June 12 saga: Is IBB too old to be questioned?

Growing up in Nigeria, one of the potent values we were taught was to respect our elders, to see them as bearers of wisdom, truth, and moral guidance. Their rich words echoed with the weight of experience. Our elders were regarded as custodians of history and tradition. But what happens when an elder’s past is […]

Growing up in Nigeria, one of the potent values we were taught was to respect our elders, to see them as bearers of wisdom, truth, and moral guidance. Their rich words echoed with the weight of experience.

Our elders were regarded as custodians of history and tradition. But what happens when an elder’s past is a canvas smeared with betrayal, bloodshed, and deceit? Should age grant immunity from accountability? Should such an elder be allowed to rewrite history to suit his narrative? This is the uncomfortable question sparked by the recent memoir of General Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida (IBB), A Journey in Service.

IBB, often dubbed the ‘evil genius’, casts a long and controversial shadow over Nigeria’s history. His regime, marked by corruption, human rights abuses, and the infamous annulment of Nigeria’s freest and fairest election on June 12, 1993, remains a national scar. Chief Moshood Kashimawo Olawale Abiola, the rightful winner, was denied his mandate, plunging the nation into chaos and leading to Abiola’s tragic death.

In A Journey in Service, IBB seeks to cleanse his tainted legacy. He portrays himself as a misunderstood patriot caught in a web spun by his subordinates. “Yes, during the stalemate that followed the termination of the results announcement, the possibility of annulment that could lead to fresh elections was loosely broached… But to suddenly have an announcement made without my authority was, to put it mildly, alarming… I would later find out that the ‘forces’ led by General Sani Abacha annulled the elections. There and then, I knew I was caught between ‘the devil and the deep blue sea'” (p. 276).

Yet, in a twist of contradictions, he admits, “However, faced with the circumstances of those moments, as President and Commander-in-Chief, painful as it seemed, I did what was in the country’s best interest, for which I take full responsibility” (p. 287). This selective ownership feels like an attempt to rewrite history, a narrative crafted to elicit sympathy while sidestepping blame.

The justification he offers for annulling the June 12 election rings hollow, akin to the propaganda that Joseph Goebbels might have admired. It’s as if Goebbels had penned a memoir excusing Hitler’s atrocities. IBB’s narrative reads as a manipulative attempt to wash his hands clean of a nation’s darkest hour.

What’s more disturbing is the applause that met this revisionist account. Dignitaries, including President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, who once fled into exile for June 12 cause, to our surprise, also applauded IBB at the book launch. It was a jarring moment, a betrayal of the struggle, and a slap in the face to countless Nigerians who suffered and died for democracy.

IBB’s own words expose his intentions. On page 16, he admits, “I have allowed time to pass. Three decades is a generous allowance.” He suggests this delay was calculated, giving those with “empirical evidence” time to “wade off” before presenting his version. It’s a chilling confession, an acknowledgement of a premeditated effort to rewrite history. Yet, those who suffered in the struggle still laughed at the book launch as if it were funny!

Unlike IBB, former President Muhammadu Buhari displayed a rare act of humility. He publicly apologized for the military’s actions during June 12, conferred the GCFR title posthumously on MKO Abiola, and corrected the historical record. Notably, Buhari refrained from attending IBB’s book launch, perhaps recognizing the mockery it made of truth.

But why does IBB’s narrative matter today? Because history, if left unchecked, repeats itself. His memoir is not just a distortion of facts; it’s a flawed account deliberately curated to mislead future generations, particularly the Gen Zs, who may not know the full weight of June 12’s betrayal.

IBB is not too old to be questioned. Justice knows no expiry date. His actions on June 12 echo through Nigeria’s political landscape, and his attempts to rewrite history can not go unchallenged. His words, “I take responsibility for everything that happened because I was the leader then… If it fails, it’s my responsibility… And I’m not regretting anything whatsoever” (p. 336), are damning in their arrogance.

To stay silent now would be to erase the sacrifices of heroes like MKO Abiola, who, despite immense wealth and power, stood for the people, even at the cost of his life. I have organized memorial lectures in Abiola’s honour, striving to ensure his legacy is not drowned by the voices of those who once silenced him.

IBB’s memoir is a violation of the truth, a desperate attempt to sanitize a stained past. As a nation, we must confront such distortions head-on. The question is not whether IBB is too old to be questioned but whether Nigeria is too timid to face its truth.

History, after all, has no age limit. And justice, though delayed, must never be denied.

If the government chooses to look away, clapping for IBB as if stealing June 12 was an act of service, then the burden falls on those who witnessed it all and who still carry the weight of that stolen day. They must continue to tell the story as it happened, for the millions whose dreams were crushed by IBB and his conspirators. Because justice doesn’t live in the words of those who twist the past; it lives in the voices that remember, that refuse to be silenced, and that will keep telling the truth until it is finally heard.

God bless the Federal Republic of Nigeria!!!.

 

Adelani Azeez Alao, a profound International Affairs and Immigration Law Consultant, wrote in from London, United Kingdom.