General Ibrahim Babangida had never been one to escape controversy. It followed him through his years as a military dictator and was sure never to leave him after he annulled the landmark presidential elections in 1993. So, when he published his autobiography — A Journey in Service — a short while ago, it was merely a perpetuation of the press time that followed him and after the years of office. I suspect the player’s age hardly has anything to do with his game. If anything, the publication of this book suggests that he’s only become desperate. To what degree and for what purpose, we’ll probably never be quite able to tell its fullest, but a surefire attempt is that he desires that his voice speaks in his own story, even long after he is gone.
The speculation is all good, yet potentially flawed when contrasted with veteran journalist and senator Babafemi Ojudu’s Sunday comment on my interview program that the General never intended to publish a book — much less one that seemingly wants to protest existing narratives. The nuance that he extends further is because he is its pen master. That status confers a discretion to abridge, conceal, and distort. It envelopes him with the ability to weave history as it would please him. Thus, when Wale Lawal, founder of The Republic, submitted that autobiographies are a veritable tool for figures seeking independent historicization of their lives, I agreed with him. Beyond that, I agree that the ball is much further away from Babangida’s court than he might have hoped.
Over thirty years of alternative production of the affairs of those years, there are decades of consensus that the annulment was a blight on Nigeria’s democratic history. The story has become folklore. It is told by the generation who voted in those times only to witness their choices overturned. In other words, his book might be a protest, but it stands against much deeper perceptions nursed for far longer than a few hundred likely-to-be-obscure pages can hope to control. I say it is likely to be obscure because the heydays of Nigerian intellectualism have eroded. Save some extraordinary stunt of publicity, the contents of his material are unlikely to travel extensively, far enough to reach the people who matter most.
Whatever the case, we do glean other interesting details. One of these is the intense attempt to justify the existence of military dictatorships in Nigeria. Babangida casts aspersion on the quality of civil leaders and their roles in drawing in the military. We observe a Messiah complex amongst officers who took a dim view of the intentions and conduct of politicians. To these troops of ideologues, the military could either share power with the civilians or hold on a little longer before transferring the resins. Inevitably, there was self-interest in the mix, particularly for those soldiers who desired titled offices in compensation for their contributions to their coup-plotting seniors.
In addition, Babangida extends to the particularisation of individual roles in the direction the Nigerian vehicle has taken, ignoring the apparent influence of existing structures. This benefits the sanitization of his regime, which teased the nation with the transition to civil leadership. Decrying the competence of civil leadership paves the strategic path to power that militaries, including those in the West African countries of Mali, Niger and Burkina Faso, have constantly followed. It is also the risk that President Tinubu, in appointing a former officer to the helm of Rivers State’s political affairs, also runs. After all, if a military solution is what even the civilians think is best, then who can confidently defend democracy?
It also conceals the inherent flaws of the military government. Personally, Babangida was notorious for abject intolerance of the press. His regime saw dozens of shutdowns of media outfits, detentions of opposition voices, and flights by dissidents and academics such as me to escape his scourge. The question, therefore, on the lips of many Nigerians has been why such an anti-democratic person would be accorded such honor as that presented by the business and political leaders who attended his book launch. Were the stifling circumstances under which civil society was made to operate to be transplanted to today, the results would undoubtedly have been internet shutdowns and mass arrests. Whose imagination can tolerate that? A great many of the current leadership, it would seem. In my view, this constitutes a collective moderation enterprise.
A silent affirmation of his record occurred through the fanfare surrounding the launch, the banding together for the occasion. It is hardly surprising to anyone with a presence of mind. Under his watch, the rent-seeking culture ate into the fabric of the military whose loyalty he needed to maintain his political grip. Billions of naira were expended on retaining the allegiance of his comrades, translating to inestimable consequences for the military-political relationship. Given that the cycle perpetuates to date, it is apt to conclude that mutual sympathies exist between the vanguards of the past and present. Interestingly, Babangida’s book advises civilian administrations on transparency and service-oriented leadership. That discussion has flowed into whether the General deserves the honor of a presidential library.
Functional though the structure may be, such an appellation embeds a high degree of prestige in the legacy of a man who gagged information. In the mind of the uninitiated, a presidential library is sanctimonious. And by so doing, obfuscates.
We are now left with a question. Where, precisely, do we situate this book? Babangida had claimed the thirty years before its publication was to allow a cooling off. In that sense, it would mean we have ample time for comparison, but have the results been as he projected? He also admits to taciturnity on details he describes as “sensational” in his administration. Given these and the inherent consequences they pose for the public’s historical awareness, as the panelists on the interview affirmed, the outcome is a potential opening for fresh authorial work. It is undoubtedly a win if that happens. Still, considering that the Nigerian scholarship whose ideas once inspired some of the most tumultuous moments in the country’s history have receded into the background, we should not restrain our breaths.
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