By Rekpene Bassey
One of the most striking revelations in A Journey in Service, the recently unveiled memoir of former Military President General Ibrahim Badamosi Babangida, was his unequivocal admission that the late Moshood Abiola won the 1993 presidential election.
This belated confession finally ends decades of speculation surrounding the annulment of an election widely regarded as the most credible in Nigeria’s democratic history.
Yet, Babangida’s admission, though momentous, is hardly sufficient in addressing the profound national trauma inflicted by that singular act. Acknowledging the truth is one thing; accounting for the consequences is quite another.
Beyond merely recognising the legitimacy of Abiola’s victory, Babangida’s claim of personal responsibility demands deeper scrutiny, particularly in light of his convoluted justifications for the annulment.
The most confounding of these justifications is his assertion that the annulment was necessitated by a plot by the late General Sani Abacha to assassinate him. Such a claim defies logic on multiple levels.
If Babangida was aware that Abacha harboured designs to overthrow him, why did he annul the election instead of neutralising the threat? More curiously, how does an internal coup plot justify the subversion of an electoral process that reflected the sovereign will of the Nigerian people?
The contradictions become even starker when juxtaposed with Babangida’s handling of other coup attempts. General Mamman Vatsa, Babangida’s childhood friend, was executed on charges of conspiracy despite lingering doubts about the credibility of the evidence against him.
Yet, Abacha, whom Babangida directly implicated in a treasonous plot, was neither prosecuted nor neutralised. Instead, he was allowed to consolidate power, ultimately becoming Nigeria’s most repressive dictator.
These inconsistencies expose the underlying fragility of Babangida’s restitution. A true reckoning with history demands more than personal admissions; it requires systemic redress. The annulment of June 12 was not merely a political miscalculation but a grievous assault on democracy, a textbook case of treason against the Nigerian state.
By its very definition, treason entails the gravest betrayal of one’s nation, and mere confession cannot absolve its consequences.
From a legal standpoint, treason is a capital offence under Nigerian law, punishable by death or life imprisonment. The annulment of an election that would have peacefully transitioned Nigeria into civilian rule was, in every sense, a subversion of the constitutional order.
Babangida’s decision precipitated a chain reaction of political instability, culminating in Abiola’s unlawful detention and eventual death and the entrenchment of military dictatorship under Abacha.
Needless to say, justice is not merely about punishment but about restitution and deterrence. The annulment of June 12 denied Nigeria a defining democratic moment, reinforcing the dangerous precedent that political expediency supersedes the people’s will.
For a nation still grappling with the consequences of electoral impunity, the lack of judicial scrutiny over Babangida’s actions erodes public trust in democratic processes.
The notion of restituting treason is itself paradoxical. As an existential crime against the state, Treason is not a mere lapse in judgment that can be remedied through admission or apology. It demands structured accountability.
While significant, Babangida’s confession is insufficient without legal and institutional follow-up. The principle of ex turpi causa non oritur action, which states that one cannot benefit from wrongdoing, applies. The architects of national betrayal cannot dictate the terms of their absolution.
Beyond personal culpability, the systemic enablers of electoral subversion must be addressed. The June 12 annulment was not the unilateral act of one man; it was facilitated by a network of military elites, complicit political actors, and a judiciary too weak to assert democratic supremacy. Without holding these structures accountable, history risks repeating itself.
A formal judicial inquest into the annulment is long overdue. While the passage of time may render criminal prosecution impractical, a truth and reconciliation tribunal could serve as an avenue for national catharsis.
Such a tribunal should be empowered to recommend reparative justice, including state recognition of June 12 as a national symbol of democracy, compensation to the Abiola family, and institutional safeguards against future electoral nullifications.
The Nigerian state must also codify stronger constitutional mechanisms to prevent executive overreach in electoral matters. Electoral sovereignty belongs to the people, not the whims of military or political elites. The independence of the judiciary and electoral commissions must be fortified to ensure that no single individual or group can unilaterally overturn the democratic process.
Moreover, political actors who undermine democracy must face tangible consequences. Legal reforms should prescribe severe penalties for election annulment or fraudulent political manoeuvres that subvert the electorate’s will. Immunity clauses shielding past leaders from prosecution must be reconsidered to ensure that acts of national betrayal do not go unpunished.
Babangida’s memoir may serve as a starting point for national reflection, but it cannot be the final word on June 12. Restitution for treason is not a matter of personal absolution; it is a matter of state integrity. A democracy that tolerates treasonous acts without accountability weakens its foundations.
The moral burden of Babangida’s actions extends beyond his legacy. It is a burden that the Nigerian state must carry until justice is served, not just in words but in tangible actions that ensure history does not repeat itself.
To truly restitute treason, Nigeria must reckon with its past, strengthen its institutions, and reaffirm its commitment to democratic principles. Without such measures, Babangida’s confession remains what it is: an admission without atonement, a truth without justice, and a history yet to be rectified.
Rekpene Bassey is the President of the African Council on Narcotics (ACON) and an expert in Security and Drug Prevention.
