The unfolding prosecution of Nasir El-Rufai is rapidly assuming the shape of a familiar Nigerian tragedy of using state power to neutralize political opponents under the cloak of legality. Across Nigeria’s troubled political history, governments that weaponized institutions against dissenting figures often claimed they were defending national stability. Yet history repeatedly proved otherwise. Political persecution has rarely strengthened governments in Nigeria. Instead, it has deepened public distrust, widened elite fractures, and accelerated their political collapse. From the trials of Chief Obafemi Awolowo and Chief Anthony Enahoro in the First Republic to the phantom coup cases under President Shehu Shagari and General Sani Abacha, the pattern has remained remarkably consistent. Governments that deploy state institutions against rivals may secure temporary victories, but they often weaken the legitimacy of the very system they seek to defend.
The federal government’s current case with El-Rufai increasingly fits this dangerous historical template. Once a central figure within the ruling APC who, more than any other single individual, helped to victory in 2023, El-Rufai has become one of its fiercest critics after aligning with the opposition SDP and later ADC. Since then, the weight of multiple federal institutions has descended upon him with unusual intensity. The ICPC and the DSS have simultaneously launched separate prosecutions involving national security, cybercrime, money laundering, and abuse of office. To government loyalists, these may appear to be ordinary legal processes. To a growing number of Nigerians, however, the optics are unmistakably political.
Perception matters profoundly in politics. Once a large segment of the public begins to see a prosecution as selective or vindictive, the state loses moral authority regardless of legal technicalities. Across television studios, newspapers, political gatherings, and social media platforms, an increasingly common allegation is that the government is bent on “eliminating” El-Rufai before he completes his promise of helping to send it packing in 2027. Whether that allegation is true is no longer the central issue. The fact that many Nigerians now believe it should concern the authorities deeply.
Nigeria has traveled this road before, and the consequences were disastrous. In 1962, the government of Prime Minister Abubakar Tafawa Balewa initiated one of the most controversial crackdowns in Nigerian history against Awolowo and Enahoro, both intellectuals and leaders of the Action Group (AG). Yet rather than defeat the AG politically, the federal government sought to dismantle it through state coercion.
The declaration of a state of emergency in the Western Region, the prosecution for treasonable felony, and the controversial handling of the trial created the widespread impression that judicial processes had become subordinate to political interests. British defense lawyers were barred from participating, and, Awolowo and Enahoro were eventually imprisoned. To supporters of the ruling coalition, this represented the triumph of law and order. In reality, it poisoned the First Republic beyond repair. The bitterness generated by that prosecution deepened regional tensions, eroded democratic legitimacy, and contributed significantly to the military coup of January 1966 that swept away the civilian government.
The 1980 Shugaba affair during the Second Republic reinforced the same warning. Alhaji Abdurrahman Shugaba Darman was a grassroots political force in the then Great Nigeria People’s Party (GNPP) whose popularity threatened the ruling National Party of Nigeria (NPN) in Borno State. Instead of confronting him politically, the federal authorities attempted an astonishingly reckless maneuver by declaring him a foreigner and deporting him to Chad.
What followed was humiliation for the state. The courts ruled decisively in Shugaba’s favor and exposed the deportation as unlawful. The case became a landmark victory for constitutional rights and citizenship protections. Yet beyond the courtroom embarrassment, the Shugaba affair damaged public confidence in the Shagari administration. Nigerians increasingly saw a government willing to abuse state institutions for partisan advantage. Three years later, the Second Republic collapsed under a military coup.
Another revealing episode emerged during the same era with the Mandara coup trial of 1982. This was Nigeria’s first recorded coup prosecution under a civilian administration. Alhaji Zanna Bukar Umaru Mandara was a wealthy businessman, defense contractor, and influential traditional titleholder in Borno. Having prospered under previous military regimes, he reportedly fell out with the Shagari administration after losing access to lucrative patronage networks.
In 1981, the National Security Organisation (NSO), predecessor of today’s DSS, arrested Mandara on allegations that he was financing a coup against President Shagari. Prosecutors alleged he recruited soldiers, distributed money and gifts to military personnel, and sponsored a conspiracy aimed not only at overthrowing the government but also assassinating leading political figures and senior military officers.
The state pursued the case aggressively. The Attorney-General of the Federation personally led the prosecution, while Mandara hired the legendary Chief Rotimi Williams for his defense. Although Mandara was initially convicted, the Supreme Court later overturned the judgment on jurisdictional grounds. More important than the legal technicalities, however, was the political significance of the case. The Mandara affair demonstrated how civilian governments could deploy anti-treason laws and national security narratives to neutralize perceived elite threats. Yet it also showed the importance of an independent judiciary capable of restraining executive excesses even during periods of alleged national danger.
That distinction matters today. Nigerians increasingly fear that institutional restraints are weakening under the current pressure of hyper-partisan politics and the growing fusion of security agencies with political interests.
The most chilling example of politically motivated prosecution emerged under General Abacha. The trials of General Olusegun Obasanjo and General Shehu Musa Yaradua in 1995 remain among the darkest political trials in Nigeria’s history. Abacha perceived both men as threats to his ambition of transitioning into civilian rule. The regime announced the discovery of a coup plot, arrested the two men, and subjected them to military tribunals devoid of transparency and democratic standards.
The trials were widely condemned internationally as predetermined political spectacles. Yaradua was sentenced to death, later commuted to life imprisonment, while Obasanjo received a life imprisonment that was commuted to 15 years. Yaradua eventually died in prison under deeply suspicious circumstances. Obasanjo survived only because Abacha himself died unexpectedly in 1998.
The irony was devastating. The man whom Abacha imprisoned as an enemy of the state later emerged as Nigeria’s president, while Abacha’s regime collapsed almost instantly after his death. Once again, repression failed to secure power. Instead, it accelerated the delegitimization of the government.
These historical episodes reveal a recurring Nigerian political pathology of governments repeatedly mistaking coercion for strength. In reality, selective prosecutions expose weakness, insecurity, and fear of political competition. This is why the federal government must exercise caution in its handling of El-Rufai. The issue is no longer merely about one politician facing criminal charges. It is now about public confidence in democratic institutions and the rule of law itself.
The danger for the government lies in transforming El-Rufai from a controversial political actor into a symbol of resistance against perceived persecution. Nigerian history consistently shows that political trials elevate rather than destroy opposition figures. Awolowo emerged from prison with enhanced moral authority. Shugaba and Mandara became constitutional symbols against executive abuse. Obasanjo returned from incarceration to become president. And Obasanjo immortalized Yaradua’s tragic death by supporting his younger brother, Umaru Yaradua, to be President in 2007.
The federal government must also recognize the volatility of the present national atmosphere. Economic hardship, public frustration, and widespread distrust of institutions have created conditions in which allegations of political persecution easily gain traction. In such a climate, aggressive state action against prominent opposition figures can deepen broader resentment toward the government itself.
Democracy demands tolerance for dissent, especially from influential critics. A confident government defeats opponents politically through governance, persuasion, and electoral legitimacy not through the appearance of selective prosecution. Once the state begins to look vindictive, it inadvertently strengthens the narrative of those who accuse it of authoritarian tendencies.
This is why many Nigerians are increasingly uneasy about the El-Rufai prosecutions. Even citizens who disagree with him politically are beginning to question whether the extraordinary intensity of the state’s response is motivated purely by justice or by political calculation. That perception alone should alarm any democratic administration.
History does not always repeat itself exactly, but it often echoes with disturbing clarity. The Balewa government underestimated the consequences of persecuting Awolowo. The Shagari administration damaged itself through both the Shugaba and Mandara affairs. Abacha believed fear and repression could permanently silence opposition voices. All these governments ultimately collapsed under the weight of their own political overreach and institutional abuse. Thus, Nigeria cannot afford another cycle in which political intolerance corrodes democratic stability. The country’s institutions are already fragile, public trust is dangerously thin, and the political atmosphere increasingly polarized.
The federal government should therefore resist any temptation to weaponize state institutions against political rivals, regardless of how provocative those rivals may be. If there are legitimate legal cases against El-Rufai, they must proceed transparently, fairly, and strictly within the confines of due process. Anything less will only reinforce growing fears that the objective is not justice, but elimination. And Nigerian history has repeatedly shown how disastrously such ambitions can end.
