Revisiting the perogative of mercy controversy
By Rekpene Bassey
In a move that has sparked widespread debate and quiet disquiet across the country, President Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s recent exercise of the Prerogative of Mercy has reopened one of democracy’s oldest moral dilemmas: where does compassion end, and where does justice begin?
The decision to pardon several convicted felons, some jailed for drug trafficking, financial crimes, corruption, kidnapping, and even multiple murders, has unsettled a nation already strained by insecurity, economic anxiety, and public distrust.
The Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria grants the President the absolute right to exercise the prerogative of mercy. It is a power rooted in the spirit of clemency and in the recognition that justice, without the possibility of forgiveness, may turn tyrannical.
Yet, as philosophers from Aristotle to Locke have argued, the virtue of mercy must always be tempered by prudence. Mercy without wisdom, they warned, is mere indulgence.
In this case, prudence is precisely what Nigerians are asking about. On what criteria did the presidency decide to release those particular individuals? What considerations guided the process? And more importantly, were the President’s security chiefs, those entrusted with safeguarding the state, adequately consulted before such decisions were made?
These are not rhetorical questions. They cut to the heart of national governance, especially at a time when Nigeria faces an intricate web of security challenges, from banditry and kidnapping to terrorism, cybercrime, and economic sabotage.
The decision to free certain convicts cannot be viewed in isolation from the broader implications for public safety and the morale of security institutions battling to restore order.
President Tinubu’s prerogative, though constitutional, must be balanced against the collective obligation to national security. The timing, optics, and composition of those pardoned matter profoundly.
To grant amnesty to offenders whose actions directly undermine the very fabric of national stability raises not only moral concerns but also operational ones. It potentially erodes public confidence in the criminal justice system and may demoralise security operatives who risked their lives to bring these criminals to justice.
Nigeria’s current crop of security chiefs is among the most competent and reform-minded in recent memory. From the Chief of Defence Staff to the National Security Adviser, the Directors-General of the State Security Service (SSS) and National Intelligence Agency (NIA), and the Chiefs of Army, Navy, Air Force, and Defence Intelligence, each carries a weight of experience and professionalism honed through decades of service. They represent a new ethos of security leadership: intelligence-driven, coordinated, and reformist.
If these officers were indeed consulted, their advice should have carried significant weight. But if they were not, then the President risks creating a dangerous disconnect between political leadership and security professionalism, a dissonance that has historically haunted Nigeria’s governance structure.
For when politics overrides professional judgment in matters of security, the nation pays the price in blood, confusion, and public distrust.
It is worth recalling that the prerogative of mercy was initially conceived as a royal instrument to temper justice with humanity, not to subvert justice altogether. In ancient Rome, Emperor Marcus Aurelius spoke of clemency as “the wisdom that heals without destroying.”
Yet even he cautioned that mercy, if misplaced, may become the seed of future injustice. History bears him out: every act of unexamined clemency has the potential to embolden future offenders.
One cannot ignore the political undertones of Tinubu’s decision. Was this move driven by compassion or by expedience? In a polarised polity where alliances are shifting and political debts are abundant, mercy can easily morph into currency.
If the pardons were aimed at consolidating political loyalties, then the implications are grave. Political mercy, unlike moral mercy, is transactional; it purchases short-term peace at the cost of long-term stability.
From a governance standpoint, the President’s constitutional right must coexist with institutional intelligence. It is one thing to forgive, quite another to endanger. Nigeria’s fragility today demands that every executive action, especially those involving individuals once deemed threats to the state, be weighed in consultation with those who guard its security architecture.
Indeed, the moral paradox here is ancient. Plato argued that justice and mercy exist in tension: justice seeks balance, mercy seeks restoration. The art of statesmanship lies in harmonising both without sacrificing truth.
When mercy ceases to serve justice, it ceases to serve the state. And when a leader pardons without consulting his sentinels, he risks ruling by impulse rather than by insight.
The consequences of such unilateral exercises extend beyond symbolism. They shape perceptions of power and accountability. In a society already struggling to differentiate between justice and privilege, the selective forgiveness of felons may signal that the powerful and connected can evade the full consequences of their actions. This corrodes public trust, the most fragile currency of any democracy.
The President may have acted from a place of genuine compassion, believing in second chances and rehabilitation. Clemency, after all, can inspire reform and social reintegration.
Yet, without transparency and stakeholder consultation, even noble intentions can appear self-serving. The public deserves to know whether the nation’s top security and intelligence officials were part of the conversation or merely spectators to it.
It is also important to remember that national security is not merely the absence of violence; it is the presence of confidence in state institutions. Every decision from the top filters down to the field, where soldiers, intelligence officers, and police interpret the meaning of justice through their daily sacrifices. When the system seems to reward those it once condemned, morale suffers, and discipline erodes.
The administration must, therefore, tread carefully. Mercy must never come at the cost of deterrence. A government that forgives too easily risks inviting further transgressions. Just as the philosopher Seneca once observed, “He who spares the guilty harms the innocent.” In the context of Nigeria’s current insecurity, this adage rings painfully true.
Ultimately, this controversy is less about legality than about leadership judgment. The prerogative of mercy is a sacred trust; a bridge between justice and humanity.
But like all bridges, it must rest on firm foundations of consultation, transparency, and foresight. To exercise mercy wisely is to govern justly; to exercise it carelessly is to weaken the moral fabric of the republic.
As President Tinubu continues to navigate Nigeria’s complex terrain of security, politics, and reform, he would do well to remember that in a fragile democracy, mercy without strategy is perilous. Consultation is not a weakness; it is the highest form of wisdom. The state survives not merely by the might of its laws but by the prudence of its leaders.
In the final reckoning, mercy and security are not opposites but complements when guided by wisdom, informed by intelligence, and executed with justice. The hope is that the President’s future decisions will reflect this delicate harmony, lest the noble virtue of mercy become an unwitting accomplice to national insecurity.
*Rekpene Bassey is the President of the African Council on Narcotics (ACON), and also a Security and Drug Prevention Expert.
