The tragic and merciless murder in the name of execution of Mamman Vasta, a renowned military intellectual and soldier-poet, no doubt, requires a sober and solemn reflection especially at a moment like this when his erstwhile trusted friend, who without disguise, became the arrow-head of the conspiracy that abruptly snuffed life out of him and, without any remorse, now abashedly celebrates his own life at 85.

find it irresistible a moral obligation doing a philosophical requiem for a friend betrayed by a “twin brother”, (though non-biological) who was not only a childhood friend but a Best-man during the wedding ceremony that did not produce just survivors but successors as this now offers indelible lesson for generations unborn.

History is full of betrayals, but none cuts deeper than when a man orders the killing of his childhood friend. The execution of Major-General Mamman Jiya Vatsa on December 17, 1986, by the regime of his bosom friend, General Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida, remains Nigeria’s most poignant study of what absolute power does to human friendship.

Vasta and Babangida were not mere colleagues. They were sons of Bida in Niger State, both attended the same Government College, Bida and joined the Army together. They were best men at each other’s weddings, their children called each other uncle. In military terms, they were closer than blood.

In August 1985, Babangida overthrew General Muhammadu Buhari and became Head of State. He appointed Vatsa, his dearest friend, as Minister of the Federal Capital Territory, Abuja – one of the most powerful ministries in the country. It was an act of trust. Four months later, that trust was shattered.

The accusation and the weak evidence: In December 1985, Vatsa was arrested and accused of plotting to overthrow Babangida’s government in a coup allegedly planned for December 1985. He was tried secretly by a Special Military Tribunal headed by Major-General Charles Ndiomu. He was allegedly found guilty and sentenced to death.

What has haunted Nigeria for 40 years is the revelation that came later from the highest quarters. General Domkat Yah Bali, who was at that time the Chief of Defence Staff, the Number Two man in the Armed Forces Ruling Council, and the most senior officer after Babangida, stated unequivocally in later interviews that “all the evidences presented against Vatsa were weak, circumstantial, hearsay-based, and would not have sustained a conviction in any serious court of law.”

Other members of the tribunal have also whispered that the judgment was pre-determined. If Bali’s testimony is true – and there is no reason to doubt a man of Bali’s integrity who had nothing to gain from lying – then Vatsa was not executed because he was guilty. He was executed because he was “suspected”! And that is where condemnation becomes inevitable.

Condemnation where history must judge Babangida: We must condemn General Ibrahim Babangida on three grounds where evidence and morality support such condemnation:

Condemnation for allowing paranoia to override justice. A leader who kills his friend on weak evidence has failed the first test of leadership – justice. Babangida as Head of State had the power of prerogative of mercy. He had the power to commute death sentence to life imprisonment, to detention, to retirement. He chose the most irreversible punishment on the most questionable evidence. That is not firmness; that is ruthlessness.

Condemnation for Destroying Due Process. The Tribunal that tried Vatsa was a military tribunal, not a court of law. Defence lawyers were intimidated, appeal was limited, and the Head of State was both the accuser and the final judge. When a man is both the offended and the judge, justice is already dead. Babangida created a system where friendship could not be saved even if he wanted to.

Condemnation for Setting a brutal precedence. By executing his own best friend, Babangida sent a chilling message to the Nigerian political class that has endured till today that power has no friends, only victims. From that day, Nigerian politics became a game of absolute betrayal.

The murder of Chief Bola Ige, the killing of Alhaja Kudirat Abiola and her husband, Moshood Abiola by the same cabal lend credence to the above legacy Babagida left for Nigeria’s political and power class. If Babangida could kill Vatsa, who is safe? That culture of suspicion and elimination is the direct child of December 17, 1986. Vasta was also a poet. In his poem “The Bird That Sings”, he wrote about freedom. He was a humanist, a writer, a gentleman officer. He did not deserve to die like a common criminal on weak evidence.

From the above, we can philosophically ask the question that what does power do to friendship?
Power destroys equality. Friendship can only exist between equals. The day Babangida became President and Vatsa remained Minister, equality died. One could now kill the other with a signature. Friendship cannot breathe in such unequal air.

A deeper reflection on to this inglorious Babagida legacy undoubtedly brings to the fore the dangerous fact that power feeds on fear, especially when the vehicle of ascendancy to power has blood as its fuel. It is therefore natural, though odd and frightening, that such a misnormal can only be sustained with more blood, leading to a blood thirsty regime or dynasty as subsequent event revealed.

Niccolò Machiavelli taught that it is safer for a Prince to be feared than loved. A military ruler is constantly afraid of even his own shadow sometimes mistaken it for a coup. Every popular General becomes a suspect. Vatsa was intelligent, charismatic, and popular among the middle-rank officers. In the paranoid logic of power, that popularity itself became evidence of ambition.

Power demands sacrifice to prove Itself. In African traditional philosophy, the gods often demand the sacrifice of what you love most to prove that you are worthy of the throne. By sacrificing Vatsa, Babangida proved to his fellow coup plotters that he was not sentimental, that the throne was more important than friendship. It was a blood ritual of power consolidation.

Painful as it may be, there are, indeed, lessons for generations to come in this power intrigue. For every leader, the moment you begin to see your friends as threats, you have already become a tyrant. True power is strong enough to forgive, weak power kills.

For the citizenry, never applaud injustice because it does not affect you. Today it is Vatsa with weak evidence, tomorrow it could be you. The legal precedent of killing on weak evidence endangers all of us.

For friendship, do not seek power over your friend. If you must lead your friend, create institutions that protect him from your anger and protect you from your fear. Friendship needs justice to survive.

For Nigeria, we must abolish the practice of special tribunals for coup trials. Every accused, no matter how serious the offence, deserves open trial, independent judges, and right of appeal to the Supreme Court. Blood spilled on weak evidence cries to God for justice.

Mamman Vasta died at 46. He left behind poems, buildings in Abuja, and a question that will never die: can a man who kills his friend on weak evidence ever find peace even if he lives another 85 years? General Domkat Bali, a man of honour, has given us his verdict; the evidence was weak. History too must give its own verdict; power murdered friendship that day in December. May God forgive us all. May God grant Mamman Vatsa eternal rest. And may no Nigerian leader ever again have to choose between keeping power and keeping his friend. If power requires you to kill your friend to keep it, then that power is not worth keeping.