By Lemmy Ughegbe, Ph.D
Sometimes the most important questions of democratic governance do not arise in courtrooms. They emerge unexpectedly from interviews.
That is precisely what happened when Cardinal John Onaiyekan appeared on Charles Aniagolu’s Prime Time on Arise News following the meeting between President Bola Ahmed Tinubu and the Catholic Bishops’ Conference of Nigeria.
During the interview, Onaiyekan spoke about the broad substance of the discussions, including the concerns the bishops raised about insecurity, economic hardship and governance, as well as the President’s responses.
The interview drew a sharp reaction from Temitope Ajayi, Senior Special Assistant to the President on Media and Publicity, who described the disclosure as an “abuse of clerical privilege.”
The exchange quickly became another political controversy. Yet beneath the headlines lies a far more enduring question.
When representatives of the public meet their President to discuss matters of public concern, who owns the conversation: the participants, the President or the public itself? That is the real issue this controversy has placed before Nigerians.
The Presidency’s concern is not without merit. Government cannot function effectively if every private engagement with the President becomes public property. Presidents receive governors, diplomats, traditional rulers, labour leaders, religious figures, business executives, security chiefs and civil society organisations almost daily. Many of those meetings involve frank exchanges that would become less candid if participants believed every conversation would later be recounted in the public domain.
Confidentiality, therefore, serves a legitimate purpose. It encourages honesty. It builds trust. It creates room for difficult conversations. Diplomacy itself rests heavily upon that principle. Negotiations between states, intelligence cooperation, conflict mediation and sensitive national security consultations frequently succeed because those involved can speak freely without fearing immediate public disclosure. No serious government can operate without some degree of confidentiality.
Yet that is only one side of the argument.
The Catholic bishops were not at the Presidential Villa as personal guests. Neither were they seeking appointments, contracts or private favours. They were there as leaders of one of Nigeria’s largest faith communities, carrying concerns that affect millions of citizens.
They discussed insecurity. They discussed economic hardship. They discussed governance. They discussed the condition of the nation. These were not private matters. They were matters of unmistakable public interest.
When religious leaders, labour unions, professional associations or civil society organisations meet the President to present concerns on behalf of those they represent, they occupy a representative rather than a personal capacity. Having conveyed those concerns, they may reasonably believe they also owe a duty to inform their constituencies that the issues were raised and to give a fair account of the responses they received.
That, too, is an important democratic principle. Transparency. The real challenge, therefore, is not choosing between confidentiality and disclosure. It is determining where one properly ends and the other rightly begins.
Perhaps the first question is whether confidentiality should ever be presumed or whether it should be expressly agreed.
If the Presidency expected the discussions to remain confidential, was that expectation communicated before the meeting? Conversely, if no such understanding existed, can participants fairly be criticised for discussing broad matters of public interest that they had raised on behalf of those they represent? Democratic conventions are strongest when expectations are clearly stated rather than merely assumed.
The Presidency’s own conduct complicates its argument. Only weeks earlier, it had no difficulty publicising a letter from President Trump commending Tinubu’s leadership on security. Nobody in government objected then that private correspondence was being turned into political currency.
That contrast is instructive. It suggests that the real objection is not to disclosure itself. It is to disclosure that embarrasses rather than flatters.
There is also an important distinction that should not be overlooked. The expression “clerical privilege” is not generally recognised as a legal doctrine governing meetings between religious leaders and public officials. Religious traditions have long protected certain confidential communications, such as sacramental confession, because confidentiality is intrinsic to that spiritual relationship.
A meeting between the President and religious leaders to discuss insecurity, economic hardship or governance belongs to a different category. It is a civic engagement on matters of public policy. Whether such discussions should remain confidential depends less on the clerical status of the participants than on the nature of the meeting and any understanding reached beforehand.
Perhaps the better approach is to distinguish between the subject of a meeting and the details of a meeting.
There is every reason why citizens should know that their President was confronted with concerns about insecurity, poverty, inflation or governance. Indeed, democratic accountability is strengthened when representative groups reassure the public that such issues were candidly discussed.
What may properly remain confidential are operational details, sensitive security matters, personal exchanges made in confidence or information whose disclosure could prejudice national interests.
In other words, the public has a legitimate interest in knowing what issues were discussed without necessarily being entitled to every word that was spoken.
Many mature democracies navigate this balance through agreed communiques, joint statements or coordinated press briefings issued after important meetings. Such practices reduce misunderstanding because both sides reach a common understanding about what may appropriately enter the public domain.
Perhaps Nigeria should increasingly embrace that culture. It would preserve trust while strengthening transparency.
Ultimately, this debate is not about President Tinubu. Neither is it about Onaiyekan. Long after both men have left public life, future Presidents will continue to receive labour leaders, traditional rulers, professional bodies, religious organisations and civil society groups.
The same question will arise again. How much should the public know? Democracies are strengthened neither by absolute secrecy nor by absolute disclosure. They flourish when leaders understand which conversations require confidentiality and which demand transparency. Confidentiality protects trust. Transparency protects accountability. Neither should become an excuse to diminish the other.
The controversy surrounding Onaiyekan’s interview should therefore not be remembered merely as another disagreement between the Presidency and a respected cleric. It should be remembered for the larger question it has compelled Nigerians to confront. Where should a democracy draw the fine line between confidentiality and the public interest?
The answer to that question will matter long after this particular controversy has faded from the headlines.
Dr Lemmy Ughegbe, FIMC, CMC
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