The book launch of former military President, Ibrahim Babangida, was less a literary event and more of a congregation of Nigeria’s seasoned architects of corruption; an assembly of Nigeria’s political and economic demons of destruction.
Past and present power brokers gathered under one roof, a parade of those who have gorged on the flesh of the Nigerian state and those still feasting on its dwindling resources. It was a living tableau of Nigeria’s persistent problems, yesterday’s oppressors, today’s gatekeepers, and tomorrow’s obstacles, all in celebratory unison.
Babangida’s “A Journey in Service” is his ruthless attempt to distort history, disguising his brutal leadership decisions and political manipulations as noble acts, while burying the devastating consequences of his oppressive regime on Nigeria’s fragile democratic foundation.
He portrayed himself as a misunderstood hero while erasing or distorting the ugly chapters of his reign. In what seems like a meticulously rehearsed defense speech disguised as an autobiography, Babangida paints himself as a reluctant ruler burdened by impossible choices. This constructed narrative reeks of revisionism, glossing over the profound damage his leadership left on Nigeria’s political and economic system.
In the book, he passes off responsibility for the annulment of the June 12, 1993 election to shadowy military elements, conveniently distancing himself from the chaos that followed, even though past interviews show him accepting full responsibility and justifying the annulment under the guise of preserving national stability.
The Structural Adjustment Programme (SAP) under his regime is another sore point. In his book, he paints SAP as a necessary reform to stabilize Nigeria’s economy. But history remembers it differently. SAP led to hyperinflation, mass unemployment, and entrenched poverty, hollowing out the poor and middle class and intensifying inequality. His claims of economic self-reliance clash with documented evidence of pressure from the IMF, making his retelling appear more as self-exoneration than an honest account.
At the book launch, pledges from Nigeria’s wealthiest elites added another layer of paradox. Aliko Dangote committed N8 billion to the IBB Presidential Library, hailing him as the architect of Nigeria’s private sector. Abdulsamad Rabiu and Theophilus Danjuma followed suit with pledges of N5 billion and N3 billion, respectively. These gestures, swathed in the language of donation, feel like tributes from beneficiaries of a system rigged in their favour. Babangida’s economic liberalization may have birthed Nigeria’s billionaire class, but it also entrenched a system of favouritism and corruption that continues to choke the nation’s development.
What should have been a moment of sober reflection instead devolved into a grotesque celebration of Nigeria’s systemic dysfunction. Many of the billionaires in attendance, enriched by Babangida’s cronyism, seemed to pay homage to a man who had skewed the economic playing field in their favour. Retired military generals, oil bloc beneficiaries, and political kingmakers were present.
Babangida’s tenure was marked by suppression, political assassinations, and media censorship. His portrayal of himself as a victim of circumstance downplays these bleaker aspects of his rule. The annulment of June 12 sowed the seeds of political instability, civil unrest, and a distrust of democratic processes that lingers to this day.
While Babangida’s book masquerades as an effort to clarify history and set the record straight, it reads like a tragic monologue; a final attempt by the evil genius to control how posterity views his legacy.
History, however, isn’t written by those who shout the loudest but by those who confront uncomfortable truths.
The writer can be reached via private e-mail.
