It takes a particular kind of talent to rewrite history with such unbridled audacity as Chief Femi Fani-Kayode (FFK) does in his...
It takes a particular kind of talent to rewrite history with such unbridled audacity as Chief Femi Fani-Kayode (FFK) does in his recent adulation of General Ibrahim Babangida. His tribute, a florid exercise in sycophantic revisionism, is a masterclass in the art of political bootlicking. Indeed, if there were a Hall of Fame for professional political jobbers, FFK would surely have a gold-plated plaque hanging in the front lobby.
In his piece, FFK lauds Babangida as an “irrepressible enigma” and an “enduring institution.” How quaint. One might ask, enduring for whom? For the millions who endured the economic strangulation of the Structural Adjustment Programme (SAP)? For the families who lost their loved ones during the mindless repression of the late 1980s and early 1990s? Or perhaps for the millions of Nigerians who watched their democratic aspirations crushed under the boots of military impunity?
Let us dissect some of the more curious assertions in FFK’s tribute. He asserts that Babangida “assumed full responsibility” for the annulment of the June 12 election. A noble sentiment, no doubt—except that responsibility without accountability is mere performance. In his memoir, *A Journey in Service*, Babangida claims he was “outflanked” by unseen forces that compelled the annulment. How convenient! A ruler who wielded absolute power, yet somehow, was helpless in the face of his own government’s actions. If this is FFK’s idea of courage, one shudders to imagine his definition of cowardice.
Then comes the most preposterous assertion of all—that Babangida annulled the election to prevent a coup and “a long, brutal, and protracted civil war.” Ah yes, the age-old trope of the benevolent dictator, sacrificing democracy on the altar of national stability. But what FFK fails to mention is that the very instability he alludes to was engineered by the same military establishment Babangida controlled. This is the classic arsonist presenting himself as the firefighter. The June 12 crisis did not emerge from a vacuum; it was a calculated betrayal of the Nigerian people.
FFK then exhorts Nigerians to “eschew all bitterness” and grant Babangida his “rightful place in history.” This, from a man who spent years railing against military autocrats before conveniently discovering their virtues when political expediency dictated otherwise. It is almost comedic how quickly he pivots from ideological purist to shameless apologist, all depending on whose table he happens to be dining at that week.
A particularly amusing part of his tribute is his listing of dignitaries who attended Babangida’s book launch, as if the presence of former and current politicians serves as some divine vindication. Of course, the ruling elites admire Babangida; he perfected the art of patronage, institutionalized corruption, and built a political economy where loyalty is currency. But public memory is not so easily swayed by choreographed reunions of Nigeria’s political old guard.
The reality of Babangida’s legacy is far less flattering than FFK would have us believe. His administration laid the foundation for the chronic economic decay that continues to plague Nigeria. His annulment of the freest and fairest election in Nigerian history remains one of the most egregious acts of democratic subversion. His regime fostered a culture of impunity that emboldened successive leaders to govern without fear of consequence.
In the end, FFK’s tribute is a perfect illustration of the transactional nature of Nigerian political commentary. Today’s villain is tomorrow’s hero, depending on who controls the purse strings. But for those who lived through the Babangida years, no amount of revisionist flattery can erase the realities of repression, economic hardship, and betrayal. Babangida may indeed be an institution, but if so, he is an institution built on the ruins of a stolen democracy.
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