Lemmy Ughegbe, PhD
In recent times, there has been a claim that Attorney General of the Federation and Minister of Justice, Prince Lateef Fagbemi (SAN), bungled what was described as a watertight ₦20 billion fraud case.
Sahara Reporters, in particular, had painted the picture of a scandal, an Attorney General accused of deliberately sabotaging anti-corruption efforts by discontinuing high-profile prosecutions.
On the surface, such allegations strike a deep chord in a country where impunity and political compromise are familiar bedfellows. Yet upon closer inquiry, the reality appears more nuanced than the headlines suggest.
This is not to deny that Nigerians are right to be suspicious. History has conditioned the public to treat every nolle prosequi, the government’s withdrawal of a case, with raised eyebrows. Successive holders of the office of Attorney General have at one time or another used the power of discontinuance to shield allies and cronies.
But to stop the conversation there, to assume that every exercise of prosecutorial discretion amounts to compromise, is to miss the broader truth about how justice is supposed to work.
Nigeria’s anti-corruption fight has often been undermined by selective prosecution, political vendettas, and hurriedly packaged cases designed more for optics than for substance.
Too often, the spectacle of arraignment, the parade of handcuffed former governors or bank executives before flashing cameras, matters more to public officials than the hard work of securing convictions. These spectacles are dubbed media trials. They whip up public anger and momentary applause, but collapse in courtrooms for lack of credible evidence.
It is against this backdrop that the Attorney General’s recent decisions must be weighed. Lateef Fagbemi (SAN) is not a man given to many speeches. His reputation as a Senior Advocate of Nigeria is that of a measured, disciplined lawyer who his reforms would rather judge than his rhetoric.
In private practice, he was respected as a stickler for integrity and meticulous attention to procedure. Those who know him argue that the office of the AGF, under his stewardship, deserves at least the benefit of doubt.
Take, for instance, the case of Nneka Onyeali Ikpe, Managing Director of Fidelity Bank. She was charged in connection with an alleged fraud that, according to records, occurred before she even assumed office as MD. No serious court, whether in Lagos, Abuja, or London, would sustain a charge against a person for acts committed before they occupied the role from which the alleged misconduct stemmed. To proceed with such a case would have been to turn justice into persecution. Yet the headlines do not ask this obvious question.
Similarly, in the matter involving respected businessman Oba Otudeko, First Bank of Nigeria, the alleged victim, clearly stated that Otudeko had fulfilled his liabilities and that the bank had no complaint against him. How does the state prove a fraud case where the supposed complainant insists there is no injury suffered?
In criminal law, evidence is not a garnish; it is the foundation. Without it, there is no case. Yet Sahara Reporters framed both cases as part of a grand scandal, suggesting compromise at the highest level. The question that should have been asked is more straightforward: Can the state secure a conviction if the facts as presented are weighed before an impartial court?
Contrary to claims of weakening anti-corruption, the AGF’s record reflects consistency. He cited the celebrated P&ID case in London, where his office successfully defended Nigeria against an 11 billion dollar liability, a case widely acknowledged as a legal and diplomatic triumph.
He has also pointed to ongoing EFCC prosecutions, including the arrest and arraignment of former governor Aminu Tambuwal, in which his office did not interfere. These actions are not those of an Attorney General compromised or captured; instead, they signify an official aligning Nigeria with international best practices, prosecuting where evidence is strong and discontinuing where it is not.
This is what many headlines miss. Justice is not about adding names to a charge sheet to please public opinion. It is about building cases that stand in court, survive appeals, and serve as precedents that strengthen, not weaken, the system.
Nigerians are suspicious not only because of history, but also because silence leaves too much room for speculation. Every withdrawal, when left unexplained, creates fertile ground for suspicion of political interference. It is one thing to say that the law supports the AGF’s discretion; it is another to carry the public along.
The AGF’s media office, therefore, has its work cut out to help him handle the optics of such justifiable and reasonable decisions; otherwise, critics will turn it into an opportunity to smear his name or rubbish his effort to promote justice, equity and fair play.
My inquiry suggests that due diligence, including consultation with the EFCC, guided every decision to discontinue high-profile cases. But this due diligence was not proactively communicated. If Nigerians had been told in real time that, for example, a complainant had withdrawn or that the alleged offence predated the tenure of the accused, much of the controversy might have been avoided.
There is a deeper conversation here about the role of media in shaping perceptions of justice. By portraying every withdrawal as betrayal, we risk entrenching the culture of media trials where guilt is decided in headlines rather than in courtrooms.
This is not just unfair to the accused, it also undermines the justice system itself. Once people believe convictions do not matter because the media has already passed judgment, the courtroom becomes a theatre and the constitution a prop.
Fagbemi’s reluctance to grandstand should be seen in this light. He does not rush to the microphones to defend every decision. But silence in today’s noisy public square can be dangerous. When public trust is this fragile, the absence of explanation sounds like confirmation of suspicion.
What then does the AGF know that we do not? He knows, as every serious lawyer does, that justice is not about popularity but about process. He knows that a poorly conceived case, no matter how emotionally satisfying, will collapse on appeal and embolden those who thrive on impunity.
He knows that Nigeria’s reputation abroad, whether in London courts or New York arbitration panels, depends on demonstrating that prosecutions are based on evidence, not vengeance.
Most importantly, he knows that in a democracy governed by the rule of law, discretion is as important as action. To prosecute blindly is to risk injustice, to withdraw where evidence is absent is to preserve the integrity of the system.
This does not mean the AGF is beyond critique. Indeed, critique is necessary for accountability. But it must be a critique grounded in facts, not suspicions recycled as scandal.
If Sahara Reporters or any outlet so interested had reached out to the office of the AGF for clarifications before going to press, the conversation today would be richer and more balanced. Journalism serves democracy best when it interrogates power without sensationalism.
What Nigerians deserve now is not just a justice system that prosecutes, but one that communicates. If the AGF’s integrity and house-cleansing effort are complemented by proactive strategic communications, and every discontinuity is accompanied by a simple explanation, as seen in the Onyeali Ikpe case, the suspicion that accompanies every exercise of discretion will slowly fade.
Until then, the gulf between what the AGF knows and what Nigerians think will continue to widen. And in that gulf, truth will always be the first casualty.
Lemmy Ughegbe, writes from Abuja
