Some 32 years after the debacle of the June 12, 1993, presidential election struggle in which he remains the villain, General Ibrahim Badamosi Babangida (IBB)’s account of his eight-year stewardship in a memoir has not only raised more questions than answers, it has set raised dust on the real purport of the book. On one hand, his self-documentary about participation and contributions to shaping the country’s modern history are commendable.
However, coating the national narrative in calculated convenient truths shows less remorse for obvious infamous roles and more of a backdoor approach to rewriting a national history. If the book was meant to put the records straight, it is controversial and seemingly an afterthought. If it was designed as an apology to a nation with its “Hope ‘93” dashed in a brutal and permanent manner, the book is timidly low in esteem. It bears little mention that the book presentation itself should have been a day of national mourning than one of celebration of a best-forgotten rape of democracy, with reverberating pains still felt to date.
After decades of hiding in near oblivion, the former head of state, Babangida, took the national space by storm. This time, not to again shift the goalpost of democratic transition or annul a free and fair election with panache, but to present his autobiography, titled: A Journey in Service. The 440-page book of 13 chapters led the readers to meet the characters that made and shaped IBB’s gene into becoming the genie he became and still nurturing at 83.
The 12th chapter, which is dedicated to the June 12, 1993, saga, is the most controversial and has expectedly set tongues wagging. Therein, IBB, with the benefit of clarity that often accompanies hindsight, said: “Looking back now, the June 12 saga was undeniably the most challenging moment of my life and, in certain respects, one of the most painful. If I had to do it all over, I’d do it differently.”
For a fact, IBB’s eight years in power, also known as the Babangida Era, is infamous as one of the most controversial in Nigerian political and military history, especially characterised by a burgeoning political culture of manipulation and flagrant absence of transparency. Today, a baggage IBB tries to explain away is the prolonged transition dribbles, banning and unbanning of politicians, and the routine alterations in the transition programme.
While he believes he was exorcising demons in the old politicians to create a new breed of civilians and bequeath a brand-new country, the country saw an effort dissipated at self-succession in power that went awry. Curiously, he still finds it convenient to blame the political class that has, for three decades of the post-IBB era, consistently accused him of polluting the modern political landscape. Overall, IBB, via his autobiography, lets readers into his Machiavellian world of leadership and his naivety — going by his account.
Notably, though belated now, he admitted that Abiola won the June 12, 1993, free and fair election with a wide margin. That report is already in the public domain and not new. However, what is new to readers is his blaming of Abacha and others for the annulment just after admitting responsibility for annulling the election and wishing to have done things differently. The conflict in taking responsibility and simultaneously pointing accusing fingers at another person is palpable, and cannot be easily wished away.
First, his buck passing to Abacha and his clique, in a veiled self-exoneration, is grossly unhelpful. Why after 32 years, and when Abacha is dead, and cannot respond? Who are the persons averse to Abiola’s victory and presidency that he (IBB) had to succumb to their alleged threat and captivate their annulment campaign? Is it not true that while some officers might not have rued an MKO Abiola’s presidency, for whatever reasons, many other senior military personnel had nothing against him and indeed, canvassed for the expression of the wish of Nigerians as demonstrated in that near flawless June 12, 1993 polls? Should IBB have allowed the whims of some officers, no matter how highly placed they were, to override the wishes of millions of Nigerians?
General Babangida admitted that the primary aim of his government was the transition to civil rule, which he spent seven years preparing. Nigerians spoke loudly on June 12 as a fitting coda to the groundwork amid the winding preparation flaws. So, how is it plausible that a handful of military personnel in the same administration led by IBB were permitted to override the one voice of Nigerians and that of the head of state to stage a daylight robbery of the people’s mandate? How is it possible that he, for eight years, failed “to firmly secure the support and firm commitment of my military colleagues to the Transition programme from the beginning”? Above all, given that the unity of Nigeria has never been more pronounced than it was on June 12, IBB cannot exonerate or exculpate himself for the permanent dent he inflicted on that unity with his annulment.
Secondly, IBB’s narrative on the powerbroker that Abacha allegedly became in his government and his (IBB’s) professed helplessness in upholding the people’s will, showcase more cowardice that belies the courage of a military General or an IBB in his heydays. That inconsistency, if not self-duplicity, suggests more of an afterthought that is quite damaging for his half-hearted apologies for the calamitous repercussions of the annulment. Or was it a case of a deft manoeuvrer who built a Frankenstein Monster bent on eating him up or sending him on retirement?
As a window into Nigerian history, the book is much more than a record of IBB. It makes it instructive for posterity. It comes in handy in deconstructing and reconstructing the country and its myths and theories. Readers must, however, read it carefully and not a gospel truth. IBB has led us into his worldview as he sees it and as most convenient. We must read it mindful of human limitations at self-indictment or disparagement. Nigerians must be wary of the history of Nigeria, especially as told by politicians and political officeholders.
Nonetheless, how many Nigerian leaders – including those who graced IBB’s book presentation – would be courageous enough to table their stewardship accounts for public scrutiny shortly after exiting the privileged leadership position? It resonates with our collective lack of transparency, forgetting that public office must remain public and never a private estate of the political class. Ideally, no person with an unknown pedigree or a vague past deserves to lead Nigeria into its future.
Lastly, the gathering at the book launch and its allure speak volumes about Nigerian society and its organised decadence. Minus the political class that are beneficiaries of the June 12 struggles, not many Nigerians at the receiving end of those dark days of military rule and bloody civil unrest of the June 12 struggle will have kind words for the ‘celebrant’. Among those Nigerians are families that had their loved ones killed or maimed into permanent disabilities and are still traumatised by injustices that have never nor will ever be assuaged. Not one was mentioned, nor was a minute of silence observed in their memory!
The assemblage suggests one intended to assuage bad feelings and grievances and to ensure that somebody is not asked to account for his deeds and misdeeds to avoid justice. It is, therefore, commendable that some of the victims are now stepping out to challenge IBB for the atrocities perpetrated under his watch, at least to show that public officeholders can still be held accountable in this part of the world. Whatever the outcome, those martyrs and victims remain the true heroes and heroines of today’s democracy. And no amount of veiled apologies, calculated lies and half-truths in afterthought memoirs, nor gathering of traducers and vultures, will replace their place – as well as those of their tormentors – from Nigeria’s national consciousness and history.
