Bail, power and the perception of justice in Nigeria

In any functioning democracy, justice must not only be done, it must be seen to be done. This principle, simple as it sounds, is the foundation upon which public trust in institutions rests. Once that trust is eroded, the consequences are far-reaching. Cynicism replaces confidence, and the rule of law begins to look like a […]

In any functioning democracy, justice must not only be done, it must be seen to be done. This principle, simple as it sounds, is the foundation upon which public trust in institutions rests. Once that trust is eroded, the consequences are far-reaching. Cynicism replaces confidence, and the rule of law begins to look like a tool of convenience rather than a pillar of order.

 The unfolding situation surrounding Nasir El-Rufai raises precisely these concerns. A former governor, a prominent political figure, and now an opposition voice, El-Rufai’s legal troubles have sparked debate not merely about the specifics of his case, but about the broader question of whether justice in Nigeria is applied evenly or selectively.

 At the heart of the matter is bail. Bail is not acquittal. It is not a declaration of innocence. It is a constitutional safeguard rooted in the presumption of innocence until proven guilty. Denying bail, particularly in non-violent or procedural cases, should be the exception rather than the rule. It is meant to be justified by clear risks of flight, interference with witnesses, or threat to public safety, not by political considerations or public sentiment. 

If those thresholds are not convincingly met, then the denial of bail raises legitimate concerns. 

The question many Nigerians are asking is straightforward.  Why should a figure like El-Rufai be treated in a manner that appears more punitive than procedural?  This concern becomes sharper when placed alongside other high-profile cases. 

Take, for instance, Betta Edu, whose name has featured prominently in allegations of financial impropriety. Or the long-running corruption accusations that have, at various times, hovered around powerful figures such as Godswill Akpabio. In these and similar cases, the pace of legal action, the question of court appearances, and the conditions of personal liberty have often appeared far less stringent. 

This contrast, fairly or unfairly feeds a growing perception: that justice in Nigeria is influenced by political alignment.

 Perception, in this context, is not a trivial matter. It shapes public behaviour, investor confidence, and even national cohesion. When citizens begin to believe that outcomes in the justice system depend on “who you are” or “where you stand politically,” the legitimacy of that system is weakened. 

It is important to be clear, this is not an argument for impunity. No public official, past or present, should be above the law. If there are credible allegations against El-Rufai, they must be tested in court, rigorously and transparently. The same standard applies to every other public figure, regardless of party affiliation or political relevance.

 But equality before the law demands consistency. The selective application of legal pressure and precedure, whether real or perceived, creates a dangerous precedent. Today it may affect one political figure; tomorrow it could be another. Over time, it risks transforming the justice system into an arena of political contest rather than a neutral arbiter.

 The role of the courts, therefore, becomes critical. Judicial independence is not merely a constitutional provision; it is a living principle that must be actively protected. Courts must be insulated from political pressure, whether subtle or overt. Decisions especially on matters such as bail must be grounded strictly in law, evidence, and precedent. 

Where courts demonstrate firmness and impartiality, public confidence follows. Where they appear inconsistent or influenced, doubt takes root. 

Nigeria’s democratic journey has always been intertwined with its struggle to build strong institutions. Progress has been uneven, but the direction has been clear: toward greater accountability, transparency, and fairness. Episodes like this test that progress.

 They force a national reflection around the legitimacy and resilience of our public institutions. Are our institutions strong enough to stand above politics, or are they still vulnerable to its pressures?

 Granting bail to El-Rufai, if legally justified, would not be a concession to him as an individual. It would be a reaffirmation of principle that rights are not contingent on political convenience. Conversely, denying bail without clear and compelling legal grounds risks reinforcing the narrative of selective justice. 

Ultimately, the issue goes beyond one individual. It is about the message Nigeria sends to its citizens, to those who preside over its institutions, and to the world. A justice system perceived as fair strengthens democracy. One perceived as selective undermines it.

 The choice is not abstract. It is made, case by case, decision by decision. And in moments like this, the country watches closely either in crestfallen indignation or in utter helplessness.

 

Toro, a veteran journalist, lives in Bauchi