo regime in 2006 and based on allegations of improper handling of the corporation’s recapitalization exercise, and of failure to honour insurers’ claims, it was repossessed by the government in 2008. Enjoyed high visibility at the initial stage, especially, under the leadership of the social activist, Tai Solarin, but soon dropped out of public view. High-profile prosecution of cases involving discrepancies between assets declared and actually owned by state governors and other top officials. Legislature contemplated its merger with the EFCC, and the Independent Corrupt Practices Commission. The obstacle was the Tribunal’s wentrenchment in the Constitution.

Public Complaints Commission

1976/7

Collation and analysis of citizen grievances; safeguard of citizen interests vis-à-vis public authorities.

Code of Conduct Tribunal

1977 (later entrenched in the Constitution)

Collation and storage of data supplied by public officials on assets declaration forms; prosecution of offenders.

Federal Government headed by the late Alhaji Abubakar Tafawa Balewa, then Prime Minister.

Gowon/Military

Obasanjo/Military

Obasanjo/Military

Continued

Table 6.1

Continued

Institution

Year Established

Mandate (in Brief)

Highlight of Accomplishmentsto Date

Regime that Established Institution

Nigeria Police

1861, Consular Guard; 1879, paramilitary Hausa Constabulary; 1888, Royal Niger Constabulary; 1894, Niger Coast Constabulary; 1896, Lagos Police Force; and 1930, Nigeria Police Force.

Detection, investigation and control of crime; restoration of order in the wake of riots, civil disturbances, and other threats to peace.

Suppression of riots and civil disturbances; sporadic but unsustainable control of crime; elimination of threats to order from ethnic or private militias. Despite several restructurings and reorganizations, the Police remains largely ineffective in controlling crime. It is routinely accused of denying the opposition parties the space they need to operate. For instance it is alleged that while issuing permits to ruling parties to hold rallies, the Police withholds same from the opposition, and turns a blind eye to violation of opposition parties’ rights.

Established by the colonial government but thereafter reorganized on several different occasions by civilian and military regimes.

National Drug Law Enforcement Agency

1990 (Decree 48)

Detection and investigation of drug offences, arrest and prosecution of offenders, and upholding Nigeria’s good image abroad. Enforcement of national laws against money laundering.

Arrest and detention of persons suspected of trafficking in drugs, or laundering ill-gotten gains.

Babangida/military

National Agency for Food, Drug Administration and Control

1993 (Decree 15)

Enforcement of international standards on the quality and safety of drugs.

Institution of measures against fake and/or Abacha/military expired drugs, and sealing of premises at which such drugs are sold or dispensed. Conduct of public enlightenment campaigns.

Independent Corrupt Practices Commission (ICPC)

2000

Investigation and prosecution of corrupt practices.

Hobbled for years by resource constraints, Obasanjo/civilian the Commission regained visibility in 2006 by pursuing cases against highly placed government officials. The Minister of Justice, Mr Michael Aodoankaa, publicly stated government’s intention to merge the Commission with the EFCC.

Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC)

2002

Investigation of corruption and embezzlement cases, arrest and detention of offenders, and, under the supervision of the attorneygeneral, prosecution of offenders.

Bureau of Public Enterprises

1988/1989

Under the National Council on Privatization, identification of public assets to be sold to private investors, managed along commercial lines, or handed over to concessionaires for an agreed period.

EFFC was accused of harassing president Obasanjo/civilian Obasanjo’s opponents within the ruling party and in the opposition. Otherwise, recorded successes with high-profile arrest of state governors accused of looting their treasuries. Also compiled and published data on sums embezzled by top public officials (230 billion pounds stg. as at June 2005, according to the Commission). EFCC was apparently becoming too threatening. After open disagreement with the minister of justice on prosecution of former governors, EFCC head, Nuhu Ribadu was removed in January 2008 and sent for training at the National Institute for Policy and Strategic Studies. The government also contemplated merging the Commission with the ICPC, and possibly, the Code of Conduct Bureau. Between 1989 and 1993, 18 agricultural, Babangida/military 23 banking and financial, 5 hospitality, 23 industrial/manufacturing, 3 petroleum, 1 services, and 6 transport enterprises were privatized.

Sources: Compiled by the author, based on data from various sources.


affluence. Yet, after close to half a century as a sovereign state, regardless of the frequent establishment of economic management institutions (table 6.1) and the ritualistic adoption of five-year development plans, the condition of the majority of its people has not improved and may in fact have deteriorated over the years. Undoubtedly, and as table 6.2 below indicates, the economy of Nigeria has come a long way. From one based on subsistence agriculture and dependent on a narrow range of primary commodities (such as cocoa, cotton, and groundnuts), the economy has branched out to services, industry, manufacturing and mineral sectors, and confirmed Nigeria’s position as Table 6.2

Nigeria at a glance Nigeria Data Profile

Indicators People Population, total Population growth (annual %) National poverty rate (% of population) Life expectancy (years) Fertility rate (births per woman) Infant mortality rate (per 1,000 live births) Under 5 mortality rate (per 1,000 children) Environment Surface area (sq. km) Forests (1,000 sq. km) Deforestation (average annual % 1990–2000) Internal freshwater resources per capita (cubic meters) CO2 emissions (metric tons per capita) Access to improved water source (% of total pop.) Energy use per capita (kg of oil equivalent) Electricity use per capita (kWh)

2000

2003

2004

126.9 million 2.4 —

136.5 million 2.4 —

139.8 million 2.4 —

— — 102.0

44.9 5.6 98.0

— — —

205.0

198.0

—

923.8 thousand 135.2 thousand 2.6

923.8 thousand — —

— — —

—

1,619.5

—

0.3

—

—

—

—

—

712.9

—

—

68.5

—

—

Continued

economic management after independence / 105 Table 6.2

Continued Nigeria Data Profile

Indicators

2000

2003

2004

4.6

32.5

—

—

0.1

—

6.6

—

—

0.7 — 12,800.0

6.1 — 9,000.0

— — —

70.6

53.3

—

Trade in goods as a share of goods GDP (%) High-technology exports (% of manufactured exports) Net barter terms of trade (1995=100) Foreign direct investment, net inflows in reporting country (current US$) Present value of debt (current US$) Total debt service (% of exports of goods and services) Short-term debt outstanding (current US$)

96.3

69.8

—

0.4

—

—

100.0

—

—

930.4 million

1.2 billion

—

27.2 billion

33.9 billion

—

—

—

—

1.1 billion

3.4 billion

—

Aid per capita (current US$)

1.5

2.3

—

Technology and Infrastructure Fixed lines and mobile telephones (per 1,000 people) Telephone average cost of local call (US$ per three minutes) Personal computers (per 1,000 people) Internet users (per 1,000 people) Paved roads (% of total) Aircraft departures Trade and Finance Trade in goods as a share of GDP (%)

Source: World Development Indicators database, August 2005.

a leading member of the OPEC (Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries). In 1952, there were only three banks and no central bank. Today, Nigeria has no less than 25 commercial, 5 merchant, and 4 quasi-governmentowned development banks, as well as 5 discount houses, and 17 insurance


companies. A Central Bank established in 1959 maintains general oversight over the banks, and, besides carrying out the basic central banking functions, implements the government’s monetary policy. A Securities and Exchange Commission monitors movement of corporate stocks, and protects the interest of investors. Completing the picture of an emerging and rapidly growing capital market are the Lagos Stock Exchange and the Abuja Commodities Exchange. As at the end of 2006, no less than 184, including second tier, companies were listed on the Stock Exchange. However, the growth in the size and complexity of the economy masks serious deficiencies, and particularly, the challenges of how to balance growth with equity, enhance per capita productivity, channel productivity gains toward poverty eradication ends, bridge widening income gaps and growing inequality, and above all, ensure that economic disequilibria and disparities do not exacerbate Nigeria’s diversity problems. The industry sector might have picked up in recent years, but the sector is dominated by light consumer goods and oriented toward import substitution. Rather than branch out to the production of capital goods (particularly, machinery and parts for industrial development), the bulk of manufacturing output (over 60 percent) is from producers of beverages, textiles, cigarettes, processed food, soaps and detergent. What is worse, capacity utilization is on the decline, thanks to shortage of raw material, and the weaknesses in the electricity and energy sector. Even the mining sector, when petroleum is excluded, is not as vibrant as in the past. Nigeria was once one of the world’s largest producers of tin. Production fell from an average of 10,000 tons per year in the 1970s to 300 tons in 1995. Iron ore reserves estimated at 800 million tons have also not been fully exploited. Mining began in 1984, and a stockpile of 500,000 tons was recorded in 1989. However, by 1997, output fell below 50,000 per year. Deposits of uranium, lead, zinc, tungsten and gold are not yet exploited (htt://www.iss.co.za/AF/profiles/Nigeria/ Economy.html). The petroleum sector has thus edged past all the other sectors to become Nigeria’s principal source of revenue. It contributes approximately 36 percent to the GDP and 75 percent to government revenue, while at the same time accounting for over 80 percent of total foreign exchange earnings. With an estimated reserve of 25.0 billion barrels in 2006, Nigeria is the sixth largest oil producer in the Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries, and the largest in Africa. Proven reserves of natural gas stood at 3.5 trillion cubic meters (124 cubic feet) at the end of 1998. The Escravos gas project became Nigeria’s first gas exporter in 1998. Besides, a West African gas pipeline estimated at US$260 million is under construction. When completed, it will supply

economic management after independence / 107

natural gas from the Escravos field to Nigeria’s neighbors on the west coast, particularly, Benin, Togo, and Ghana. In 2003, the GDP stood at $58.3 billion. This is far below South Africa’s GDP of $160 billion for the same period (World Bank, 2005). Whereas South Africa’s high technology exports accounted for 5 percent of total manufactured exports in 2002, Nigeria exported virtually no technology—high, intermediate, or low. After years of neglect, the infrastructure has been put under too much pressure, and has, to a large extent, succumbed to decay. Port facilities are provided at Lagos (Apapa and Tin Can Island), Port Harcourt, and Calabar, but docking fees for freight are among the highest in the world. Only 18.75 percent of the 80,000 kilometers of roads—that is, 15,000 kilometers—are paved (http://www.virtualsource.com/Countries/ Africa%Countries/Nigeria.htm). It is only in recent years (between 2004 and 2005) that the federal and the state governments embarked on extensive repair of roads and the construction of new ones. Nigeria may be an oil-exporter, but in 2002, its energy use per capita was pegged at 718 kg, in contrast to South Africa’s 2,505 kg. Due to persistent failure to anticipate industrial and household electricity consumption needs and to revitalize the generating and distribution capacities, Nigerians have been condemned for decades to live in total or partial darkness. In 2002, per capita electricity consumption was 68 kWh, as against South Africa’s 3,860 kWh.1 The shortfall in electricity generation and distribution has impacted negatively on the economy and society—particularly, on capacity utilization in industry, health care delivery, the utility, and lifespan of household appliances, and individual wellbeing. Erratic power supply and chronic fuel shortages have combined to push down industrial capacity utilization to less than 30 percent. As noted in the next chapter, the increasing wave of crime, along with the other factors, accounts for the rising cost of doing business in Nigeria. While the balance of payments position has improved slightly in recent years, Nigeria has yet to translate its abundant human and natural resources into a remarkable competitive advantage. As a net importer of technology and of highly sophisticated consumer goods, it for years ran deficits on its current account, and piled up massive external debt. External debt stood at $28.5 billion at the end of 1997, representing 76 percent of GNP, and a whopping 157 percent of annual export earnings (World Bank, 2005). The preceding analysis indicates that while the Nigerian economy has grown in size and complexity, its performance over the years has not been quite impressive. Using the first three planning cycles as a frame of reference, the subsequent sections focus on the factors as well as the policy


choices that helped or hindered the growth of the economy at various stages of the country’s development. Development Planning and Management: 1962–1970 In the immediate post-independence period, agriculture was the mainstay of the Nigerian economy, accounting for over 33 percent of the GDP and roughly 75 percent of employment. The main export commodities were cocoa, groundnuts, cotton, rubber, and palm oil. Cocoa typifies the problem confronting the agriculture sector. With an annual output of 300,000 tons in the 1960s, cocoa production is now stagnant at around 180,000 tons annually. The disappearance of groundnut and cotton pyramids in the north is another indication of the decline in primary production. Also, while Nigeria once ranked as the biggest poultry producer in Africa, it has seen its annual output reduced from 40 million birds in the 1960s to 18 million in recent years. One possible explanation for the decline in the agriculture sector is Nigeria’s antiquated land tenure system—a system that discourages investment in farming as well as in harvesting and storage technologies, and does not permit the use of land as collateral for bank loans or rural credit. However, as indicated in the next section, the 1956 discovery of oil in commercial quantities in Oloibiri (in present day Bayelsa State) was a sign that agriculture’s glorious days were coming to an end. Unfortunately, the long-term ramification of this change was not foreseen by Nigeria’s leaders and their civil service advisers when the First National Development Plan was being drafted. The First National Development Plan, 1962–1968 Although the colonial administration had executed two plans prior to independence (i.e., the 1946–1955 10-Year of Development and Welfare, and the 1955–1960 Plan which was extended to 1962 by the first civilian government), these were not regarded as “‘plans’ in the truest sense of the word.” The preceding efforts were viewed by the formulators of the first indigenous plan merely as a “series of projects which had not been coordinated or related to any overall economic target.” It was this omission that the first attempt at indigenous development planning, the 1962–1968 Plan, set out to rectify. The First National Development Plan spanned the period 1962 to 1968, and took a broad, if overtly ambitious, view of its remit. Proceeding from the underlying objectives (which included stimulating economic growth, diversifying the economy, and improving overall standards of


living) the plan set targets for wide-ranging public institutions, particularly, the central bank, state-owned enterprises, government ministries and departments (such as Agriculture, Education, Works and Housing), the marketing boards, and the utilities. Ambitious as the plan was, however, it fell short in many significant respects. A notable critic of the plan, the Nobel laureate, Sir W. Arthur Lewis, faulted it for the inadequacy of feasibility studies, sloppy and incomplete evaluation of projects, minimal public participation, and, above all, the tendency for politics to override economics in public policy and decision making. Sir Arthur further noted that the Plan failed to give sufficient attention to the indigenous sector, and to executive capacity. How the government planned to raise the money and to recruit the personnel to achieve its objectives was, according to the internationally renowned economist, the most fatal omission. In any case, the Plan was soon overtaken by events no one ever saw coming—among them, the military overthrow of the first civilian regime in January 1966, the ethnic riots in the north that claimed the lives of many Igbos, the declaration, by then Colonel Odumegwu Ojukwu, of the eastern region as an independent Republic of Biafra, and the outbreak of the Nigerian Civil War in 1967. These developments taken together further empowered politics to upstage economics at the decision table. Thus to undercut the Biafran enclave’s secessionist plan, the Gowon government issued a decree creating 12 states out of the 4 regions it inherited from the First Republic, that is, in place of the erstwhile northern, eastern, western, and mid-western regions. This entailed diverting resources to the establishment of new state administrations, construction of office and residential units, and meeting the recurrent expenses and wage bills of the new states. It was not surprising therefore that during the civil war, most of the 12 states created in 1967 faced severe budget constraints. A decree enacted by the Gowon regime in 1970 brought the states closer to fiscal parity. It reduced the commodity producing states’ share of export, import, and excise duties, and of mining rents and royalties, but increased the share of federally allocated revenue. The federal government’s role in sharing (or handing out) revenue to the states increased its (the federal government’s) power, but caused disaffection among oil and mineral producing states. Statutory allocations from the federal government to the states amounted to N128 million in 1966, but increased to N1,040 million in 1975, and to N1,695.4 billion in 2005. Thirty six local governments and the Federal Capital Territory received a total of N515.4 billion in 2000 and N1,087.0 billion in 2005. The application of a new revenue allocation formula from 1970 might have favored many of the otherwise insolvent states (and local governments), but it did not entirely relieve the federal and the other tiers


of government of the fiscal head-ache inflicted by the civil war. While the war lasted, none of the governments had the time or the resources to implement the priority projects integrated in the First National Development Plan. In fact, rather than give attention to the projects, the then Federal Minister of Finance and Deputy Chairman of the Supreme Military Council, Chief Obafemi Awolowo, introduced stringent austerity measures which warranted the scaling down of ministerial spending plans. The budget balancing measures were soon followed by the establishment of a tough import licensing and foreign exchange regime, the elements of which included the restriction in the repatriation of dividends and profits, and drastic reduction in the amount that Nigerian citizens could take abroad as travel allowances. The Central Bank was initially a statutorily independent federal government agency. Probably in an attempt at ensuring rigid enforcement of the war-dictated fiscal and foreign exchange regulations, the Federal government in 1968 issued a decree placing the Bank’s banking and monetary authority under the supervision of the Federal Executive Council. As noted earlier, this war time expediency subsequently eroded the autonomy of the Bank, and with that, the Bank’s ability to manage the country’s growing foreign reserves. From Oil Bubble to Oil Bust: The Prelude to Structural Adjustment, 1970–1980 By the time the war ended in 1970, Nigeria’s economic position had dramatically improved. Yet, the oil boom which brought the good fortune was at the same time setting the economy up for turbulence, its managers for servitude under external policy advisers, and the people for the pains of structural adjustment. The circumstances of the time dictated careful analysis of policy options, and steadfast commitment to a path leading to structural transformation and self-sustaining development (Balogun, 1980, and 1983). However, the oil windfall created an illusion of unbounded affluence, which in turn eliminated the impetus for fiscal discipline and for proper management of resources. With the rapid increase in oil output and prices after the civil war, Nigeria’s economic position improved. Real GDP growth between 1970 and 74 was 12.3 percent per annum—far in excess of the target of 6.2 percent on which the Second Development Plan was based. Second Development Plan, 1970–1974 It was against this background—that of rising oil revenue—that the Second National Development Plan, covering the period 1970–1974, was


formulated. Many of the objectives outlined in the Plan were realistic, for example, postwar reconstruction, restoring productive capacity (damaged by the civil war), overcoming critical bottlenecks in agriculture, industry and manufacturing, and achieving self-reliance. Others (such as turning Nigeria into a land of opportunities and promoting an egalitarian society) seemed too remote from the people’s daily life. The Plan estimated the cost of replacing the assets destroyed in the civil war at over N600 million (approximately US$900 million at the then prevailing exchange rate). It set aside a total of N2.05 billion for public sector investment, and N3.43 billion for private sector development. Some of the actions taken to realize the objectives of the Plan could not be faulted. For instance, only three large commercial banks held about one-third of total bank deposits in the early 1970s. In 1973, the federal government decided to acquire a 40-percent equity ownership in the three banks. Still, the growing oil revenue encouraged profligacy among the federal ministries. Amid the euphoria of the 1974 oil boom, the economic planners approved and added numerous projects for other ministries without carrying out proper feasibility and cost benefit analyses, or closing the gaps in executive capacity. The Government itself bowed to the workers’ demand for higher wages with the implementation of the recommendations of the Adebo Commission on Salary and Wages in 1971, and the Udoji Commission on the Review of the Public Service in 1974. Budget overruns and deficits were a recurring problem—a problem which manifested as galloping inflation in the late 1970s and early 1980s. In an effort to meet the various sectors’ growing need for raw materials, equipment and spare parts, the government came out with an import liberalization scheme. The construction industry, and in particular, importers of cement, immediately took advantage of this scheme. The “cement armada” which prevented ships from docking at or leaving Lagos ports was the outcome of the massive importation of cement. In any case, public outcry against frequent shortage of essential commodities continued unabated. In response, the government established a retail outlet to import and distribute consumer goods. At the same time, it created a Price Control Board with a cadre of inspectors empowered to search private premises and ensure that commodities were sold at “controlled” prices. Rather than stop hoarding and profiteering, the measures exacerbated the situation they set out to rectify. The beneficiaries of the retroactive approach to policy formation and decision making were clearly not the ordinary citizens, but top government officials who prospered as their empires expanded and the opportunities to use public office for private gain widened considerably. Since per capita productivity is unlikely to increase under such circumstances, the economy


battled with imbalances of various kinds—fiscal, macro-economic, and external payments imbalances. Third Development Plan, 1975–1980 The rapid increase in petroleum revenue in the 1970s removed most of the fiscal constraints faced by the federal and the regional governments in the 1960s. The revenue of the federal government alone grew from N306.4 million in 1966 to N7,791.0 million in 1977, a twenty-five fold increase over an 11-year period. Petroleum receipts as a proportion of total revenue rose from 26.3 percent in 1970 to more than 70 percent between 1974 and 1977. In 1988, petroleum accounted for 87 percent of export receipts and 77 percent of the federal government’s recurrent revenue. Indeed, in the hope of replicating the economic miracles of the 1970–1974 Plan period, the Third Development Plan (1975–1980) Plan envisioned a twelve-fold increase in the annual rate of public capital expenditure over the previous plan period. The Third Plan saw no obstacle in its way. In fact, the authors categorically stated that there “will be no savings and foreign exchange constraints during the third plan period and beyond.” The Plan accordingly took an overambitious view of developments in agriculture, industry, transport, housing, water supplies, health, education, rural electrification, community development, and in the projects to be administered by the 12 states created in 1967. Above all, the Plan earmarked substantial sums of money for prestige projects, among them, the international Festival of African Arts and Culture (FESTAC), the National Theatre, the Trade Fair Complex, and so on. In 1976, the federal government acquired an additional 20 percent stake in the three foreign banks that dominated the banking sector up to 1973. This made the government the majority shareholder, with its equity participation in each bank rising to 60 percent. At the same time, the government promulgated the second phase of the Nigerian Enterprises Promotion Decree requiring that 60 percent of shares in selected enterprises be reserved for Nigerians. However, unforeseen developments compelled the government to apply the brake on new policy initiatives, particularly, those with financial implications. Due to the slowdown in the world economy after October 1974 and the collapse of oil prices, federal and state budgets went into deficit. In June 1975, many state and local governments did not receive their monthly allocations from the federal government. Consequently, and before the military coup that terminated the Gowon administration on July 29, 1975, government workers threatened to go on strike unless their salaries that


had fallen into arrears were paid. The situation was so critical that the federal government had to scale down the expenditure projections for the Third Development Plan. As part of the cost cutting measure announced by the federal government, fiscal responsibility for housing and primary education reverted to state and local governments. Structural adjustment had not yet arrived, but it was around the corner—with the federal and the state governments searching frantically for ways to slash running expenses and balance their budgets. By 1978, it became clear that the authors of the Third Development Plan had been overambitious in their growth forecast and the leaders’ earlier vision of a “great and dynamic society” would take a lot of time and effort to materialize. The Dawn of a New Reality: Hard Economic Choices, 1980–1998 The civilian government that succeeded the military on October 1, 1979 could not have taken over at a worse time. It inherited a thoroughly overheated economy, a debt-ridden but resource starved treasury, and a public with mounting and vehemently expressed demands. To give itself some breathing space, the Shagari Administration postponed the launching of the next, that is, the Fourth Development, Plan for nine months. When it was finally launched, the 1981–1985 Plan did not live up to its promise to involve state and local governments in project planning and implementation. It could not have kept its promise for the simple reason that the two tiers of governments lacked the wherewithal and the leadership capacity to perform these crucial functions. In any case, the Plan was derailed by steep decline in agricultural productivity, and by the recession in OECD countries which adversely affected export receipts, in general, and oil revenue, in particular. Federal government finances went out of control between 1981 and 1983, with the government running huge deficits. To stem the economic decline, President Shagari led by example: he and the vice president (Dr. Alex Ekueme) along with ministers and special advisers cut their salaries by 12.5 percent. This measure, though laudable, did not go far enough. It did not succeed in wiping out the deficit or kick-starting the economy because other government leaders were not in the mood for self-sacrifice. A motion tabled on the floor of the House of Representatives to reduce the legislators’ pay by a mere 10 percent was scuttled (Shagari, 2001:270). With the exception of Rivers State (controlled by the President’s National Party of Nigeria), the Plateau State (under the Nigerian People’s Party), and Kano (People’s Redemption Party), no other state executive agreed to part with a fraction of his pay to bail out the economy.


By the time the Shagari government was overthrown in 1983 federal government deficit had risen to N5.3 billion (or 9.5 percent of the GDP). At the same time, external debt was mounting rapidly. The states also ran huge deficits. As at the end of 1983, the states’ budget deficits had risen to N6.8 billion. Falling oil output and prices contributed to the decline in per capita real gross national product (GNP) in the 1980s, and persisted until oil prices picked up again the 1990s. In specific terms, GNP per capita shrank by 4.8 percent from 1980 to 1987. Based on the 1987 data, Nigeria was classified by the World Bank as a low-income country. In 1989, the World Bank declared Nigeria poor enough to be eligible (along with Bangladesh, Ethiopia, Chad, and Mali) for concessional aid from its affiliate, the International Development Association (IDA). Drastic reduction in export revenue compelled the Buhari and later Babangida military governments to institute stringent austerity measures, with sharp cuts in capital spending, in military and civil service budgets, and in consumer subsidies. Many state corporations had their subsidies and subventions drastically reduced. Others were sold off completely. Under the Babangida regime (1985 and 1993) Nigeria implemented its own version of the Structural Adjustment Program (SAP). The main components of the program are privatization of public enterprises, currency devaluation, elimination of subsidies and price controls, deregulation, budget rationalization, and reduction in fiscal deficits. The first wave of privatization took place between 1989 and 1993. With external prodding, 18 agricultural undertakings, 23 banking, financial, and insurance institutions, 5 hotels, 24 industrial enterprises, 3 petroleum companies, 6 transport services, and 1 shopping complex were transferred from public to private ownership (http://bpe.dev.bsh-bg.com/en/companies/Privatized/ default.htm) during the first phase of the exercise. Currency devaluation was another structural adjustment objective that was vigorously pursued from the late 1980s. At the time Nigeria changed to decimal currency (in 1973), one Naira, the new denomination, was equivalent to half a British pound and to US$1.52. With the implementation of the homegrown structural adjustment from 1986, the Naira took a nosedive against the leading external currencies. In 1990, N8.004 was needed to have US$1. The annual depreciation of the Naira against the dollar between 1986 and 1993 was 114.3 percent (National Bureau of Statistics, 2006). By the end of 2006, the ratio was 128:1. The rapid decline in the value of the Naira might have enhanced Nigeria’s external competitiveness, but it imposed serious hardship on fixed income earners. The precipitate fall in real income between 1986 and 2006 put many commodities beyond the reach of low-income groups, meaning the majority of Nigerians.


As indicated in chapter two, the economic collapse in the late 1970s and early 1980s stoked ethnic and religious discontent. The pressure for the expulsion of over 2 million illegal workers (from Ghana, Niger, Cameroon, and Chad) in early 1983, and May 1985 could also be traced to the hardship caused by the economic downturn. The Babangida regime sought to balance its economic restructuring program with a serious effort at alleviating the suffering of the rural and urban poor. Besides establishing a Directorate of Food and Rural Infrastructure that, as the name implies, invested in rural infrastructure, the regime in 1990 established a network of People’s and Community Banks. To ensure the successful take off of the banks, and match contributions from other sources (notably, community development associations, cooperative societies, farmers’ groups, trade unions and other community-based organizations) it set aside a sum of N504 million. The aim was to extend banking and credit facilities to those formerly excluded, particularly, rural dwellers and those belonging to the low-income category. Rivaling (or complementing) the government’s poverty alleviation efforts was the private initiative of the first lady, Maryam Babangida. Although nowhere is the office of First Lady mentioned in the constitution or laws of the federation, Maryam’s acted as though she was elected or formally appointed into it. As first lady, she was the sponsor of a nationwide project, “Better Life for Rural Women”—a program that, because of the preponderant influence of state first ladies and other powerful women, some cynically renamed “Better Women for Rural Life.” Ministries, departments, and state-owned enterprises were frequently co-opted into the program’s resource mobilization ventures. Suffice to say that the measures adopted to attain the dual objective of macro-economic stability and poverty alleviation were nullified largely by the pervasive and endemic corruption that prevailed during the Babangida administration. As noted in the previous chapter, resources that might have been channeled toward productive ventures were siphoned into private coffers and immediately lodged in overseas accounts. Abacha’s Revisionist Policies, 1993–1998 The late General Sani Abacha, who came to power shortly after President Babangida’s decision to “step aside,” did all he could to roll back the economic stabilization measures earlier instituted, while at the same time taking corruption many steps further. He subverted the autonomy of the central bank, maintained a tight grip on the Nigeria National Petroleum Corporation, waged running battles with key productive agents, and conveyed the impression that crude force would succeed where economic logic failed.


In fairness to the late dictator, he brought the budget deficit down to 0.2 percent of the GDP in the 1995/96 financial year. However, he managed to achieve this feat only by adopting unorthodox budget balancing methods. First, he diverted a sizeable proportion (over 40 percent) of the states’ statutory allocations to the federal treasury. Second, in 1995, he introduced a dual foreign exchange system—the official that was pegged at N22 to the dollar, and the inter-bank rate which fluctuated weekly, but hovered around N85 to the dollar between 1995 and 1996. He made his killing by buying the dollar cheap (i.e., for N22), and reselling it dear during the weekly currency auctions (at $1:N85). In 1995, he (or the federal government over which he presided) realized close to N80 billion from the operation of the dual exchange system. The proceeds increased to roughly N103 billion in 1996, and to N131 billion in 1997. Realizing that the states that had been denied the full amounts due as their statutory allocations could not survive on the reduced handouts, the Abacha regime turned a blind eye as they devised all manners of revenue mobilization methods, imposed a wide variety of taxes and levies, and retained the services of private debt collectors—often referred to as “consultants”—to bring in monies from various sources. While looking for every opportunity to generate revenue, the Abacha government did very little to control its expenditure. Due largely to the systematic embezzlement of the bail-out funds, the billions of dollars pumped into the economically strategic Nigerian Railway Corporation failed to revive the state-owned enterprise. The sizeable portion of the budget released to the Petroleum Trust Fund might have helped rehabilitate the infrastructure, but the prices of other public contracts tended to be highly inflated. The government also supported ECOMOG’s military operations in Sierra Leone by providing troops, equipment, and supplies. Just as Babangida and his wife Maryam had their own pet projects, Abacha and his wife (also Maryam) believed they ought to have theirs. The husband put his weight behind money-gobbling initiatives such as the Family Support Program (FSP), and the Family Economic Advancement Program (FEAP). Not to be accused of disloyalty, the state governors dutifully established outfits to manage the federally supported programs within their domains. The same was the case with the health-related initiatives sponsored by the then first lady, Maryam Abacha, with the states’ first ladies, that is, the military governors’ wives, actively promoting and serving as the backers of the second Maryam’s projects at the state level. The actions described above were benign when compared with other measures adopted by the Abacha regime. During his reign as Nigeria’s head of state, Abacha got the key economic actors to do his bidding by unleashing terror on civil society and political


activists. When the trade unions—particularly, the National Union of Petroleum and Natural Gas Workers, and the Petroleum and Natural Gas Senior Staff Association of Nigeria—signaled their intentions to paralyze the administration by calling their members on strike, the General ordered the immediate and indefinite detention of their leaders. He did not wait for the central labor organization to cause trouble—he dissolved the Nigerian Labor Congress and appointed a former top ranking civil servant, the late Ason Bur, Sole Administrator. The otherwise vibrant and freedom-loving academic community lost its voice when the General designated another General (General Kontagora) as Sole Administrator of Ahmadu Bello University (Balogun, 1997). Besides corrupting or otherwise incapacitating key institutions, the Abacha regime perfected the art of embezzlement. General Abacha did not need to be bribed by a favor seeker. That would be beneath someone who held the key to the national treasury or kept a personal eye on the flow of oil to and from the nation’s refineries. At any rate, the Central Bank would not dare ask the General or his agents to prove that “state security” required immediate release of cash as and when demanded. The managing director of the National Petroleum Corporation would not be impudent enough to cite the law—basic or rational economic—if the General felt like commandeering petrol reserves for personal use or to help a friendly neighboring country. Curiously, as he and his cronies stole the nation blind, Abacha did something remarkable. He it was who first drew public attention to the corruption in the banking sector. The “failed banks” would probably have remained in business for years if the Abacha government had not shown some interest—albeit not altogether altruistic—in the goings on behind the counter. It was probably the staggering figures that first got the Abacha government’s attention. Up to 1993, the banking system comprised the Central Bank of Nigeria at the apex, 42 (forty-two) commercial banks, and 24 (twenty-four) merchant banks. Within the same period (1993) the commercial and the merchant banks among them had 1,500 branches (up from 1,000 in 1984). The commercial banks assets totaled N52.2 billion, compared to the merchant banks’ assets of N12.6 billion. What were so many banks doing in an economy the size of Nigeria’s and how come they had so much money? Government agents subsequently found out that a good number of the so-called banks were family-owned enterprises which kept recycling wealth among themselves. Many of these banks were not only poorly managed but were also apt to operate on a tenuous capital base, and consequently unable to secure their customers’ deposits. As entities under the firm grip


of a few personalities, the banks’ corporate governance record was dismal, with many of them reflecting high proportions of nonperforming loans on their books, and, worse still, lending most of the monies to insiders. Largescale fraud was also perpetrated by a few bank operatives. In 1996, the Nigerian Police arrested 154 persons that among them embezzled a whopping N6.24 billion at banks in different parts of the country. By 2005, the number of bank officials arrested on charges of fraud had come down to 16, and the amount involved reduced to a N200.76 million (National Bureau of Statistics, 2005, and 2006). In a move which smacked more of opportunism than genuine commitment to reform, the Abacha regime established a failed banks tribunal and put errant bank bosses under detention. Further investigations carried out in recent years have by and large confirmed the findings by the Abacha government’s sleuths (Oluyemi, 2005). Table 6.3 provides an indication of the widespread recourse to insider credit in some selected banks. One clear lesson that the failed banks’ episode teaches is that neither corruption nor mismanagement is the exclusive preserve of government.

Table 6.3 Ratio of insider credit in selected banks-in-liquidation, 1994–2002 (at time of closure) S. No.

Bank Slated for Liquidation

Ratio of Insider Credit to Total Loans (Percent)

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

ABC Merchant Bank Limited Alpha Merchant Bank Plc Commerce Bank Plc Commercial Trust Bank Credite Bank Limited Financial Merchant Bank Limited Group Merchant Bank Limited Kapital Merchant Bank Limited Nigeria Merchant Bank Limited Prime Merchant Bank Limited Republic Bank Limited Royal Merchant Bank Limited

50.66 55.00 52.00 55.90 76.00 66.89 77.60 50.00 99.90 80.70 64.90 69.00

13

United Commercial Bank Limited

81.00

Source: Closing Reports on Banks in Liquidation, Receivership and Liquidation Department, Nigerian Deposit Insurance Corporation; See also S. A. Oluyemi, 2005, “Banking Sector Reforms and the Imperatives of Good Corporate Governance in Nigerian Banking System,” NIDC Quarterly, Vol. 16, No. 1, March 2005.


Where it has the opportunity, the private sector is capable of matching if not exceeding the height of turpitude scaled from time to time by its public counterpart. Unfortunately, this vital lesson does not seem to have informed the strategies pursued by the civilian regime which came to power in May 1999. From this period to 2006, the government proceeded on the assumption that the cause of growth could only be served if allocation decisions were transferred from the public arena to the corporate board rooms. Reforms and Neoliberal Policy Changes: 1999–2006 The Obasanjo regime has been lauded far and wide for undertaking bold economic reforms. There is no doubt that the regime deserves to be commended for its achievements. The regime made serious efforts to enforce budget discipline, and to strengthen the mechanisms for accountability and due process. As a mark of confidence in the regime’s economic policy, the IMF in October 2005 approved its first ever Policy Support Instrument for Nigeria. This was followed in December with a decision by the United States and seven other Paris Club nations to reduce Nigeria’s debt by $18 million, subject to Nigeria paying back the $12 million debt outstanding by March 2006. By waging relentless war on drug traffickers and on perpetrators of internet and advance fee fraud, the government managed to separate Nigeria from other pariah nations. At the same time, it accumulated substantial foreign reserves—$16 billion in 2000, a 100 percent increase over the 1999 figure; $17 billion in 2004; and $28.3 billion in 2005. However, measured against the standards set out in the first chapter, not all measures adopted by the Obasanjo regime from 1999 to 2006 qualify as “reforms,” if by reform is meant a change that is so drastic it was never contemplated let alone tried out before. Also as earlier argued, a change is not a reform if it does not challenge the status quo, and does not lead to visible and substantial improvement in the status of the weak and the oppressed. The neoliberal measures implemented by the regime enriched a few while exacerbating the socioeconomic conditions of the majority. To that extent, the measures can only be described, at best, as “a change in policy direction” and at worst, an act enacted to aid the realignment and consolidation of powerful, reactionary forces. The argument is not that the Obasanjo regime had no reform to its credit but that, for the purpose of understanding, it is essential to separate measures that merely continue or deepen previous changes from those that are genuinely reformist. Belonging clearly under the former heading


(change in policy direction or deepening of previous policy changes) are the following: a. Privatization of state-owned banks, fuel distribution companies, and cement plants, (between 2000 and 2002); b. Deregulation of fuel prices; and c. Auction of GSM telecommunications licenses (2001); d. “Monetization” of benefits, that is, payment of enhanced salaries in lieu of the erstwhile civil service perquisites, such as subsidized housing, chauffeur-driven vehicles, domestic servants, entertainment, leave, etc.); e. Restructuring and revitalization of service delivery systems—with a focus on the introduction of SERVICOM, the strengthening of accountability mechanisms; and f. The implementation of the National Economic Empowerment and Development Strategy (NEEDS). The privatization and divestiture process is not a new initiative. As earlier indicated, it began under the Babangida regime with the establishment of the National Council on Privatization and the Bureau of Public Enterprises. In any case, not even Babangida could claim to hold a copyright on the process, since it was the brainchild of “supply side” academic economists that had access to powerful leaders such as Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher. It probably would not have taken root under the Babangida administration were it not for the pressures mounted on the regime by the Breton Woods institutions. The Obasanjo regime took the privatization policy to a new level with the transfer of government-owned banks to the private sector, deregulation of fuel prices, and the auctioning of telecommunications licenses. The process was actually supported by the World Bank, the U.S. Agency for International Development, the UK Department for International Development, and the Governments of Germany and Spain. Of all the enterprises transferred from public to private ownership, none generated as much passion as the sale, in the dying days of the Obasanjo regime, of the Kaduna and the Port Harcourt Petroleum Refineries. In response to public outcry, and to appease the labor unions that had called their members out on strike to protest the sale, the Yar’Adua Administration which came to power in May 2007 revoked its predecessor’s decision, and returned the two refineries to the state pending the outcome of further studies. “Monetization” of civil service perquisites is another controversial policy change—one conceived and implemented with unseemly haste by the


Obasanjo Administration. What it essentially entailed was placing monetary values on the benefits hitherto enjoyed by civil servants, and integrating the amounts due into each public employee’s monthly pay check. There is no doubt about the prudence of the decision to withdraw motor vehicles from top officials. Besides the high running expenses (cost of fuel, labor, maintenance, and replacement parts), many of the vehicles were routinely commandeered for personal rather than official use. A motor vehicle is strictly speaking an economic good, but that was not how it was treated by the average public official and members of his/her household. Withdrawing the vehicles and sending the self-indulging official to the car finance market is certainly the most effective way of inculcating this simple lesson in economics. However, it is not in every case that the market effectively arbitrates the conflict between demand and supply. Housing for public officials is an example of a good which is not totally economic—unless the intention is to place the average official at the mercy of absentee landlords or awaken in him/her the latent spirit of primitive accumulation. Since public officials come and go, a policy that requires them to own real estate wherever they are serving will only end up enriching land and property speculators while distracting the officials from their regular functions. The enhanced salary scales that the government approved to sweeten the “monetization” package will eventually erode in value as inflation sets in. This was the experience in 1974 when the Udoji Commission on the Review of the Public Service recommended salary increases which were originally considered overly generous. It took less than 18 months for the “bonanza” to lose its value—as the economy struggled with galloping inflation and shortage of essential commodities. It is not clear what type of analysis was carried out before the adoption of the monetization policy. If proper studies had been conducted, at least two practical problems would have been anticipated. First, with specific reference to Abuja, the nation’s capital, a time would come when, with the demand from succeeding generations of office holders, every inch of space would be built up, leaving new arrivals with the options of (a) buying out existing occupants, (b) joining a progressively long queue of renters, or (c) making daily commutes over long distances, say Keffi-Abuja-Keffi. None of the choices accords with the underlying values of public administration or proves helpful in keeping public officers’ attention focused on their jobs. The other practical problem that an unbridled pursuit of the monetization policy is likely to face is that of immovability of physical assets owned by officers leaving the duty stations. If and when a civil servant is transferred, s/he could decide to take her/his motor vehicle to a new duty station. This option is out as far as residential accommodation is concerned.


Less controversial than monetization is the reengineering of service delivery systems. Like the program of privatization, this is a stepping up of the long-standing efforts at reforming the civil service and making it results-oriented (Udoji Commission, 1974). By shifting attention to the clients or “customers” of essential public services, the Obasanjo government’s SERVICOM initiative follows contemporary global trends toward public service accountability and responsiveness. In any case, the impact of the service delivery component of Nigeria’s public service reform program was yet to be felt at the time of writing. “Customers” of essential services (such as electricity, water supply, health and medical care, garbage collection) were still liable to be treated with contempt by the service delivery agents. Even paying monies into government treasuries remained a tedious, cumbersome, and time-consuming process. Police constables who ought to be on the beat controlling crime or at their stations processing criminals, routinely trooped to the highways where they erected illegal road blocks and harassed law-abiding citizens. At the airports, extortion used to be the monopoly of customs inspectors. Since a lot of money could be made from the exercise of discretionary authority, NDLEA (Nigerian Drug Law Enforcement Agency) personnel had since got into the act. While pretending to search outward-bound passengers’ luggage for “illegal drugs,” these government agents actively looked for illicit opportunities to augment their income. SERVICOM would begin to make an impact only when the opinions of the beneficiaries of public services are sought, and when these opinions form the basis of the various agencies’ Service Pledges (or Customer Charters). All the same, the Obasanjo regime did undertake measures which could rightly be described as reformist. Among these are: a. The establishment of the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission, and the granting of investigative and prosecutorial powers to the Commission (2002); b. Enhancement of capacity to monitor revenue and expenditure flows (from the federal to state governments, and to a limited extent, to local governments); c. Reform and restructuring of the pension system (including the establishment of the National Pension Commission/PENCOM, the introduction of a contributory element in the pension scheme to narrow the N2 trillion deficit accumulated over the years, and the institution of measures to ensure timely payment of pension); and d. Granting of partial autonomy to the Central Bank (to perform the vital functions of mopping up excess liquidity, boosting the value of the Naira, and enforcing discipline in the banking sector).


Conclusion It is probably too early to assess the impact of the policy changes and the reforms undertaken by the succeeding regimes in Nigeria. However, measured against the criteria mentioned earlier, the results of the policy changes tend to be mixed and the overall impact on the environment remains minimal. Undoubtedly, a few milestones were recorded by various regimes, but overall, the economic disequilibria have not been eliminated and the benefits of growth have not reached the bulk of the people. It will take more than the privatization of state enterprises to engineer growth and to convince the average Nigerian that theirs is a land of full and bright opportunities—a land where the poor and the rich have equal chance to succeed or fail depending on their efforts. As the next chapter indicates, the utopia is still a long way off.


Ch a p t e r Se v e n Ba l a nc i ng Dom e st ic We l fa r e Ne ed s w i t h Ex t e r na l “Con di t iona l i t i e s”: Le ade r sh i p Eng ag em e n t w i t h t h e P e op l e a n d t h e I n t e r nat iona l En v i ron m e n t

Introduction Engaging the environment goes beyond mounting haphazard responses to contemporary governorship and economic growth challenges, or even managing the accompanying change and conflict. Interventions in the governorship process and in the economy by themselves mean very little unless they have a tangible and substantial impact on the people and on their living conditions. Indeed, what use is “constitutional reform” if a lawabiding motorist could be routinely pulled aside by the police, coerced into paying an illegal levy, or worse still, treated like a common criminal? What good is economic growth which does not “trickle down” fast enough to rehabilitate a decaying infrastructure, create gainful employment, expand and improve access to health, education, water supply, electricity distribution, and environmental sanitation services? The preceding questions are among those which naturally arise from the efforts at engaging the soft environment. However, it is highly unlikely that succeeding generations of leaders ever encouraged such questions to be asked or, worked earnestly to find satisfactory answers. The neglect of the social dimension of nation building is, at least, in recent years, neither an oversight nor an accident, but part of a broader social Darwinian project. Just as the contestation for political power is viewed as a zero-sum game, and economic management is dominated by the “Pareto optimal” logic, responses to social problems have lately taken a cold, calculating, and survival-of-the-fittest turn. Following contemporary global trends, government has set its sights on economic growth and refused to look down to see how the vast majority of its people are groaning under the weight of externally packaged neoliberal policies.


As argued in this chapter, the dominant challenge in steering Nigeria toward good governorship and prosperity is how to balance the citizens’ craving for the good life with the conditions that external creditors and so-called development partners frequently lay down for continuous engagement. In developing this argument, this chapter, among other things, focuses on the prevailing social conditions, assesses the efforts made by various regimes to ameliorate the conditions, and examines the factors accounting for the emergence and aggravation of Nigeria’s social deficits. Dividends and Deficits in an Era of Reform Measured against practically every major yardstick, the standard of living of Nigerians has deteriorated over the past three decades. Ranked 158th among the countries of the world in 2005, Nigeria scored very low (0.453) on the human development index (UNDP, 2005:221). It was thus surpassed by Senegal (0.458), Guinea (0.466), Gambia (0.470), Kenya (0.474), Mauritania (0.477), Swaziland (0.498), Ghana (0.520), Botswana (0.565), and, as to be expected, South Africa (0.658). Between 1990 and 2003, approximately 70.2 percent of the Nigerian population lived on less than one dollar a day (UNDP, 2005:229). The proportion living on less than two dollars a day within the same period was even higher (90.8 percent). Regardless of the double-digit GDP growth reported in recent years, Nigeria’s human welfare indicators remain disappointing. In 2003, the average life expectancy was 45 (at least, two years short of the Sub-Saharan African average of 47 years). In the same year, infant mortality rate stood at 98 per 1,000 live births—an alarmingly high rate when compared with South Africa’s 53 per live births. In contrast to South Africa where 87 percent of the population had access to water in 2002, only 60 percent of Nigerians had the same privilege, and even then clean, potable water is a rarity in Nigeria (including its 5-star hotels). Within the same period, 48 percent had access to sanitation in Nigeria, compared to the 86 percent in South Africa. In 1980, the proportion of people in poverty was 28.1 percent. By 1996, the proportion had risen to 65.6 percent (National Bureau of Statistics, 1996). Besides deepening poverty, widening inequality is emerging as a serious sociopolitical issue. The gap between the rich and the poor is so wide that the poorest 20 percent of the population accounted for only 4 percent of national consumption in 2002, while the richest 20 percent took 56 percent (Federal Republic of Nigeria, 2004). Earlier in 1999, the United Nations Economic Commission for Africa had been struck by the

welfare needs and “conditionalities” / 127

wide income disparity in Nigeria, with a Gini coefficient of 44.4 percent (UNECA, 1999). In any case, neither the human welfare indicators nor the UNDP’s human development ranking provides exhaustive information on human welfare in Nigeria. The human welfare indicators and the human development indices do not depict the scale and depth of suffering in recent years—particularly, of men and women thrown out of jobs in the wake of structural adjustment and liberalization reforms, of school leavers and university graduates searching for jobs that the economy was not in a position to create, of increasing cases of urban and domestic violence and broken marriages, of children sold into modern forms of slavery, of underage girls falling victims to human traffickers, of decaying infrastructure, of education and health facilities denied the resources needed to provide quality service, of miscellaneous threats to personal security, and of monumental policing failures. Due largely to the liberalization reforms undertaken in the past eight years, widening inequality is emerging as an obstacle to sustainable growth, to citizen participation in the political process, and to stability. The next section focuses on measures instituted to date to bridge Nigeria’s social deficits. Bridging the Social Imbalances: A Critical Review of Nigeria’s Social Welfare Policies There is no doubt that Nigeria’s social imbalances have received the attention of succeeding regimes. However, if a government intervened in the social sector, it was more likely to be because of momentary pressures than because it was acting based on a comprehensive, forward-looking, and coherent policy. Approaches to social problems could broadly be classified under three headings—the retroactive and haphazard, the Darwinist or survival-of-the-fittest, and the paternalistic approaches. None proves adequate in responding to Nigeria’s social challenge. Retroactive, Haphazard Social Policies For a number of years, government response to the unfolding social challenge was retroactive and haphazard—that is, geared toward solving problems of the moment rather than emanating from a long-term strategy. This is the case with the response to water shortage, to the fuel and energy crunch, to the unending electric power failure, to the traffic gridlocks in Nigerian towns and cities, as well as to safety and security threats.


A clear illustration of the preference for short-termism in social policy is the response of government to the growing incidence of crime. The increase in prison population (from 63,397 in 1972 to 129,618 in 1979) is a result, not of aggregate population increase, but the growing reliance on punishment as a deterrent. It is not clear if the prison authorities made any effort to reform the criminals or were simply “processing” and recycling those in their custody. Suffice it to say that a recycled criminal is by definition a serious threat to society. The treatment meted out to armed robbers singularly underscores the weakness of the haphazard approach to social policy. During the initial phase of armed robbery operations in the early 1970s, the government (largely in deference to public demand for “toughness” and for adequate “military” response) enacted the Armed Robbery and Fire Arms Decree. Data on the number of criminals that had been silenced by firing squads was not available at the time of writing. Also, it is not clear to what extent public executions of robbers served as a deterrent. However, the evidence (presented in the next section) points toward the general ineffectiveness of capital punishment for armed robbers. If the society wants revenge, public execution (in the full view of every citizen, and with live television coverage) would seem to be the answer. However, if violence is to be removed from the national psyche, and the cause of justice served, a critical appraisal of the penal system, and the publicity given to it, is long overdue. Paternalism in Social Policy The second approach favored by governments in coming to grips with deepening social problems is paternalistic. It is founded on the premise that human welfare is the responsibility of society, or to be specific, the state. The faith in the caring and compassionate state is behind the ambitious people-oriented, or to be specific, populist, programs undertaken by the Gowon and Babangida regimes. The Gowon regime’s effort began with the implementation of the postwar program of resettlement and rehabilitation of refugees. The regime is in fact the first and probably the only one to formally set itself the objective of turning Nigeria into an egalitarian society (Second National Development Plan, 1972). Besides investing in infrastructure development programs (which created jobs after the civil war), the regime took measures, some ill-advised, to grant civil servants inflationary salary increases, liberalize imports, control the prices of essential commodities, and meet increasing and strident demands from various quarters. For its own part, the Babangida regime, created an assortment of institutions and programs to address wide-ranging socioeconomic concerns.


Among these are the Directorate of Employment and Productivity, the Directorate of Food, Roads and Rural Infrastructure, and a national network of Peoples and Community Banks, and the initiative sponsored by his wife, “Better Life for Rural Women.” Due to a number of reasons, neither Gowon’s egalitarian nor Babangida’s populist goal proved attainable. For one thing, both regimes struggled with mounting allegations of corruption and mismanagement. Secondly, neither paid any serious attention to the manner in which resources were allocated. In other words, funds were budgeted, but there was no way of keeping track of resource flow or of the impact on economic growth and human welfare. In Celebration of Callousness: Ascendancy of Social Darwinism The third approach favored by government in grappling with human welfare challenges is essentially an apologia for non-action. This was probably a reaction (or an overreaction) to the extravagance of the past, and particularly, the adverse effects of this extravagance on people’s living conditions. Whatever the explanation, the neoliberal measures adopted between 1999 and 2007 not only overlooked the human angle of development, but also to all intents and purposes adopted callousness as state policy. The fundamental assumption of the creeping social Darwinism is that every person is fired not by altruism, but by self interest, or to be specific, by the quest for personal survival in a highly competitive world. Going by the same logic, the interest which ultimately prevails is that pursued with the most efficient, nor the most compassionate, method. Based on this assumption, some have argued that poverty is an individual choice, nay, a self-inflicted injury, rather than a situation created by society. Herbert Spencer, a leading philosopher of his day, even cited canonical law and Nature to justify what ordinary mortals would term callousness. Wondering why on earth the state should wish to relieve the suffering of the “unworthy” poor he (Spencer, 1982:33) argued that, . . . the command “if any would not work neither should he eat,” is simply a Christian enunciation of that universal law of Nature under which life has reached its present height—the law that a creature not energetic enough to maintain itself must die: the sole difference being that the law which in the one case is to be artificially enforced, is, in the other case, a natural necessity.

It is highly unlikely that sending the poor to premature death is the intention of governments that eagerly pursue structural adjustment policies. Yet, the death of the poor is the natural outcome of policies that place


monetary values on human life and apply only economic tools to achieve human and social goals. For as long as decisions on issues such as water supply, health, education, energy production and distribution, employment, and personal safety, are driven and validated solely by economic considerations, the poor will continue to die literally of thirst, hunger and disease, and metaphorically of other plausible but remote causes. Nigeria’s experience between 1999 and 2007 clearly supports the contention that social welfare remains secondary where the mission of government is driven solely by the “profit motive.” The efforts made to eliminate waste and cut excess fat during this period are no doubt commendable. There is indeed no reason why government should continue to fund the domestic expenses of senior officials or condone the gross misuse of government vehicles. In other words, whatever action is directed to cut costs and increase productivity cannot on any logical ground be faulted. However, if, instead of undertaking a critical assessment of how its resources are allocated (or misallocated), a government “outsources” the management, monitoring, and accountability headaches (by selling off its assets to profit-seeking but socially irresponsible enterprises) it should not be surprised if its social deficits continue to widen. This is exactly what happened between 1999 and 2007. While the responsibility for the widening social imbalances could not reasonably be pinned on the structural adjustment policy changes undertaken between 1999 and 2007, the failure to place human welfare at the center of the changes definitely compounded Nigeria’s social development challenge. The previous chapter shows that the adoption of the changes most probably yielded significant macro-economic, fiscal, and external payments returns. However, as the next section show, structural adjustment had little or no positive impact on poverty, widening inequality and income disparities, mass unemployment, the deteriorating water and environmental conditions, the decaying education and health systems, the crumbling infrastructure, the rising incidence of crime and violence, and the growing propensity toward corruption and breach of trust. Factors in the Emergence and Aggravation of Social Deficits Nigeria’s human welfare deficits have been attributed to a number of factors, among them, rapid population growth, increasing rates of urbanization and social mobilization, scarcity or depletion of resources as well as the conflict arising there-from, natural disasters, and the bias toward neoliberal, structural adjustment solutions to contemporary problems. While all these factors are relevant to our understanding of the nature, magnitude, and complexity of the social challenge facing Nigeria, the one that


fully accounts for the aggravation of the challenge is the failure to institute measures which would promote overall welfare while simultaneously replenishing and adding value to resources. According to some observers (Onwuka, 2006:1–18), rapid population growth accounts to a large extent for Nigeria’s widening social deficits. With a population of between 130 and 140 million, and an annual population growth rate of 3 percent, Nigeria faces the challenge of generating the resources needed to meet the people’s basic needs—that is, for potable water, clean and wholesome environment, fuel and energy, health and medical services, education, and, from the school leavers’ point of view, jobs, and of society at large, security of life and limb. On close examination, however, the difficulties that the people face in meeting their basic needs arise not from population growth but from the lack of a clear and coherent social policy, that is, a policy that takes a holistic, rather than a narrow, haphazard, materialistic, view of the human condition. Water Shortage Water, for instance, is a commodity which, because of its association with human life, used to be classified as a “public good,” but which, under the neoliberal regime, is increasingly equated with tradable items like cigarettes, liquor and beverages, motor cars, summer vacations, and other luxuries. There is no denying the fact that water shortage in the arid savannah zone of the north, and in the southern coastal areas, calls for prudent allocation of this vital resource. The situation is so critical that consumers often resorted to desperate measures to meet their daily needs. Many households in fact rely on natural sources and are thus exposed to health risks, in addition to being at the mercy of the prevailing environmental and climatic conditions. In 2005, for instance, about 30 percent of the 28 million households surveyed by the National Bureau of Statistics, depended on streams/ponds/rivers as the principal source of water, another 7 percent relied on protected wells, while only 24.6 percent obtained their water from boreholes or hand pumps (See table 7.1). Lagos State, which borders the Atlantic Ocean in the south, did not have much advantage over Borno in the arid north east, with 49 percent of households in the former having access to treated pipe-borne water in contrast to the 42 percent of Borno households enjoying the same facility (National Bureau of Statistics, 2005:16). The impact of the water shortage is felt not only in households, but also on farms and agricultural plantations, at schools, in hospitals, and factories. However, rather than address the root causes of the crisis, succeeding policy regimes have focused on the private sector’s “rescue mission” in the

132 / the route to power in nigeria Table 7.1 Percentage distribution of households by major source of water in 2005 (for drinking and cooking) Total Households and Water Source Total households Pipe-borne water (treated) Pipe-borne water (untreated) Borehole/hand pump Well/spring protected Well-spring (unprotected) Rain water Stream/ponds/rivers Other sources

Water Distribution 28,025,273.00 12.7 % 4.5 % 24.6 % 7.7 % 17.4 % 3.1 % 30.4 % 1.2 %

Sources: National Bureau of Statistics/Central Bank of Nigeria (2006).

water sector (http://www-wds.worldbank.org/external/default/main?print= Y&pagePK=64193027&piP). The management of the environment, itself a public domain, is one factor in water shortage that has not received the attention of policymakers. Specifically, oil exploration in the Niger-Delta has posed great hazards to water supply. However, instead of frontally attacking the environmental problem, the government decided to accept a World Bank loan to implement a project relying on substantial private sector participation, the Second National Urban Water Sector Reform Project. The project is located in Cross River State, an oil-producing state where close to 40.6 percent of households relied on untreated water from ponds, and in Lagos, another supplier’s market in which a perpetually high demand for water already assured private providers a windfall! With specific reference to the oil-producing areas as a whole, it is estimated that less than 50 percent of the urban communities had access to safe drinking water in 2005. Besides, an analysis of samples carried out in April 2007 revealed that the region’s drinking water contained 680 times more hydrocarbons than the level considered safe and allowable within the European Union (http://www.steppingstonesnigeria.org/deltastatistics). Environmental Degradation and Pollution While on the effect of oil exploration, it should be noted that in 2004 alone, approximately 42,000 gallons of oil were spilled in the 9 states that


make up the Niger Delta. Oil spills brought havoc to marine life, food and agricultural production, forests, and wildlife. It has been estimated that since 1976, between 5 and 10 percent of the ecosystem has been wiped out by oil spillage and its after-effects. In addition, gas flaring, which in 2004 averaged 2.5 billion cubic feet every day, has contributed to greenhouse emissions, and to the release of carcinogens responsible for cancer, leukemia, as well as asthma, and chronic bronchitis. In the non-oil producing areas of Nigeria, the failure to invoke and rigorously enforce local zoning (as well as environmental sanitation) ordinances has opened the door to the erection of illegal structures, the blockage of drainage channels, indiscriminate disposal of solid wastes, and dumping of fetid, sometimes, health-threatening, substances on intracity highways and close to human settlements. A few other environmental challenges cry for attention. Among these are dumping of toxic wastes and organic pollutants, soil erosion and degradation, deforestation (at an estimated annual rate of 2.6 percent between 1990 and 2000), and sea-bed pollution. The environmental challenges facing Nigeria in general, and the oil-producing areas of the Niger Delta, in particular, in any case, represent an opportunity to invest in, and channel surplus human capacities toward, the implementation of environmentally sound projects. Emergency in the Fuel and Energy Sector Constraints in the fuel and energy sector dating back to the 1970s have also contributed to the decline in public welfare. Due to lack of maintenance, local refineries have for many years been unable to meet individual and industrial demand for fuel (petrol, diesel, gas, and kerosene). Fuel shortage has in turn caused serious disruptions in households, in social life, in industrial manufacturing operations, and in the delivery of civil aviation services. This leaves importation of petroleum products as the only viable alternative. However, bottlenecks in the management of petrol reserves, and in storage, transportation, distribution, and marketing have since the 1970s cancelled out whatever benefits the recourse to importation would have brought. The Obasanjo government appeared for a few months to have got a grip on the fuel distribution problem. It disseminated information on the supply of petroleum products to the various states, and, through the inspectorate division of the Ministry of Petroleum, monitored the products’ sale to consumers at reasonable prices. By the end of Obasanjo’s tenure in May 2007, the independent marketers and the hoarders had succeeded in sidetracking the distribution system, in bringing back and lengthening the


queues at petrol stations, and in profiting from the plight of motorists and other consumers of petroleum products. Matching the severity of petroleum products’ shortage are the woes on the electricity generation and distribution front. Like the fuel shortage, epileptic power supply is not a recent phenomenon, but has been a dominant socioeconomic issue since the 1950s. In its first annual report for the year 1951–1952, the Electricity Corporation of Nigeria (ECN) highlighted the gap between its generating capacity and consumer demand. Even its predecessor, the Government Electricity Undertakings was incapable of coping with the demand. The resultant “system overloading” contributed in no small measure to constant electric plant breakdowns and power interruptions.1 However, in contrast to ECN’s early days when it succeeded in increasing the output of electricity while reducing operating cost per unit, electricity generation lagged behind consumption in the late 1960s and the early 1970s. Power shunting and total blackouts were frequent in the 1970s, and became very severe in the 1980s and the 1990s. Today, rural communities have virtually no access to electricity. Their urban counterparts will be lucky if they enjoy uninterrupted supply of electricity for one hour at fortnightly, if not monthly, intervals. Table 7.2 shows that between 2002 and 2007, both installed generation capacity and electricity production lagged terribly behind population growth, and by implication, household and industrial consumption needs. In response to the perpetual state of darkness, the wealthy among the urban dwellers operate, on a constant basis, what they inappropriately call “stand-by generators.” Since these private generating sets consume a lot

Table 7.2

Installed generation capacity and electricity production, 2002–2007

Year

Thermal (Installed Capacity MW)

Hydro (Installed Capacity MW)

Total (Installed Capacity MW)

Thermal (Energy Produced GWH)

Hydro (Energy Produced GWH)

Total (Energy Produced GWH)

2002 2003 2004 2005 2006

4,280.0 4,280.0 4,230.0 4,320.0 5,099.5

1,900 1,900 1,900 1,900 1,900

6,180.0 6,180.0 6,130.0 6,130.0 6,999.5

13,210.01 14,206.92 17,334.26 18,098.21 16,468.10

6,390.49 7,822.84 5,582. 53 6,125.24 7,006.16

19,601.16 22,029.76 22,916.80 24,223.45 24,474.26

2007

6,333.5

1,900

8,233.5

15,164.62

7,813.51

22,978.13

Sources: Power Holding Company of Nigeria, PHCN; and Bureau of Statistics, 2006, The Nigerian Statistical Fact Sheets, 2006 (Abuja: Federal Government of Nigeria).


of fuel, and make deafening noises, they put additional pressure on the limited fuel supply, besides constituting another environmental hazard. It should be noted that while Nigerians were groping in pitched darkness at night and enduring the daytime heat, a small circle of economic actors— mostly, the importers of generators, their overseas suppliers, and the distributors of gas, petrol, and kerosene—continued for decades to rake in unearned profits. The new government headed by President Umar Musa Yar’Adua appeared to grasp the magnitude of the fuel and energy challenge. On assuming office, the president declared a state of emergency in the energy sector. This immediately raised expectations of a thorough shake-up within the sector and the specter of another mass purge. However, as at November 1, 2007, no earth-shaking changes had been announced or carried out. No manager had been removed for ineptitude, mismanagement, or corruption and no bold initiative loomed in the horizon. Nigerians were then left to wonder when emergency rule in the energy sector would take effect, and when light would be snatched from the jaws of darkness.2 Unhealthy State of Health Services Population growth has clearly strained Nigeria’s health and medical services almost to the breaking point, although non-demographic factors cannot be entirely ruled out. Nigeria accounts for roughly 10 percent of world infant and maternal deaths at childbirth, and ranks high among countries with perceived curable diseases. Thanks to the implementation of enlightenment programs by the National Council against Aids, HIV prevalence has declined from 5.4 percent in 2003 to 3.5 percent in 2006 (http:// www.voiceofnigeria.org/newscommentaryindependence.htm). A National Health Insurance Scheme was launched in 2006. Although its coverage at the onset was limited, it should have a positive impact on access to health facilities if properly managed, and if the managers were able to surmount the monumental record-keeping and data retrieval challenges. At any rate, the health infrastructure succumbed to decay when, as part of the structural adjustment program implemented in the 1980s, allocations to the health sector were drastically reduced. Public spending on health as a proportion of GDP was lower in Nigeria (1.2 percent of GDP in 2002), than in Kenya (2.2 percent), Senegal (2.3 percent), the Gambia (3.3 percent), South Africa (3.5 percent), Botswana (3.7 percent), Zimbabwe (4.4 percent), Namibia (4.7 percent), and Sao Tome and Principe (9.7 percent). Needless to add that Nigeria’s health expenditure as a share of the GDP did not keep pace with the population growth rate (of 3 percent).


Due to the meager allocation to the health sector, there was no drastic change between 2003 and 2007 in the number of hospitals, health centers, hospital beds, and physicians. The number of births in medical institutions did increase; but so did the number of mortalities. In view of the sorry state of the health and medical facilities, particularly, in rural areas, it would not be surprising if patients felt safer at homes or at the hands of the traditional healers than checking themselves in at state hospitals. Still, in order to respond effectively to existing and new health risks (notably, malaria, meningitis, polio, as well as water- and environmentally borne diseases), it is necessary to increase public and private investment in environmental sanitation, the rehabilitation of hospitals, construction of wards, supply of hospital beds, drugs and medical equipment, recruitment and training of medical and paramedical personnel, and standardization of traditional herbal and medical practices. The health risks associated with chemically engineered foods also warrant that laboratory testing capacities be substantially upgraded, and that the inspectorate and regulatory institutions be revitalized. Decay in the Education Sector Access to education has improved steadily over the years, but for a long time demand exceeded supply. Gross enrolment at primary, secondary and tertiary levels is slightly above the Sub-Saharan African average for the year 2005 (102.9 as against Sub-Saharan African figure of 94.9). However, net enrolment is lower (meaning, dropout rates are higher) in Nigeria than the Sub-Saharan African average (67.9 compared to Africa’s 69.2).3 Also, public expenditure as a percentage of the GDP has been on the decline in Nigeria. As a proportion of public expenditure, education spending fell from 7.8 percent of total federal government expenditure in 1994 to 4.5 percent in 2003 (Onwuka, 2006). The decline in education expenditure has serious consequences, considering the challenges facing Nigeria in this sector. The precipitate fall in the standard of education is one of such challenges. Due to a combination of factors, the quality of education imparted at various levels of the school system has dropped sharply. Among the factors accounting for the deteriorating education standard are shortage of qualified teachers, explosion in demand, and the consequent over-crowding in classrooms, the application of ineffective and archaic teaching methodologies, the growing incidence of indiscipline among teachers and pupils, and probably, the pervasive influence of cults and violent groups on campuses. The last factor, the takeover of schools by secret cults, deserves urgent action. As a matter of fact, the reform of


the education system should begin with a strategy aimed at reclaiming the schools from the cultists, and from their intra- and extra-mural godfathers. Equally important as an education reform agenda is what to do about primary and secondary school graduates that can barely read or write. The launching of Universal Primary Education Scheme in 1976 and of Universal Basic Education Program in 1999 created a situation in which quantity took precedence over quality. Between 1977 and 2002, primary enrolment increased from 9.9 million to 27 million. By 2005, total primary enrolment had soared to 20.95 million (Central Bank of Nigeria, 1980; National Bureau of Statistics, 2006a and 2006b). Secondary school enrolment rose from 998,976 to 7.5 million between 1977 and 2002 (Central Bank of Nigeria, 1980, and 2003). The students that scale the admission hurdles erected by the Joint Admission and Matriculation Board (JAMB), and eventually succeed in enrolling at universities, start their first year on a weak foundation. They are thereafter exposed to rote learning till they graduate. As undergraduate students, they are barely able to undertake courses of independent study or cope with the conceptual and critical reasoning challenges normally associated with higher education. What is worse, the education system at all levels is oriented toward the cramming of (mostly foreign) academic theories, and away from the application of the theories to solving real-life, practical problems. Worst of all, deregulation has caught up with the education sector, and has encouraged the establishment of private universities each with its own curriculum and standard. Imitating the upward trend in primary and secondary school intake, the number of universities has increased along with enrolment. At independence, Nigeria had only one university, the University of Ibadan, and about three colleges of art, science, and technology. In 1962, the number of universities increased to four. By 2001, there were no less than 51 universities, and by 2005, 29 additional universities had been created to bring the total number to 80 (National Bureau of Statistics, 2006). Corresponding to the increase in the number of institutions of higher learning is the explosion in enrolment. In 1985/1986, admission into post-secondary institutions stood at 135,783 and jumped to 350,000 during the 1999/2000 academic year (Onwuka, 2006; Olaniyan, 2001; and Adalemo, 2001). By 2005, total university enrolment stood at 724,856 (National Bureau of Statistics, 2006:23). Unless the National Universities Commission is fully alive to its responsibility, the degrees and diplomas awarded by the mushroom (and the long-established) universities would not be worth the scrolls on which they are printed.

138 / the route to power in nigeria Table 7.3

Unemployment Rates (as at December) 2001–2005

Description

2001

2002

2003

2004

2005

National (composite) % Urban % Rural %

13.7

12.2

14.8

11.8

11.9

10.3 15.1

9.5 13.3

17.1 13.8

11.0 12.1

10.1 12.6

Source: National Bureau of Statistics, 2006.

Bogey of Unemployment With such a creaky educational system turning out not less than a quarter of a million job seekers every year, it should not come as a surprise that the rate of unemployment among school leavers is very high. As July 31, 2008, no less than 64 million Nigerian youths had queued for jobs that they had no hope of getting.4 Table 7.3 is a breakdown of the unemployment figures for the period 2001–2005. The employment situation reached such an alarming proportion that on February 2, 2006, Senator Muhammed Abba Ali, representing Borno Central constituency, sponsored a bill calling for an act to provide for the automatic absorption of qualified graduates into the Nigerian Police Force. In tabling the bill, the Senator had hoped that the measure would help “ameliorate the problem of graduate unemployment, improve security,” and effectively deal with other associated problems. Security and Safety Threats The senator, Dr. Abba Ali, and other Nigerians have cause to be worried. Security reports from different parts of the country consistently linked unemployed school leavers to crime, and to breakdown of law and order. In Rivers State, unemployed but thoroughly disgruntled youths constituted the backbone of private militias which political or community leaders relied upon to terrorize rivals and unleash mayhem on the people. IRIN (Integrated Regional Information Network) notes, in particular, that those carrying Kalashnikovs, mounting commando raids on police formations, and kidnapping foreigners and indigenes alike in Port Harcourt in July 2007 were youths aged 16 to 25 years (http://www.irinnews.org/Report. aspx?ReportId=73385). To build up their war chests, the armed gangs diversified into the business of siphoning refined petroleum and facilitating underground trade in crude oil.


Threats to personal and communal security extend beyond the restive Niger Delta to other parts of the country. Civil strife (attributable to ethnic or religious conflict, or struggle for scarce economic resources) accounts for the swelling ranks of refugees and internally displaced persons in recent years. Apart from the distress caused by armed gangs in the oil-producing areas and by civil strife and natural calamities across the country, the high and rising incidence of crime constitutes yet another threat to social equanimity. In 1959, the total number of offences against persons stood at 16,845). By 1980, it had risen to 55,885, and in 2006, to 74,585 (http://www.cleen. org/crime.html, and Balogun, 1987:223). Offences against property also increased from 42,915 in 1959 to 98,760 in 1980. A disturbing trend is the increase in the number of offenses against person, that is, offenses that were meant to instill fear or cultivate terror in the hearts of the populace. Examples of violent crimes are murder, assault, causing grievous bodily harm, burglary, armed robbery, and arson. Offenses against property (theft, stealing, and obtaining money under false pretenses) are also becoming increasingly common. However, in terms of overall economic implication, no crime wreaks greater havoc than the combination—which the crime statistics supplied by the police curiously omit—of embezzlement, money laundering, bribery, and corruption. If the estimate by the Financial and Economic Crime Commission is correct, as much as US$20 billion had by 2006 been siphoned off by corrupt leaders and lodged in foreign banks—outside the reach of the Nigerian economy. As indicated in chapter six, embezzlement is also rampant in the private sector, particularly, in the banking and financial institutions. In 1996, 154 bank operatives were arrested on charges of stealing as much as N6 billion. Policing Failures The Nigerian Police which is supposed to control crime is itself ethically challenged, and therefore, in need of a roots-and-branch restructuring. Whatever capacity this important law enforcement body possesses has been wrongly deployed and grossly misapplied. The police has shown greater capacity and inclination to harass law-abiding citizens than to investigate crime and apprehend offenders. Evidence of the Nigeria Police’s readiness to pursue “soft” targets rather than hardened criminals abounds—witness the innumerable road-blocks it erects on public highways, the frequency with which it pulls motorists aside for extortion, and the number of occasions on which it wittingly or unwittingly gives bona fide criminals safe passage (http://www.fas.org/irp/


world/nigeria/npf.htm). Poorly paid constables were for many years implicated in weapons-related cases, with some standing accused of checking firearms and uniforms out of police depots, and hiring them to criminals (Ehrenreich, 1982). Fully armed and suitably equipped, the criminals often went on the rampage, raiding banks, hijacking armored vehicles, and terminating innocent lives. Increasing access to arms and ammunitions has exacerbated the crime situation. At the end of the civil war, weapons went into wrong hands and remained there pending their diversion to illegal activities. The situation reached an alarming point in 1978 when the Federal government issued a decree banning the importation of certain categories of weapons (especially, hand guns). It was a futile attempt. The porous borders and the not-so vigilant customs inspectors facilitated the work of the gunrunners. In 1982, Interpol and the U.S. Federal Bureau of Investigation reported that Nigerians were purchasing fire arms at an “alarming rate” both in Europe and in the United States, and that many of those involved were “students” or “academics” looking for quick profits (Ehrenreich, 1982). The police is grossly lacking in detective and investigative capacity. If it was good at making arrests, it was not always successful in making its charges stick or in putting together the evidence needed to secure convictions. Its poor record as regards the recovery of stolen vehicles is further evidence of its ineffectiveness. In 1999, it recovered 1997 vehicles out of a total of 3926 vehicles reported stolen, with 1929, almost 50 percent, unrecovered. By 2001, the total number of vehicles reported stolen had gone up to 4,977. Of this number, less than 50 percent (2,469) were recovered, with the remaining 2,608 unfound (National Bureau of Statistics, 2005 and 2006). The police itself acknowledged that in the 1980s, it recovered only 14 percent of the US$900 million worth of property reported stolen within six months, and that only 20 percent of the 103,000 persons it arrested were found guilty—with the remaining 80 percent declared innocent (http://www.fas.org/irp/world/nigeria/npf.htm). Second to ethical lapses, technical capability is another factor accounting for the relative ineffectiveness of the police. There is no doubt that the budget allocations to the Nigerian Police have increased over the years, but the increase has not matched the challenge facing the organization. In 1976/77, the annual budget of the Nigerian Police Force (as it was then known) was N34.1 million, and in 1988, N521 million. By 2002, the police recurrent budget had increased to over N2 billion. The staffing position has also improved in recent years. In 1963, the total establishment was 16,601.5 In December 1972, the staff strength was a mere 40,000 and in 1977, 57,114. By 1979, the figure had risen


to 80,000, representing a growth rate of 100 percent over a seven-year period. According to the federal budget, the strength of police in 1983 was approximately 152,000, but other sources doubted if the figure exceeded the 80,000 reported in 1979 (http://www.fas.org/irp/world/ nigeria/npf.htm). In any case, when compared to other countries, the police-citizen ratio in Nigeria is low. In terms of manpower, the ratio of one police officer to 1,000 citizens (the ratio for the early 1980s) compares unfavorably with the ratio of 1:300 or 1:400 considered ideal by experts in the maintenance of public order (Andrade, 1985). The manpower situation is particularly exacerbated by the weakness at the intermediate command level— especially, the superintendent cadre. Until recently, this cadre formed less than 3 percent of the total establishment of the Police. Yet it is the middle cadre which is supposed to constitute the pivot of the Force—the one that interprets the law, and provides the link between the top (policy making group) and the rank-and-file. The NPF also appears to be deficient in highly specialized areas of crime control. In terms of the present day challenge, the Force definitely requires the services of officers with adequate training in areas such as forensic science, ballistics and explosives, the psychology of crime, drug detection, the investigation of white-collar crimes, and the application of electronic surveillance techniques to foil cybercrime. Transport and communications are also of utmost importance for the effective performance of law enforcement functions. With the resources available, the Nigerian Police was able to purchase some essential items, particularly, motor vehicles, communications equipment, crime detection and investigation kits. For many years, the Criminal Investigation Department (C.I.D, as it was then known) made use of state-of-the-art facilities in cracking cases of fraud, drug abuse, and aggravated assault. Moreover, technical training was provided in overseas institutions to upgrade the skills of police officers in areas such as ballistics and explosives, forensic science, finger-printing and photography, physical education, dog handling, and maintenance of highly complex communication systems (comprising wireless stations, long-range HF single side bank equipment, VHF 999 systems, high frequency transmitters, transreceivers, and receivers). However, car-snatchers continue to ride high partly because the communications technology in the country as a whole is at a primitive stage, and partly because the Police has itself not led the way in the use of security-targeted communications devices. The Police is still decades behind in the application of ICT. Besides the fact that most of its processes have yet to be computerized, it has not experimented with electronic security


devices linking private homes or business premises to police formations and rapid response squads or centers. In addition, the public must have lost count of the number of times that crimes were reported at local police stations but the criminals often got away because the police had no vehicle, or its vehicles had no spare parts, or fuel was in short supply. There is no question that the under-world operators were fully informed about the weaknesses of the police before they (the criminals) embarked on their nefarious missions. It is also important to underscore the fact that, with the exception of the Mobile unit, the Nigerian Police lacks paramilitary capability. This is in sharp contrast to the situation prevailing in other countries. In 1985, when its population was no higher than 7.1 million, Angola maintained a police force, the Organization of Popular Defense, of 500,000 officers and men. The Angolan force also had limited paramilitary capacity. In the same year, Egypt, with a population of 46 million had a 92,000-person paramilitary force (Andrade, 1985). Clearly, and as in the case of the fuel and energy sector, a state of emergency is long overdue in the law enforcement and justice administration sector. Until the leaders boldly confront the challenges on the fuel, energy and security fronts, and come up with realistic solutions, Nigeria’s efforts at turning its economy around and improving its people’s living standards will not bear any fruit. Responding to Contemporary and Unfolding Social Challenges: The Way Forward The upshot of the foregoing analysis is that population growth by itself does not fully account for the distress in the social sector. If at all population growth plays any role in the exacerbation of Nigeria’s social problem, that role could be no more than opportunistic, with the underlying policy and management lapses serving as the real causative factor. The starting point in any future program of action is at the policy level where a radical rethinking is long overdue. Instead of viewing human welfare as an optional extra in economic management designs, contemporary policy should regard it (human welfare) as the means and end of development. A new consensus must emerge that firmly underscores the fact that bad social policy is not good for the business either of economic growth, or of state construction. Once the premise is accepted that the purpose of the state is to promote the welfare of its people (and to enhance the “identity value of citizenship”), the next logical step is to focus on the key attributes of the people


concerned. For a nation-state like Nigeria which is anxious to promote “national identity” over ethnic, religious, linguistic, or cultural allegiances, the need to project the image of the state as a caring and compassionate entity cannot be over-emphasized. In view of the fact that identity with the Nigerian state competes with other identities, failure of the former to meet the citizen’s basic needs—for food, water, electricity, and personal safety— risks awakening otherwise dormant primordial loyalties. The upsurge of vigilantes and ethnic militias (such as the Oodua People’s Congress, and the Bakassi Boys) between 1999 and 2001 was in fact a reaction to the perceived ineffectiveness of formal state institutions such as the police and the judiciary (Balogun, 2001). The Ogwugwu cult referred to in the second chapter would not have acquired the power to inflict capital punishment on local criminals if the regular judiciary had been perceived as fully alive to its responsibility. Besides focusing on primary loyalties, a human-centered approach to policy would make an effort to establish the needs of the various demographic groups—women, street children and urchins, refugees, internally displaced persons, rural and urban dwellers, primary and secondary school students, and job seekers. It is fair to ask where the money to finance an ambitious social welfare and development program would come from. Certainly a program that portrays government as Santa Claus is bound to fail when the donor resources on which it depends dry out. To avoid a catastrophic end, a social program ought to begin by channeling investment into directly productive areas or areas where improvements are likely to impact positively on the economy—for example, fuel, energy and electricity production—and into the elimination of the miscellaneous storage, distribution, and marketing bottlenecks. Other investment priorities are law and justice administration, water supply, health, and education. Productivity consciousness should then become the watchword not only in the private sector but also in government. The battle against corruption is also part of the effort at channeling resources from wasteful to productive ends. It is in fact a tragedy that in states and local governments where people had virtually no access to water and electricity, the local chief executives kept siphoning off federal allocations into their own private bank accounts. Another possible source that the social program may wish to tap is that of privatization. It is not clear whether most of the private buyers of public assets paid the true economic prices before taking over. For the avoidance of doubt, the true economic price goes beyond the current book value, and


includes the royalties for: a. the gift of God, or Nature’s endowment, that the government holds in trust on behalf of the people but plans to transfer to private hands (this applies mostly to natural resources like water, oil, solid minerals, solar energy, electricity, air waves and communication channels); b. the prevision that the government demonstrated, and the risk that it took by setting up the various enterprises; and c. the costs that the government incurred while managing the enterprises and cultivating client goodwill—undeterred by obstacles, natural and man-made; and d. other sundry costs (including the feeling of loss that comes with the sale of the family heirloom to a new owner, or the takeover of a nation’s source of pride, i.e., the flagship enterprises, by private interests). The proposed social policy should, on no account, attempt to sneak the old discredited socialist regimentation through the backdoor. A policy that discourages enterprise, innovation, and creativity is destined to fail. By the same token, a policy that places the life of the people in the hands of unreconstructed profit-seekers is neither morally defensible nor sustainable in the long run.

Pa rt III Fac tor s i n t h e R ise a n d Fa ll of Le ade r s


Ch a p t e r Eig h t Ci v i li t y i n t h e Lion’s D e n: Le ade r sh i p Se l e c t ion a n d R e t r e nc h m e n t i n t h e Fi r st R e p u bl ic

The trouble with Nigeria is simply and squarely a failure of leadership. There is nothing basically wrong with the Nigerian character. —Chinua Achebe

Introduction According to the current chapter and the two that follow, regardless of the compelling need to match new challenges with new competencies, Nigeria’s leadership selection and retrenchment practices have not changed in any radical way since independence. With the possible exception of the career bureaucracy which has developed formal and relatively sophisticated, if not consistently foolproof, methods for selecting and retrenching its leadership cadre, political associations (and to a large extent, their civic counterparts) have yet to come to an understanding on the criteria against which aspiring leaders would be selected, and the conditions under which the mandates of incumbents would be renewed or terminated. In interrogating leadership selection practices under civilian regimes, this chapter not only examines the competencies that the first generation of leaders brought from the anticolonial struggle to meet the immediate post-independence challenges, but also discusses the leaders’ strengths and weaknesses. Nationalists Turned Rulers: Factors in the Emergence of the First Generation of Leaders If Nigeria was ever in need of exemplary leadership, the first generation of leaders—those occupying front-line positions during the anticolonial struggle—did all they could to provide it. Their ability to operate


outside regional confines was undoubtedly limited. Still, their responses to environmental engagement challenges provide object lessons to their successors. Alhaji Ahmadu Bello, for example, might have been viewed as a conservative, but his leadership was no less transformational than that of his southern counterparts. While Chief Obafemi Awolowo prided himself on his modernizing efforts in the West, and Dr. Nnamdi Azikiwe brought his pan-Africanist zeal to accelerate the pace of development in the East, the Sardauna, as the Northern premier was better known, was proceeding in his own way to bring change to his people. How the various leaders confronted the challenges is the subject examined in the subsequent paragraphs. Success Instinct and Public Leadership The first generation of leaders faced and subsequently conquered challenges in their private lives before moving to the public arena. For instance, Zik defied the odds to acquire college degrees in America, and to organize popular resistance to colonial rule. He started as a clerk in Nigeria, and on arrival in the United States, he made ends meet by working as a coalminer, casual laborer, dish-washer, and boxer (Jones-Quartey, 1965:71–75; Nnamdi Azikiwe, 1970 and 1971; and Segal, 1961:21). Awolowo was another self-made man who raised his own tuition fees by taking up odd jobs (Awolowo, 1960:38–52). He was born in Ikenne on March 6, 1909. He worked at various times as a water drawer, journalist, teacher, clerk, moneylender, taxi-driver, trade unionist, and produce merchant. By 1944, he had completed a correspondence course which enabled him to earn a Bachelor of Commerce degree from London University. Not satisfied with a Commerce degree, he pursued his ambition to enroll as a legal practitioner. In 1946, he was to be called to the Bar. In comparison to Awolowo and Azikiwe, Ahmadu Bello’s education might have been modest, but making it to the famous Katsina College was, by the standard of the time, no mean achievement. In his quest for knowledge, he in 1948 obtained a scholarship to study local government in England. Quite apart from the exposure he gained as result of the overseas trip, and the friendship that he forged at the Katsina College, Ahmadu Bello’s unsuccessful bid for the Sultanate of Sokoto in 1938 sharpened his political instinct and started him on the road to political leadership. Possibly as part of an intricate plot to quash, once and for all, his interest in the position of Sultan, Ahmadu Bello was held on a charge of embezzling cattle tax and sentenced to one year imprisonment. The conviction was, however, overturned on appeal. The ordeal had a lasting impression

civility in the lion’s den / 149

on him and turned him into a political animal (Bello, 1962:58). His keen sense of history was also an important factor. Born in 1910, seven years after his grandfather’s (Sultan Atahiru Bello’s) resistance was put down by the British; he had seen it as his obligation to regain the family honor and the territory lost with the conquest of Sokoto on March 15, 1903. That date was to him so historically significant that when the opportunity arose to fix the date of the Northern Region’s internal self-government, he picked March 15, 1959. Winning Charisma and Legitimacy: The Anticolonial Struggle as a Springboard None of the self-made individuals would have succeeded as public leaders if they had neither found, nor exploited, the opportunity to direct their “success instinct” toward wider sociopolitical challenges. The situation prevailing in Nigeria in the 1930s and the 1940s provided such an opportunity. Specifically, colonial rule was increasingly being perceived by Africans as an affront which could not be tolerated indefinitely. The revulsion against external control and regimentation thus provided exactly the outlet that the educated Africans needed to deploy a uniquely personal asset—that is, the dogged determination to succeed—toward the attainment of public objectives. The nationalist leaders’ steadfast pursuit of the anticolonial goal in turn reinforced their legitimacy in the eyes of their followers. Their vision of Nigeria was one in which the representatives of the people, and not expatriate officials, were fully in charge (Azikiwe, 1961:156). Chief Awolowo’s “policy of non-fraternization” was meant to drive home the message that the demand for independence was non-negotiable. Awolowo’s appeal at the emotional level rested largely on his image as a thinker, rather than on his largely distant, probably, forbidding, mien. In 1947, he wrote his first book, Path to Nigerian Freedom, in which he excoriated the colonial administration for wide ranging shortcomings, called for immediate Africanization of the civil service, and advocated rapid advance toward self-government. He sustained his reputation as a sage right to the end of his life—particularly, with the publication of a series of highly regarded treatises on Nigerian government and politics.1 However, his appeal was confined to the west, particularly, the Yorubaspeaking areas. Unlike Zik and Awolowo that nurtured their leadership careers based partly on their intellect (or their reputation as men of learning) and partly on their open defiance of colonial authorities, Ahmadu Bello found his calling in, and built his charisma on, the advocacy and unwavering pursuit


of the “northern interest,” howsoever defined. His (Ahmadu Bello’s) view on the eventual replacement of expatriate with indigenous control was not substantially different from that of his southern counterparts. However, he approached the issue of Nigerian independence purely from the northern angle. According to him, the interest of the north required that its people be equipped in every sense that counted for the challenges of independence. Ahmadu Bello acknowledged that the southerners were already far ahead in western education. At the very least, they, the northerners, must, over and above their Islamic knowledge, acquire enough Western education to exercise the responsibility thrust on them by independence, and to compete on a level playing field with the southerners. This is the philosophy underpinning the inauguration of the war on ignorance/illiteracy (Yaki da jahilci), the establishment of a Hausa newspaper, Gaskya ta fi kwabo (meaning, “the truth is more valuable than one penny,” the newspaper’s cost at the time), as well as the creation of the Northern Region Literature Agency, NORLA—all between the late 1950s and the early 1960s. Ahmadu Bello’s desire to bring the north at par with the south also explained the priority attached to the establishment of the Ahmadu Bello University in 1962. However, where the southern leaders had implicit faith in western science, Ahmadu Bello was confident that his own traditional heritage was more than capable of adapting to future needs and challenges. The importance that the Sardauna attached to the preservation of the north’s traditional heritage was reflected right down to the design of school uniforms. While secondary school students in the west and the east attended classes (and marched on ceremonial occasions) bedecked in English-styled blazer and badge, their northern counterparts were outfitted in tailor-made “kaftans” and “fula” (skull-caps) if they were male, and in full-length gowns and head-ties, if they were female. This was the first culture shock that southerners attending schools in the north had to face: they could not understand why the north would prefer the “clumsy” outfit to the “smart” western mode of dressing. For its own part, the north could not understand why a Nigerian would, in defiance of history (i.e., his/her root) and geography (the scalding sub-Saharan sun), run around in suits and ties. This is not to say that everybody in the north shared the late premier’s view of how to balance modernization with tradition. Competing with Ahmadu Bello for the heart and soul of the north was Aminu Kano. The two had been friends since the 1940s, and were originally in the same camp. However, the differences in pedigree and temperament soon manifested as political rivalry. Unlike Ahmadu Bello who was a Sokoto prince, Aminu Kano had no royal lineage and was not a member of the Sarakuna or Sarauta. His father was a humble Islamic scholar and Acting Alkali in


Kano. As a product of Katsina College himself, Aminu Kano was fired by the ambition to develop the north. It was thus not surprising that he first gravitated toward Jam’iyyar Mutanen Arewa 2 on its inauguration. However, in 1950, Aminu Kano led a group that broke away from the Jam’iyyar. The new faction soon coalesced under a new political party, the Northern Elements Progressive Union (NEPU) to pursue radical causes. Consolidating Mass Appeal: Beginning of Party Formation The nationalist leaders did not take their followers’ support for granted, but took additional steps to establish channels to rally the base—that is, to reach and mobilize their constituencies. Party formation was a critical instrument for articulating and building support around the leaders’ views. Both Nnamdi Azikiwe and Obafemi Awolowo had been active in the Nigerian Youth Movement—with the former working with Herbert Macaulay to organize the Movement at the national level, and the latter, Awolowo, serving as secretary of the Ibadan branch. When the Movement split in 1941, Azikiwe joined the faction which adopted the name, National Council of Nigeria and the Cameroon, NCNC, in 1944. The party quickly gained support in the south, and, by aligning with the Northern Elements Progressive Union (then led by Aminu Kano), seemed to be well on the way to penetrating the north. NCNC’s advance in the southwest was, however, short-lived. It was halted by the Action Group, an off-shoot of a Yoruba cultural organization, the Egbe Omo Oduduwa (Association of Oduduwa’s Descendants). Awolowo, the leader of the Action Group did not forget the role played by Azikiwe in splitting the Nigerian Youth Movement. In his autobiography, Awolowo noted that while Azikiwe was one of those who helped the Movement to win three seats in the Legislative Council elections of 1938 and to capture all but one seat in the Lagos Town Council, it was this same Azikiwe whose actions largely contributed to the demise of the Nigerian Youth Movement.3 Awolowo was also highly unlikely to cede the Yoruba southwest to Zik considering that by the end of August 1940, he, Awolowo, was certain in my own mind that Dr Azikiwe not a conscientious member of the Nigerian Youth Movement, and . . . he was bent on destroying this nationalist organization. At the same time, it seemed clear to me that his policy was to corrode the self-respect of the Yoruba people as a group; to build up the Ibos as a master race; to magnify his own contributions to the nationalist struggles; to dwarf and misrepresent the achievements of his contemporaries. . . . 4


It was against this background that the Action Group was formed in 1950. The party was established ostensibly to agitate for Nigerian independence, but its actual task was to look out for the Yoruba interest in any subsequent constitutional arrangement. By appealing to Yoruba nationalist instincts, the party upstaged the NCNC at the 1951 elections, and formed the government headed by the Action Group leader and first West Regional premier, Chief Obafemi Awolowo. With the west under the effective control of the Action Group, Nnamdi Azikiwe was forced to look for a new base. He found one in the east from which he hailed. As to be expected, his party, the NCNC, swept the polls organized in the region, and put him forward as the region’s premier. Like the Action Group in the West, the NCNC faced internal opposition— particularly from Igbo and non-Igbo communities of the East (Usman, 2000). It did not take Ahmadu Bello too long to read the handwriting on the wall. On his return to Nigeria in 1948, he teamed up with his Katsina contemporaries to promote the interest of the north. He was elected into the Northern House of Assembly in the first elections held in 1952, and soon after, sworn in as a member of the regional executive council and minister of works. In the same year, 1952, he along with a few leaders from different parts of the region (especially, Abubakar Tafawa Balewa, Abubakar Imam, Isa Kaita, Nuhu Bamali, Umar Agaie, and Aliyu Makaman Bida) decided it was time to transform a hitherto cultural organization, Jam’iyyar Mutanen Arewa, into a full-fledged political party, the Northern People’s Congress. Under the leadership of Ahmadu Bello, the Sardauna of Sokoto, “northernization” became the center-piece of NPC’s policy.5 The policy (of “northernization”) has been vilified by southerners for standing the merit principle on its head. However, it merely (and honestly) reflected the situations prevailing in other regions. In any case, the term “northerner” referred not only to candidates from the Islamic, Hausa or Fulani emirates of the “far North,” as implied by critics, but also to the Christian and ethnically diverse peoples of the north east, the former northern Cameroon, the Middle Belt, and the southern tip of the north (Dent, 1983:5; Aleshinloye, 2003:156). This is indeed one thing that the southerners did not quite grasp about the north, and about the challenges encountered in administering it. Quite often, the southern view of the north was of a monolithic entity—nay, a political behemoth—that sought nothing less than total domination of Nigeria. However, besides mere speculation, there is no firm evidence to support the view that the late premier of the North had a pan-Nigerian political ambition. Going by the evidence available, the


unity of the north would appear to be Ahmadu Bello’s overriding interest (Odidi and Adamu, 2007; Aleshinloye, 2003:181). Achievements of First Republic Politicians: A Leadership Scorecard One mark of leadership is its impact on the hard as well as the soft environment. The question is whether those in leading positions before and immediately after independence measured up to this standard. There is no question that the first generation of leaders left a lasting legacy. As a matter of fact, most of the programs alluded to in the fourth and the fifth chapters—the programs which in later years either succumbed to decay or fell victim to the onslaught of privatization—were initiated by the regional administrations headed by the first set of leaders. The pace-setting role of Obafemi Awolowo in the west, in particular, will for long be remembered. It was his government that, among other things, established the first television station in Africa, introduced the first free primary education scheme, constructed a network of roads linking rural to urban areas, organized cocoa farmers into cooperatives, improved rural health services, brought cheap radio sets (ero asoro ma gbesi, or the machine that talks without listening) to inhabitants of towns and villages, and promoted agro-allied industry. Awolowo never realized his ambition to become Nigeria’s Number One citizen. Yet, as leader of the Action Group, and, in later years, of the Unity Party of Nigeria, he enjoyed among his followers a degree of veneration that would make the president of the Federal Republic of Nigeria envious. In the East, the NCNC, led by Zik and later by Dr. Michael Okpara, felt the urge to emulate, or even exceed, the Action Group’s modernizing role. Like its west regional counterpart, the NCNC sought to change the face of the east by implementing wide-ranging socioeconomic development programs. It ran primary, secondary and teacher training schools, constructed and managed hospitals and rural health centers, established ranches6 and agricultural plantations, and invested in infrastructure development and maintenance. The Northern People’s Congress was, in the meantime, wrestling with challenges of a different kind and magnitude. Bringing the education of northerners to the level already attained in the south was one of these challenges. Others were improving access to water in the largely arid region, providing irrigation and extension services required by farming communities, meeting the special needs of nomads for education and social services, and, above all, finding the golden mean between change


and tradition. Of all these challenges, the most difficult was the last (Odidi and Adamu, 2007). The NPC opted for gradualism in meeting the challenge of modernization. Thus it began by streamlining the system of laws, and vesting jurisdictions for the administration of justice in specialized institutions. Although it recognized the important role of traditional rulers, the party initiated a reform which entailed transferring judicial powers from emirs and chiefs to new specialized institutions—notably, alkali courts, for cases requiring knowledge of Islamic law and jurisprudence, and magistrate courts, for cases falling under the modern penal and civil code. The Limit of Charisma: Obstacles to the Regional Leaders’ National Appeal One major obstacle that the first generation of leaders did not quite succeed in scaling was the one which they themselves erected. Having boxed themselves into ethno-regional corners, they found it difficult persuading themselves and their supporters to project a truly national image. Yes, the regionally based political parties made token efforts to reach out to supporters in other regions. The Action Group picked Sam Gomsu Ikoku, an Igbo, as its general secretary. Its Central Working Committee comprised non-Yoruba members such as Anthony Enahoro, Arthur Prest, Alfred Rewane, and J.S. Tarka. In general, however, the Action Group was perceived largely as a Yoruba political party which originated from and was supported by an organization with a thinly disguised Yoruba hegemonic agenda, the Egbe Omo Oduduwa. The narrow, regional outlook of the party was further projected by its newspapers, the Irohin Yoruba, the Nigerian Tribune, and the Daily Express. In much the same way as the Action Group projected a national image by magnifying the support it received from non-Yoruba constituencies, the NCNC constantly trumpeted the role of non-Igbo leaders within its ranks. The NCNC’s non-Igbo leaders included Adegoke Adelabu, leader of Opposition in the West; Aminu Kano, leader of the Northern Elements Progressive Union; Chief Festus Okotie-Eboh, former Federal minister of finance, and of Itsekiri extraction; Lagos party chieftain, Adeniran Ogunsanya; Federal information minister, Theophilus O. Shobowale Benson; communications minister, Olu Akinfosile; and the others earlier mentioned). A Fulani cattle trader, Umaru Altine, was for many years, Mayor of Enugu, then capital of Eastern Region. However, this was one exception that proved the rule. Altine owed his political success in the East, not to the NCNC’s commitment to detribalization, but to internal rift among the Igbo. He, Altine remained in office so long as he had the


support of Igbos who were not indigenous to Enugu but who constituted roughly 50 percent of the city’s population (Usman, 2000). Altine in effect saw a gap and he filled it. Despite the intra-Igbo conflict, however, the NCNC continued to be seen as an Igbo-dominated political party. The support it received from the Ibo State Union, another ethnic advocacy group, did not help burnish its national image. Neither did the use of the Eastern Sentinel as a mouthpiece of the regional government. The Northern People’s Congress might have claimed to be the only detribalized party, but for its origin and the dominant influence of its leader, Alhaji Ahmadu Bello. The general secretary of the party, Abba Habib, was neither a Hausa nor a Fulani but a Shuwa Arab from Dikwa in the former Borno Province. His successor in the post was Ahman Pategi, a Nupe from Pategi in the southern tip of the north, specifically, from the present-day Kwara State. Among the party’s prominent leaders were S.A. Olanrewaju (former Federal minister for police affairs and Yoruba from Omu-Aran, present-day Kwara State), S.A. Ajayi (Yoruba from Kabba, present-day Kogi State), George Ohikere (former regional minister for works and an Ebirra from Okene, Kogi State), Michael Audu Buba (from Pankshin/Shendam in present-day Plateau State), Aku of Wukari (Wukari), Bukar Dipcharima (former Federal minister of commerce and a Kanuri), and Aliyu Makaman Bida (former regional minister of finance, another Nupe from present-day Niger State). Yet, because the NPC emerged at about the same time when the east and the west were floating political parties with ethnic advancement objectives, it (NPC) was quickly dismissed as another tribal grouping, specifically, a Hausa-Fulani response to the Igbo and the Yoruba political muscle flexing. In addition, the influence of its leader, Ahmadu Bello, was so overwhelming that the party and the personality became one and the same in the eyes of NPC’s opponents. For reasons earlier stated, therefore, the three major political parties were trapped in their origins. It is not clear if, in the absence of the 1966 coup, the parties would have succeeded in reinventing themselves as national, broad-based coalitions, or remained cloistered within their regions. What is clear is that even the parties that came after the three regionally based parties have, with a few exceptions, been unable to develop a truly national outlook. The situation prevailing in northern Nigeria up to the end of the First Republic provided ample evidence of the southern parties’ inability to penetrate the region. It is true that besides the NPC and its allies, there were other political parties and associations opposed to the ruling party. There was, for example, the Northern Elements Progressive Union (NEPU) which was technically an ally of the southern-based NCNC, and


was active in Kano, Jos, and Kaduna. The others were the United Middle Belt Congress (UMBC); the Ilorin Talaka Parapo (ITP); and the Borno Youth Movement (BYM) all of which looked up to the Action Group for support in countering the influence of the NPC. Under the leadership of Joseph S. Tarka, the UMBC maintained a tight hold on the Tiv Division. The Ilorin Talaka Parapo led by Sule Maito was confined to the Afonja (i.e., the Yoruba) section of Ilorin, while the Borno Youth Movement was strong among the Kanuri of Borno Province. The northern-based opposition parties, however, faced obstacles from two fronts. First, they were portrayed by the NPC as stooges of the south, or to be specific, as fifth columnists ready and willing to sell the north to the south. It was bad enough to be stigmatized as internal traitors; it was even worse to be abandoned by external collaborators. On different occasions, Alhaji Aminu Kano, the NEPU leader, expressed his frustration over the NCNC’s (NEPU southern partner’s) reluctance to extend its operations beyond the south (Aleshinloye, 2003:37). The Action Group which claimed to be in alliance with the UMBC was not quite sympathetic to the latter’s ambition for the creation of a Middle Belt State, preferring that the Yoruba of Ilorin and Kabba provinces be merged with their “kith and kin” in the west. Instead of working through its northern allies, the Action Group sought to reach voters directly by dropping leaflets from helicopters, and enticing them with material goods. In the run up to the 1959 elections, the party, Action Group, “freely used money, bicycles and even scarce consumer commodities like salt to purchase party political support” (Shagari: 2001:108). Meanwhile, the NPC was busy enlisting the support of all cultural and tribal organizations in north. One was the Igbira Tribal Union, headed by George Ohikere. In any case, the NPC was so strongly entrenched to be easily toppled by the opposition. It was made up mostly of the region’s nobility, otherwise known as the Sarauta, while the opposition appealed largely to the Talakawa (the poor). By the nature of the northern society as it then was, the elite always had the upper hand at elections. During the 1956 elections, the NPC lost the urban centers of Kaduna, Jos, and Maiduguri to the opposition, but still managed to return to power with a large majority. During the 1959 federal elections, the NPC won the north with a landslide majority (capturing 134 seats, as against 25 for the UMBC, 8 for NEPU, and 7 for other political parties). Confident that the north was firmly under its control, and with 50 percent of federal seats constitutionally allocated to the region, the NPC itself did not see the necessity to penetrate the south. The events that began to unfold in 1964 were to change not only the various parties’ political equations, but the entire history of Nigeria.


Signs of Imminent Collapse After the 1959 federal elections, the NPC had entered into a coalition with the NCNC, leaving the AG in the opposition. Signs of fissure in the federal coalition appeared when the NCNC and the NPC disagreed over the 1963 census figures. According to the NCNC, the figures were inflated so as to perpetuate and entrench the north’s legislative majority at the centre. The AG’s position was already known—it was against the NPC hegemony and so roundly condemned the 1963 census exercise. As an opposition party, the AG’s rejection of the census results was expected, and was quickly dismissed as the outburst of a “disgruntled element.” It was the attack by the NCNC, a member of the federal coalition that really got its senior partner, the NPC, seething with rage. The political environment was changing rapidly, but the leadership appeared oblivious of the changes and the consequences. For the purpose of fighting the NPC over the census, both the AG and the NCNC placed their communication media on overtime. On the NCNC side were the Enugu-based Nigerian Outlook, and the Lagos daily, the West African Pilot. The AG’s hounds included the Daily Express, the Nigerian Tribune, the Irohin Yoruba, and probably by far the most effective, the Western Nigeria Broadcasting Service/Western Nigeria Television (WNBS/WNTV). The print and the electronic media controlled by the two southern parties were to attack, not just the NPC, but the entire north. Over the coming months, the newspapers and the airwaves were filled with language of hate and xenophobia. Commentators from the south wondered how the north, an arid region inhabited by cattle, could claim to have so many human beings and return such high census figures. The north responded to what it perceived as the southern gang-up. The regional government began by testing the combat-readiness of its own propaganda machine. It then proceeded to restructure its main electronic medium of communication, the Broadcasting Company of Northern Nigeria/Radio Television Kaduna by procuring powerful transmitters, and recruiting capable radio and television personnel. Among the staff attracted to the Company were veteran radio and television station manager Sani Kontagora, ace broadcasters Abba Zoru and Adamu Gumel, and first-rate investigative journalist, Saka Aleshinloye. The regional government also cleared the way for Gaskya Ta fi kwabo, and the Nigerian Citizen to reply in kind to any attack from the south. Rather than halt the press war before it got out of control, the political leaders retired to regional command posts ready to issue shoot-at-sight orders to their troops. The latter did not have to wait too long to open fire. In December 1963 the then titular head of state, President Nnamdi


Azikiwe, undertook a tour of the northern provinces of Ilorin, Niger, and Kabba. Instead of ending the tour with the usual diplomatic courtesies, he launched a savage attack on the “deplorable conditions” of the people. The houses in which the people lived, the food they ate, and the clothes they wore, the president observed, pointed to nothing but the people’s abject poverty. In clear, rather than sign, language, the president was telling the nation that the northern regional Government had let its three southernmost provinces hang out to dry. The north lost no time in engineering a swift rejoinder to the president’s uncharacteristic breach of protocol. In a press release, the traditional rulers of the provinces concerned sought to know from the president how he got his information since he never lived, ate, or shared clothes with, the people whose condition he lamented (Aleshinloye, 2003:114–15). Demands from the south for a retraction of the “disrespectful” rebuttal to the president’s comments were brushed aside by the traditional rulers and by the regional government. To make matters worse, the president responded personally to unflattering comments from northern newspaper columnists, particularly, Eje Agbo of the Nigerian Citizen. Gradually, the hitherto neutral and venerated office of president was dragged into partisan politics. On June 20, 1964, the east regional government’s newspaper, the Nigerian Outlook, upped the ante. It launched a fierce attack on the NPC and the north. Among other things, it claimed that Now, Allah is showing a sign of fresh anger against the NPC in Kaduna. The prayers of Mallams are no longer effective.7

If the prevailing atmosphere taught any lesson, it was that the leaders of the main political parties had committed enough wrongs to make God and man angry. Therefore, besides mending their ways, the leaders needed to join the Mallams (the local equivalent of marabouts) in praying for peace and stability. However, the regional leaders were neither in a prayerful mood nor were they willing to give their prayers a helping hand by following up with good gestures and right choices. In readiness for the 1964 election, and to dislodge the NPC, the two southern parties decided to merge under the label “United Progressive Grand Alliance” (UPGA). They also carried the battle to the north by financing a new opposition party, the Northern Progressive Front made up of NEPU, the UMBC, the Kano People’s Party, and the Northern Youth Movement. The Sardauna’s response was swift. In launching the NPC Manifesto for the 1964 election, the north regional premier noted that: Five years’ experience has taught us that the present leadership of the NCNC is double-faced, cannot be trusted and is not seriously working for

civility in the lion’s den / 159 the progress of Nigeria. . . . Now after working with us for five years they have suddenly found us to be feudalists and themselves progressives. 8

To check UPGA’s growth and frustrate its electoral ambition, the NPC entered into an alliance with the Nigerian National Democratic Party (NNDP) led by Awolowo’s erstwhile Deputy, and premier of Western Region, Chief S.L. Akintola. In addition to the NNDP, the NPC secured the backing of the Midwest Democratic Front (MDF) and Harold Biriye’s Niger Delta Congress to form the Nigerian National Alliance (NNA). Meanwhile, the house of representatives was dissolved on December 8, 1964, and elections were scheduled for December 30. By the time the nomination of candidates for the 1964 elections closed, 61 NPC candidates had been returned unopposed from the north alone. UPGA immediately smelt a rat and voiced its concern. It threatened to boycott the elections unless they were postponed. Incidentally, the leaders of the southern parties did not campaign personally in the north, preferring to let their local affiliates (the leaders of the Northern Progressive Front) stand in for them. The northern Nigeria’s leader did not campaign in the south either, hoping that the NPC’s allies in the zone (i.e., the NNDP, the Niger Delta Congress, and the Mid-West Democratic Front) were up to the challenge. On polling day, the eastern wing of UPGA made good its promise to boycott the elections. Therefore, no voting took place in the east. The boycott order was partially carried out in the west and the mid-west, but totally ignored in the north. When the votes were counted, the Nigerian National Alliance (comprising the NPC and the NNDP) claimed victory in 200 constituencies. This meant it had 200 seats, as against UPGA’s (mostly AG’s) 54. The NNA had hoped that this “landslide” victory entitled it to be invited to form the government, but the president (Nnamdi Azikiwe) thought otherwise. Three days after the Alliance began celebrating its electoral triumph, the president had not called on Abubakar Tafawa Balewa to form a government! In fact, he had pointedly demanded the resignation of Abubakar Tafawa Balewa as prime minister, although the latter stood his ground (Shagari, 2001:111–12). A constitutional crisis had started, followed by a round of political grandstanding. The president and the prime minister had disagreed on the legitimacy of the 1964 elections, and no compromise seemed to be on the horizon. The prime minister suspected that the otherwise ceremonial president was contemplating bye-passing the constitution and inviting the military (then still under a British General Officer Commanding (GOC), Sir Christopher E. WelbyEverard) to take over.


To find a way out of the impasse, the prime minister summoned all the regional premiers to Lagos to have a meeting with the president. Although the north regional premier was unable to attend the Lagos meeting, he projected a sense of regional unity which strengthened the hands of his Deputy (Abubakar Tafawa Balewa) in negotiating with the president. In other words, the premier of the North assured the prime minister that the north was united behind any position that the NNA took in negotiating with the president in Lagos. On January 5, 1965, the prime minister (Abubakar Tafawa Balewa) visited Kaduna to brief the north regional premier about the delicate negotiations in Lagos. Apparently, the meetings with the president had produced a compromise. The president would let the election results stand on condition that the NNA agreed to fresh elections to the west Regional House of Assembly. On January 7, 1965 (eight days after voting) the line-up of the new government was announced. With the constitution of a new federal cabinet in January 1965, the theatre of operations shifted from Lagos (the nation’s capital at the time) to the western region. Sensing a threat to his premiership, Akintola launched a vicious propaganda war—one laced with undisguised xenophobia. The target of Akintola’s attack was the Igbo ethnic group. In a pamphlet titled “UPGAISM,” the NNDP portrayed the Action Group as a stooge of the Igbo-dominated NCNC, and therefore as a betrayer of the Yoruba cause. The Igbos replied with a pamphlet titled IBOPHOBIST in which certain Yoruba leaders of the NCNC were accused of colluding with the NPC to bring down the Igbos. The Yoruba leaders in the NCNC responded with their own spate of attacks on their party, and by implication, on the Igbo leaders. The western House of Assembly was dissolved on September 18, 1965, and elections were fixed for October 11, 1965. To preempt violence, the regional government banned public processions for two months. The precautionary measure proved ineffective. The elections were characterized by violence and intimidation, and the results (which favored Akintola’s NNDP) were greeted by street demonstrations and threats to civil order. In between, the nation’s president continued to stir up controversy by making partisan political statements, and, in the process, drawing fire from the Northern People’s Congress as well as the Nigerian National Democratic Party. In October 1965, Azikiwe decided to travel to the United Kingdom, ostensibly, on health grounds. While the Sardauna sent him a telegram wishing him “speedy recovery and happy return,” the regional government’s mouthpiece, Radio Kaduna, aired a news commentary which,


besides questioning the timing of the health trip, included an ominous prediction: Is Dr Azikiwe so sick that he could not wait for a more propitious time to travel abroad for medical treatment? We pray he would return to meet a united country.9

Last-Ditch Effort to Save Democracy It must have been an unduly prolonged health trip. The president was still abroad when on January 15, 1966 a section of the Nigerian Army staged a violent coup. When it became clear that Ahmadu Bello and S.L. Akintola had been killed, and the whereabouts of Prime Minister Abubakar Tafawa Balewa was still unknown, the Federal ministers nominated Bukar Dipcharima, a Kanuri and most senior NPC minister in the coalition government, as interim prime minister. However, rather than approve the recommendation, then acting president, Dr. Nwafor Orizu, claimed that he had no authority under the constitution to accede to the ministers’ request. He added that to designate someone interim prime minister, he had to obtain the approval of the substantive president, Nnamdi Azikiwe, who had by then left the United Kingdom for the West Indies. Richard Akinjide, one of the ministers and himself a renowned legal practitioner, questioned Orizu’s interpretation of the law. He felt that the acting president was merely stalling, but then everyone was too shellshocked to enter into a legal debate (http://www.africamasterweb.com/ CounterCoup.html). Also, unknown to the ministers who had nominated Dipcharima, some of their colleagues had been holding separate meetings with Kingsley Mbadiwe, a minister from the east, with a view to nominating him for the post of acting prime minister.10 In the midst of the confusion and disorganization in the civilian camp, the army began making its own move. The then (GOC) Thomas AguiyiIronsi, summoned all the ministers to the Cabinet Office where he pointedly asked the civilians to hand over power. As Akinjide recalled, the GOC, Aguiyi-Ironsi, told the bewildered ministers: you either hand over as gentlemen or you hand over by force.11

In effect, the civilian leaders had been relieved of their responsibilities, although some were still hoping for a miracle. As Shagari put it: While we were at Orizu’s residence, Major-General Ironsi, who had seemingly secured Lagos, came in with some armed escorts. He requested for

162 / the route to power in nigeria a tete-a-tete with Orizu. The two had a 40-minute discussion in another room, while we waited anxiously in the sitting room, with armed soldiers standing (nearby) and staring at us.12

When the two-person meeting was over, Ironsi drove away, leaving Orizu to update the waiting ministers about developments. Orizu regretted that he was unable to approve Dipcharima’s appointment, and advised the ministers to return to their respective abodes in anticipation of further announcements. The Muslim ministers who were then observing the holy month of Ramadhan ought to have broken their fast at 7.00 p.m. However, none got to his house until around 9.30 p.m. that fateful day, January 16, 1966 (Shagari, 2001). By 11.30 p.m., Orizu was on the air. He issued a terse statement to the effect that due to the prevailing circumstances, the ministers had “voluntarily” ceded power to the military. Not long after the broadcast, Ironsi informed the nation that the constitution had been suspended, and that military governors would be posted to the four regions. Conclusion The first generation of leaders succeeded in engaging their immediate environments but failed woefully when it came to working across ethnoregional boundaries. Rather than promote identity with the citizenship of Nigeria, the leaders devoted time and resources building and consolidating ethno-regional allegiances. The few leaders that attempted to operate beyond their regions went about it in a clumsy and sometimes tactless way. They gave little attention to the sensibilities of groups outside their regional boundaries and employed languages which, at best, sounded incomprehensible to their outside audience, at worst, were susceptible to hostile interpretations. As to be expected, the leaders’ outreach efforts were slowed down by linguistic and cultural barriers, by the strategies they employed in reaching a normally apathetic or unreceptive audience, and, in particular, by the frequent temptation to reply in kind to hostile, and sometimes xenophobic attacks. Having failed to project a truly pan-Nigerian image, the civilian leaders left the field open to the military. Whether the latter succeeded in engaging and reshaping the environment is the question that is taken up in the next chapter.

Ch a p t e r Ni n e Le ade r sh i p a s a n Im posi t ion: Th e M i li ta ry Shortc u t t o Pow e r

Introduction Even if the event of January 15, 1966, turned out to be a military coup rather than voluntary transfer of power, it was an unusual kind of coup. The seismic changes it brought notwithstanding, power reverted not to the aggrieved Majors who sacked the civilians but to the military top brass that was least prepared for the upcoming governorship challenges. That was not all. The coup might have accidentally placed the burden of leadership on the military, but it soon became the model that subsequent regimes copied. For approximately 30 years, Nigeria was ruled by a succession of men in uniform. As noted in the coming paragraphs, the impact that each regime had on the environment varied depending not only on its motives but also on its preparedness for governorship and related challenges, as well as on the caliber of those holding key positions under it. Although some of the regimes left lasting legacies, others merely filled the power vacuum, sometimes taking the opportunity to settle personal scores, or to advance vaguely defined agendas. The focus of this chapter is on the factors aiding or working against the military’s attempts to impose its leadership on the people. The chapter provides an overview of the governorship of Nigeria from 1960 to 2007, paying particular attention to the manner by which various regimes came to, and relinquished, power, as well as the antecedents to, and the avowed reasons for, military intervention. Nigeria, 1960–2007: Who Governed, by Whose Authority? It is probably due to the interruption of Nigeria’s democratic experiment by the 1966 coup that an appropriate formula is yet to be found for recruiting aspirants to leadership positions and determining the tenure of incumbents. Until 1999, no democratically elected government had lived out its


term. Regimes were either brought down by internal dissension (such as the Action Group crisis of 1962) or toppled in military coups. As box 9.1 shows, only 3 of the 12 governments formed between 1960 and 2007 were controlled by civilians, with the remaining 9 falling into the hands of the military. Box 9.1 further indicates that since Nigeria achieved its independence in 1960, the military had ruled the country for a total of 29 years, leaving the civilian to master the art of political recruitment and of governorship within the remaining 18 years. The Nigerian Army: A Professional Body Gone Political The January 1966 coup caught many, including army insiders, by surprise. Obasanjo, who had just returned from India at the time of the insurrection, could not believe that soldiers had taken over the reins of government. Anxious to know what was actually going on, he asked his colleague, Captain Anekwe, whether the soldiers who killed prominent civilians were “from this country or from another country.” Anekwe’s response jolted him: “Soldiers from your unit are among them” (Obasanjo, 1987:91). Yet, shocked as Obasanjo was, he too did have reservations about the professionalism of the army he had left behind in March 1965 to undertake a course at the Indian staff college. It was an army that he and a key actor in the coup, Nzeogwu, had found terribly wanting. The army had, in their view, succumbed to “tribalism, favoritism, double standards and general indiscipline,” not to mention “over-politicization” (Obasanjo, 1987:78). Unknown to him, it would be an army whose officers and men would plot coups in the most unlikely of places—over drinks, inside personal vehicles, and at secret rendezvous. It was an army in which colleagues would mix freely at open air drills, but would be hesitant to trust one another with sensitive information on who had been targeted for elimination and who was being groomed for higher responsibilities.1 The plots and the scheming would produce men with power and glory, but would also, due to inept planning or plain bad luck, set others up for summary executions. It was not as if the civilians were totally sanguine about the future, or they folded their arms and waited for the inevitable. They realized that something was off, and that, in the absence of proactive measures on their part, they ran grave risk of losing power to the military. In a twist of irony, the measures which they took to preempt military incursion into governorship were also the ones that created the conditions for the first and the subsequent military interventions. Both the northern premier (Ahmadu Bello) and his west regional counterpart (Samuel Ladoke Akintola) had met a day to the coup to deliberate on how to handle the crisis in the latter’s region. In addition to an earlier plan to send the head of the army, Aguiyi-Ironsi,

leadership as an imposition / 165

Box 9.1

Regime entry and exit routes: 1960–2007

Period

Head of State

Type of Government

Mode of Replacement

1960–1966

Dr. Nnamdi Azikiwe (with Alhaji Abubakar Tafawa Balewa as prime minister and head of government) Brigadier J. T. U. Aguiyi-Ironsi General Yakubu Gowon Brigadier Murtala Mohammed

Civilian/Parliamentary Democracy until the adoption of the 1963 Republican Constitution

Violent coup

Military

Military (palace) coup Military (palace) coup Assassination (during an unsuccessful coup attempt) Peaceful transfer of power to civilians Military coup

1966 1966–1975 1975–1976

1976–1979

General Olusegun Obasanjo

1979–1983

Alhaji Shehu Shagari General Mohammadu Buhari General Ibrahim Babangida

1984–1985

1985–1993

1993

Chief Ernest Shonekan

1993–1998

General Sani Abacha General Abubakar Abdul-Salaami

1998–1999

1999–2007

General Olusegun Obasanjo

Military Military

Military (continuation of Murtala Mohammed regime) Civilian/Executive/ Presidential Military

Military

Military (with a civilian figure-head) Military Military

Civilian

Source: Compiled by the author, based on data from various sources.

Military (palace) coup Internal transfer of baton (after Babangida’s decision to “step aside”) Direct and complete military takeover Death Peaceful transfer of power to a civilian regime Transfer of power (after elections tarnished by malpractices)


an Igbo, on indefinite leave, the two premiers had contemplated advising the Federal prime minister (Abubakar Tafawa Balewa) to draft troops to the western region to maintain peace and stability. Although difficult to substantiate, it was also believed that the two leaders discussed the possibility of creating the conditions which would necessitate declaring a state of emergency in the east, thereby placing the region under direct Federal control (Luckham, 1971:19). The NPC-led Federal government took other measures to forestall military takeover. Fearful of producing another Mobutu in Nigeria, the Tafawa Balewa government had exercised extreme caution in elevating either of the two leading candidates from the south (Brigadiers Aguiyi-Ironsi and Ademulegun) to the post of General Officer Commanding (GOC) the Nigerian Army, a post held in rapid succession by British officers up to the first five years after independence. When the post fell vacant with the departure of Major-General Foster in March 1962 (i.e., two years after independence) it was another British national, Major-General Christopher E. Welby-Everard, who was appointed to fill it. In 1965, the Federal government finally succumbed to pressure to appoint a Nigerian, Brigadier Thomas Aguiyi-Ironsi, to the post of GOC, Nigerian Army. He had served as the equerry to Queen Elizabeth during her visit to Nigeria in 1956, and in the Battalion that led the way in the Nigerianization of the officer corps. He had also distinguished himself as the head of Nigeria’s military contingent in the Congo. The caution applied in filling the top army post extended to the Nigerianization of the officer corps. Although the Nigerianization of the civil service was proceeding apace, only the B Company of the 5th Battalion was staffed by Nigerian officers. Among the officers serving in the Battalion were Lt. Col. Johnson Aguiyi-Ironsi, Major Zakaria Maimalari, Captains Abogo Largema, Hilary Njoku, and Yakubu Pam, and Lieutenants Patrick Chukwuma Nzeogwu, Olusegun Obasanjo, David Ogunewe, Henry Ighoba, David Okafor, and Foluso Shotomi. Ray Matthew Dumuje, the first Nigerian Quartermaster was also in the Battalion (Obasanjo, 1987:46–47). Besides a few officers that were commissioned after obtaining university degrees, the officer corps was dominated by recruits who started with preparatory training in Teshie, Ghana, before proceeding to the United Kingdom for the basic officer course. The army’s suspicion of men with “book knowledge” must have been fed by the riotous demonstrations staged by the University of Ibadan students in May 1960 in protest against a military pact (the Anglo-Nigerian Defense Pact) that the Nigerian leaders had acceded to at the 1958 constitutional conference. Under the Pact, Great Britain would be allowed to station an air force base in Kano, ostensibly in


support of its Middle East operations (Miners, 1971:61). In return, it would come to Nigeria’s rescue if the latter was attacked by external forces. As the demonstrating students saw it, the Defense Pact was Britain’s attempt at recolonizing Nigeria and they would have none of it. The government (and the army establishment) saw the matter differently—as evidence of university students’ propensity to cause trouble. The army consequently maintained an arm’s length relationship with university graduates (Miners, 1971:113). With the exception of Ojukwu who was commissioned in 1958, only a handful of university graduates made it to the army—Olutoye in 1960, Oluwole Rotimi and Emmanuel Ifeajuna in 1961, and Adewale Ademoyega the following year. By 1963, the Cadet Units at the University of Ibadan and the Nigerian Colleges of Arts and Science had been disbanded, thus ending the practice of granting direct short service commissions. Regardless of the mode of entry into the officer corps, recruits had to demonstrate evidence of physical fitness, learn the discipline of operating within hierarchies and obeying orders, in addition to passing prescribed examinations in subjects ranging from military strategies and tactics, weapons handling, through elementary mathematics, to politics and current affairs. To expose the officers to different military traditions, the army from 1961 sent members of the officer corps for training in other countries, in addition to Great Britain. Among the countries providing various forms of technical assistance to the Nigerian Army were the United States, Canada, India, Pakistan, and Australia. Earlier in April 1960, Nigeria established its own Military Training College in Kaduna, thus discontinuing the practice of relying on Teshie, Ghana (Miners, 1971:115). The Nigerian military has in recent years appeared to have tempered its bias against book knowledge. The curriculum of the Nigerian Defense Academy in Kaduna is no less academically pitched than those of universities, even if the Academy still pays high premium on hierarchical discipline, physical fitness, and competencies in military maneuver techniques. The Command and Staff College at Jaji brings to Nigeria the leadership training hitherto provided at Mons, Sandhurst, Aldershot, Camberley, and at other overseas institutions with which the Nigerian Armed Forces maintained relations. Senior military personnel also take time off to participate in a one-year intensive course in policy and strategic studies organized by an institute under the same name, the National Institute for Policy and Strategic Studies, Kuru. Although the professional competence of the army was being built through training, it was at the same time being subverted by politicization. From 1958 and under the supervision of Alhaji Muhammadu Ribadu (Minister of Defense), the Nigerian army introduced a quota system of


recruitment into the officer corps (Miners, 1971:97). Under this system, 50 percent of the officer posts were allocated to the North, 25 percent to the East, 21 to the West, and the remaining 4 percent to the Mid-West. Due largely to the Hausa-Fulani’s belated recognition of the army as a source of power, the bulk of the posts allocated to the North were quickly filled by candidates from the Region’s Middle Belt zone, particularly, from the former Plateau, Benue, as well as from the northeastern Borno and Adamawa Provinces (Miners, 1971:26). Like the Hausa-Fulani aristocracy of the North, the Yoruba of the West assumed, erroneously, that the army was for delinquents, hot-heads, and those without visible means of livelihood. The Igbo of the East shared the Middle Belt ethnic groups’ quick grasp of the army’s significance, and moved early to fill key positions in the officer corps. Even in the Mid-West, interest in the army was limited to the Ika-Ibo, a community that had much affinity with the Igbo (Luckham, 1971:188–89; Miners, 1971:122). This then is what the Nigerian Army looked like in 1966. It was an army whose professional training presented a false picture of non-partisanship and political neutrality. Such an army—one that built favoritism into its recruitment system, and whose composition at the officer level did not truly represent Nigeria’s multiethnic and multireligious character—could hardly be expected to remain in the barracks while the civilians jostled for power. In fact, its lop-sided composition was likely to cut in either of two ways. One possibility was that, when broad regional interests were at stake, the “quota system” would serve as the rallying point. A second possibility was for quota to become a counterpoise to regionalism, particularly, as the minorities (who were the effective beneficiaries of the system) realized the significance of their power. A mark of this power is the ability to influence the outcome of, not only inter-, but also intraregional, leadership competitions. Background of First Coup Plotters All the same, when the civilian’s foreboding on the Nigerianization of senior army posts finally became a reality on January 15, 1966, it was neither a Mobutu of their worst dream, nor the minority elements in the army, that upset the applecart. It was a group of Majors led by Patrick Chukwuma Kaduna Nzeogwu, its public face, and Emmanuel Ifeajuna, its presumed brain. Nzeogwu was from a very poor family that had relocated from the then Mid-West to settle in Kaduna, Northern Nigeria. He was a loner whose strict Catholic upbringing kept him away from booze, women, and earthly frivolities. His passion was African politics, and his overriding


aim was the upliftment of the condition of the black race. He had, after his secondary education, participated in a preparatory training course at Teshie, Ghana, and the basic officer course in the United Kingdom. Besides undergoing specialist training in military intelligence, he studied at the Indian Staff College. According to those who knew him, Nzeogwu was a rebel within his family, at school, and in the military (Obasanjo, 1987:15, 21, 28, 48, 79, and 83). Ifeajuna, by contrast, was one of the few university graduates in the officer corps. He had only a few things in common with Nzeogwu. Like Nzeogwu, Ifeajuna was a rebel, but where Nzeogwu stoically faced the music if his plan boomeranged, Ifeajuna was a “courageous coward” who always managed to escape the consequences of his actions (Obasanjo, 1987:81). A gifted orator, Ifeajuna had little problem recruiting candidates to his cause—be this pulling down a fence erected by school authorities over students’ objections, or demolishing the Nigerian federal structure and its regional props. However, neither he nor Nzeogwu succeeded in carrying through their revolutionary program, if they had any. Coup Planning and Execution: The Days of Innocence As noted earlier, the military maintained a tight grip on power for a fairly long time. Believing that whoever carried a weapon had the right to rule, a few military adventurists made unsuccessful attempts to seize power. They most frequently proceeded hastily—forgetting that mounting a coup is more complicated than fighting a battle. Lt. Col. Buka Sukar Dimka threw caution to the wind when he sought to take over the reins of government in February 1976. His first move was laughable. Having gained access to a radio station, he announced his intention to impose a “dawn to dusk” (rather than “dusk to dawn”) curfew. Even though Dimka (assisted by Captain Malaki and Lt. William Seri) had succeeded in killing the then head of state, General Murtala Mohammed along with his aide-de-camp, Lieutenant Akinsehinwa, and, had through their Kwara State collaborators, taken out Governor Ibrahim Taiwo, forces loyal to the regime easily nipped the rebels’ effort in the bud. Following Dimka’s footstep in sloppy coup making was Major Gideon Okar. In contrast to other coup plotters who took pains to package and label their motives beautifully, Okar was a man in a hurry. Right from the day he struck, he made it known that his first order of business was the expulsion of five (mostly, Hausa-Fulani and Muslim) states of the north from the Nigerian Federation. What these states did to offend him was not clear,2 and how he planned to uproot them from Nigeria and graft


them onto another country was an equally intriguing question. If Orkar was acting out a part from a comic book, Nigerians, still recovering from the traumas of a three-year civil war, were neither entertained nor amused. They were relieved when loyal forces pulled the plug before Orkar finished enacting the first act. As was the case with failed coups, there was a huge price to pay. At the end of investigations into the Dimka 1976 coup, for example, no less than 40 accused persons were found guilty by a court-martial (headed by General Emmanuel Abisoye), and subsequently executed by firing squad. Prominent among those executed was the Commissioner (or Minister) for Defense, Brigadier Iliya D. Bisalla. As the brain behind the plot, he had been piqued by the decision to promote his subordinates (such as Theophilus Y. Danjuma and Olusegun Obasanjo) to ranks higher than his. In fairness to both Dimka and Orkar, even highly intelligent soldiers were liable to miscalculate when contemplating seizure of power from an incumbent administration. As a matter of fact, the earliest generations of military interventionists appeared to be amateurs when it came to organizing coup d’états or running governments. It was only after July 1966 that it was generally acknowledged that coup making was too sophisticated an exercise to be left to part-timers or set in motion without careful planning. The organizers of the first (January 1966) coup, for example, focused on what they wanted to see happen, but beyond that had no idea how to proceed or deal with unforeseen developments. Their declared aim was to rid Nigeria of corruption, tribalism, and other ills (Ademoyega, 1981). Yet by the time the coup plot had been fully and violently executed, the actual, but probably unintended, consequences had begun to manifest. Due to the conflict in the motives of the key actors (which in turn accounted for the one-sided application of violence), the coup was quickly given ethnoregional interpretations rather than hailed as a genuine national revolution. It did not help much that the coup planners did not factor money and resources into their calculations. Nzeogwu had taken over the reins of government in Kaduna before he realized that he needed money to feed and motivate his troops. The emissaries that he sent to Kano to bring cash walked into the hands of an unsympathetic Lt. Col., Odumegwu Ojukwu. Rather than release the funds requested by Nzeogwu, Ojukwu ordered that the emergency paymasters be immediately detained.3 In contrast to Nzeogwu who started what he was not equipped to finish, Brigadier Thomas Aguiyi-Ironsi merely inherited a problem created by others, specifically, his subordinates. According to some account, AguiyiIronsi admitted that he was a professional soldier not cut out for, or skilled in, the intricacies of government (Shagari, 2001). This lack of knowledge or experience did not stop him from trying. His very first act suggested


that he ought to have heeded his own inner voice. As a soldier, he had been trained to subdue and conquer the environment. He brought this military instinct to the mine-infested field of politics. Rather than find ways to contain the damage done by the Majors’ violent coup, AguiyiIronsi decided that then was the right time to promulgate Decrees 33 and 34 banning tribalism and imposing a unitary system of government in place of the federal structure. The additional actions he took merely set the regime up for demolition. As box 9.2 indicates, the Majors coup had wiped out a sizeable proportion of the military high command. Reconstituting and rebuilding the group was Aguiyi-Ironsi’s first test, the one that he, in the eyes of his critics, flunked.

Box 9.2 Military high command a day before and immediately after the January 1966 coup Rank and Name

Position

Ethnic Origin

Effect of Coup on Status

Major-General Johnson Aguiyi-Ironsi Commodore Joseph E A Wey

GOC, Nigerian Army

Igbo (East)

Head of State

Commanding Officer (CO), Navy CO, 2nd Brigade, Kaduna CO, 1st Brigade, Lagos Nigerian Military attaché in London

Mixed Yoruba/ Chief of Staff, eastern minority Navy origin Yoruba (West) Killed

Brigadier Samuel Ademulegun Brigadier Zakariya Maimalari Brigadier Babafemi Ogundipe

Kanuri (North)

Killed

Yoruba (West)

Chief of Staff (Supreme Headquarters) Replaced by Lt. Col. George Kurubo —

Col. Thimming

CO, Nigeria Air Force

German

Brig. Varma

CO, Nigerian Military Training College (Ag. Chief of Staff Army HQ)

Indian

Col. Kur Mohammed

Kanuri (North)

Killed. Replaced by Adeyinka Adebayo, the substantive holder of post, who was recalled from Imperial Defense College

o


Rank and Name

Position

Ethnic Origin

Effect of Coup on Status

Col. Ralph Shodeinde

Deputy Commander, Nigerian Military Training College Attending course at Imperial Defense College

Yoruba (West)

Killed

Yoruba (West)

Recalled to take over as Chief of Army Staff, Kur Mohammed, the Ag CAS having been slain Military Governor, West Retained in position Chief of Air Staff, in place of Col. Thimming Killed

Col. Adeyinka Adebayo

Lt. Col. Francis Fajuyi Lt. Col. Hilary Njoku Lt. Col. George Kurubo

CO, 1st Battalion, Enugu CO, 2nd Battalion, Lagos CO, 3rd Battalion, Kaduna

Yoruba (West)

Lt. Col. Abogo Largema Lt. Col. Chukwuemeka Odumegwu Ojukwu Lt. Col. J. Pam

CO, 4th Battalion, Ibadan CO, 5th Battalion, Kano

Kanuri (North)

Lt. Col. Arthur Unegbe Lt. Col. Ime Imo

Igbo (East) Rivers

Igbo (East)

Adjutant-General, Birom (North) Nigerian Army QuartermasterIgbo (Midwest) General, Nigerian Army CO, Lagos Garrison Igbo (East)

Military Governor, East

Killed Killed

Retained

Source: Data from various sources.

On 17 January, Aguiyi-Ironsi established the Supreme Military Council and issued Decree 1 backing up the suspension of the Constitution. The same day, the leader of the insurrection in the north, Major Nzeogwu, negotiated a conditional surrender—hoping that the mutineers would not face a military court martial (Luckham, 1971:27; Panter-Brick, 1970:26). All the same, up to 32 officers and 100 members of the “other ranks” accused of participating in the coup were detained and subsequently kept in various prisons in the east. Although a court martial was constituted,


none of the accused was brought to trial, and no verdict was issued while Aguiyi-Ironsi remained in office. On 18 January, the head of the new military government appointed military governors for the four regions now called “Provinces” (Major Hassan Usman Katsina for the North; Lt. Col. Chukwuemeka Odumegwu Ojukwu, East; Lt. Col. Adekunle Fajuyi, West; and Lt. Col. David Ejoor, Mid-West). Brigadier Babafemi Ogundipe, former Chief of Staff, Army, became Chief of Staff, Supreme Headquarters. Lt. Col. Yakubu Gowon, then the most senior surviving officer from the north, and who played a crucial role in suppressing the mutiny and restoring order in Lagos, was appointed Chief of Staff (Army). Other senior level military appointments appeared tilted toward the Igbo. The following were appointed to the command positions appearing after their names: 1. Lt. Col. George Kurubo, (East, Ijaw), Chief of Staff (Air Force); 2. Lt. Col. H. Njoku (East, Igbo), Commanding Officer, 2nd Brigade; 3. Major H. Ighoba (Mid-West, Igbo), Commanding Officer, 2nd Battalion; 4. Major G. Okonweze (Mid-West, Igbo), Commanding Officer, Abeokuta Garrison; 5. Major Nzefili (Mid-West, Igbo), Commanding Officer, 4th Battalion; 6. Major Ochei (Mid-West, Igbo), Commanding Officer, Federal Guards; 7. Major David Ogunewe (East, Igbo, later to become “Military Assistant” to the C-in-C of Biafra, Odumegwu Ojukwu), Commanding Officer, 1st Battalion; 8. Lt. Col. W. Bassey (East, Efik), Commanding Officer, 1st Brigade; 9. Major Okoro (East, Igbo), Commanding Officer, 3rd Battalion; 10. Major F. Akagha (East, Igbo), Commanding Officer, Army Depot; 11. Major Muhammadu Shuwa (North, Kanuri), Commanding Officer, 5th Battalion. Signs of trouble appeared early. In Ibadan, northern troops serving in the 4th Battalion, refused to cooperate with their Commanding Officer, Major Nzefili, an Igbo—even though he was not part of the Majors coup. Aguiyi-Ironsi had hoped that the north would be mollified with the appointment of a northern emir’s son, Hassan Usman Katsina, as Military Governor. He had clearly underestimated the depth of the region’s feeling. As a concession, he appointed Lt. Col. Joe Akahan, a Tiv officer from


the north, in place of Nzefili who was redeployed as General Manager, Nigerian Railways Corporation (Miners, 1971:86). The government also announced the promotions of a few northern officers, among them Muhammadu Shuwa and Murtala Mohammed. Tension continued to escalate, regardless. As if stoking the north’s anger was the only option, southern newspapers did not relent in their attack on the north, and in the act of disparaging its leaders. Also, rather than distance themselves from the outrage, Igbo traders in the north began mounting the portrait of their “hero,” Nzeogwu, in conspicuous places, in addition to making caustic, indeed, derogatory, remarks about their hosts. Faced with the shock of losing their revered leaders, and the taunts of their southern compatriots, Northern politicians and traditional rulers quickly mobilized to confront the new military regime. They fought the battle on two fronts. On one hand, they organized clandestine meetings at which they plotted the infiltration of the Army (which was then the backbone of the regime). On the other, they organized public demonstrations in villages, towns, and large urban centers across the northern region. They seized on the north’s fear of Igbo domination, particularly, the provisions in Decree 34 abolishing the regional civil services and introducing a unified service which would have made nonsense of the erstwhile “northernization policy.” As the civilians continued resisting the military from without, commissioned and non-commissioned officers as well as members of the “other ranks” from the north were creating headaches for the regime from within. At least two of their supposed colleagues, Major S.A. Adegoke and Second Lieutenant James Odu were killed on mere suspicion of supporting the Majors’ coup. Similarly northern troops posted to the Federal Guards in Lagos resisted the appointment of Major Ochei as their Commanding Officer. The only condition he would be allowed to stay in the post was if Captain Joseph N. Garba (an officer from the north) was redeployed from the Brigade Headquarters and appointed as his, that is, Ochei’s, deputy (Omoigui, http://www.dawodu.com/omoigui4.htm). As it so happened, each concession that Aguiyi-Ironsi made had the effect of placing his opponents (from the north) in strategic positions—positions from which they could strike, and right perceived wrongs. Aguiyi-Ironsi’s errors of omission and commission finally came home to roost on July 29, 1966. That day, his six-month government was overthrown by a group of northern officers. Apparently, many of these northern officers were not aware of the discussions which Aguiyi-Ironsi had held with the Federal ministers in Nwafor Orizu’s residence earlier in January. They (the northern officers) were under the impression that (as the acting


president, Nwafor Orizu, told the nation) the ministers had “voluntarily” handed over power to the military then headed by Aguiyi-Ironsi. Many of these officers, among them, Yakubu Gowon, Murtala Mohammed, Muhammadu Buhari, and Ibrahim Babangida had played prominent roles in suppressing the Majors’ rebellion and in assisting Ironsi to get a grip on the then unstable situation. It must have taken some time for the civilian leaders to reach the senior officers in the army. One of those rearing to go was Murtala Mohammed whose uncle, Inuwa Wada, was a Minister in the government then recently overthrown. The others included officers who were then relatively junior— Theophilus Y. Danjuma, Martins Adamu, Joe Garba, Ibrahim Babangida, Muhammadu Jega, Sani Abacha, Garba Dada, Ibrahim Bako, William Walbe, Paul Tarfa, Lawrence Onoja, and Shehu Musa Yar’Adua, son of former minister for Lagos Affairs. Joining the group from the Air Force were Musa Usman and Shittu Alao. It was long after the Acting President’s radio and television address, and after extensive briefing by civilian leaders, that the senior northern officers got the full and accurate account of what had transpired at Orizu’s residence in January 1966. Specifically, they learnt, in retrospect, that Orizu had refused to recognize Bukar Dipcharima (a long-serving minister from the north) as interim prime minister and that by his refusal, he had cleared the way for a full-blown military takeover. With the new information— that the ministers had been coerced into relinquishing the sovereign power of the state to the military—the northern officers felt morally bound to act. In other words, they concluded that one military coup justified, or deserved, another. The regime that succeeded Aguiyi-Ironsi’s was headed by a charismatic and most senior officer from the north, Lt. Col. Yakubu Gowon, up to that time, Chief of Army Staff. He was, however, not the most senior officer in the army (Panter-Brick, 1970:26). This was in fact why Lt. Col. Ojukwu baulked at the idea of serving under him. Ojukwu felt that, in terms of seniority, Babafemi Ogundipe was next in line to succeed Aguiyi-Ironsi. Even if Ogundipe was not selected, there were other candidates from the south to be considered before Yakubu Gowon. Among possible candidates were Robert Adeyinka Adebayo, Hilary Njoku, and Ojukwu himself. However, the northern troops were not about to exchange one southern head of state with another. This created a stalemate which was finally resolved with the emergence of Yakubu Gowon, the only northern officer acceptable to both the north and the south, but not to Ojukwu. The Gowon regime that Ojukwu refused to acknowledge lasted nine years. During the period, the regime stabilized the situation in the north,


made an effort to avert civil war by entering into the ill-fated Aburi Accord4 with Lt. Col. Ojukwu, and prosecuted a three-year civil war which ended with the maintenance of Nigeria’s territorial integrity (Ojukwu, 1969a and 1969b; Momoh, 2000). The Gowon regime’s decision to allocate a sizeable proportion of the growing oil revenue to an ambitious program of reconciliation, resettlement, rehabilitation, and development has also earned the commendation of domestic and international observers. As noted later, however, the regime’s image subsequently went into decline, providing its opponents the justification needed to overthrow it. Even Ojukwu’s Biafra was not immune to attempted coups. Ifeajuna and Banjo were executed for seeking the overthrow of Ojukwu and contemplating making peace with Nigeria (Akpan, 1971:66; Uwechue, 1971). Rationalizing Treasonable Felony So was the pattern for subsequent military interventions set. From then on, the question would not be about the propriety of military intervention in governorship, but the credibility of the explanations offered by an incoming regime for imposing its leadership on the people, and, by so doing, violating the military’s time-honored code of neutrality, professionalism, and non-partisanship. Indeed, ever since Nzeogwu and his colleagues staged the first coup in January 1966, planners of succeeding military insurrections had never been short of excuses. Over time, and as coup organizers prepared to face an increasingly cynical public, the explanations got longer and longer. Although some of the reasons adduced for embarking on power grab were believable, others merely served as a cloak for deeper, possibly, darker, motives. The reason provided by Murtala Mohammed on July 30, 1975 for taking over, and accepted to be cogent by the generality of the people, was stemming the nation’s drift to collapse. As Mohammed put it in his first address to the nation: After the civil war, the affairs of State, hitherto a collective responsibility, became characterized by lack of consultation, indecision, indiscipline and even neglect . . . This trend . . . was clearly incompatible with the philosophy and image of a corrective regime.5

Like Gowon in July 1966, Murtala Mohammed was not the most senior officer in the Nigerian Army when he took over in July 1975. He, Mohammed, emerged after the usual political tradeoffs had been concluded by the military high command then in place. He proved to be up


to the credibility challenge facing the military. Within the six months he served as head of state, Mohammed implemented a few radical measures. Among the corrective actions taken by Mohammed, and sustained by his predecessor, Olusegun Obasanjo, were the retirement of senior military personnel, the restructuring of the Supreme Military Council, the creation of new states, the appointment of new state administrators, and the purge of the civil service. Sophisticated Coup-making in a Rapidly Politicized Military: The 1983 and 1985 Coups as a Case Study Although a few military interventions might have been inspired by pure, perhaps, altruistic, motives, others were tainted by prejudice or were simply a spin-off from internal palace politics. Where the motives were not clear, the coup organizers have had to be a bit creative in selling the overthrow of a regime and justifying their own enthronement. An example is the overthrow of the Shagari administration. The administration definitely had its own faults. The administration had just emerged from an election that the opposition believed was massively rigged. On top of that, it was accused of being corrupt, and incapable of managing the economy. These were obvious wrongs which, given time, the self-correcting mechanisms of democracy would nonetheless have set right. Yet, without taking into account Nigeria’s short experience in democratic governorship, and the novelty of the executive presidential system adopted from 1979, the military, this time headed by Muhammadu Buhari, seized power from the civilians on December 31, 1983. By some account, Shagari had been alerted to the subterranean moves to unseat him, but he paid no heed. He was under the illusion that the individuals fingered in the plot were from the same geopolitical zone as him. The suspicion was, according to him, groundless, as the individuals concerned would never allow their own personal ambitions to override their regional loyalties (Shagari, 2001). Shagari did not realize how wrong he was until the deed was done on December 31, 1983. As Alli notes, northern elements in the army decided to shove one of their own aside to preempt a southerner taking over from Shagari in 1988 as provided for in the NPN zoning formula (Alli, 2001:215). Shagari’s experience was no different from that of Gowon (under whom the former had served as a Federal Commissioner). Before the Gowon regime was actually toppled in July 1975, intelligence reports had alerted the head of state to the involvement of the Brigade of Guards in pre-coup maneuvers. Gowon found this accusation laughable.6 How could his


personal guard, the Brigade of Guards, turn against him when it was under the control of Joe Nanven Garba, a fellow Plateau State indigene that he implicitly trusted? When the coup came to pass, it dawned on Gowon, as it later did on Shagari, that the quest for power respects neither ethnic affiliation, nor geopolitical allegiance. Same Target, Different Firing Motives As it turned out, those who helped remove Shagari from, and install Buhari in, power also played a critical role in bringing the latter down. When Ibrahim Babangida struck in August 1985, his declared motives were to restore the people’s confidence in the military government’s ability to stem national collapse and to find solutions to the country’s economic problems. In contrast to Murtala Mohammed’s pithy, concise, and unrehearsed address of July 30, 1975, Babangida’s explanation for his coup was long-winding and decidedly crowd-pleasing: When in December 1983, the former military leadership, headed by MajorGeneral Muhammadu Buhari, assumed the reins of government, its accession was heralded in the history of this country. With the nation at the mercy of political misdirection and on the brink of economic collapse, a new sense of hope was created in the mind of every Nigerian . . . Since January 1984, however, we have witnessed a systematic denigration of that hope. . . . Events today indicate that most of the reasons which justified the military takeover of government from the civilians (in 1983) still persist.

He came nearer the truth when he portrayed the Buhari regime as distant from, and inattentive to, his colleagues on the Supreme Military Council: Let me . . . make you understand the premise upon which it became necessary to change the leadership. The principles of discussions, consultation and cooperation which should have guided decision-making process of the Supreme Military Council and the Federal Executive Council were disregarded soon after the government settled down in 1984. . . . Regrettably, it turned out that Major-General Muhammadu Buhari was too rigid and uncompromising in his attitudes to issues of national significance.

Rigid and uncompromising—those were the right and fitting adjectives for the Buhari regime. The regime did not pretend to be anything less. Viewing itself as a reincarnation of the Murtala Mohammed’s six-month revolution, the regime took on virtually every powerful force in society. Buhari, the new-age Murtala Mohammed, was an idealist who thought that he was picked by his army colleagues to replace Shehu Shagari for failing to deal decisively with the national malaise of indiscipline and


corruption. In other words, he thought, rather naively, that those who backed his candidature for head of state shared his vision of a new Nigeria—a Nigeria founded on Spartan discipline, and determined to pull itself out of the morass of corruption and economic decay (Alli, 2001: 254–255). However, as a beneficiary of military intervention, Buhari ought to have realized the risk he was taking—notably, that of a counter coup. Under him, the regime proceeded as if it had been fully insured against trouble, or specifically, against external infiltration and internal sabotage. It moved quickly to earn the image of a corrective regime. With the support of those who latter turned against it, it sent senior military officers (Majors-General and above) on retirement, and cashiered potential trouble makers. Egged on by his colleagues in the Supreme Military Council, Buhari shifted his attention to other powerful elements in society. His government hauled political leaders into detention, ordered the security agencies to investigate allegations of corruption, used state agencies to harass business magnates (such as Isyaku Rabiu, Aminu Dantata, and M.K.O. Abiola7), restricted the movement of the Emir of Kano and the Oni of Ife (after the two influential traditional rulers defied the official ban on visits to Israel), and under the pretext of carrying out an investigation, authorized military personnel to ransack the Apapa Park Lane mansion of the highly respected Chief Obafemi Awolowo. The regime’s War Against Indiscipline (WAI) is one for which it would long be remembered. Among the strategies and tactics pursued in waging the war were the setting aside of the last Saturday of every month for environmental sanitation and cleanliness; the enforcement of queue discipline in public places; imposition of death penalty for drug trafficking, and of equally stiff penalties for economic offences such as smuggling, bribery, and corruption. To bridge the widening budget and current account deficits, the regime introduced austerity measures (including the reduction in the size of the civil service and the armed forces), imposed restrictions on imports, and regarded smuggling and related economic offences as an act of sabotage deserving of draconian responses and penalties. To catch exporters of the Nigerian currency flat-footed and check counterfeiting, the regime introduced new currency notes and imposed a short deadline for the exchange of the old with the new. The Buhari regime’s war on indiscipline was widened to include the press. Enraged by sensational and unflattering reports on its activities, the regime promulgated a decree (Decree No. 4) making it an offense to publish unsubstantiated and embarrassing stories about the government. Two prominent journalists (Tunde Thompson and Nduka Irabor) were subsequently tried and found guilty of violating the provisions of the decree.


Besides lending further credence to the charges of human rights violations levied against the regime, the two journalists’ imprisonment strengthened the press’ determination to expose the regime’s weaknesses. The press thus went for the kill when the Emir of Gwandu, father of Major Haruna Jokolo (then ADC to Buhari) was accused of unlawfully clearing 53 suitcases through customs on his arrival from a foreign trip. The airport Customs was at that time headed by Abubakar Atiku, who later became Nigeria’s Vice President from 1999 to 2007, but, otherwise, held no important position in the Buhari government. Undaunted by domestic challenges, the Buhari regime carried its WAI abroad. As part of its efforts to recover public assets in private hands, it authorized the abduction of Umaru Dikko (a former Minister of Transport who had sought refuge in Great Britain) to face charges of unlawful enrichment. Although the regime’s agents succeeded in kidnapping Dikko and forcing him into a crate, the aircraft that was to fly him to Nigeria was detained by the British customs—undoubtedly, based on a tip-off by person(s) privy to the illegal act. In a tit-for-tat move, the Buhari regime ordered the detention of a British aircraft at Lagos airport until its own aircraft was allowed to leave London. This act pitched the regime against Great Britain, a country which saw itself as Nigeria’s colonial master and expected to be treated as such, if not as a world power. The international incident also widened the circle of opposition to the Buhari regime. Contending Forces in Buhari Regime: A Capability Analysis The Buhari regime would probably have gotten away with its rigid and uncompromising stance if it had taken care of its base. To its detriment, it was antagonizing its “constituency”—the army—at precisely the same time when it took on the entire world. The risk it was taking was too grave, considering the fact that it was not just the army it was up against, but the army’s most lethal wing, the armored corps. As an insider described it, the armored corps was “the army proper”—the one that combined mobility with the capability to mount sustained attack and defend its gains, while relying on intelligence to outwit the enemy. This is the corps to which Ibrahim Babangida and his group belonged—the one that the Buhari regime had largely overlooked. The corps started as a relatively small, possibly, contemptible, unit only to be regarded as the most threatening to regimes, civil or military. In the beginning, there was only one Recee Squadron, based in Kaduna. It later split into two squadrons based in Kaduna and Abeokuta, both forming part of the Recee Regiment. Succeeding regimes, fearful of the mischief


making potential of the armored corps, had carried out wide-ranging reorganizations, seeking at every turn to diffuse authority among different, possibly, competing commands. Reorganization efforts have at the same time taken into account external threats, particularly, threats from Cameroon over the Bakassi peninsula and from Chadian troops that had developed the habit of straying into the Nigerian territory. Notwithstanding the measures taken to tame it through ceaseless reorganizations, the armored corps was a force that could not be easily dismissed in a power tussle. This was one error of omission that cost the Buhari regime dearly. Rather than cultivate or infiltrate the corps, the regime decided to spook those closely associated with it. Specifically, the regime chose to confront a formidable group comprising Ibrahim Babangida (Chief of Army Staff and overall manager of troops and their welfare), Sani Abacha (GOC 2nd Mechanized Division of the Nigerian Army in Ibadan), and Aliyu Mohammed Gusau (Director of the Defense Intelligence Agency and a person with access to information on troops and movements). The regime’s days were numbered as soon as it began showing too much interest in the private moves of the triumvirate (Alli, 2001:216). Although the Chief of Army Staff and the GOC of the 2nd Mechanized Division were not easy to dislodge, all the government needed to do to be rid of the Director of Military Intelligence was to order his immediate retirement. The Chief of Army Staff, Ibrahim Babangida, was no ordinary military officer. He began his army career with his long-time acquaintance and classmate, Mamman J Vasta, on December 10, 1962 as Second Lieutenant. After completing his basic officer training at the Indian Military Academy he was in 1964 posted to the 1st Recee Squadron in Kaduna from where he was redeployed in 1966 as full Lieutenant to serve as Infantry Battalion Commander. Like Muhammadu Buhari who, as the Motor Transport Officer of the 2nd Battalion at Ikeja Barracks, had participated in the counter-coup of July 1966, Babangida was among the junior officers in the north that brought Aguiyi-Ironsi’s reign to an end. In 1974, on his return from the Armored Training School in the United States, Babangida assumed command of the 4th Recee Regiment in the Lagos. In early 1975, he played an active part in “Exercise Sunstroke,” a Brigade of Guards military exercise which was officially presented as a routine drill, but was in actual fact, a dry run to the anti-Gowon putsch of July 1975. His role in the coup latter qualified him for membership of the Supreme Military Council. Although Lt. Col. Muhammadu Buhari also participated in the 1975 coup, he was not a member of the highest decision making body in the Murtala Mohammed’s regime, having been posted to Borno State as Military Administrator.


Although Babangida was not the most senior armored officer in 1975, he was appointed Inspector (and later the first Commander) of the Armored Corps. He held the position until 1981 when he became Director of Army Staff Duties and Plans (DASDP) at the Army Headquarters in 1981. Even while he was in ASDP, Babangida, as second in command to Chief of Army Staff, Lt. Gen. Inuwa Wushishi, never severed relations with the Armored Corps. He continued to monitor and control the Corps from DASDP. It was this position that offered Babangida the opportunity to mobilize armored units in different parts of the country, detain and retire Chief of Army Staff (General Wushishi), and clear the way for the overthrow of the Shagari administration in December 1983. In contrast to Babangida who was developing tap roots within the “army proper,” Buhari’s constant transfers denied him the base or the “constituency” that he needed to bolster his power. Up to 1985, he had served as GOC of the 4th, 2nd and 3rd Divisions. It is true that Buhari enjoyed immense popularity in the army following his decision to stand up to the Shagari administration over how to deal with invading troops from Chad. This was an act of gross insubordination which the civilian Commander in Chief overlooked. Meanwhile, Buhari’s victory in repelling the invaders and pursuing them right into Chadian territory boosted his reputation in the army. He was hailed by the troops as an officer who stood by, and whose overriding concern was the safety and welfare of, his troops. Still, Babangida had the advantage of presiding over the establishment and expansion of the Armored Corps, and overseeing huge foreign armament purchases. He was suitably placed to motivate junior officers through the leverage he had on training and career development. In contrast to Buhari and Idiagbon who were perceived as stern disciplinarians, Babangida was projecting himself as an affable, generous, and caring superior, one who frequently sidetracked hierarchy to stay in touch with those below him and to show concern for their welfare. The unsuccessful Buka Sukar Dimka coup of February 1975 also gave Babangida a larger than life image—the image of a gallant officer who single-handed and unarmed, walked up to Dimka to make the latter realize that the game was up. It was possible that the person who retook the radio station from the coup plotters was not Babangida, but, Chris Ugokwe, a Recee Major who waited outside with his men ready to move should Babangida’s negotiations with Sukar Dimka break down. In any case, by the time the press gave an account of what transpired at the radio station, it was Babangida’s name that was splashed across the pages of the leading newspapers. From then on, Babangida would take the credit for putting his life on the line to foil the coup. He most probably earned the recognition. As it turned out, it would not have mattered who had


actually flushed Dimka and his gang out of the radio station. The investigations carried out after the event revealed that if the coup had succeeded, the actual brain behind the coup, Brigadier Iliya Bisalla, had planned to eliminate him, Babangida, along with other prominent members of the Supreme Military Council. In the end, it was the head of state, Murtala Mohammed, who was killed. The 1985 Coup: The Planning Stage According to an insider, Major General M Chris Ali (rtd.), the 1985 coup was planned by Babangida “in consort with northern officers, particularly of Middle Belt extraction based on the products of Regular 3 Officer’s Course at the Defense Academy”. It was executed by a clique of field grade officers who soon became known as ‘Babangida boys’ (Alli, 2001:88 and 216). Babangida also relied on cadets who were at the Nigerian Defense Academy between 1970 and 1972 when, along with Major Mamman J. Vasta, he, Babangida was Instructor and Company Commander. Due to the length of time he spent at the Federal Capital, he had also developed close relations with civilians in business, the media, the civil service, the academic community, and religious organizations. While Buhari focused on his War Against Indiscipline, his rivals within the Supreme Military Council were plotting his removal. Lt. Col. Halilu Akilu, Grade I Staff Officer was moved to the office of Director of Military Intelligence while the acting holder of the post, Lt. Col. M. C. Ali, was on official mission to the United Kingdom and the United States, and the substantive director, Col. Aliyu M. Gusau, was attending a course at the Royal College of Defense Studies. On Gusau’s return, he was appointed director of a new Defense Intelligence Agency (DIA), with Col. Anthony Ukpo as his deputy. Halilu Akilu was part of the new outfit, and was therefore well placed to watch every move that Buhari’s National Security Organization (then headed by Muhammadu Lawal Rafindadi) made. To ensure the success of the coup, however, Babangida needed the support of officers in key command or other strategic positions. In the course of official visits to army installations in different parts of the country, and without giving the game away, the Chief of Army Staff (Babangida) felt the pulse of officers in various commands on morale under the Buhari regime. The overwhelming support for change reflected how isolated the then head of state was. Besides his de facto Number Two, Tunde Idiagbon, Buhari could not count on the loyalty of more than a handful of persons, mostly those close to him. Among those that stuck to him to the bitter end were General Mohammed Magoro, Minister of Internal Affairs; Alhaji Lawal Rafindadi, director-general,


National Security Organization; Lt. Col. Sabo Aliyu, Commander, Brigade of Guards; and Major Mustapha Haruna Jokolo, the ADC to the Commander-in-Chief. Only Sabo Aliyu brought “fire power” to the Buhari camp, but he too was quickly contained by the Babangida forces. As Internal Affairs Minister, General Magoro had no troops under his command; neither did any of the other Buhari loyalists. In any case, they were no match for the ‘Babangida boys’ as regards the capacity to recruit supporters, outwit opponents, spot potential defectors, and weave active coup plotting into casual conversations. Air Vice-Marshall Muktar Mohammed was one of the few men in uniform who would probably have posed a threat. An active participant in the 1975 coup that helped secure the Ikeja airport, the highly respected Air Force chief felt that a coup against Buhari was not justified. But then, he was with the Air Force which could be easily neutralized. All the coup plotters needed to do was take control of key airports and prevent aircraft from landing or taking off. With tarmacs jammed with army vehicles, no aircraft would be able to take off, let alone bombard army positions from the air. The Air Force by and large knew its limitation, and had throughout the heady days of coup plotting remained in the background. The 1985 coup planners left nothing to chance, anyway. They decided Muktar Mohammed had to go. He was promptly retired from the Air Force. Another likely troublemaker was General Mamman Vasta, Babangida’s former classmate and lifelong rival. However, as minister for Federal Capital Territory, he had no troops under his command. The civil servants reporting to him carried no weapons, and if given any would not know how to handle them. Vasta was a factor that could either be taken out of the equation or simply ignored. He did not have to wait too long to know his fate. Not long after the coup plot succeeded and the Babangida regime was secure in power, Vasta was slapped with a treason charge. He was accused of financing another coup aimed at toppling the Babangida regime. A court martial headed by former defense minister, Domkat Bali, found Vasta guilty and sentenced him to death. He was silenced by a firing squad when the sentence was ratified by the Armed Forces Ruling Council. The neutrality of a few officers with “fire power” did pose a problem for the anti-Buhari forces. Brigadier Salihu Ibrahim, then GOC, 3rd Armored Division, in Jos, for one, was neither for nor against the coup plot. He simply refused to be drawn into army politics. He was of the view that the professionalism of the army would be badly compromised by the frequent interventions in the governorship of the country. The failure to heed his advise was in fact what prompted him to describe the army as the “army


of anything goes.” The Babangida group felt that Ibrahim was entitled to his opinion, but went ahead with its plan, making sure that Ibrahim was sufficiently contained to pose no threat. From Coup Plotting to Execution The organizers of the coup that toppled the Buhari regime were not unaware of, and might, in fact, have capitalized on, the regime’s poor public image. They (Buhari’s rivals within the Supreme Military Council) might have encouraged him to take rash actions while giving the public the impression that the actions had been taken over their heads and in face of stiff opposition. That much could be inferred from the statements justifying the overthrow of the Buhari regime in August 1985. In laying out its own plan for the future, the new junta seized every opportunity to describe its predecessor as hard of hearing, and to distance itself from its unpopular policies. The new (Babangida) regime pledged to put a stop to what he saw as Buhari’s haughty and dictatorial tendencies, end gross human rights violations and press censorship, and review the draconian anti-drug laws with their retroactive features. It read the mood of Nigeria on the IMF loan, and told the people wanted they wanted to hear, to wit, that the loan would not be accepted without the express will of Nigerians. Well, the feelers it sent to different parts of the country indicated that the people were still against the IMF loan, but this changed nothing. The regime proceeded to implement the structural adjustment program which the people dreaded in the first place. Moving swiftly and with military precision, forces loyal to Babangida placed Buhari and his few supporters under detention, took control of key installations before bringing the entire nation up to speed on developments. The first person on the air was Lt. Col. Joshua N. Dogonyaro who railed at the Buhari regime’s failure to heed the opinion of the public and of his own colleagues. Next to address the nation was Col. Sani Abacha. After repeating the accusations against the Buhari regime, he announced that the new junta had unanimously designated General Ibrahim B. Babangida (up to that time Chief of Army Staff) as the new head of state. Babangida wasted no time in assuming the title of President. He abolished the post of Chief of Staff, Supreme Headquarters, and in its place established that of “Chief of General Staff (CGS) at the General Staff Headquarters, the first holder of which was Navy Commodore Ebitu Ukiwe, former Flag Officer, Commanding Officer, Western Naval Command. From then on, the service chiefs were to report directly to the president, and not to an intermediary, not even to the CGS.


Another innovation that came with the change of government was the abolition of the Supreme Military Council and its replacement by the Armed Forces Ruling Council. Outside the measures adopted by the government to ameliorate the conditions of low-income groups (and described in greater detail in chapter seven), as well as the abrogation of Decree No. 4 on press censorship, the government’s human rights record was no different from that of its predecessor, and might even have been worse. Its most controversial act was the annulment of the 1993 presidential election. It was this act which pitted the regime against pro-democracy groups, and put pressure on President Babangida to “step aside” in favor of an Interim National government in 1993. The ING was itself in power for approximately six months after which it was overthrown by a brutal dictator, Sani Abacha. Impact on the Environment The 1985 coup clearly indicates that the military might be a disciplined force, but when it comes to the quest for power, it is no different from the civilians. Like the latter, the military was likely to give little attention to critical socioeconomic challenges, and be sidetracked by plots and counterplots. The Buhari regime appeared to be an exception. It boldly engaged the environment when it faced up to the challenge of indiscipline and corruption. As soon as it was overthrown, both (indiscipline and corruption) returned with a vengeance. The Babangida regime was itself not short of dynamic engagement ideas (witness the measures it instituted to alleviate poverty and introduce a two-party system). However, when Babangida stepped aside in 1993, Sani Abacha erased the changes introduced by the former, and set the country on a course of state-sponsored terrorism, human rights violations, impunity, and corruption (Oputa Panel, 2005). Leadership Selection under the Military: Eligibility Criteria It should by now be obvious that under military regimes the mantle of leadership fell, not on individuals capable of aligning personal ambitions with public or grassroots preferences, as in the early post-independence period, but on those who either played an active part in bringing the military to power or whose competencies were adjudged indispensable to the successful prosecution of the incoming regime’s program. On the basis of the former criterion, members of the military high command qualified to sit on the highest policy making council, that is, the “Supreme Military Council” as it was known under the Gowon, Mohammed, Obasanjo and


Buhari regimes, and the “Armed Forces Ruling Council” under Ibrahim Babangida. Command and Political Positions Membership of the highest decision making body varied from one military regime to the other. Gowon’s Supreme Military Council included members of the military high command, particularly, the Commanderin-Chief of the Armed Forces; the Chief of Staff (Supreme Headquarters); as well as the Chiefs of the Army, Naval, and Air Staff. Also co-opted into the Council were the Military Governors of the 4, and later 12, States, and the Inspector-General of Police. The only civilians who could attend meetings of the Council and in purely advisory capacity were the attorneygeneral, the secretary to the Government of the Federation, and Permanent Secretaries whose Ministries or programs were listed on the Council’s agenda. Membership of the Federal Executive Council afforded civilian Commissioners (equivalent of Ministers) the opportunity to make inputs into government policy. When the Gowon regime was overthrown in 1975, the Military Governors were dropped from the membership of the Supreme Military Council, and their places were taken by the general officers commanding the 1st, the 2nd, and the 3rd Divisions of the Nigerian Army; the commander of the Lagos Garrison, and 14 key officers drawn from the army, air force, navy, and the Nigerian Police Force (Balogun, 1983:126). As part of the house cleaning exercise (which has since become a tradition), the Mohammed regime appointed new service chiefs in place of the old ones. In addition to the Supreme Military Council, a new body, the National Council of States, was established in 1975. It comprised all the Military Governors of the States. As was the case under Gowon, the Federal Executive Council was made up of 13 armed forces personnel, a senior police officer, and 11 civilian Commissioners (Balogun, 1983). Hierarchy did matter at the highest decision making level. However, it was not always the key consideration in appointing candidates to top level command and political positions, and to the posts of provincial governors (under Aguiyi-Ironsi) or regional governors or administrators (under Gowon and the succeeding military regimes). The cases of Yakubu Gowon (July 1966) and Murtala Mohammed (July 1975) have already been cited. Another is that of Shehu Musa Yar’Adua who was elevated to the post of Chief of Staff, Supreme Headquarters when Obasanjo succeeded the late Murtala Mohammed. As Lt. Colonel at the time of the appointment, Yar’Adua was, for geopolitical reasons, placed above his erstwhile army superiors.8


Although seniority was a factor in a few exceptional cases, the tendency was to sacrifice hierarchy for personal loyalty in the appointment of candidates to leadership positions in the States. To qualify as military governor, a candidate had to enjoy the confidence of the sitting head of state. Individuals that were instrumental in bringing a regime to power were likely to receive first consideration. This is why Generals were for the most past passed over in appointment to state governorship positions, and Colonels or officers of lesser rank were picked instead. Individuals with demonstrable leadership qualities stand a good chance of being appointed to key positions. A clear example is that of Samuel Ogbemudia who played an active part in liberating the then Mid-West region from the Biafra occupation forces. For displaying exemplary courage, he was appointed Governor of the Region in place of the former incumbent, David Ejoor. Ejoor lost the post allegedly for abandoning it. Specifically, rather than mobilize troops to fight the Biafran invaders, Ejoor rode out of the MidWest to Lagos on a bicycle, avoiding the major highways as much as possible. He did not see this as an act of cowardice or disloyalty. He was just, in his own words, an unfortunate “victim of circumstances” (Ejoor, 1989:126). Obasanjo and Ogbemudia thought differently. In their separate accounts, both painted Ejoor as a soldier who fled in the face of fire (Obasanjo, 1980:37; and Ogbemudia, 1991). The Mid-West case is unique, and the wartime decision taken to change the regional command could hardly be faulted. In general, however, the appointment of relatively junior officers to top-level political positions by succeeding regimes not only compromised military professionalism and discipline, but also diverted attention from purely military duties to coup plotting. The army was particularly notorious for leading insurrections, and therefore for producing a disproportionate ratio of candidates for governorship and political vacancies. As revealed by the results of an inquiry carried out by the author into the background of the governors and the military administrators posted to 29 states (out of 36 states) between 1966 and 1999, the majority (63.95 percent) of total military appointees was from the army (See table 9.1). The remaining positions were shared among the Navy (19.28 percent), the Air Force (11.16 percent), and the Nigerian Police Force (5.58 percent). The appointment of police officers as State Governors (e.g., Police Commissioners Audu Bako, Usman Farouk, Joseph Gomwalk, Fidelis Oyakhilome, Sanni Daura, and Simeon Oduoye) underscored the importance attached to the role of this civilian organization in maintaining law and order even under military regimes. The only other civilian that was so honored with a State governorship appointment was a university professor, Ukpabi Asika, wartime Administrator of East Central State.

Table 9.1

Breakdown of State Governors, by Branch of Service from which they came, 1966–1999

State (and Starting Year)

Adamawa (1991) Akwa Ibom (1987)

No. from the Army

No. from the No. from the Navy Air Force

1 3

1 1

1 2

No. from the Police 1 0

All Military (combined) 4 6

No. of Civilians/ Grand Total (Civilian Politicians and Military) 3 3

7 9

Anambra (1991)

3

1

1

0

5

8

14

*Bauchi (1976)

7

1

N/A

N/A

10

4

14

Bayelsa (1996) Benue (1976)

2 8

2 0

0 3

1 0

4 11

3 4

7 15 16

Borno (1976)

8

0

3

0

11

5

South-East (1967)

2

0

0

0

2

0

2

Cross-River (1976)

4

4

1

0

9

5

14

Delta (1991) Ekiti (1996)

2 1

2 1

2 0

2 0

8 2

3 5

11 7

Enugu (1976)

6

3

1

0

10

5

15

Jigawa (1991)

4

0

0

0

4

3

7

North-Central (1967) Kaduna (1976)

1 9

0 0

1 2

0 0

2 11

0 5

2 16

Kano (1967)

6

3

0

1

10

4

14

Katsina (1987)

5

1

0

0

6

3

9

Kebbi (1991)

4

0

0

0

4

3

7

Kogi (1991)

3

1

0

0

4

3

7

Continued

Table 9.1

Continued

State (and Starting Year)

No. from the Army

No. from the No. from the Navy Air Force

No. from the Police

All Military (combined)

No. of Civilians/ Grand Total (Civilian Politicians and Military)

Lagos (1967)

4

4

1

0

9

4

13

Nasarawa (1996) Niger (1976)

2 6

0 2

0 0

0 1

2 9

2 4

4 13

Ogun (1976)

7

2

1

0

10

4

14

Ondo (1976)

6

5

1

0

12

5

17

Oyo (1966) Sokoto (1976)

11 7

2 1

0 1

1 0

14 9

6 5

20 14

Taraba (1991)

1

1

0

2

4

3

7

Yobe (1991)

1

0

1

2

4

3

7

Zamfara (1996)

1

0

0

0

1

2

3

TOTAL Percent

126 38 (63.95 % of total (19.28% of military posts) military posts)

22 (11.16% of military posts)

Note: * N/A = requisite information not available at the time of the study. Sources: Compiled by the author, based on data from various sources.

11 197 (5.58% of (64.59 %) military slots)

107 (35.08 %)

305 (100%)


Besides compromising military professionalism and discipline, the assignment of commissioned officers to political leadership positions undermined esprit de corps in the armed forces. According to an insider, a major resentment against the Gowon regime was the ostentatious lifestyle which came with the appointment of military personnel to political leadership posts. As noted in the biography of the former minister of Internal Affairs and Inspector-General of Police, M.D. Yusuf (Opadokun, 2006:128): Life in the barracks had become different and an unhealthy class structure was emerging. Those military officers who had (under the Gowon regime) secured public appointments and their military aides had taken to displaying affluent, ostentatious and flamboyant lifestyles. Such tendencies did not manifest in just these military political appointees themselves, but in their wives and other members of their families. They strutted through the barracks like lords and ladies of the manor, displaying unspeakable material wealth, flashy cars, foreign trips, latest fashion and general affluence. They quickly became the envy of their compeers.

The Military’s Quest for Credibility and Legitimacy It was not in every case that hierarchy or loyalty formed the basis of appointment to leadership positions under the military. As a goal-directed organization, the military was apt to look for whoever possessed the skills and the attributes required to get the job done. This explains the appointment of highly competent individuals (such as Obafemi Awolowo, Okoi Arikpo, Anthony Enahoro, and Aminu Kano) as Federal commissioners. It also accounts for the preponderant influence of career civil servants on the policy process. Having banished politics and politicians, the Gowon regime, in particular, relied heavily on career officials for the preparation of policy briefs, and the implementation of policies and programs. Under the regime, the generalist administrative class supplied the bulk of powerful civil servants termed “super-Permanent Secretaries.” Narrowing the Legitimacy Deficits A major dilemma confronting the military was how to establish and sustain links with the grassroots. Since political activities were among those banned under military rule, a way had to be found to reach the people and to incorporate their concerns in policies and programs. One channel that appeared popular with all the military regimes was the chieftaincy palace. Realizing the influence that the traditional rulers wielded within their communities, the military regimes cultivated the northern emirs,


the south west Obas, the Obis and Igwes of the East, and the traditional rulers in every nook and corner of Nigeria. Some of these were invited to government lodges for advise, others were dispatched to trouble-spots to ease tension and mollify aggrieved groups, and all, without exception, were rewarded in cash or kind. Succeeding civilian regimes have continued this tradition of “indirect rule”—started by the colonial administration and adapted by the military—on the assumption that pampering the traditional rulers is the most effective way of securing the support of their “subjects.” Civil society provided another opportunity for the military to make up for its lack of legitimacy. However, relations between the two (the military and civil society) were at best lukewarm, at worst mutually antagonistic. Its relations with student organizations, trade unions and pro-democracy groups were particularly bad. The students capitalized on their growing number by staging sometimes violent demonstrations, erecting barricades to disrupt traffic flow and social interactions, and provoking the authorities to shut educational institutions down for indefinite periods. For their own part, the trade unions, at the slightest provocation, called their members out on strike, sometimes paralyzing socioeconomic activities. In general, the military leaders’ tenuous link with the masses provided a unique opportunity for political entrepreneurship. Many of those who later became “strong men” and political god-fathers under civilian regimes might have started their careers as political stalwarts in the First Republic, but it was under the military that they found their calling. The military’s lack of popular support rendered this class of leaders indispensable and inflated the value of the local strong men’s grassroots knowledge and contact. Conclusion Imposed leadership, like the type favored by the military, has its strengths and weaknesses. On the plus side is the comprehensive and up-to-date information that the military possesses on candidates for leadership positions—particularly, information about the candidates’ ranks and serial numbers, dates and places of birth, educational qualifications, entry-onduty dates, training courses attended and examinations passed, as well as career progression. Unfortunately, rather than draw on this information to make rational decisions, succeeding military regimes had, because of the tenuous foundation on which their legitimacy rested, paid attention only to attributes that accorded with short-term political objectives. Within the 29 years it was in power, the military made serious but largely unsuccessful attempts at addressing major environmental


challenges. Notwithstanding the military’s ethos of professionalism and discipline, preoccupation with the capture and retention of power sidetracked succeeding regimes from the substantive state construction challenges. Although regimes such as those of Mohammed, Obasanjo, and Buhari instituted measures to curb corruption and mismanagement, the fact that the military was not elected to rule encouraged an air of arrogance within its ranks, and led many of its appointees to dispense with any pretense to accountability. Corruption was in fact one of the factors behind the Agbekoya riots against the military regime, in general, and the Western Nigeria government, in particular, between 1968 and 69. Closely related to this was the “lack of evidence of local government”—that is, the tendency on the part of local government officials to be more interested in collecting rates, levies and outright bribes, than providing essential services (Ayoola Commission, 1969). Allegations of corruption, high-handedness, and egregious human rights violations have also been levied against the Babangida and Abacha military regimes (Ibrahim, 1995; and Oputa Panel, 2005). General Sani Abacha’s brutal rule especially portrayed the military in the worst possible light, and galvanized opposition to its governorship role. Disillusion with its autocratic style eventually set in. The question—posed in the next chapter—is whether the civilians that took over in 1999 were up to the challenge of the Fourth Republic.


Ch a p t e r Te n En t e r t h e Fou rt h R e p u blic: A no t h e r Sho t at D y na m ic Eng ag e m e n t or a R e t u r n to Neo -m i l i ta ry Gov e r nor sh i p?

Introduction Abacha’s sudden death in the middle of 1998 offered both the military and the civilian leaders another opportunity—the former, the opportunity to redeem its image, and the latter, to “associate together” with the aim of seeking, as well as earning, the people’s mandate. Wondering whether the “new-breed” leaders who inherited the power vacated by the military on May 29, 1999 have learnt any lessons, this chapter begins by examining the constitutional and legal antecedents to leadership selection in post-military Nigeria. The chapter also recalls the experience of the Second and the abortive Third Republics in leadership selection and compares this with the pattern emerging in the Fourth Republic. It argues that until the country finds a permanent solution to the challenge posed by the triad of money, violence, and godfatherism, leadership selection and retrenchment would remain problematic. Political Leadership Aspirations and the “Rules of the Game” Ever since Nigeria became independent, a number of systems and practices have evolved in confirming or withdrawing the mandates of political leaders, including incumbents of, and aspirants to, political offices. While the systems were originally underpinned by laws and rules, practices soon developed which were not provided in the nation’s fundamental law or subsidiary legislation. For a very long time, the “military way” was the one that the civilian leaders were familiar with—the one which they saw work in practice—not the art of “associating together” under competitive political arrangements. In effect, the civilians’ relatively short experience in party formation and in the conduct of democratic elections has


particularly impaired their capacity to follow constitutional routes in obtaining the people’s mandate and confirming their legitimacy. In theory, the sovereign powers of the state cannot be exercised without the express will of the people. The military might have selected candidates for leadership positions based on a combination of hierarchy, loyalty, and evidence of ability to accomplish fairly well-defined objectives. Its civilian counterpart is, by contrast, obliged to meet fairly rigorous eligibility requirements set out in the constitution, the electoral laws, and other legal texts. The constitution of Nigeria, for instance, contains elaborate guidelines on the selection of leaders, particularly, the president, head of state, and Commander of the Armed Forces, state governors, senators, members of House of Representatives and of State Houses of Assembly, Supreme and High Court judges as well as judges of the Court of Appeal, members of the Council of State and other statutory bodies. With regard to the office of President, Head of State, and Commander-in-Chief of the Army Forces, Chapter VI, Section 131 of the 1999 Constitution stipulates that a person shall not be eligible to present his candidature unless: a. he is a citizen of Nigeria by birth; b. he has attained the age of forty years; c. he is a member of a political party and is sponsored by that political party; and d. he has been educated up to at least School Certificate level or its equivalent. The Constitution forbids lunatics and persons of unsound mind, as well as criminals sentenced to death or imprisonment, from contesting the post. Also disqualified are candidates with dual citizenship, persons declared bankrupt, members of secret societies, currently serving public officials, and candidates that presented forged certificates to the Independent National Electoral Commission. Presidents that have served two terms could not run for a third term. The disbarment of “members of secret societies” is likely to be problematic if not comical—since whoever fingers a secret society member must himself be one.1 Equally controversial is the provision on the disqualification of persons “indicted for embezzlement or fraud.” As stipulated in Section 137 (1) (i) of the Constitution, a candidate stands disqualified if he: has been indicted for embezzlement or fraud by a Judicial Commission of Inquiry or an Administrative Panel of Inquiry or a Tribunal set up under the Tribunals of Inquiry Act, a Tribunals of Inquiry Law or any other law by the Federal or State Government which indictment has been accepted by the Federal or State Government, respectively. . . .

enter the fourth republic / 197

This is one of the clauses that need to be critically re-examined when the constitution comes under review, particularly, since it is liable to be abused. For instance, when looking for ways to stop Vice President Atiku Abubakar from contesting the April 2007 presidential election, it was the clause that Obasanjo and his circles of advisers invoked. The Government, miffed by Atiku’s strident criticism of Obasanjo’s “third term” constitutional maneuvers, quickly constituted a Panel (headed by the permanent secretary, Ministry of Justice, Ignatius Ayua) which within two days assembled the evidence needed to indict the vice president. The Federal Executive Council, also moving with surprising alacrity, “accepted” the Ayua Panel’s findings and recommendations. The judiciary was naturally suspicious. It rejected the Government’s and the Independent National Electoral Commission’s testimony that the Atiku Abubakar’s disqualification was strictly in accordance with the law. Besides setting out the qualifications for public leadership offices, Nigeria’s fundamental law and subsidiary legislation specify the institutions responsible for screening candidates standing for presidential, gubernatorial, legislative, and local government elections. Among these institutions are the Independent National Electoral Commission [Section 154 (1) and (3), and Section 158 of the Constitution], the political parties vying for the people’s mandate (Part IIID, Sections 221–229), and the Election Tribunals to adjudicate electoral disputes [Chapter VII, Part III, Sections 285 (1)–(4)]. The Nigerian Police Force (Part IIIB, Section 214) is not directly involved in the conduct of elections, but its role as a law enforcement agency is critical. Its professionalism and impartiality come under scrutiny when candidates are out campaigning, electors are casting their votes at polling booths, and election results are being collated, compiled, and announced. The Independent Electoral Commission is, in any case, the body statutorily charged with the responsibility for the conduct and supervision of elections. It is one of the Federal Executive Bodies provided for under Section 153 of the 1999 Constitution. As the name implies, it is expected to be an autonomous body. However, how independent it really is depends on how the power to appoint its Chairman and members is exercised by the president. Although Section 154 (3) requires the president to obtain the confirmation of Council of State before proceeding to appoint the chairman and the commissioners, it is highly unlikely that a purely advisory body (which the Council of State is) would second-guess the president even when there is a clear justification to do so. In effect therefore, the chairman and members of the commission remain in office at the pleasure of the president.


It would be a different matter entirely if the president were to be required to obtain the approval of the Senate—as in the case of the appointment of the chairman and members of National Security Council, or of the National Judicial Council, or indeed, the Revenue Mobilization Allocation and Fiscal Commission. Unlike the Council of State, the Senate would, as a body comprising representatives of different political parties, ask the president tough questions, and would not relent until it received satisfactory answers. It may be argued that, as provided for by Section 158 (1) of the constitution, the Electoral Commission enjoys unfettered freedom as regards the “power to make appointments or to exercise disciplinary control over persons” in its employ. However, the power to hire and fire is not the same as the autonomy to carry out the substantive functions—particularly, the functions of party registration, candidate screening, voter registration, printing and custody and timely release of ballot papers, supervision of the conduct of elections, collation, compilation, and tabulation of results, enforcement of electoral laws and codes of conduct, and maintenance of the integrity of the entire electoral process. It is against this background—of the limited and qualified independence of the electoral commission—that elections were organized from the early post-independence to the present period. To-date, and regardless of the frequent changes in the electoral laws, the 1993 presidential election is the only one accepted as free and fair. Strangely, it was the one that was annulled by the military. The remaining elections (particularly those of 1964, 1979, 1983, 1999, 2003, and 2007) were vitiated by malpractices and enmeshed in controversies. The results of the 1983 election were so hotly contested that the participants expected the ensuing chaos to be sorted out by the military.2 The Carter Centre relented in its attack on the 1999 elections only when confronted with the specter of prolonged military rule. Like their military counterparts, civilian aspirants to leadership positions seldom trusted the judgment of the people. Where elections were held, the practice over the years was for contestants to adopt methods fair and foul to win. The electoral body went under various names in the past—the Federal Electoral Commission, or FEDECO from 1960 to 1976, National Electoral Commission from 1976 to 1993, and INEC, from 1999 to date. Party Formation and Disintegration in the Second and the Third Republic Political parties afford leaders an opportunity to capture or retain power. Political parties not only serve as a vehicle for the articulation and dissemination of rival worldviews, but also offer leaders an opportunity to reach a


wide cross section of society and canvass for popular support. In the struggle for independence, two political parties competed for mass following, and by implication, for the attention of the colonial power. The first, the Nigerian Youth Movement, was fairly radical in its demands (especially for the Nigerianization of civil service, the improvement in the conditions of African workers, and above all, independence). The second, the Nigerian National Democratic Party was more conservative, and therefore perceived by the colonial administration as less confrontational. Both were active in the 1930s, sponsoring candidates for elections into the Legislative Council, and the Lagos Town Council. On the disintegration of the two nationalist parties, new ones (the National Council of Nigerian Citizens, the Action Group, and the Northern People’s Congress) sprang up to sustain the struggle for independence. Associating and Dissociating by Military Diktat With ethno-regional influences (as well as known personalities) dominating the process of party formation and determining electoral fortunes up to the end of the Second Republic, the military, under then President Ibrahim Babangida, began to wonder if the civilians would ever get the art of “associating together” right without outside help. In 1986 the government embarked on a process aimed at transferring power gradually (and in stages) to civilians. It began by establishing a Political Bureau whose terms of reference included undertaking the necessary analytic and empirical studies and advising the Armed Forces Ruling Council, AFRC, on the content and sequencing of a political transition program. While accepting the Bureau’s recommendations regarding a bottom-up approach to power transfer—that is, an approach that starts with the handover of power to local governments, followed by state administrations, and finally, the federal government—the AFRC threw out other proposals. In 1989, the AFRC established a Constituent Assembly, which, based on its deliberations, urged the government to outlaw military coups and punish coup organizers. The AFRC would do no such thing. The AFRC would also not hear of any proposal that the executive’s power to raise foreign loans be subject to approval by the National Assembly. What was uppermost in the mind of the government was clearing the leadership deck to allow for the emergence of “new-breed” politicians. Earlier in 1986 when it established the Political Bureau, the AFRC had also issued a decree imposing a 10-year ban on all leading politicians. In September 1987, it widened the scope of the ban to include all civilian and military officials that had served in the First and the Second Republics. The AFRC was not done yet. It banned any public official found guilty


of abuse of office (from contesting elections) not for 10 years, but for life (Balogun, 1996). Babangida was able to take such drastic measures unchallenged because the strong characters from the First Republic were no longer on the scene. At the time he imposed the ban on leading politicians, two of the key actors in the First Republic dramas (Ahmadu Bello and Obafemi Awolowo) had died, leaving only a frail, aging, and politically weak Nnamdi Azikiwe. The challenge ahead was finding replacements for the first generation of leaders. Having picked what it liked from the reports of Political Bureau and the Constituent Assembly, the AFRC embarked on a serious search for “new breed” leaders—leaders not tainted by past misdeeds nor intimidated by future challenges. To find out whether individuals with the right qualifications were anywhere in sight, the Council in 1989 partially lifted the ban on political activities. From then on, civilians were free to form political parties, but the political parties must meet a few conditions. To the AFRC’s dismay, the civilians flunked this simple test. Instead of a few political parties with clear strategic directions, the new-breed leaders rushed to the AFRC with 13 political associations each espousing strange, at times, incoherent, ideas. To impose order in the chaotic process of party formation, the AFRC turned to the National Electoral Commission (NEC). NEC was effectively transformed into a board of examiners with the authority to leaf through the papers submitted by the 13 political associations, and grade each of them on the basis of following criteria: i. ii. iii. iv. v.

Membership size (maximum of 25 marks); Membership spread: 25 marks; Administrative organization (staffing): 15 marks; Administrative organization (territorial spread/reach): 15 marks; Manifesto (including content, logic and possibly style, grammar and diction): 20 marks.

Based on the eligibility criteria, NEC recommended to the Armed Forces Ruling Council that the following 6 (six) associations be registered: i. The People’s Solidarity Party (with the highest score of 43.90 percent); ii. The Nigerian National Congress (42.60 percent); iii. People’s Front of Nigeria (41.20 percent); iv. The Liberal Convention (34.00 percent); v. Nigerian Labor Party (17.90 percent): vi. Republican Party of Nigeria (17.00 percent).


The AFRC did not think NEC applied rigorous standards before compiling the list. Otherwise, NEC ought to have identified the six political associations for what they truly were—old-guard groupings masquerading as “new-breed” political parties. The Council promptly threw out the list drawn up by NEC. In his speech to the nation, President Ibrahim Babangida maintained that the six parties did not match his government’s description of “new breed” political parties. Since the six were still under the influence of the discredited old-breed leaders and money-bags, the government was left with no choice but to come up with its own formula. He then announced the names of two parties that NEC must register. The first, the Social Democratic Party (SDP), would, ideologically, lean “a little to the left,” and the second, the National Republican Convention (NRC), “a little to the right.” The government did not believe its responsibility ended with the creation of the two parties. It went on to appoint their Administrative Secretaries, construct their secretariats, supervise the preparation of their manifestos, and release funds to enable the parties to operate effectively. Babangida’s intention could hardly be faulted. He was anxious to see the civilians organize behind political parties. Sensing that they were going in the wrong direction, his government showed the “new-breed” leaders how to get on with the job of associating together. This is the rationale for the creation of the two-party system. However, when Babangida stepped aside in 1993 and General Sani Abacha took over from the head of the interim government, Chief Shonekan, all the “new-breed” structures were summarily dismantled. It was easy for General Abacha to sweep them aside and impose his own brand of personal rule because the structures were neither underpinned by any core values, nor linked to civil society at large. In fairness to Babangida and his colleagues on the AFRC, the twoparty system did show tremendous promise. Along with option A4, the system provided an orderly framework under which NEC, between 1990 and 1993, organized local and state government elections, as well as elections to the Senate and the House of Representatives. It was the government creations (the SDP and the NRC) that fielded two candidates, M.K.O. Abiola, and Bashir Tofa, respectively, for the 1993 presidential election (Balogun, 1996, and 1997). The 1993 presidential election, the first, and to-date, the only, free and fair one organized by the national electoral agency, was widely believed to have been won by Chief M.K.O Abiola. Ironically, it was the election that the AFRC annulled, paving the way for the establishment of a no-party government, that is, the Interim National Government, headed by Chief Ernest Shonekan, and in 1993, for the replacement of the ING by General Sani Abacha’s military government. It should by now be clear that Abacha’s ascension meant the end of


Babangida’s political transition program and of the innovations in party formation and electoral processes. So was the Third Republic delivered— stillborn. The Grip of Five Leprous Fingers It was not until when Abacha was set to actualize his “self-succession” dream that he rediscovered the virtue of government-sponsored parties, and introduced a new, albeit, deceptive, angle to multiparty competition. Responding to local and international demand for a return to civilian rule, Abacha first went through the motion of organizing a national Constitutional Conference in 1995. He thereafter got his sidekicks to establish five ostensibly different political parties, all of which, curiously found no other person to adopt as the “consensus candidate” for the office of president, except the General! The late Bola Ige, attorney-general and minister of justice in Obasanjo’s government, had another name for General Abacha’s five political parties—“five fingers on a leprous hand.” This notwithstanding, the fingers’ grip was so strong that only death ultimately proved capable of releasing the whole country from it. New Breed Leaders, Old-Style Politics: Focus on the Fourth Republic The steps taken to launch and organize political parties since the advent of the Fourth Republic in 1999 indicate that the new-breed leaders have learnt quite a few lessons, but have forgotten others. While signs of the old ethno-regional leanings were still visible in 1999, political parties began from 2003 to pay attention to strategies aimed at enhancing their national appeal. Overall, however, the political parties are yet to come to terms with the logic and imperatives of democracy. Rather than trust the judgment of the people, party elders tended to arrogate to themselves the right to decide the major questions, among them, how the parties’ constitutions should be interpreted, the strategic directions to follow, and, above all, who gets nominated for elective and appointive positions. The lack of internal democracy accounts for the increasing factionalism, and the proliferation of splinter groups. It also has ominous implications for the conduct of free and fair elections. In preparation for return to civilian rule, the government of General Abubakar Abdul Salami in July 1998 dissolved the five parties created by his predecessor, General Sani Abacha. According to the government, the elections scheduled to be held in February 1999 would be open only to parties which received not less than 5 percent of the votes cast in 23 out


of 36 states at the first category of elections to be held, that is, the local government elections. Among the political parties that scaled the hurdle and went on to contest the remaining elections in 1999 were the People’s Democratic Party (PDP), the All People’s Party (APP), and the Alliance for Democracy (AD). Of these, only the PDP appeared to transcend ethnic or regional boundaries. The dramatis personae of the Second and the Third Republics had by then disappeared from the scene, but other leaders had donned the old costumes ready to continue the act. The AD, in particular, was made up predominantly of staunch followers of the late Chief Obafemi Awolowo, and drew its support mainly from the Yoruba southwest. The ANPP was a rump of the old NPN and Abacha loyalists, and was restricted to the north. The All Peoples Grand Alliance (APGA), a predominantly Igbo party, did not emerge until 2003. It was led by Chukwuemeka Odumegwu Ojukwu, and was to all intents and purposes an eastern counterpoise to the AD’s perceived dominance in the south-west. The ruling party, PDP, was inaugurated following Abacha’s sudden demise in 1998. It emerged when a few wealthy Nigerians, among them, army generals, turned what started as a loose association, the group of 34, into a full-fledged political party. Former head of state, Chief Olusegun Obasanjo, was not a foundation member of the party. Even if he had wished to run for president, he could not have built a political base or to put together a formidable political machine like the PDP while in prison. However, he was, as earlier noted, in the right place at the right time. On his release from prison, he was picked as the PDP flag-bearer for the 1999 presidential election which, with all its shortcomings, he won. Obasanjo spent more than half of his first term entrenching himself, and, through a clever deployment of the power of incumbency, building his own political network. First, he got a grip on the armed forces by retiring officers with political histories or ambitions. Second, he cajoled the vice-president into connecting him (Obasanjo) with the late Shehu Musa Yar’Adua’s grass-roots-oriented People’s Democratic Movement. Third, he got the attention of state governors by nudging the hitherto toothless Independent Commission for Investigation of Corruption Practices (ICPC) toward aggressive investigation of corruption. By the time the PDP Convention met toward the end of 2002 to deliberate on the candidates for the 2003 election, the earlier rumor of Obasanjo’s imminent replacement by his vice president had subsided. The PDP, like many of the other parties, was plagued by internal conflict, leading to original members breaking away to form a rival political party, the Action Congress. Similarly, Orji Uzor Kalu was a prominent member of the PDP who won two consecutive gubernatorial elections on


the party’s ticket. When he found that he could not realize his presidential ambitions within the PDP, he resigned his membership of the party and formed the People’s Progressive Alliance (PPA). The ANPP is a house divided against itself. Signs of fissures appeared at the end of the 2007 elections when the party’s presidential candidate, Muhammadu Buhari, challenged the results, while his running mate (Eme Ezeoke) and the ANPP state governors, decided to join the PDP’s Government of National Unity. The ANPP’s decision to join the GNU left Buhari one only option, which was to pursue his case on his own—from the Election Tribunal to the Supreme Court. The AD was for years torn apart by internal wrangles, with one faction coming under the influence of the pan-Yoruba organization, Afenifere, and the other tilting toward a rival group, the Yoruba Council of Elders. The party finally succumbed to internal factionalism, leaving PDP the opening it needed to have a foothold in the southwest. Leadership Selection by Election Engineering The saving grace is that since 1999, ethno-regional influences seem to be giving way to cross-national coalitions whose overriding objective was the capture of power. The 1999 presidential election was at any rate a straight fight between two candidates from the same Yoruba ethnic group. Former head of state, Chief Olusegun Obasanjo ran on the PDP ticket, while former Secretary to the Federal Government under the Babangida regime, Chief Solomon Olu Falae, was the AD’s flag bearer. While the two parties’ presidential primaries had thankfully rendered ethnic or regional identity a non-issue, the leading political parties had either not learnt, or had perhaps forgotten, a few lessons from the past. The PDP applied every trick, fair and foul, to win the 1999 elections. The opposing political parties and their agents undermined the credibility of the elections by indulging in, or condoning, various malpractices— registration of under-aged persons, multiple registration, manipulation of the voters’ register, trafficking in voting cards, ballot stuffing. The perpetrators were aided and abetted by INEC’s ineptitude, poor planning and inadequate logistics. These shortcomings notwithstanding, the 1999 poll would turn out to be even better organized than either the 2003 or the 2007 elections. The results released by INEC indicated that the PDP had swept the 1999 presidential poll, with its candidate, Obasanjo, securing 18,738,154 votes (62.78 percent) as against the AD candidate’s 11,110,287 (37.22 percent). Falae contested the results in the law courts but lost. By 2003, a few other parties had joined the PDP, the AD, and the APP (now renamed All Nigerian People’s Party, ANPP) in the quest for


power. Among the new parties registered by the Independent Electoral Commission are the All Progressives Grand Alliance, APGA (with Chukwuemeka Odumegwu Ojukwu, as its presidential candidate), the People’s Redemption Party (PRP), and the National Conscience Party (NCP). The elections sprang a few surprises—or so, it seemed at the time. They (the elections) saw the demise of the AD and the ascendancy of the PDP in the south-west. A word of caution is, however, necessary. While the Yoruba south-west might have been disillusioned with the AD’s “progressive” and “Awoist” pretenses, the adoption of arm-twisting tactics by the PDP could not be ruled out as a factor in the former party’s turn of fate. If the 1999 elections were deficient, the ones that followed in 2003 were a complete sham. Unfortunately, the ANPP and other opposition parties did not convince the majority on the Court of Appeal that election laws were violated by the ruling party, or that basic electoral standards were compromised by INEC. Still, the Court found enough irregularities in the results from Ogun, the president’s state of origin, to declare the results invalid, and to rule that the President lost his state. It is equally significant that one of the judges, Justice S A Nsofor, entered a dissenting opinion. As far he was concerned, the 2003 presidential election should be annulled in its entirety since its conduct fell far below the standard stipulated in the electoral act. The 2003 elections were undoubtedly characterized by widespread abuses—intimidation of candidates and of voters, voter impersonation, multiple voting, and thump-printing, hijacking and stuffing of ballot boxes, and alteration of election results. All the misdeeds were perpetrated with the knowledge (and possibly, tacit support) of electoral officials, and law enforcement agencies (Tell, 2004). The result of the presidential election released by INEC but rejected by the opposition, showed that the PDP had, again, won by a landslide, with its presidential candidate, Olusegun Obasanjo, obtaining 61.9 percent of the votes, as against ANPP’s Muhammad Buhari’s 32.2 percent, and All Progressive People’s Party’s flag bearer, Odumegwu Ojukwu’s 3.3 percent. With the experience of organizing the 1999 and 2003 elections, the leading actors (especially, INEC, the ruling party, and the police) should have conducted themselves differently before and during the next, that is, the 2007, general elections. By this time, the presidential race had become really crowded with no less than 18 candidates vying for the top job. Some of the new political parties contesting the elections had broken away from parent bodies. The April 2007 elections were preceded by controversies stemming mostly from unguarded statements, and avoidable slips. During a trip to Ondo State in February, the then president, Olusegun Obasanjo, stated at


a meeting with party supporters that the gubernatorial candidate of the Labor Party, Dr. Segun Mimiko, had made a mistake by going against his advice and defecting to the opposition. Now that Mimiko was no longer with the ruling party, he could count on being pursued by the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission. If that casual remark undermined the credibility of the anticorruption body, another public statement that the president made during a visit to Abeokuta on February 10, 2007 sent ripples throughout the length and breadth of the country. Rather than tactically describe the 2007 election as a major landmark in Nigeria’s history (as befitting his position as head of state), the president termed it a “do or die affair” for the PDP. His party supporters took this as a call to arms; his opponents regarded it as an open declaration of intention to rig the forthcoming elections. The credibility of the 2007 elections really became an issue when INEC rejected the nomination of the vice president Atiku Abubakar, a strident critic of Obasanjo’s third-term plan, as the presidential candidate of the Action Congress. The commission defended its action by citing a constitutional provision barring those found guilty of corruption and embezzlement from standing at presidential elections. Box 10.1 traces the antecedents to the corruption/embezzlement verdict on which INEC rested its case, and notes that the government was determined to stop the former vice president, even if this meant falling back on a creative interpretation of the constitution. Box 10.1 Atiku Abubakar: The presidential candidate who refused to go away The autonomy of the Independent National Electoral Commission came under scrutiny when the Action Congress nominated former vice president, Atiku Abubakar, as its presidential candidate for the 2007 elections. The relationship between him and the president had deteriorated following the latter’s alleged intention to circumvent the constitutional provisions on term limits. The open and public spats between the two became frequent in the run-up to the election, with the president accusing his vice president of disloyalty, and the latter insisting that he was only defending the constitution of Nigeria while at the same time resisting autocratic tendencies within his party, the PDP. The president’s “third-term” bid was thus the tipping point. It threatened the vice president’s attempt to run in 2007. So he fought it with all he had got. The Senate eventually voted against

o

the constitutional amendment. It was, however, too early for Atiku Abubakar to celebrate. The president, feeling betrayed, looked for ways to pay his vice president back. From then on, the vice president wrestled with a series of legal challenges all of which he managed to conquer—with the judiciary ruling in his favor on each occasion. The Senate was all set to impeach him, based on allegations that he had mishandled the Petroleum Trust Fund. His eloquent defense and his counter allegations against the President derailed the impeachment plan. When the PDP denied him the opportunity to contest as its presidential candidate, the vice president along with other disaffected members of the party, broke away to form the Action Congress, AC. The president reacted by declaring Atiku’s office vacant, arguing that since the vice president was no longer a member of the PDP on whose ticket he was elected, he had no legal claim to the office. The Court of Appeal disagreed with the president. Since the president and vice president were elected on a joint ticket for the offices of President and of Vice President of Nigeria (rather than of PDP), the vice president should remain in the post until the end of the Administration. So ruled the Court. The president heard, but he did not obey the court ruling. He stripped the vice president of all the honors and privileges of the office. Coming up with an air-tight case against the vice president and devising an ingenious and unassailable plan to have him recalled, must be on the job description of some-one within the government or the ruling party, or both. Whoever that person was ultimately found what s/he was looking for in the Constitution—that is, a clause rendering anyone found guilty (by a duly constituted tribunal) of corruption or embezzlement ineligible for election to the Number One post. There was a caveat attached to this, however—the tribunal’s recommendation must be accepted by the government. Within a short time, the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) had compiled and submitted the names of 135 “corrupt” politicians to the presidency. The latter promptly constituted an administrative panel of inquiry (the Ignatius Ayua panel) to examine the allegations against those on the EFCC list. Altogether, 78 of those indicted by the EFCC appeared before the panel to defend themselves, while the others stayed away. Those who boycotted the panel felt strongly that it was a Kangaroo court whose verdict was a foregone conclusion. Undeterred by the refusal

o


of some politicians to appear before it, the Ayua panel met for two days and came up with a pruned down list of those to be barred from contesting the 2007 elections. At the end of its two-day inquiry, the panel cleared 49 of the 78 persons earlier indicted—meaning that the 49 had been wrongly accused or deliberately placed on the hit list by the EFCC as collateral damage and sacrificial lambs! The names of those not cleared (including those who refused to appear before the panel) were forwarded to the president. Immediately the Ayua panel submitted its report, the president constituted a cabinet committee (made up of presidential appointees) to draft the government’s White Paper on the fate of the “indicted” politicians. A meeting of the Federal Executive Council was then convened to ratify the new hit list. It was this list that INEC acted upon but which the Court of Appeal threw out to allow Atiku Abubakar, Orji Uzor Kalu, and others similarly placed to contest the 2007 presidential election.

While blocking credible opposition, INEC tried to deflect attacks from aggrieved political parties by admitting a few token candidates. Otherwise, its decision to register some of the new political parties defies logic. The parties’ names alone give them away as frivolous entries into the race, rather than as serious competitors. Among the “also ran’s” are the “Fresh Democratic Party” (that fielded the singer-turned evangelist, Chris Okotie, as its candidate), “Hope Democratic Party,” “Citizens Popular Party,” “African Liberation Party,” “African Political Systems,” “Nigerian Masses Movement,” and one that sounds like a military junta, “National Action Council.” None of these obtained up to 0.25 percent of the total votes cast. The poor showing by the “also-ran’s” was widely expected, but not the results of the 2007 elections as a whole. If the Commission was to be believed, the PDP had again swept the polls, capturing 70 percent of the presidential vote, and 28 of the 36 gubernatorial seats. Instead of a landslide, PDP had ended with an earthquake. Naturally, the other two leading candidates, Muhammadu Buhari and Atiku Abubakar, rejected the results, and appealed to the Presidential Election Tribunal to intervene. When the Tribunal upheld Yar’Adua’s election, both Buhari and Abubakar appealed to the Supreme Court to quash the verdict and nullify the election. In a split decision rendered on December 12, 2008, four Supreme Court justices affirmed the Presidential Election Tribunal’s judgment, while three


of their colleagues felt that the 2007 presidential election fell far below the standards prescribed in the Electoral Act and ought to be invalidated. In a nutshell, the 2007 presidential election, like those before it, failed to produce results that enjoyed a ringing universal endorsement. Meanwhile, the judiciary had declared the election of no less than nine PDP governors invalid—among them, Andy Uba of Anambra,3 Usman Saidu Nasamu of Kebbi, Ibrahim Idris of Kogi, Celestine Omehia of Rivers, Liyel Imoke of Cross River, Segun Agagu of Ondo, Oserheimen Osunbor of Edo, Segun Oni of Ekiti, and Murtala Nyako of Adamawa States. The only prominent casualty suffered by the opposition was Theodore Orji whose election as the Abia State governor was overturned by the Election Tribunal. The nullification of Omehia’s election came as a shock to many Nigerians and was at first dismissed as an unwarranted display of judicial activism. However, by asking Omehia (who actually contested and won) to hand over his governorship to Rotimi Amaechi (who did not), the Supreme Court was sending a signal that it would no longer tolerate a situation whereby human caprice overpowered institutions and legality. The case began when Amaechi won his party’s gubernatorial primary with a landslide majority—6,527 votes to the 48 secured by other 7 candidates. In February, following rumors (which were politically inspired) that Amaechi would be disqualified on corruption charges, the PDP, without checking the authenticity of the allegations, and in defiance of Sections 32 (1) and (2) and 34 (2) of the 2006 Electoral Act, prevailed upon INEC to drop him, and in Amaechi’s place, to register Celestine Omehia as the party’s gubernatorial candidate. Amaechi reminded the PDP that Omehia had not contested, let alone win, the primary. The party was unmoved. Amaechi promptly filed a case at the High Court challenging the decision to substitute his name with that of Omehia (who did not contest the party primary as required by the electoral law). Neither INEC nor the PDP waited for the court to pronounce a judgment. Both cleared Celestine Omehia to contest the April 2007 election which he, Omehia, won. However, whatever victory celebration he organized must have been premature. His opponent (from the same PDP), Rotimi Amaechi, persisted with his court challenge. The Supreme Court eventually ruled in Amaechi’s favor. Explaining the decision of the apex court, Justice George A. Oguntade underscored the need for the observance of the rule of law, and for all actors to preserve the integrity of institutions. To quote the learned judge: The political parties in Nigeria are the creation of the constitution. They therefore have an important stake in flying high and loftily the banner of

210 / the route to power in nigeria the rule of law. In this case, the PDP did not live up to that standard. It did everything possible to subvert the rule of law, frustrate Amaechi and hold the court before the general public as supine and irrelevant. Sadly, INEC and Omehia also did the same.4

It is also important to add that the results of the 2007 elections as a whole were greeted with street protests, rioting, looting, and razing of private property, vandalization of public amenities, and sundry threats to civil order. Above all, local and international observers dismissed the election results, citing instances of intimidation, fraud, administrative incompetence, and sundry voting irregularities. Indeed, the opposition felt it won in more states than INEC conceded, and it was disappointed that despite the overwhelming evidence of irregularities presented by its agents, the Election Tribunals did not nullify the results of gubernatorial elections in a number of states, particularly, Oyo and Osun5 States. Who Becomes What: Money, Godfathers, and Violence as Redoubtable Kingmakers Notwithstanding the elaborate legal and institutional arrangements for the conduct of elections, the major determinants of success in political leadership contests are money, godfathers, and violence. A report by the Human Rights Watch shows how election outcomes were swayed by a combination of godfathers, money and violence: Many of Nigeria’s ostensibly elected leaders obtained their positions by demonstrating an ability to use corruption and political violence to prevail in sham elections.6

Clearly, money was (and still is) the root of Nigeria’s leadership selection evil. It is what assures the support needed to be declared victorious at elections which might or might not have taken place, or nominated for offices that are filled at the discretion of incumbent rulers. Since votes could not be manipulated without the support of the voters themselves, candidates often hedged their bets by enticing voters with sacks of rice and money. This is a carryover from the First Republic when first, the Action Group, and later, its opponents, handed out food items, bicycles, motor vehicles, and money to win voters to their sides. This mercenary tendency has survived changes in government and has defined the way political aspirants conduct business. Undoubtedly, a few aspirants to public leadership positions in Nigeria are motivated by the will to serve rather the prospects for wealth acquisition. However, the leaders have generally found the temptation to use


public office for private gain difficult to resist. Before he was relieved of the post, the chairman of the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC), Mallam Nuhu Ribadu, told the National Assembly early in 2007 that his Commission’s investigations had revealed that out that of 36 state chief executives, no less than 31 were implicated in cases of corruption, embezzlement, and money laundering. He, however, did not name the affected governors.7 As at the end of December 2007, the names of a few ex-state governors in the EFCC’s net had become public knowledge. Among those prosecuted in different courts in Nigeria are Alhaji Saminu Turaki of Jigawa State; Reverend Jolly Nyame of Taraba State; Dr. Chimaraoke Nnamani, Enugu State; Mr. James Ibori, Delta State; Chief Joshua Dariye, Plateau State; Mr. Lucky Igbinedion of Edo State; and Mr. Ayo Fayose of Ekiti State.8 If convicted, they would be following the footsteps of the former Bayelsa State Governor, Chief Diprieye Alamieyeseigha, whose arrest in London and subsequent imprisonment was widely publicized by foreign and local communication media. Violence and Power Struggle Much of the monies illegally acquired have found their way into theatres of localized wars. Violence is particularly rife in the Niger Delta (comprising Rivers, Bayelsa, and Delta States). The Commander of the Joint Task Force operating in the region, Major-General Lawrence Ngubane, identified no less than 19 camps under the control of armed gangs in the region.9 While the militants were not well trained, they tended to be extraordinarily brave, particularly, when they were under the influence of hard drugs, and made to believe that their traditional charms insured them against arms fire. The Task Force further noted with shock that the militants in Camp 5 had in their arsenal sophisticated weapons and equipment, among them, AK-47, GPMG, BMG, RPG7, speedboats, gunboats and anti-aircraft rifles. An ominous development is the high-level patronage that the gangs operating in the Niger Delta enjoyed. For instance, top federal government officials, state governors, and prominent traditional rulers were counted among those backing, or condoning the activities of, the gangs’ umbrella organization, MEND (i.e., the Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta). In other parts of the country, contestants for power sought to tilt the balance in their favor by relying not on the ballot box, but on armed gangs.10 Prominent political figures openly recruited and armed criminal gangs as shock troops. The gangs, armed with sophisticated weapons,


unleashed terror on their sponsors’ opponents and on ordinary members of the public. Rival leaders retained the services of violent cults during the 2003 and 2007 national, state and local government elections. The armed gangs soon became a law unto themselves. They were implicated in political assassinations and in acts of violence across the country. (Human Rights Watch, 2007:2). Ekiti State provides a good case study in selective application of terror. While an observer cannot rule out political intrigue in explaining the turn of events in the State, facts so far released for public consumption appear to implicate the former governor of the state, Mr. Ayo Fayose. A petition filed by Chief Afe Babalola was the tip of the iceberg. The prominent legal practitioner alleged in his petition that the former governor had threatened his life. Based on this allegation, the State Security Service carried out extensive investigations within the state and without. In its report dated September 18, 2005, the SSS traced acts of terrorism in Ekiti State to three individuals, all acting “at the behest of the governor.” The three “arrowheads in the past killings and disruptive tendencies” were identified as Goke Olatunji, personal assistant to the governor; Chief Dayo Okondo, retired Army Captain, Chairman of the Ekiti State Local Government Service Commission, and member of the PDP Board of Trustees; and Mr. Tope Aluko, lecturer, Department of Management Sciences, University of Ado Ekiti (http//:www.saharareporters.com/www/elibrary/index.php?page=2). The last (Tope Aluko) had since fallen out with the governor, and had agreed to testify for the prosecution if his safety could be guaranteed. Besides confirming the threats to Chief Afe Babalola’s life, the SSS investigations uncovered cases of abuse of power, impunity, and of institutional manipulation. According to the SSS, the governor’s opponents ran many risks, among them, assassination, detention without trial, torture, denial of government patronage, and harassment by law enforcement agents directly answerable to the state chief executive. Death squads operated freely, protected by the governor’s close aides. The Security Report submitted by the investigation team indicated that the governor specially handpicked an Assistant Superintendent of Police in the Mobile Unit, Timothy Gbenga Joseph, as his Chief Security Officer, not because the new CSO possessed any extraordinary qualifications, but because he could be counted upon to do the Governor’s bidding. The Report in fact noted that Joseph was not well grounded in the duties of a CSO and carried a rank too low to hold such a sensitive appointment of coordinating the entire security network in the state . . .


However, what he lacked in competence he made up for in sycophancy. All he needed to move against the governor’s opponent was the slightest hint that the opponent had made his boss angry. He was also in the habit of boasting that the former CSO to the late Sani Abacha, Hamza Mustapha, was his mentor. The Report painted a frightening picture of the governor himself. The state executive, Ayo Fayose, comes out as a strong-willed individual who “does what he wants to do, notwithstanding contrary and superior ideas. He has zero tolerance for opposition. . . . ”11 The governor claimed to have invested close to N1.3 billion of state funds on the Ekiti poultry project, but the SSS Report included an attachment showing that “what is on ground is not commensurate with the amount spent so far.” In fairness to Fayose, an investigation carried out by the police on a separate case ended with the conclusion that the governor had nothing to do with the murder of a political opponent, one Omojola. The governor was absolved of the murder charge after two witnesses (Musilimu Fadahunsi and Oluyemi Oke) recanted an earlier statement implicating the governor.12 Queuing behind Strong-men and Godfathers If the SSS findings are finally substantiated, the Ekiti case would have been unique. Rather than “contract out” the application of terror, the chief executive and his close associates were alleged to have undertaken the task themselves, only occasionally relying on shock troops made up of members of a vigilante group-cum-ethnic militia, the Oodua People’s Congress, as well as violent cults operating on university campuses. In other states, aspirants to, as well as incumbents of, public leadership positions sought power by obtaining the backing of a class of leaders variously termed “strong men,” “godfathers,” or “party elders.”13 No matter how they are described, the godfathers are those that had consistently demonstrated the capacity to reach the grassroots and communicate with ordinary people in the language the latter understands. To be effective, the godfathers must be able to grasp the meanings which the people attached to specific gestures, words, and symbols. Communication sometimes entailed effective deployment and application of force, as well as partaking in rituals that the modern mindset finds primitive, if not abhorrent. Not many aspirants to political leadership positions were able meet this elementary requirement for sustaining leader-follower relations—that is, leave the modern, sophisticated world behind and cross over to, and be one with, an arcane world.


This is where the strength of the “strong men” and godfathers lies. A godfather deserving of the appellation is one that is able to bridge the divide between the modern and the traditional, and does not flinch from applying methods fair and foul to achieve his objectives. The more squeamish and socially isolated an aspirant to power is, the greater will be his/ her need for, and reliance on, a godfather. Clearly therefore, until the significance of the “godfather factor” is fully grasped, and the problem solved permanently, Nigeria’s leadership recruitment challenges would continue to be intractable. This a major lesson taught by the experiences reported below. Anambra: Enforcing a Pre-gubernatorial Agreement Before contesting the governorship of Anambra, Chris Ngige had sought the backing of a local godfather, Chris Uba. The former then signed a contract with the latter pledging to “exercise and manifest absolute loyalty to the person of Chief Chris Uba as my mentor, benefactor and sponsor,” and giving Uba wide latitude on key appointments and award of government contracts (http://www.nytimes.com/2007/10/10/world/africa/10nigeria. html). Soon after Chris Ngige, the aspirant, became His Excellency, the Anambra State governor, he fell out with his mentor. Uba, the godfather, then invoked a clause in the pre-gubernatorial agreement allowing him to “avenge himself in the way and manner adjudged by him as fitting and adequate.” In July 2003, Ngige, allegedly with a gun to his head, signed a letter relinquishing the office of Governor. While the drama was on (and Ngige having been kidnapped and kept away from his official duties), another opponent, Peter Obi, filed a case at the Federal Court of Appeal arguing that Ngige had been fraudulently elected, and praying the Court to declare him the rightful occupant of the Governor’s office. Not only did the Appeal Court find for the plaintiff but it also ordered that he be immediately sworn in as governor. This was in March 2006. Peter Obi’s tenure as governor was short-lived. A faction of the House of Assembly quickly met, impeached Obi, and gave his job to the deputy governor, Virginia Etiaba. Acting on the assumption that Obi’s term was coming to an end in May 2007, the Independent National Electoral Commission organized a new election for the office of Anambra State Governor, as it did for other states. It did this while Obi’s case was still in court. After a new governor, Andy Uba, was sworn in, the Federal Appeal Court ruled that INEC had wasted time and resources organizing an election to an office which was not vacant—that of Anambra State governor. The Court then ordered Uba to stop parading himself as Governor and to hand over the office to Obi, the rightful occupant.


Kwara: Matching Military Force with Civilian Guile If Olusola Saraki, the Kwara State “strongman,” had a contract with his protégé, the late Muhammad Lawal, it was most unlikely to have been committed into writing. However, the tradition that had developed in Kwara State over the years was that whoever owed his election as governor to Saraki had better not grow wings. Governors Adamu Attah and Shaba Lafiagi tried on different occasions to ditch their benefactor and rule with a free hand. Both failed. Attah’s effort to run for a second term in 1983 came to nothing. His successor, Shaba Lafiagi, made an attempt to break free, but quickly realized that it was prudent to be on Saraki’s good side. Lawal, with his military antecedents14 must have thought that he was not one to be pushed around by a mere civilian. He clearly underrated Saraki’s strength and determination. After making Kwara State nearly ungovernable for Lawal, Saraki took the next logical step—getting the recalcitrant governor out at the end of his first term in 2003, and installing his own son, Bukola Saraki, as governor. Not content with locking the state’s number one post under the family belt, he got his daughter, Gbemisola Saraki, elected into the Senate. Oyo State: The Kingmaker’s Simple Demands The case of Oyo State is at once tragic and comical. After the death of Adegoke Adelabu, and of Busari Adelakun (alias Eru o b’odo),15 the mantle of Ibadan strong-man fell on Lamidi Ariyibi Adedibu.16 The question Rasheed Ladoja could not answer when he sought Adedibu’s blessing and support for his gubernatorial ambition in 2003 was what he was thinking at the time. He, Ladoja, could not claim to be ignorant of Adedibu’s antecedents in Ibadan, in particular, and Oyo State, in general. Adedibu had installed and deserted, before finally bringing down, many a state governor in the past. Among the governors that must have regretted underrating Adedibu were Bola Ige (1983), Kolapo Ishola (1999), and Lam Adesina (2003). His (Adedibu’s) policy is summed in a Yoruba proverb which he frequently quoted to justify shortening the tenure of State executives: “Die to ninu nkan oni nkan” (translation: “Taking what belongs to others requires that you take it in moderation or in small quantities”). When asked why a state governor who performed well should not run for a second term, the octogenarian retorted in his own unique way: We should settle down to have it four-four years. One term each. According to Yoruba proverb, “di e to ninu nkan oni nkan.” The position belongs to everybody. So we have to settle down to that. That once you’re there for

216 / the route to power in nigeria four years, you go to your house, and allow another person to come there. Why should it be eight years? It’s too much.17

Before the two became sworn enemies, Ladoja had enjoyed the benefits of his godfather’s support, besides realizing how formidable a foe the latter could be. Adedibu recalled that in 2003 when Ladoja’s posters were being pasted on billboards in Ibadan, the state capital, he, Adedibu, had warned their opponents (then governor Lam Adesina and the Alliance for Democracy) against tampering with the campaign material. To his surprise, Ladoja phoned him six days after the billboards had been erected to complain that they (the billboards) had been pulled down. This is how Adedibu recalled his reaction: I sent all my boys out throughout Oyo State (with instructions) that they should remove everything belonging to Lam Adesina. If they see Oyo State vehicle, they should seize it. They should seize it! They should not allow them (government vehicles) to move freely.18

As soon as Ladoja became governor, he began to assert his independence. Adedibu would, however, not tolerate this act of insubordination. The governor accused him of interfering in the administration of the state, and of insisting that a proportion of the state budget be allocated to him, Adedibu, and dictating who should be appointed to cabinet positions. Rather than refute the allegation that he was fond of dictating who should be appointed into Ladoja’s cabinet, Adedibu gladly confirmed it. He proudly recalled that when Ladoja was about to appoint 15 commissioners to his Cabinet, a list of 12 names was compiled by Adedibu and handed over in his, Adedibu’s house, to Ladoja. This left the governor with 3 (three) vacancies which he was at liberty to fill with his own candidates. Adedibu did not see this as “dictating” to the governor, but giving him “political advice.” After all, the 12 names that he handed over to Ladoja were not picked by him, Adedibu, but compiled after due consultations with the grassroots, and with party supporters in different parts of the state.19 Adedibu maintained that before Ladoja became governor, the latter was aware of, and had accepted, the tradition that Oyo State chief executives never went for a second term. When asked if having performed to the satisfaction of the people, Ladoja should not be allowed to go for a second term, Adedibu turned the question back to his interviewer. He wanted to know from the interviewer precisely what Ladoja had accomplished to deserve another chance. Unlike other governors before him, Adedibu noted, Ladoja had failed to develop Oyo State. By “development,” Adedibu


did not mean constructing roads or bridges, providing good quality education and health services or creating jobs. He meant allowing Oyo State to have a House of Chiefs like other states! Unfortunately, Adedibu added, the only House of Chiefs that the first Premier of Western Region, Chief Awolowo, created was abolished by Ladoja. Adedibu could not understand how, after committing this unpardonable error of abolishing the State House of Chiefs, Ladoja could claim to have “developed” the state sufficiently to be allowed to run for a second term. He also noted in passing that Ladoja was “an ingrate.” After using him, Adedibu, as a stepping stone to power, Ladoja cornered all the benefits—particularly, those of the pecuniary type. Like his counterparts in other states, Adedibu had the backing of the federal government. In the run up to the 2007 general elections, he was reported to have in his possession Direct Data Capture machines meant for the use of INEC. Despite threats by the Nigeria Labor Congress to call its members out on strike if Adedibu was not held to account, he escaped unpunished. It is important to add that he, Adedibu, also enjoyed the support of a faction of the Oyo State Branch of the powerful Nigerian Union of Road Transport Workers (NURTW). At his behest, the Union members frequently joined other gangs in intimidating voters at polling stations, or rattling Adedibu’s numerous opponents. Conclusion The legal and institutional mechanisms established over the years have clearly not been as effective in ensuring orderly selection and replacement of leaders as the combination of three factors, that is, money, violence, and godfatherism. The triad exerts undue influence on the operations of all the parties—be they in government or in the opposition. Like the incumbents, opposition parties, within the limit of their resources, bribed and intimidated voters, counterfeited registration and voting cards, stuffed ballot boxes, and took advantage of loopholes in electoral planning and logistics. The question is what lessons current and aspiring leaders might learn from Nigeria’s troubled past. This is the focus of the next chapter.


Pa rt I V Le ssons for Cu r r en t a n d Aspi r i ng Le ade r s


Ch a p t e r El e v e n Visiona ry Le ade r sh i p a n d M a nag e m e n t of Unc e rta i n t y: A Su m m at ion

Introduction The preceding chapters’ longitudinal analysis of Nigeria’s governorship history reveals a close link between personalities and institutions. The analysis clearly indicates that, for more than 45 years, the former (the personality factor) consistently overwhelmed the latter, to the detriment of Nigeria’s democratic consolidation and development. The independence constitution was negotiated by the elite—that is, by the rival political leaders—who met at conferences to position themselves for the departure of the British colonial administrators. The subsequent “reviews” undertaken (from 1963 through 1979 to the present) did not seriously address the main institutional questions, particularly, the issue of citizen participation in the state formation and building processes. Citizens that felt themselves disempowered by the turn of political events were left with at least three options. First, they might regard their disempowerment as given and come to terms with their status as members of the “silent majority.” As an alternative, they might turn their acquiescence with the existing governorship order into an opportunity, applying every strategy to compel the ruling class to kickback crumbs from the sovereign table. Third, the disenfranchised citizens, particularly, the unemployed but impressionable youth, might constitute the hard core of society’s lunatic fringe—the group that has given up on the hope of casting votes at free and fair elections, and has instead chosen to cast stones.1 The questions raised in this chapter have to be answered by Nigerians, not by “development partners” or the “international community.” Among the important leadership capacity building questions are how Nigeria came to be and for what purpose, who stands to gain or lose under different institutional arrangements, how to reduce the moral hazards associated with the operation of the arrangements, especially those founded


on shared values, and, above all, the measures that should be instituted to bring order and rationality to the recruitment and retrenchment of candidates for vacancies in public institutions. The Raison d’être of Nationhood: Aligning Private Goals with Public Purpose Ever since Nigeria attained its independence on October 1, 1960, it has been governed by different generations of leaders, each with its own vision of the emerging nation’s future. The disagreement among the first set of leaders over a timetable for transition from colonial tutelage to independent nationhood became magnified on the departure of the British. Among the contentious issues facing the leaders were the place of traditional values and cultures in a modern, secular order; the powers of the regions vis-à-vis those of the federal government; and, most important, which ethno-regional influence or coalition of influences would prevail in the competition for the heart and soul of the new state. The last issue was especially critical in view of the growing powers of the federal government. There were no easy answers to the questions posed by the environment of the First Republic. As noted in previous chapters, the civilians were still struggling with the fundamental governorship issues when the military seized power in January 1966. The military’s answer to the questions—particularly, of who governs, and how to forge national consensus in the face of conflicting primordial loyalties—was to foist its unique leadership style on the body politic. As a disciplined organization founded on the principles of unity and chain of command, hierarchy, and order, the military ruled Nigeria for approximately three decades, without the consent of the people, but based on an a priori assumption of blind obedience. Details of how the First Republic leaders, and later the military, approached the governorship challenge are set out in the preceding chapters. The chapters also indicated that by and large, neither the civilians nor the military succeeded in connecting the citizen to the state. This raises the question where the fault for the distance lay. According to the respondents to a questionnaire administered in Nigeria in 2007, both the leaders and their followers share the responsibility for whatever distance there was between the former and the latter, as well as between the state and the people. As reported in chapter four, 72.16 percent of the respondents were of the view that if citizen access to public officials and to public services were restricted, the fault lay with “the generality of the people who have shown little or no interest in claiming their rights and fulfilling their obligations as citizens of an organized community.” Roughly the same percentage (72.92 percent) held the elite responsible, particularly because of its failure

a summation / 223

to provide self-less and exemplary leadership. The elite-dominated political parties were, however, the category most frequently cited (74.23 percent) for increasing the distance between the state and the people, and for failing to educate their followers on the tenets of good governance. The last finding (on the role of political parties) is significant for leadership capacity building. It raises the question how political parties might be relied upon to serve as a bridge between the leaders and their followers, or as a channel for transmitting messages from the former to the latter and conversely. How political parties perform against three yardsticks will indicate how seriously they take this intermediation responsibility. The three indicators are field presence, field organization, and field operation. Field Presence and Organization as a Link to the Grassroots The law provides but only a hint of what political parties were expected to do to connect with the people at the grassroots and develop a pan-Nigerian—rather than a sectional or ethnic—outlook. Of the three indicators mentioned earlier only the first (field presence) appears to have found its way into the guidelines prepared by INEC for the registration of political parties. This leaves unaccounted for the essential components of field organization and operation. As provided for under the constitution, the electoral act, and the INEC guidelines, a political party would not be registered and allowed to canvass for votes unless it meets the following conditions, among others: a. Submission of 20 copies of party constitution and manifesto to INEC (together with evidence that neither is in conflict with the provisions of the 1999 Constitution, the Electoral Act, and INEC guidelines); b. Openness of membership to every Nigerian citizen, irrespective of place of origin, circumstances of birth, ethnic group, sex or religion; c. Tendering of evidence that: i. the party’s name, symbol, emblem and motto are not identifiable with any other party’s, with an ethnic group or a religious body or cult, with an individual personality, dead or alive, with the coat of arms of Nigeria or of any other country, or with the insignia of the Nigerian armed forces; ii. the composition of the party’s policy and administrative organs reflects Nigeria’s diversity and federal character; iii. the party has offices in at least 24 of Nigeria’s 36 states and in the Federal Capital Territory;


d. Commitment to the democratic principle and to the social objectives spelt out in Chapter 2 of the Constitution; e. Winning of no less than 10 percent of seats at local government elections (before proceeding to participate in all subsequent elections). INEC will accordingly neither register, nor allow to operate, the likes of right-wing political parties which in Western Europe seek power by appealing to racial, anti-immigrant, and anti-Muslim sentiments. For this reason, at least, the Nigerian constitution teaches an important lesson in secularism within a multireligious context. However, it is doubtful if all the parties currently registered by INEC met other equally rigorous eligibility criteria. In terms of field presence, only the big political parties (the PDP, and the ANPP, and the AC) had the resources as well as the motivation to establish offices in two-thirds of the states, as well as in the Federal Capital Territory. The less financially endowed political parties simply passed off as “offices” apartments—probably annexes to private dwellings—borrowed from affluent members. The offices were liable to be repossessed as soon as the landlord-cum-party chieftain felt belittled, sidelined, or irritated by the party or any of its members. The political parties undoubtedly have structures that are meant to link the grassroots with party headquarters in Abuja. The typical party constitution provides for the organization of congresses at ward, local government, state, and zonal levels, preparatory to the organization of the national convention. However, it is not clear how far congress deliberations at various levels reflect the aspirations of the rank and file, or if the decisions of the national convention emanate from the bottom of the party hierarchy. In fact, up to February 11, 2008, the Independent National Electoral Commission had threatened to nullify an upcoming PDP national convention if the party, in defiance of existing rules, failed to conduct proper primaries at all subsidiary levels before the grand event in Abuja.2 The signs pointed toward a showdown between the Commission and the ruling party, since the latter had not given any indication of its readiness to comply with the former’s stipulation. The PDP was not the only party with tenuous field presence. To begin with, the 24-plus offices that each party was required to open, as a condition for INEC registration, looked different from what they were supposed to be. In contrast to the impressive office complexes at the Abuja headquarters of the major political parties, the field offices were mostly lacking in the external features or appearance of an office—especially, a full complement of staff tracking local developments and transmitting information

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to headquarters, modern filing and archiving systems, word processors, fax and telephone lines, and visitors’ lounges. The offices were not equipped to carry out field research or undertake analytic studies the results of which could be fed into the policy process. A visitor would come away with nothing to indicate that the offices were organized for the purpose of reaching and communicating with members of the same political party, the opposition, and the politically nonaligned sections of the community. From Field Presence to Operations In any case, the key decisions concerning a party were likely to be taken not at the addresses registered with INEC but in the private dwellings of the chieftains and godfathers.3 This is hardly surprising. For better or worse, field operations come under the control of “garrison commanders” (to borrow a phrase invented by the former chairman of the People’s Democratic Party, Dr. Ahmadu Ali). Field operations should under no circumstances be confused with the regular political processes, for example, of civic and voter education, dissemination of information on party policies and programs, direct mailing, coordination of voter registration exercises, mobilization of voters, supervision of the conduct of field staff, and adoption of other legitimate strategies to canvass for popular support. As it has evolved over the years, field operation means applying any method fair or foul to win. It should be stressed that at least three classes of electors have evolved over the years with the political environment—all of which had wittingly or unwittingly aided the rigging process. The first is the “silent majority”— the group that takes its disempowerment as natural, and has remained largely apathetic in the face of its systematic disenfranchisement. The second group is entrepreneurially inclined. It is the group that knows that the system is somehow rigged and defective, but is prepared to acquiesce with the imperfections so long as the system meets their short-term demands— for instance, for food and financial handouts, for job placements, for lucrative but nonperforming contracts, and for other wherewithal of life. The third group has given up on the hope of reforming or working within the system, but is prepared in more ways than one to help sabotage or wreck it. It was in fact from this group, the lunatic fringe, that the garrison commanders often recruited the foot soldiers—those that actually carried out the orders to spook, rough up or eliminate opponents; stuff ballot boxes; or to engineer riots and civil disturbances when the timing was right. Having lost hope of voting at free and fair elections or nailing down decent jobs, the foot soldiers most often defied the risks to their life


and well-being, and instead relished wielding the power that their notoriety for unleashing terror and mayhem conferred. They took delight in casting stones in place of votes, more so, when they realized that, under the prevailing arrangements, the former commanded greater attention than the latter. The challenge facing visionary leaders is bringing the disaffected members of society back into the political mainstream. Replacing stones with voting cards is one way of regaining the trust and confidence of the citizen. However, it takes more than reenfranchisement to convert debilitating cynicism into electrifying civic pride. The success of the effort depends, at the minimum, on channeling the citizen’s energies away from negative to positive ends. The stone-throwing youth, for instance, needs to be inspired with a message of hope—a message that brings out the best in each individual and redirects his/her talent toward the good of society. Instead of living on the edge as gang members or “area boys,” they should be recruited into the service of the local community. As a first step they should be persuaded to leave the stones behind and clean up the debris—material or moral—in their neighborhoods. The BuhariIdiagbon regime once tried something along this line, albeit on an elaborate scale and without prior consultation with the people. If the regime did not stay in power long enough to finish the job, it is not because its policy of instilling national discipline was wrong-headed. It is because the policy was not communicated in a way intelligible to the audience—that is, as part of a message appealing to every Nigerian at the emotional level and convincing him/her as to the need to begin to look at the world in a new light. Still, there is no reason why, with the lessons learnt, the Buhari-Idiagbon experiment could not be restarted, this time, in a gradual manner, and with an accent on youth empowerment and community participation.4 It is particularly essential that whatever program a government settles for is preceded with rigorous feasibility studies, and incorporated in a broad vision of hope. It goes without saying that the vision should be widely shared so that if it imposes additional civic obligations, the average citizen would not flinch to discharge them. The upshot of the preceding analysis is that, at least, from the point of view of visionary, environmentally engaging leadership, mere field presence is not enough to connect political parties with their supporters and the people at large. Neither is field organization. Additional steps need to be taken to ensure constant interaction and flow of information between the leadership and the grassroots. The content of the messages emanating from the leadership of the parties is particularly important. If the focus is on winning at elections, the two-way communication would be about the methods to apply to beat the competition. However, in a diverse nation

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such as Nigeria, a political party that hopes to win fair and square would need to harmonize the conflicting dreams of the various communities into a common vision. In the process of balancing and reconciling contradictory needs, each party would be forging unity out of Nigeria’s heterogeneity. This takes extraordinary skills, among which is that of “associating together.” Since the prize that the political parties seek is the mandate to govern the Nigerian state, and against the backdrop of the distrust and suspicion between and among the groups constituting the state they, the political parties, would be doing themselves a lot of good if in canvassing for support, they pursue explicit strategies aimed at connecting their members to the whole rather than to the sum of its parts. Instead of targeting two-thirds of the Nigerian federation—the minimum required under the constitution—political parties that expect to win at free and fair elections, and at the same time, govern in peace, must appeal at the emotional level to the entire country. The signals that they explicitly and implicitly transmit to the grassroots should include the benefits and the costs—or the rights and the obligations—of the Nigerian citizenship. The messages should demonstrate in ways intelligible to the average citizen how the benefits of the Nigerian citizenship exceed the costs, or if the converse is the case, the measures that the parties and their candidates expect to take to rectify the imbalance. Identity Value of Citizenship: Matching Benefits with Costs of Conflicting Allegiances The “benefits” and “costs” of citizenship are the building blocks of a concept, the “identity value of citizenship.” By this is meant the costs and benefits of allegiance to a formal constitutional arrangement (like Nigeria’s), as against identification with the competing primordial and sectional groups.5 The concept is summed in the equation n

SI =

∑ k =0

P(x1, x2, x3 . . . xm) (Y1, 2, . . .n)

Where, SI = identity with the state (theoretically put at 1); P(x1 . . . xm) stand for the whole range of probable identities (ethnic, religious, cultural, class, etc.) that an individual in a particular society or community can assume at one and the same time, and the values that the individual places on each of the probable identities. Since all probable


identities equal 1, identity with any specific category must be less than 1, and may range from 0.1 to 0.9) Y1 . . . n are the costs that the individual incurs under the various identity categories. The benefits of identifying with a diversity category (Px1 . . . xm) may be psychic, for example, the pride and joy that come with being identified with a specific country, race, ethnic group, religious order, or socioeconomic class. The right to vote and be voted for in free and fair elections is a benefit whose value is unquantifiable. In contrast to it are the tangible and more or less quantifiable benefits, especially, the goods or services that accrue to the membership of a nation-state or of any of its constituent units. Among the material benefits are opportunities to engage in trade and earn a livelihood within a vast territory (instead of being confined to an enclave), the security that a modern state provides in competition or collaboration with ethnic militias, neighborhood watch, or community policing organs, and above all, the opportunities that an individual has to live a healthy and meaningful life under various identity regimes. The costs (Y1 . . . n) include the tax, tributes, or levies payable to retain one’s membership or citizenship status, the obligation to comply with statutory and/or customary law and to respect the rights of “non-indigenes” and “stranger elements,” the readiness to be conscripted into national military service (as against service in ethnic militias), the deprivations that come with economic under-development, the stigmas attaching to one’s membership of a state, an ethnic group, or an economic under-class, the threats to life and limb endured during and immediately after civil strife, or, as the case may be, the indignities suffered at the hand of bribe-extorting police constables or punctilious but equally corruptible customs inspectors. Either consciously or subconsciously, individual citizens evaluate their allegiance to the modern state (vis-à-vis other primary loyalties). Depending on the circumstances prevailing at any point in time—for example, when the economy is booming, jobs are easy to find, ethnic harmony prevails, and, above all, the Nigerian football team is winning—the probability of identifying with Nigeria will be from 0.6 to 1. However, should any of these conditions change for the worse, the probability of a citizen identifying with Nigeria would range from 0.1 to 0.5, in contrast to the higher probability of identifying with a primary group (a tribe, a religious denomination, or an economic underclass) that has the higher promise of satisfying one’s physical and psychic needs. It is not unusual for disaffected or criminally inclined citizens to seek to accumulate “benefits” at the expense of their law-abiding compatriots. Examples of such dubious gains are the loot from armed robbery operations, the public funds siphoned into overseas personal accounts, the

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damage done to national prestige by drug traffickers and 419 and advance fee fraudsters, the inconvenience caused by the vandalization of public property (including fuel supply lines), or the life cut short by paid assassins. Marginal citizens regard all these as “benefits” but they are actually costs that, depending on their magnitude, tend to lower the identity value of the citizenship. Thus, an otherwise law-abiding Nigerian with a high identity value of his citizenship (say, with a score of 0.8 out of 1), may find his identity with his country devalued (to say, 0.4 out of 1) and his civic pride punctured as foreign customs and immigration officials rifle through his green passport looking for clues of association with the underworld or for grounds to add to the statistics of Nigerian “big men” publicly humiliated in foreign lands! His feeling of self-worth as a Nigerian citizen would likely be further affected if he remembers the indignity he endured back home as his well-packed suitcase was turned upside down by customs inspectors looking for nothing in particular, except possibly, for “settlement.”6 It does not follow that the risk of being pestered for money at home and “profiled” abroad would discourage Nigerians from carrying their passports or identifying with their country. While the probability of being pulled aside and grilled at own as well as foreign airports might lessen a traveler’s fondness for the green passport,7 other benefits of the Nigerian citizenship might off-set the cost of profiling, and therefore bolster pride in a maliciously devalued citizenship. As earlier argued, determining the importance that a Nigerian will attach to his/her citizenship requires finding out how he/she evaluates the costs and benefits of all probable identities that s/he could assume at any one time. For besides being a Nigerian, a citizen might identify with an ethnic or language group, a religious sect, an economic class or interest, a political bloc, or, as is becoming increasingly evident in the country, a “geopolitical zone.” A citizen that perceives his/her ethnic group as better equipped than the Nigerian state to fulfill his/her basic needs (particularly, for security of life and limb, and against hunger, disease, and unemployment) would probably wave the ethnic flag more enthusiastically than he/she does the Nigerian colors. The tendency of course is to view any allegiance other than to the Nigerian sovereign state as a threat to be eliminated. This is why the 1999 Constitution, the electoral laws, and the INEC guidelines frown on institutional arrangements founded on ethnicity, religion, or any other sectional allegiance. However, it is one thing to seek to “banish” tribalism or religious impulses (nay, manifestations) it is another to succeed in surgically removing either from the heart, mind, and soul of the people. It is yet another to create the conditions necessary, and the arrangements likely, to convince the people that it is in their interest to forsake primary identities and embrace secondary ones.


Proceeding from the underlying assumption that the primordial instinct is natural, the concept of identity value of citizenship cautions against requiring citizens to abandon their roots (or religious beliefs) as a condition for retaining their membership of a formal arrangement, be it a political party, or a modern nation-state such as Nigeria. If this logic is accepted, the task before visionary leaders would be to create and sustain institutions that equitably apportion the benefits and the costs of citizenship among all the diverse groups. This is not as easy as it sounds. As noted in chapter four, leaders of ethnic advocacy groups would never be satisfied with a distribution formula unless it favors them rather than “outsiders.” The economically powerful would never countenance an arrangement which would result in the transfer of an increasing share of the national wealth to the poorest and weakest groups. The Institutions and the Executing Agencies As part of the efforts at promoting a sense of affiliation among a wide cross section of society, the institutions established in pursuance of national objectives should constantly be evaluated against the impact that they have on all the stakeholders. This is particularly the case with the legislative chambers and the laws emanating there-from, the executive and the resources it commits as well as the programs it implements, and the judiciary along with the cases it decides together with the constitutional and legal disputes that it arbitrates. The same applies to the executive agencies (e.g., those responsible for the delivery of policing and law enforcement services, border protection, management of state enterprises, water supply electricity generation and distribution, public health administration, the environment, local government and administration, and the implementation of the anticorruption program). While a few agencies operate as quasi-autonomous bodies, many fall under the career civil service, a body that plays the critical role of assembling data, analyzing options, proffering technical advice on policy and implementing government programs. It is basically a nonpartisan organization whose members are selected on the basis of their qualifications and technical competence. However, posts at the top echelon are increasingly being treated as “posts of confidence,” even if incumbents are not expected to be card carrying members of the ruling party. Besides, in filling the post of permanent secretary, the government could not overlook the constitutional stipulation that appointment to public offices must reflect Nigeria’s diversity and “federal character”. Therefore, candidates from a state that has exhausted its quota would have to wait to be considered as permanent secretaries—no matter how eminently qualified. Even the local government from which a candidate originates sometimes matters.

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As at the first quarter of 2007, a total of 55 permanent secretaries were heading various federal government ministries and departments. However, the number on whom complete data was available was 43. In terms of education, the permanent secretary cadre of the federal civil service was staffed with highly qualified women and men. The number of permanent secretaries holding PhD as the highest educational qualification was 11 (representing a quarter or 25.58 percent of the total). No less than 20 permanent secretaries (46.51 percent) had the Master’s degree or equivalent as the highest qualification, and 12 of their colleagues (27.90 percent) held only first-level degrees. In short, all the permanent secretaries (on whom data was available) had college education, with some possessing additional professional qualifications.8 In contrast to the early 1970s when ministries and departments were headed by relatively young men and women, the permanent secretaries in post in the early years of the twenty-first century were advanced in age. For instance, in 1972 the median age of the Federal “super-Permanent Secretaries was 40.5 years, as against the 40 years for mid-ranking officials (Balogun, 1987:114–16). Thirty-five years later, that is, as at February 2007, 6 (or 13.95 percent) of the permanent secretaries were aged 61 years and above. Another 29 (67.44 percent) fell within the 55–60 year age bracket, and 8 (18.60 percent) between the 49–54 year range. Probably underscoring the highly political nature of the post is the high turnover that occurred at the inception of the Fourth Republic in 1999. As at the first quarter of 2007, only 2 permanent secretaries (4.65 percent of the 43 with complete data) had been in the post before 1999, and for periods exceeding 10 years. The rest were appointed between 1999 and 2007, with 29 permanent secretaries (67.44 percent) coming on board between 1999 and 2004, and another 12 (27.90 percent) between 2005 and 2007.9 The Case for Institutional Performance Evaluation The importance of the civil service and other state institutions cannot be over-emphasized. The success of visionary leaders’ dynamic engagement efforts depends largely on the effectiveness of the institutions in fulfilling their individual and collective mandates, and in delivering what are now sometimes referred to as the “dividends of democracy.” Chapters five to seven have already highlighted the political, economic, and social challenges confronting Nigeria and its people, as well as the measures that the previous generations of leaders instituted to rectify the imbalances. In view of the fact that the sociopolitical and economic deficits continue to widen rather than shrink, it is important for current and aspiring leaders to begin to ask who is bearing the costs and who is walking away with the benefits.


Government policies and programs should accordingly be evaluated periodically to ascertain the impact, if any, that they have on the identity value of the Nigerian citizenship. Political parties, civic groups, local governments, cultural and professional associations, and workers’ unions certainly have a stake, and should be involved, in the exercise. However, to insulate the evaluation process from politics, and reduce the opportunity for ethnic posturing, the focus, in carrying out the periodic evaluation, should be on the perceptions of individual citizen-customers rather than on the claims and counter-claims by political parties, ethnic groups, and cultural associations. The acknowledgment of citizens as “customers” is particularly significant for the revitalization of public institutions as well as for the enhancement of the identity value of the citizenship. Where citizens are viewed simultaneously as customers, public agencies would be obliged to produce Customer Service Pledges against which their performance could be regularly assessed. Such Pledges should not be unilaterally promulgated, but must evolve from dialogues with the various classes of clients. The pledges should also be prominently displayed within service perimeters (for instance, near the customs inspection counters at airports, at bill collection centers, and even at police checkpoints on major highways). Unless the average public official is trained and conditioned to treat the citizen with courtesy and respect, the latter would constantly wonder whether the former is really the “servant” that the law makes him/her out to be. The respondents to the 2007 questionnaire believed that involving the public in matters relating to the career of service delivery agents would go a long way in restoring the balance in favor of the citizen-customer. Indeed, a surprisingly high percentage of the respondents (79.80) felt that the opinions of citizen-customers should be considered when government agencies were about to take crucial personnel decisions, for example, contract renewal, promotions, reassignment, and discipline. De-institutionalizing Corruption: Integrity in Public Life Even with the best intention, the distribution of the costs and the benefits of citizenship would for some time to come remain lopsided and inequitable. While some citizens bear the costs, others are likely to reap the benefits. The skewed relationship between costs and benefits may be attributed to luck—as when some are in the right place at the right time. However, a more cogent explanation than fortuity is the failure to adopt proactive measures to ensure a proper fit between form and substance, and between plans and results.

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Reform Priorities: State Institutions and Agencies The institutions that would support the visionary leaders’ efforts at enhancing the value of the Nigerian citizenship would at the minimum be grounded in widely shared values, underpinned by logical processes and sensible rules, checked and balanced by the choices made by diverse stakeholders, and insured against violations by any single individual or group. Creating, strengthening, and operating such institutions require, at the minimum, dynamic engagement with all interested parties (including civic actors, political groups, and state organs). It also entails subjecting the institutions to critical scrutiny to ensure that their performance is not dictated by individual personalities and that their survival is not tied to, or threatened by, the life of a regime. The signs on the horizon are positive. Institutions capable of standing up to and outliving personalities have started to operate since the inauguration of the Fourth Republic on May 29, 1999. In other words, institutions that had earlier been taken for granted are beginning to assert their autonomy and to take their constitutional responsibilities seriously. The legislature, for one, is neither the rubberstamp that it largely was under the parliamentary system of the First Republic, nor the rabidly hostile institution that stymied the executive presidential vision of the Second Republic. While it is too early to say how long and to what end the National Assembly would continue to exercise its newfound autonomy, its composition after the April 2007 elections projects it as a serious debating chamber. In terms of age, 60 percent of members of the upper chamber, the Senate, fell within the lowest (40–50 year) age bracket, 30 percent were between 50 and 60 years old, while only 10 percent were over 60 years. The Senate is also an assembly of highly educated men and women, with 60 percent of the members having first-level degrees, 20 percent, master’s degrees or equivalent, and 10 percent, Ph.D. Only 10 percent of the Senators had no college degrees of any kind.10 Among its prominent members were former Military Administrators, civilian state governors, high-ranking armed forces and police officials, university professors, and retired civil servants. The Judiciary is another institution that appears to be coming of age. This body of eminent jurists began to reassert its authority when the Obasanjo’s presidency demonstrated an inclination for disregarding and flouting court orders. The judgments rendered by the judiciary during and after Obasanjo’s tenure not only signaled its intention to reassert its authority and preserve the rule of law, but also dispelled the long-held assumption that it was a mere sidekick of the Executive. Among the autonomous agencies, the Independent National Electoral Commission stands out as one of the most vilified. It has been faulted for


mishandling voter registration exercises, printing of ballot papers, sundry electoral logistics and operational matters, and for the conduct and supervision of polling activities. It has by and large followed the footsteps of its predecessors (FEDECO, NEC, etc.) which had been criticized either for being overtly partisan, or for ineptitude, or both. No election has been held by this agency which has not been marked with accusation of rigging, and whose results had not been contested. To restore the faith of the average voter in the electoral process (and in his/her self-worth as a citizen), the INEC should be drastically reorganized. The roots-and-branch restructuring should focus on the powers and composition of the agency’s governing body (Commission, Board, or whatever new name it assumes), the relationship between the agency and the government of the day, the technical qualifications and managerial skills required to organize elections successfully, and the mechanisms for evaluating the performance of the agency and those serving it in various capacities. Another agency that was for months in the limelight is the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission. The decision to send the energetic chairman of the commission, Nuhu Ribadu, on a training course in Kuru might have sent a wrong signal about the government’s commitment to the anticorruption crusade. However, that decision may yet serve to de-link the person of Nuhu Ribadu from the institutional arrangement for combating corruption. Indeed, the sign to look for is not just the person sitting in the office of EFCC chairman, but the Commission’s renewed (or, as the case may be, waning) interest in pursuing on-going cases, and making Nigeria unsafe for perpetrators of corruption, embezzlement, money laundering, Internet and advance fee fraud. The extent to which the anticorruption agencies could carry out their duties without waiting for instructions from above is another crucial hint to look out for. An open disagreement between the Minister of Justice (Mr. Michael Kaase Aondokaa) and the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (on the prosecution of former governors accused of corruption and related misdeeds) conveyed the impression that the government wished to muzzle the latter. This impression was quickly dispelled by President Umar Yar’Adua who reaffirmed the agencies’ “total and complete independence of action,” so long as the action was within the law of the Federation.11 The question is who decides when the rule of law is breached—the minister of justice or the Judiciary? The Immunity Clause and Its Hazards As proof of his government’s unrelenting battle against corruption, President Yar’Adua further expressed his personal support for the

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abrogation of Section 308 of the Constitution which confers immunity on the president, the vice president, state governors, and their deputies. Although those among the public officers found to have betrayed their oaths of office could be prosecuted at the end of their tenure, the immunity that they enjoy while in office breeds impunity, and makes a mockery of the whole anticorruption program.12 President Yar’Adua expressed the frustration of the average Nigerian with the arrogance of power which Section 308 practically legitimized. In keeping with the policy of his government to abide by judicial decisions, no matter how unpalatable, the president placed on notice public officials that were fond of subverting the due process and undermining the integrity of institutions.13 It is fair to ask what the abrogation of the immunity clause would achieve. After all, only a tiny fraction of public officials were covered by the clause, whereas corruption was perpetrated by many on a grand or petty scale. The demonstration effect of affected public officials’ conduct must be the motive for wanting the removal of the immunity clause. If the president or a state governor could be made to answer for his deeds while in office, that would send a powerful signal to every other official, important or minor, that the days of impunity are gone. Non-state Institutions While civic groups and political associations have an important role to play as watchdog institutions, their overall effectiveness depends on how far they are prepared to go to reform themselves. As revealed in chapter four, civic and religious groups are still largely under the sway of individual personalities. The organization of political parties is also still at the rudimentary stage, with few strong personalities maintaining a tight grip on party structures and under the pretext of promoting the interest of their parties, seeking to maximize their power. The overwhelming influence of personalities could be traced to the early post-independence period when Nigeria adopted a parliamentary system of government. Under the system, the party with the highest number of seats in parliament went ahead to form the government. The government was expected to resign if it lost its parliamentary majority. Then, politics was basically a game of numbers. To the extent that party elders succeeded in mobilizing support and getting out the vote, to that would they feel themselves entitled to have a say in how the government was formed and run. In other words, the party was supreme. This was clearly not the case in Nigeria after the adoption of a new system of government in 1979. The system embraced by the Second Republic was, and still is, decidedly executive-presidential, not parliamentary. The


significance of this distinction might be lost on others, but not on Alhaji Shehu Shagari who, as the first executive president, faced the challenge of making the new system work. While the constitution vested him with the powers to take decisions, and held him personally responsible for the consequences, his colleagues in the National Party of Nigeria (NPN) were still caught up in the parliamentary quagmire of the past (Shagari, 2001:348–49). His analogy of a combustion engine waiting to explode aptly summarizes his dilemma as an executive president surrounded by people with a parliamentary, “collective responsibility” mindset. It is significant that the other political parties (UPN, NPP, and GNPP) had found a solution to the problem facing the NPN. Each of the opposing parties had merged the post of party chairman with that of presidential candidate, thus ensuring that no two captains commanded a single ship. Indeed, it is difficult to imagine the UPN leader, the late Chief Obafemi Awolowo, winning the election and, as president of Nigeria, taking instructions from a party chairman on who to appoint to what post. He, Awolowo had tried to play the “party leader” card with his deputy, Chief S.L. Akintola, and the latter had asserted his authority as head of a regional government, that is, premier of the Western Region. The late Waziri Ibrahim was the principal financier of his party, the Great Nigerian People’s Party. There was no way he was going to surrender the post of flag-bearer and leader of the party to anyone else. Probably, out of concern for how to live up to its name as a national, broad-based party, the NPN had decided to separate the office of party chairman from that of the party’s flag-bearer. This turned out to be a serious mistake. Once the NPN won the hotly disputed elections of 1979 and 1983, the party chieftains viewed the results as a mandate to rule jointly with the president. The victories—disputed or not—bred a culture of entitlement among the NPN leaders, a culture which did not quite sit well with Nigeria’s short experiment in democracy. In retrospect, if the party had heeded the president’s advise to let him be, and to allow him to take hard decisions without constantly having to look over his shoulders, the history of the Second Republic would probably have taken a different turn. Under the pretext of “advising” the president and enforcing “party supremacy,” the chieftains became increasingly meddlesome.14 History looked like repeating itself in the Fourth Republic, specifically, in 2006 when the PDP decided to amend its constitution to reinvigorate its Board of Trustees, and to reserve the post of the Board’s chairman for former heads of state produced by the party. If the party has no former head of state within its ranks, the amendment allows the post of BOT chairman to be filled by a former National chairman of the party “who has distinguished himself in the party,” or in his absence, a “person of proven

a summation / 237

integrity who has contributed immensely to the party” (meaning, who had succeeded in getting out the vote, no matter how). The amendment thus practically legitimized the doctrine of “party supremacy,” and with that, the control of the nation’s president by others not elected to the office. In effect, the amendment brought to the center, the phenomenon of “godfatherism” that had, since the inception of the Fourth Republic, been relegated to the periphery, that is, to state and local levels. The PDP’s constitutional amendment is certainly its internal affair. However, it has the potential of being externalized. First, should another party take control of the Federal government from the PDP, it may decide to replicate the BOT-model, and by so doing, institutionalize a new system of government—government by unelected caucuses. As a matter of fact, the BOT-model, if allowed to survive and mature, may yet alter the spirit if not the letter of the Nigerian constitution. The system that the party’s constitutional amendment planned to foist on Nigeria would be neither parliamentary nor executive-presidential. It would be a new form of diarchy, one which allows the nation’s president to move as fast as allowed, and in the direction signaled by, an inner caucus.15 In the circumstances, only good sense, and possibly the fear of public outcry, could prevent the chairman and the members of BOT from demanding corner offices at Aso Rock from where to watch every move the president makes. The challenges confronting Nigeria are already too many and complex. It would be in the nation’s interest if worrying about “what the party elders will think” is not one of them. The comments by at least two of those interviewed by the author (on the PDP constitutional amendment) are relevant. The first was concerned not so much about the impact of the amendment on governorship as about all the extraneous influences on the nation’s president and on the state governors. He was of the view that the Commander-in-Chief and the state chief executives were likely to be distracted by too many of these outside influences (invisible forces, to use his exact term). Examples are spouses of chief executives, immediate family members, former school mates, business associates, and then party leaders. The second commentator focused on the potential role of the PDP/ BOT. He feared that the Board would try to exercise power by remote control and to confront the president with unreasonable demands. He feared the BOT being transformed into a kitchen cabinet that would meet when not summoned or offer advise without being consulted. He agreed with the suggestion that the president was likely to be bogged down with needless meetings if he was obliged to answer to a network of party committees and oversight boards. Besides, the picture that the president would see all


the time was the rosy one presented by those around him, not the that of how the ordinary citizens cope with life’s challenges. Recruitment and Retrenchment of Public Leaders: Founding Power on Consent and Reason The recruitment of government and public service leaders offers politics an opportunity to enter the governorship space. Candidates for elective offices (president, vice president, governor, and deputy governor, senator, member of the House of Representatives, and member of State Assembly) are constitutionally required to submit themselves for elections. They have to go through various stages to even be considered eligible to contest— party screening, conduct of primaries, INEC screening, including the conduct of background and security checks, and, in some cases, Senate review and confirmation. Some parties adopt a “zoning” arrangement, one which restricts competition for elective and appointive positions to specific zones. This arrangement was ostensibly introduced to comply with the constitutional provisions on the reflection of Nigeria’s diversity and federal character in the organization and operations of political parties. Nonetheless, it calls for critical rethinking. Instead of regarding a candidate’s state of origin as the first and only eligibility factor, government vacancies should first be widely announced and openly competed for. The need to inject an element of rationality into the selection system is particularly acute with regard to other posts which, though not elective, are political. Among these are the posts of ministers (commissioners at the state level), advisers, chairpersons and members of boards and statutory agencies, ambassadors, and special assistants. The strategic nature of the positions frequently sparks conflict on how they should be filled and, especially, the criteria to apply in evaluating candidates. As earlier noted, party chieftains schooled in the parliamentary tradition, and sold on the idea of “party supremacy,” tend to place high premium on “political loyalty.” In contrast, the administration, that is, the Executive Branch of government, faced with the challenge of how to implement its programs and respond to mounting challenges, is apt to be torn between the demand for loyalty and the imperatives of competence. Indeed, it is in filling the key leadership posts in government that the tension between the advocates of “party supremacy” and the operators of the executive-presidential system is likely to be most pronounced. After all, the bulk of the “advise” that party leaders offer the president tends to be about who got appointed to what position. This is what Lamidi Adedibu, the Oyo State strongman, terms “political advise” as different from day-today running of the administration.16 Adedibu would not tell Ladoja how

a summation / 239

to run his administration, since he, Adedibu, by his own admission, knew nothing about administration. However, he believed that he was eminently qualified to proffer “political advise,” which was a polite way of putting the godfather’s demand for the placement of his candidates in government posts. While the political godfathers are always anxious to have their eyes and ears in the various arms of government, the prerogative as to who to appoint belongs exclusively to the president. If he, the president, is more concerned about the next election than about leaving a legacy, the chances are that he would fill the key posts with party stalwarts who spend their time attending caucus meetings, but have no idea what their day jobs entail. Data on the background of the ministers appointed to serve in President Umar Yar’Adua’s cabinet was not available at the time of the study. However, like the president, most of the cabinet members were known to possess high academic qualifications, and to have served the nation in various capacities in the past. It is important to note that neither academic qualifications nor years of experience provided any reliable clue about the managerial competence of each minister, nor about his/her capacity to provide executive leadership in his/her ministry. Political affiliation was a major eligibility factor, and making it to the final list depended on the candidate’s political weight in his/her constituency, but more than that, his/her standing with the party elders in the center.17 The televised Senate hearings preceding the confirmation of the ministerial appointments did not give much away about the results of whatever background checks and psychological evaluations were tendered in support of the nominations. In an increasingly complex world it is essential that government and public service leadership posts be filled based on the paramount considerations of integrity, competence, efficiency, and effectiveness. As far as Nigeria is concerned, enhancing the identity value of citizenship warrants that women and men with the right qualifications and exposure be placed in strategic positions. Conclusion For current and aspiring leaders to succeed in transforming the environment, they must possess or acquire the capacities to bridge the distance between the people and the state, align private dreams with public purpose, and cultivate in every citizen an attitude of mind and the discipline, without which the sovereign objectives could not be achieved. Without ignoring other actors, the capacity to connect or reconnect the people to the state must focus on, at least, three classes of people. The first is the “silent majority” which is largely apathetic, but in which resides a


reservoir of energy and resources that could profitably be tapped for good governorship and development. The second is an entrepreneurially inclined category that would rather exploit than fix the imperfections in the governorship system. Current and aspiring leaders would have to devise a system which, besides guaranteeing the basic rights of all citizens, rewards each according to his/her contributions. The third category of citizens will need special attention. This is the group that is neither resigned to its fate, nor is prepared to work within the system. Replacing stones with voting cards is one way of regaining the trust and confidence of the citizen. However, it takes more than reenfranchisement to convert debilitating cynicism into rapturous, electrifying, civic pride. The success of the effort depends, at the minimum, on channeling the citizen’s energies away from negative to positive ends. The stone-throwing youth, for instance, needs to be convinced that his/her life is worth something, and that there is some good that he/she could do for society. Instead of relegating gang members and “area boys” to society’s edge, society should find a way of converting their rage into positive civic action. As a first step they should be persuaded to leave the stones behind and clean up the debris—material or moral—in their neighborhoods. The concept of “identity value of citizenship” provides a framework for coupling purpose with hope, and for reconnecting the people not only with the state, but also with its institutions. Proceeding from the assumption that the primordial instinct is natural, the concept warns against requiring citizens to abandon their roots (or religious beliefs) as a condition for retaining their membership of a formal arrangement, be it a political party, or a modern nation-state like Nigeria. The challenge confronting visionary leaders therefore is how to create and sustain institutions that respond to citizens’ legitimate demands, eschew corruption, and equitably apportion the benefits and the costs of citizenship among all the diverse groups.

No t e s

One The Leadership-Governance-Development Nexus: Separating Coincidences from Correlations 1. Examples are Kwame Nkrumah in Ghana; Herbert Macaulay, Nnamdi Azikiwe, Obafemi Awolowo, and Ahmadu Bello in Nigeria; Patrice Lumumba in Congo; Jomo Kenyatta in Kenya; Julius Nyerere in Tanganyika; Samora Machel in Mozambique; Thomas Sankara in Burkina Faso; Augustinho Neto in Angola; and Sam Nujoma in Namibia).

Two

Values, Vision, and Leadership in a Diverse Society: A Review of Nigeria’s Environmental Engagement Challenges

1. G.T. Basden, 1966, Niger Ibos (London: Frank Cass). 2. The area taken up by water is 13,000 square km, leaving a land area of 910,768 square km. The coastline is 853 kilometres long. 3. According to one account, the Yoruba are descendants of Oduduwa who left the Arabian Peninsula and settled in Ife. He subsequently sent his scions as vice-regents to rule over the people of Benin, Oyo, Ijesha, Ekiti, etc. The Edo of Benin contest this version of Yoruba history. They, the Edo, argue that it would have been impossible for any of Oduduwa’s children to rule in Benin if father and son were outsiders. In other words, Oduduwa originated from Benin, and not the other way round. Fortunately, Yoruba history is beyond the scope of the current exercise. 4. N.A. Fadipe, 1970, The Sociology of the Yoruba, edited by F.O Okediji and O.O. Okediji (Ibadan: University of Ibadan Press), p. 314. 5. As a matter of fact, Islam represents an evolution from the earlier monotheistic religions, particularly, Judaism and Christianity. The Qur’an thus recognizes, and in fact gives prominence to, the earlier prophets such as Abraham, Ishmael, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, and Jesus. 6. Not every Christian accepts the doctrine of trinity. The renowned physicist and winner of Templeton Prize in Religion, Freeman Dyson, is a Christian who does not subscribe to the doctrine. 7. See for instance the Qur’an (Surah 6, Ayah 75–79, and particularly Ayah 81–82 of the same Surah 6; Surah 13, Ayah 28; Surah 14, Ayah, 27; and Surah 48, Ayah 4). Surah 9, Ayahs 109–110 are more explicit on the crisis of faith: “The foundation (on which stands anything other than faith in Allah) will never be stable; and the hearts (of those who build on such a foundation) will

242 / notes

8. 9. 10. 11. 12.

13.

continue to be tormented by doubt and insecurity, until the hearts are cut to pieces. And Allah is All-Knowing, Wise.” A dictum made famous by a Chinese philosopher, Hui Shih, sums up the essence of taoheed: “Love all things equally: Heaven and Earth are one body.” Basden, 1966. G.J. Afolabi Ojo, 1966, Yoruba Culture (Ile-Ife: Universities of Ife and London Press). The register was promptly impounded by the police, but its full content was not released to the public. Theodore Orji’s election as Governor of Abia State was nullified by the Court of Appeal when his opponent, Onyema Ugochukwu, adduced evidence linking Orji to the Ogwugwu secret cult in Okija. Ugochukwu must have been tipped off by a news magazine which had secretly photographed Orji as he was, allegedly, going through the initiation rites. Quoted in TELL, No. 36, September 6, 2004, p. 22.

Three Leadership Selection, Governorship, and Development: The Institutional Dimension 1. Established on January 8, 1912. 2. Election to the Constituent Assembly was organized by the military regime which also nominated its own delegates. It is doubtful if deliberations at the Assembly were influenced by the will of the people. 3. This is the argument of Nigeria’s Vice President Atiku Abubakar in refusing to appear before an administrative tribunal which the federal government set up to decide on his (Atiku Abubakar’s) eligibility to contest the April 2007 presidential election. 4. The “legacies” that some leaders find easy to preserve are grand corruption, empty treasuries, election engineering, and human rights violations. 5. Shehu Shagari, 2001, Beckoned to Serve (a Memoir by Shehu Shagari) (Ibadan: Heinemann Educational Books), p. 437. 6. Vanguard, February 11, 2008. 7. The conduct of primaries preceding local and national elections had sometimes ended in violent disputes and loss of lives. Within two days (i.e., on January 14 and 15, 2008) up to 10 PDP members in Akwa Ibom State lost their life after a free-for-all fight ensued over the conduct of the party’s local government primaries in the state. See Punch and This Day, January 24, 2008. 8. Full text of the statement released by Peoples Democratic Party after the BOT Election Meeting on June 27, 2007 (PDP Secretariat, Abuja). 9. Views expressed by then vice president during author’s meeting with him in Abuja, Friday, February 16, 2007. 10. Shagari, 2001, p. 453. 11. Ibid, p. 437. 12. Of particular interest are the institutions that are underpinned by, among others, the ethos of representative democracy, the doctrine of Separation of Powers, and the abiding faith in individualism). This is not to say that the “American way” is right for others. Like America has done for itself, each

notes / 243 society has to work out its governance formula based on values its people can easily identify with.

Four

Role of Civil Society in Leadership Recruitment and Renewal

1. The Action Group adopted “Life More Abundant” to broaden its panNigerian appeal, and “Afenifere” to reach its Yoruba constituencies. Afenifere means “the party that has the interest of the people at heart” or “the party that has laid out a plan of welfare for the people.” 2. Other prominent members of Afenifere were Chief Bola Ige, Femi Okunrounmu, Pa Onasanya, Chief Reuben Fasoranti, Alhaji Ganiyu Dawodu, Mr. Olanihun Ajayi, Chief Olu Falae, Chief Adefarati, and Chief Ayo Adebanjo. 3. Tempo of November 12, 1998, p. 4. 4. The News Magazine, March 1, 1999, p. 18. 5. Interview with Reuters, April 5, 2003. 6. Human Rights Group, “The OPC: Fighting Violence with Violence,” Human Rights Watch, Vol. 15, No. 4A, February 2003. 7. Omoruyi draws the quotation from Ben Nwabueze, 1994, Nigeria ‘93: The Political Crisis and Solutions (Ibadan: Spectrum). 8. Among Igbo leaders that stood solidly behind MKO Abiola and insisted that he be sworn in as president after the 1992 presidential elections are Admiral Ndubuisi Kanu, Chiefs Bobo Nwosisi, Ralph Obioha, Dr. Chukwuemeka Ezeife, and Ralph Uwechue. 9. The labor unions (NLC, TUC, and TUC) alone have close to 7 million members. 10. This Day, December 31, 2005. 11. One of the interviewees put it in Hausa: “Bai yi contesting, beille ya ci” (meaning, “he, the candidate for office of governor, did not contest, let alone win the primary”). This must be in reference to the Rivers State. The Supreme Court has since decided in favor of the candidate who won the primary but was debarred by his party from contesting the election. 12. Institute for Democracy and Electoral Assistance Web site. 13. Some delegates (such as Chief Emeka Anyaoku [former Commonwealth Secretary-General] and Professor Adebayo Adedeji [former UN UnderSecretary-General and Executive Secretary of ECA]), really merited the honorific “respected elder statesmen.” 14. http://quickstart.clari.net/voa/art/fr/2005–02-20-voa13html/.

Five Soft Choices in a Hard Environment: Meeting Post-independence Governorship Challenges 1. An example is the Odemo of Ishara, Oba Samuel Akinsanya whose annual salary was reduced to a penny by the Akintola government for refusing to disown Awolowo. 2. The “ten per-centers” are the public officials that used to demand 10 percent of contract prices. Apparently the proportion of earnings expected to be

244 / notes kicked back by government contractors has gone up considerably since the early post-independence period. 3. H.E. General (Dr.) Yakubu Gowon’s written response to one of the questions from the author (August 19, 2008). 4. When Awolowo resigned from the Cabinet, Gowon picked a renowned economist and public administration scholar, Professor Adebayo Adedeji, to succeed the sage, and fill the Western State’s slot in the Federal Executive Council.

Six Engaging the Environment from the Macro-economic Angle: Economic Management after Independence 1. In recent months, South Africa too is facing the reality of electricity rationing, thanks to the growing household and industrial demand, and the failure to upgrade the aging power stations. Still, the electricity (as well as revenue) generation and overall management record of the state-owned Eskom is not as appalling as that of Nigeria’s NEPA.

Seven Balancing Domestic Welfare Needs with External “Conditionalities”: Leadership Engagement with the People and the International Environment 1. Annual Report, 1951–2, 1952 (Lagos: Electricity Corporation of Nigeria). 2. President Yar’Adua’s decision in February 2008 to dismiss Mr. Foluseke Somolu, his special assistant on the Power Sector and coordinator, National Integrated Power Project, was a sign that the state of emergency in the energy sector was not mere rhetoric. The Special Assistant had stated that “only” US$5.16 billion had been allocated to the power sector, and not $10 billion as widely reported, and that even with this “meagre” sum, the sector had made “progress.” This must have infuriated the President as it did the majority of Nigerians! See This Day, February 19, 2008. The National Assembly subsequently intervened, only to discover that the amount involved far exceeded the $10 billion which Foluseke questioned. The exact amount, according to the House of Representatives, was a whopping $16 billion! See the Punch, February 24, 2008. 3. The World Bank, January 2008, (http://devdata.worldbank.org/edstats/ SummaryEducationProfiles/CountryData/GetShow . . . ). 4. This is according to figures released by the Minister for Youth Development, Senator Akinlabi Olasunkanmi, and published in the Nigerian Tribune of Friday, August 1, 2008 (p. 17). 5. General Report and Survey on Nigeria Police Force for the Year 1963 (Lagos: Federal Ministry of Information), Appendix F.

Eight Civility in the Lion’s Den: Leadership Selection and Retrenchment in the First Republic 1. Among them, Obafemi Awolowo, 1947, Path to Nigerian Freedom (London: Faber and Faber); 1960, Awo: An Autobiography of Chief Obafemi Awolowo

notes / 245

2.

3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12.

1960 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press); 1968, The People’s Republic (Ibadan: Ibadan University Press); and 1970, The Strategy and Tactics of the People’s Republic of Nigeria(London: Macmillan). The Jammiyar was formed in 1945 by Mallam Abubakar Imam, and Dr. Russell A B Dikko (the first northern Nigerian medical doctor). Besides the Jammiyar, there were the Barewa Old Boys’ Association established in 1939, the Northern Elements Progressive Association (NEPA) started in 1945, and Mutanen Arewa a Yau. Awolowo, 1960, p. 134. Ibid., p. 135. Report of the Public Service Commission, Northern Nigeria, 1954 (Kaduna: Government Printer). The most famous is the Obudu Cattle Ranch. Aleshinloye, Saka A Y, 2003, Serving the Nation (Ilorin: Berende Printing Works), p. 115. Ibid., pp. 121–22. Ibid., p. 131. Shehu Shagari, 2001, Beckoned to Serve (a Memoir by Shehu Shagari) (Ibadan: Heinemann Educational Books). (http://www.africamasterweb.com/CounterCoup.html), January 22 2008. Shagari, 2001.

Nine

Leadership as an Imposition: The Military Shortcut to Power

1. See the interview granted to the Vanguard of March 17, 2008, by General Ibrahim M.B. Haruna on his recollection of how officers used to trust one another before the 1966 coup, and how this trust was destroyed by the coup. 2. Alli regards the Okar/Mukoro coup attempt of 1990 as evidence of the intraregional rivalry between the Hausa-Fulani and the Middle-Belt communities, and of the oil-producing areas’ resentment of northern domination. See M. Chris Alli, 2001, The Federal Republic of Nigerian Army (Ikeja: Malthouse Press), pp. 218–220. 3. Murtala Mohammed nearly made the same mistake when, blinded by rage, he perfected arrangements which would have led to the secession of the north after the January 1966 coup. He had overlooked the fact that the Central Bank was then located in Lagos—far away from where the breakaway north could have ready access to the money it needed to stay afloat. This goes to prove that rightful indignation is no substitute for careful planning when embarking on risky ventures. 4. According to the rebel Biafran regime, the civil war would probably have been averted if Gowon had not succumbed to pressures to repudiate the Accord. However, as pointed out in an earlier chapter, the Federal side held the rebel regime wholly responsible for the Accord’s collapse. 5. First nationwide broadcast by His Excellency, Brigadier Murtala Mohammed, July 30, 1975. 6. According to Ihonde, Garba turned against Gowon when the latter’s marriage impeded the former’s access to the head of state. See Ihonde, Moses, 2004,

246 / notes First Call: An Account of the Gowon Years (Lagos: Diamond Publications), pp. 67–71. 7. Abiola was particularly enraged by the confiscation of a large consignment of newsprint he had imported for his Concord chain of newspapers. The government claimed that the newsprint was seized as part of its anti-smuggling operation. 8. Among those senior to Yar’Adua were Brigadiers Theophilus Danjuma, Alani Akinrinade, James Oluleye, John Obadan, and Emmanuel Abisoye.

Ten Enter the Fourth Republic: Another Shot at Dynamic Engagement or a Return to Neo-military Governorship? 1. The case of Theodore Orji was unique. Although he had won the election to the office of Abia State Governor in April 2007, the Court of Appeal upended his victory when his opponent, Onyema Ugochukwu, tendered evidence indicating that he, Orji, had sworn to a secret oath at the Ogwugwu shrine in Okija. 2. Larry Diamond, 1988, “The 1983 Elections,” in Victor Ayeni, and Kayode Soremekun, (eds.) Nigeria’s Second Republic (Apapa: Daily Times Publication). 3. Uba’s victory was overturned because according to the Supreme Court the office of Anambra State Governor was not vacant at the time the election took place. Uba was ordered to hand over to the rightful occupant of the office, Peter Obi. Uba’s appeal had not been decided at the time of writing. 4. This Day, January 22, 2008. 5. The verdict on the Osun State governorship election raised a lot of dust, with the opposition (Action Congress) pointedly accusing the chairman and members of the Election Tribunal of exchanging clandestine telephone calls with, and of being under the influence of, the elected governor’s counsel. 6. “Criminal Politics, Violence, ‘Godfathers’ and Corruption in Nigeria,” Human Rights Watch, Vol. 19, No. 16(A), October 2007. 7. This Day, December 23, 2007. See also TELL, June 25, 2007 8. This Day, 23 December 2007. 9. Vanguard, Monday, December 24, 2007. 10. Besides youths working for political godfathers, street urchins (popularly known as “area boys”) were likely to be recruited as gang members. 11. Report of the State Security Service on Allegation by Chief Afe Babalola on threat to his life by the Governor of Ekiti State, Mr. Ayo Fayose (dated September 25, 2005) 12. Daily Sun, Monday, April 7, 2008, p. 7. 13. Dr. Ahmadu Ali, former Chairman of PDP, senior army officer and minister in Obasanjo’s military government, preferred the title, “garrison commander.” 14. Lawal was a ranking member of the Nigerian Navy, and former Military Governor of Ogun State. 15. The alias in full is “Eru o b’odo, eni ti ‘o wo’do ni ominu nko” meaning “the river is never afraid; it is the one that contemplates taking a plunge that keeps doubting the wisdom of his intended course of action.”

notes / 247 16. His supporters gave him an honorific, Baale Malete, meaning the paramount ruler of Malete, a neighborhood in the southeast of Ibadan where he resides. 17. Transcript of interview with Alhaji Lamidi Adedibu by Mr. Diran Odeyemi, the UK editor of the Nigerian Tribune, on BEN TV. 18. Ibid. 19. Ibid.

Eleven

Visionary Leadership and Management of Uncertainty: A Summation

1. The stone casting metaphor is borrowed from the Economist of January 5, 2008, p. 23. 2. Vanguard, February 11, 2008. 3. An example is the appointment of commissioners to serve in Rasheed Ladoja’s cabinet in Oyo State. The government was practically formed in the residence of Lamidi Adedibu, the governor’s mentor at the time. 4. Cases of exemplary leadership exist at the state and federal levels, among them, the Raji Fashola, the Danjuma Goje, and the Peter Obi administrations in Lagos, Gombe and Anambra States respectively, as well as the leadership provided by Dora Akunyili at the National Agency for Food and Drugs Administration and Control (NAFDAC). However, whether they and their successors could sustain the transformational governorship momentum over time is an open question. 5. M.J. Balogun, 2001, “Diversity Factors in State Construction Efforts in Africa: an Analysis of Challenges, Responses, and Options,” African Journal of Public Administration and Management, Vol. 13, Nos. 1 and 2, January and July. 6. Settlement is the local euphemism for a bribe. 7. Green is the colour of the Nigerian passport. At foreign airports, it is like a red flag waved in front of a bull. Why this is the case is still a mystery to many Nigerians who go to great lengths to avoid trouble. In the meantime, the real crooks, who are in the minority, have devised ingenious plans to evade being searched and apprehended. 8. Civil Service Disposition List, Office of the Head of Service of the Federation, Abuja. 9. Permanent Secretaries’ ages and length of service calculated by the author, based on data obtained from the Staff Disposition List. 10. National Assembly, Abuja. 11. This Day, January 25, 2008. 12. In Yoruba, the closest word to “immunity” is “imu ni ti.” The latter roughly translates as “the attribute of being infinitely beyond the grip of, or capture by, an opponent”; “the state of being out of control”; “invincibility”; “indomitability”; “irrepressibility.” In sum, “imu ni ti” in Yoruba is a cross between “impunity” and “immunity” in English. 13. President Umar Yar’Adua, quoted in This Day, January 25, 2008. 14. Shehu Shagari, 2001, Beckoned to Serve (a Memoir by Shehu Shagari) (Ibadan: Heinemann Educational Books), p. 438.

248 / notes 15. The new system bears a curious resemblance to that of Swaziland where the King and the Traditional Council (the Tinkhundla) more or less dictate the directions that the modern government, headed by a prime minister, would follow. However, Nigeria is not exactly the same as Swaziland. Political parties are, in the former, free to operate, and elections however imperfect are periodically conducted. 16. See chapter ten. 17. An example is Ojo Maduekwe, whose nomination as foreign minister was vetoed by elders from his zone, but who, as a member of the PDP Central Working Committee and close confidant of the PDP/BOT chairman, Chief Olusegun Obasanjo, got past the veto and landed the cabinet job.

R e f e r e nc e s

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references / 255 Goldsmith, A., 2001, “Donors, Dictators and Democrats,” Journal of Modern African Studies, Vol. 39, No. 3 Hayek, F.A., 1973, Law, Legislation, and Liberty, Vol. 1, Rules and Order (Chicago: University of Chicago Press) Jemibewon, David, 1978, A Combatant in Government (Ibadan: Heinemann Educational Books) Klein, Peter G., and Shelanski, Howard, A., 1996, “Transaction Cost Economics in Practice: Applications and Evidence,” Journal of Market-focused Management, Vol. 1 Lungu, Gatian, F., 1998, “Civil Service Neutrality in Anglophone Africa: A Model for New Multiparty Democracies,” African Journal of Public Administration and Management, Vol. 10, No. 2, December Luttwak, Edward, 1968, Coup d’ état—A Practical Handbook (London: Allen Lane, Penguin Press) Madiebo, Alexander A., 1980, The Nigerian Revolution and the Biafran War (Enugu: Fourth Dimension) Mutahaba, Gelase, and Balogun, M.J. (eds.), 1992, Enhancing Public Management Capacity in Africa (West Hartford: Kumarian Press) Post, K.W.J., 1964, The Nigerian Federal Election of 1959 (Oxford: Oxford University Press)


I n de x

Abacha, General Sani, 5, 44, 45, 73, 78, 80, 95–96, 99, 115–118, 175, 181, 185–186, 193, 201–203, 213 Abiola, (Chief) M.K.O., 73, 95–96, 179, 201 Abisoye, General E., 170 Abubakar, General Abdul-Salaami, 79, 87, 96, 202 Abubakar, (Vice President) Atiku, 60, 96, 180, 197, 206–208 Abuja Commodities Exchange, 106 Aburi Agreement (or Accord), 92, 176 Action Congress (AC), 203, 206–207, 224 Action Group (AG), 65, 88–89, 156–157, 164, 199, 204, 210 (see also Bornu Youth Movement, Ilorin Talaka Parapo, and United Middle Belt Congress) Adalemo, 137 Adams, Gani, 69 Adamu, 153–154 Adamu, Martins, 175 Adebanjo, Ayo, 68 Adebayo, General R. Adeyinka, 175 Adedeji, Adebayo, 8, 13, 94 Adedibu, Alhaji Lamidi, 5, 30, 215–217, 238–239 (see political god-fathers) Adegbenro, Alhaji Dauda Soroye, 89 Adegoke, Major S.A., 174 Adelabu, Adegoke, 154, 215 Adelakun, Busari, 215

Ademoyega, A., 167, 170 Ademulegun, Brigadier Samuel, 91, 166 Aderemi, Sir Adesoji, the Oni of Ife, 90 Adesanya, Chief Abraham, 67 Adesina, Lam, 215–216 Afenifere (Yoruba cultural organization), 23, 65, 68–69, 79–80, 204 see also Egbe Omo Oduduwa African National Congress, 13, 45 Africa, Sub-Saharan, 14 Agagu, Segun, 209 Agaie, Umar, 152 Agbakoba, Olisa, 73 see also Campaign for Democracy Agbekoya riots (Peasants resist tyranny), 71, 191 Agbo, Eje, 158 Aguiyi-Ironsi, Brigadier, J. T., 91–94, 161–162, 164, 166, 170–175, 181, 187 Ahmadu Bello (the Sardauna of Sokoto), 6, 89, 91, 148–152, 155, 160–161, 164 Ajayi, S.A., 155 Akagha, Major F., 173 Akahan, Lt. Col. Joe, 173 Ake (Claude), 67, 87 Akilu, Lt. Col. Halilu, 183 Akinfosile, Olu, 154 Akinjide, Richard, 161

258 / index Akinrinade, 67, 87 Akinsehinwa, Lt., 169 Akintola (Chief) Samuel Ladoke, 89, 91, 159–161, 164, 236 Akpan, 176 Aku of Wukari, 155 Alamieyeseigha, Chief Diprieye, 211 Alao, Shittu, 175 Alayande, Pa Emmauel, 69 Alberti (Adrianna), 50 Aleshinloye, 152–153, 156–158 Aliyu, Lt. Col. Sabo, 184 Allegiances, primordial, 64 Allen (Chris), 7, 8 Alli, General M.C., 177, 179, 181, 183 Alliance for Democracy (AD), 45, 68, 79, 203–205, 216 All Nigerian People’s Party (ANPP), 45, 203–205, 224 All Peoples Grand Alliance (APGA), 71, 203, 205 Ali, Col Ahmadu, 96, 225 Ali, Senator Muhammed Abba, 137 Altine, Umaru, 154 Aluko, Tope, 212 Amaechi, Rotimi, 209–210 Amin, Idi, 5 Andrade, 141–142 Anekwe, Captain, 164 Anenih, Chief Tony (former Chairman of PDP Board of Trustees, 59 Anglo-Nigerian Defense Pact, 166–167 Anikulapo-Kuti, Fela, 73 Anyim, Pius, 96 Aondokaa, Michael Kaase, 234 Arewa Consultative Forum, 23, 65, 80 Argyriades, 40 Arikpo, 191 Aristotle, 4, 39 Aristotelian, 4 Asika, Ukpabi, 188 Ason, Bur, 116 (see also Nigerian Labor Congress)

Attah, Adamu, 215 attributes (of leadership), 5 Awojobi, Ayo(dele), 73 Awolowo, Chief Obafemi, 13, 20, 88, 93–94, 110, 148–153, 179, 191, 203, 217, 236 (see also Action Group, and Unity Party of Nigeria) Ayoola Commission, 193 Ayua, Ignatius, 197, 207–208 (see also Ayua Panel) Azikiwe, President Nnamdi, 88, 148–152, 157–161 (see also Zik, National Council of Nigerian Citizens, and National People’s Party) Babalola, Chief Afe, 212 Babangida, General and President Ibrahim (Badamosi), 44, 45, 95–96, 99, 114–115, 120, 128, 175, 178, 180–187, 193, 199, 200–202 Bakassi Boys, 58, 66, 143 Bako, Audu, 188 Bako, Ibrahim, 175 Bali, General Domkat, 184 Balogun, M. J., 21, 29, 30, 44, 80, 110, 117, 139, 143, 187, 200–201, 231 Balogun, Tafa (former InspectorGeneral of Police), 32 Bamali, Nuhu, 152 Banjo, 176 Barewa Old Boys Association, 65 Basden, 20, 24 Bassey, Lt. Col. W., 173 Benson, T.O.S., 154 Bida, Aliyu Makaman, 152, 155 Biriye, Harold, 159 Bisalla, Brigadier Iliya, 170, 183 Blanchard, 7 Bohannan, 29 Boro, Isaac Jasper (Ijaw activist), 72

index / 259 Buba, Michael Audu, 155 Buhari, General Muhammadu, 95, 114, 175, 177–187, 193, 204–205, 208 Buhari-Idiagbon regime, 94–95, 99, 226 Buhari, Salisu, 96 Burns, 6, 7 Causality, 9 Chance (see also probability of ) appearances, 8, 12 occurrence, 3 Charisma, 5–13,15, 149, 154 Cheema, 40 Central Bank (of Nigeria), 106, 110, 117, 122 college, electoral, 5 correlation, 3, 8, 9 corruption, 12, 29 Dada, G., 175 Danjuma, General T.Y., 170, 175 Dan Masani, 22 Dantata, A., 179 Dariye, Chief Joshua, 211 Daura, Sani, 188 Deference (to age, authority and seniority), 24 De Graft-Johnson, 20 Dent, M., 152 Diamond, L., 61 Dikko, Umaru, 180 Dimka, Lt. Col. Buka Sukar, 169–170, 182 Dipcharima, Bukar, 155, 161–162, 175 Directorate of Food and Rural Infrastructure, 115, 129 Dogonyaro, Lt. Col. Joshua N., 185 Dumuje, R.M., 166 Edet, Louis Orok (first Nigerian Inspector-General of Police), 55

Effiong, Lt Col Philip, 94 Ehrenreich, 140 Einstein, Albert, 19 Ejoor, Lt. Col. D., 173, 188 Ekpo, Mrs Margaret, 73 Ekueme, Vice President Alex, 113 ‘Ekwensu’ (the Devil, God’s antagonist), 28 Elaigwu, J. Isawa, 36 Electricity Corporation of Nigeria (ECN), 134 (see also National Electric Power Authority and Power Holding Company of Nigeria) Emwerem, Evans, 96, Enahoro, Chief Anthony, 79, 93–94, 154, 191 environmental engagement, 8, 10, 12, 37 see also dynamic engagement environment, complex and constantly changing, 8 environment, vagaries of, 8 Etiaba, Virginia, 214 Ezeoke, Eme, 204 Fadahunsi, Musilimu, 213 Fadipe, N.A., 24, 30 “failed banks,” 117–118 (see also Nigerian Deposit Insurance Corporation) Fajuyi, Col Adekunle, 92,173 Falae, (Chief) S. Olu, 68, 204 Fani-Kayode, Femi, 73 Farouk, Usman, 188 Fashehun, Dr. Frederick, 69 Fashola, Raji, 247 Fawehinmi, (Chief) Gani, 73 Fayose, Ayo, 211–213 First National Development Plan (1962–1968), 108–110 Foster, Major-General, 166 Fourth National Development Plan (1981–1985), 113

260 / index Gandhi (Mahatma), 6 Garba, General Joseph N., 174–175, 178 Gemade, Barnabas, 96 Goje, Danjuma, 247 Gomwalk, Joseph, 188 governorship, 1, 6, 7, 15, 46 Gowon, General (Dr) Yakubu Gowon former Head of State, 73, 79, 92–94, 112, 128, 173, 175–178, 187, 191 Great Nigerian People’s Party, 70 Gumel, Adamu, 157 Gusau, General Aliyu Mohammed, 181, 183 Habib, Abba, 155 Hawking, Stephen, 19 hero (and ancestor) worship, 6, 24, 29 Hersey, 7 human welfare indicators, 126–127 Huntington (Samuel P.), 9, 40 Ibo State Union, 65 Ibori, James, 211 Ibrahim, Brigadier Salihu, 184–185 Ibrahim, Jibrin, 96 Ibrahim, Waziri, 236 (see also Great Nigerian People’s Party) identities, multiple and competing, 19, 20, 22–24, 37 (compare with “wardrobe hypothesis” as a subset of identity politics) “identity value of citizenship,” 142, 227–229, 232, 239–240 (see benefits and costs of citizenship) Idiagbon (General Tunde), 182–183 Idris, Ibrahim, 209 Ifeajuna, E., 167–169, 176 Igbimo Agba Yoruba (Yoruba Council of Elders), 65, 68–69, 79, 204 Igbinedion, Lucky, 211 Ige, (Chief) Bola, 68, 202, 215

Ighoba, H., 166, 173 Ijaw National Congress, 65 Ikoku, Sam Gomsu, 154 Imam, Abubakar, 152 Imoke, Liyel, 209 income disparity (see also inequality), 126–127 Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC), 56–58, 197–198, 204–210, 214, 217, 223–224, 229, 233–234, 238 Irabor, Nduka, 179 Irukwu, Professor Joe, 71 Ishola, Kolapo, 215 Iwu, Professor Maurice (INEC Chairman) Jackson and Rosberg, 40 Ja’miyyar Mutannen Arewa, 65 Jega, M., 175 Johnson, 8 Johnson, Obadiah, 22 Johnson, Reverend Samuel, 22 Jokolo, Major Haruna, 184 (see also Emir of Gwandu) Jones, 30 Jones-Quartery, 148 Joseph, Timothy, G., 213 (see State Security Service Report on Ekiti) Kaita, Isa, 152 Kalu, Orji Uzor, 203, 208 (see People’s Progressive Alliance) Kano, (Alhaji) Aminu, 150–151, 154, 191 Katsina, Major Hassan Usman, 173 Kauzya, 9 Kirk-Greene, A.H.M., 21, 88 Kliksberg, 87 Kontagora, Sani, 157 Kontagora, General Mamman, 117 Kukah, Rev. Fr., 33 Kurubo, Lt. Col. G., 173

index / 261 labor unions, 72 Ladoja, Rasheed, 30, 215–216 Lafiaji, Shaba, 215 Lar, Solomon, 96 Largema, Lt Col. Abogo, 91, 166 Lawal, Muhammad, 215 leadership personalities, 11, 12 institutions, 11, 12, 13 vision, 10–14 (see also shared vision) values, 11–13, 15, 29 index, scorecard, 6 theories, 8, 11 selection culture, 41, 147 leadership ideal-types sectional leaders, 34 self-appointed spokespersons, 8 strong-men (see also god-fathers, party elders), 4, 5, 10, 34, 38, 44, 59 transactional (leaders), 8, 10, 34, 38 transformational (visionary leaders), 8–10 Lewis, Nobel Laureate, Sir W. Arthur, 108 Luckham, R., 166, 168, 172 Macaulay, Herbert, 151 (see also Nigerian Youth Movement) Magoro, General Mohammed, 183–184 Maimalari, Brigadier Zakariya, 91, 166 Maito, Sule, 156 Majors coup, 91 Malaki, Captain, 169 Mandela, 6 Masari, Aminu Bello, 96 Mbadiwe, Dr. Kingsley, 161 Middle Belt Forum, 65 Mimiko, Dr. Segun, 206 Miners, 167–168, 174 Mobutu, 166, 168 Mohammed, Air Vice Marshall Muktar, 184

Mohammed, General Murtala, 44, 94, 169, 174–176, 178, 182, 187, 193 Mommoh, 176 Mommoh, Kessington, 89–90 “Money-bags” (politicians banned by Babangida regime), 44, 95 “monetization” of civil service benefits, 119–122 (see also Udoji Commission arrears) moral hazards, 49–51 Movement for the Emancipation of Niger Delta, 58–59 Movement for the Actualization of the State of Biafra Movement for the Survival of the Ogoni People (MOSOB), 66, 71 Mustapha, Hamza, 213 Mutanen Arewa Yau, 65 Na’Abba, Ghali, 96 Nasamu, U. Saidu, 209 Nas, Wada, 80 National Conscience Party, 205 National Council of Nigerian Citizens (NCNC), 65, 82, 155, 157, 160, 199 National Council of State, 73 National Democratic Coalition (NADECO), 73, 80 National Republican Convention, 44, 201 “New-breed” (leaders and parties), 44, 82, 195, 199, 201–202 Ngige, Chris, 214 Ngubane, General Lawrence (Special Task Force on Niger Delta), 65, 211 Niger Delta Elders Forum (see ethnic and cultural organizations), 23, 65 Nigerian Enterprises Promotion Decree, 112 Nigerian National Alliance (NNA), 159–160

262 / index Nigerian National Democratic Party (NNDP), 90, 159–160, 199 (Nigerian) Stock Exchange, 106 Njoku, Hilary, 166, 173 Nnamani, Dr. Chimaraoke, 211 Nnamani, Ken, 96 Northern Elements Progressive Association, 65 Northern Elements Progressive Union, 155–156 Northern People’s Congress (NPC), 65, 70, 82, 89, 155–160, 164, 199 Nsofor, Justice S.A., 205 (see his dissenting opinion on the Supreme Court’s judgment on the 2003 presidential election) Nwabueze, Ben, 70–71 Nyako, Murtala, 209 Nyame, Rev. Jolly, 211 Nyerere, Mwalimu Julius, 6 Nzefili, Major, 173–174 Nzeogwu, Major Patrick Chukwuma Kaduna, 90–92, 164, 166, 168–170, 174, 176 Obadare, Ebenezer, 68 Obasanjo, General, later President (Olusegun), 44, 52, 56, 59–60, 66, 68–73, 78–79, 87, 94, 96–97, 99, 119–122, 133, 164, 166, 169–170, 187–188, 193, 197, 202–205, 233 Obi, Chike, 73 Obi, Peter, 214, 247 Ochei, Major, 173–174 Odidi, 153–154 Odu, Second Lt. James, 174 Oduduwa, 22 Oduoye, Simeon, 188 Ogbeh, Audu, 96 Ogbemudia, (General) Samuel, 188 Ogundipe, Brigadier B., 173, 175 Ogunewe, D., 166, 173

Ogunsanya, Adeniran, 154 Oguntade, Justice G.A., 209 Ogwugwu cult (see also Okija Shrine), 31–32, 143 Ohaneze Ndigbo (pan Igbo organization), 23, 65, 70–71, 81 (see also Ibo State Union) Ohikere, G., 155–156 Ojo, G.J.Afolabi, 29 Ojukwu, Colonel Odumegwu, 71, 92–94, 109, 167, 170, 173, 175, 203, 205 Okadigbo, Chuba, 97 Okafor, D., 166 Okar, Major G., 169–170 Oke, Oluyemi, 213 Okechukwu, Osita (Secretary Conference of Nigerian Political Parties), 79 Okiro, Mike (Inspector-General of Police) Okogie, Bishop Olubunmi, 33 Okoi-Arikpo, 93 Okondo, Chief Dayo, 212 Okonwezi, Major G., 173 Okoro, Major, 173 Okotie, Chris, 208 Okotie-Eboh, Chief Festus S., 91, 154 Okpara, Dr. Michael, 153 Olaniyan, 137 Olanrewaju, S.A., 155 Olatunji, Goke, 212 Olutoye, 167 Oluyemi, S.A., 118 Omehia, Celestine, 209, 210 Omojola, 213 Omoruyi, Omo, 70, 81–83 Oni, Segun, 209 Onoja, L., 175 Onwuka, 131, 136–137 Oodua People’s Congress (OPC), 58, 66, 69–70, 143, 213 Opadokun, 191 Oputa Panel, 186, 193

index / 263 Oputibeya X, His Royal Majesty, Captain Nemi Iyalla, 65 “orisa” (see also ancestor worship), 24, 28–30 Orizu, Dr. Nwafor, 161–162, 174–175 Orji, Theodore, 209 Osunbor, O., 209 Oyakhilome, Fidelis, 188 Paden, 88 Pam, Lt. Col. James, 91 Pam, Yakubu, 166 panegyric (see “oriki” ), 22 Panter-Brick, S.K., 172, 175 papal council (see also pope), 4 Pategi, Ahman, 155 party congress, 5 patronage, 4 People’s (and Community) Banks, 115, 129 People’s Democratic Party (PDP), 45, 59, 203–210, 224, 236–237 (see PDP/BOT’s role) People’s Redemption Party, 205 personalities-institutions linkage, 41–46 “political will hypothesis,” 9 population (of Nigeria) age breakdown, 21 ethnic (groups), 21 languages and dialects, 21 Prest, Arthur, 154 primaries (and electoral colleges), 5, 77, 209, 224, 238 prophets, 4 Provinces (colonial Nigeria) Northern, 21 Southern, 21 Colony (of Lagos), 21 Rabiu, Isyaku, 179 Rafindadi, Muhammadu Lawal, 183 (see also National Security Organization, NSO)

Ransome-Kuti, Beko, 73 Ransome-Kuti, Mrs. Funmilayo, 73 Reagan, President Ronald, 14 see also “Reaganomics” reform, 10, 119 see also qualitative change, change in policy direction, transformation Rewane, Alfred, 154 Ribadu, Alhaji Muhammadu (Defense Minister), 167 Ribadu, Nuhu, 56, 211, 234 (see also Economic and Financial Crimes Commission) “rotational presidency,” 83 Rotberg, Robert, 9, 99 Rotimi, O., 167 Saraki, Bukola, 215 Saraki, Gbemisola, 215 Saraki, Olusola, 5, 215 Sawaba, Hajiya Gambo, 73 Second National Development Plan (1970–1974), 110, 128 secondary (and professional) associations, 71–72 secret societies (and cults), 66, 136–137, 213 secularism (and secularization of faith), 25, 33 Securities and Exchange Commission, 106 Senegal, 6 Senghor, Leopold Sedar, 6 sensibilities, religious, cultural, 6 separatism (see irredentist claims), 22, 47, 68 Seri, Lt. William, 169 Sese Seko, Mobutu, 5 Shagari, President Shehu (Aliyu Usman), 51, 60, 65, 79, 94, 113–114, 156, 159, 161–162, 170, 177, 236 (see also National Party of Nigeria) Shodeinde, Col. Ralph, 91

264 / index Shonekan, Chief (Earnest), 45, 95, 201 (see Interim National Government, ING) Shotomi, F., 166 Shuwa, Major M., 173, 174 skepticism, 7 social Darwinism, 129 social deficits (or imbalances), 129–131, 231 Social Democratic Party (SDP), 44, 201 Solarin, Tai, 72 Spencer, Herbert, 129 Structural Adjustment Program (SAP), 114 South Africa, 13 South-South Forum, 65 Southall et al, 51 Sovereign National Conference, 47, 69, 71 sovereign state, 4 Soyinka, (Nobel Laureate) Wole, 73, 79 super-human, 5 Tafawa Balewa, Alhaji Abubakar (Prime Minister), 88, 91, 152, 159–161, 166 Taiwo, Col. Ibrahim, 169 Tarfa, Paul, 175 Tarka, J.S., 154 terror, application of, 4 Thatcher, Mrs Margaret, 14 see also “Thatcherism” Third Development Plan (1975– 1980), 112–113 Thompson, Justice Adewale, 69 Thompson, Tunde, 179 Tofa, Bashir, 201 Transparency International, 87 see also Corruption Perception Index

Tsaro-Wiwa, Ken, 73 Turaki, Alhaji Saminu, 211 Uba, Chris, 5, 214 Uba, Andy, 209, 214 Ugokwe, Major Chris, 182 Ukiwe, Navy Commodore Ebitu, 185 Ukpo, Col. Anthony, 183 Ulamaa, 4 Unegbe, Lt. Col. Arthur, 91 Unification Decree (Decree 34), 92, 171, 174 (cf with “northernization” policy) United Progressive Grand Alliance (UPGA), 83, 159 Usman, Bala, 22, 152, 155 Usman, Musa, 175 Uwechue, 176 Vasta, General Mamman J., 181, 184 Vatican, 4 Wabara, Adolphous, 96 Wada, Alhaji Inuwa, 175 Walbe, W., 175 Welby-Everard, Sir Christopher E., 159, 166 Williamson, 40 Wilson, 7, 8 Wushishi, Lt General Inuwa, 182 Yar’Adua, General Shehu Musa, 175, 187, 203 (see People’s Democratic Movement, PDM) Yar’Adua, President Umaru Musa, 96, 208, 234, 239 Yusuf, M.D., 191 Zoru, Abba, 157

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