By Suleiman Abubakar
In a country where power is often mistaken for superiority, and authority is used as a weapon rather than a responsibility, Nigeria continues to face a deeper crisis—not just of governance, but of character.
Let us be brutally honest.
If the situation were reversed—if it were Nuhu Ribadu in chains or under restriction, and tragedy struck with the loss of his mother—would he be granted the basic human right to attend her funeral?
The painful truth is this: many Nigerians already know the answer.
There is a growing belief, grounded in precedent, that such compassion would not be extended—especially under the kind of political environment shaped by figures like Nasir El-Rufai.
This is not speculation. It is history speaking.
When Col. Sambo Dasuki lost his father, Alhaji Ibrahim Dasuki, he was denied the simple dignity of paying his last respects. That moment remains one of the clearest examples of how power, when stripped of humanity, becomes cruelty.
And those who enabled or justified that decision cannot today pretend to stand on the moral high ground.
This is why the current moment is bigger than politics.
It is about the kind of nation we are becoming—a place where power is used to settle scores, where empathy is conditional, and where justice is selective.
Yet, in the midst of all this, Nuhu Ribadu’s posture sends a different message. A message that leadership must rise above vendetta. That restraint is not weakness, but strength. That even in disagreement, humanity must not be discarded.
Because one day, the tables will turn. Power is temporary. Positions expire. But character endures.
Those who deny others compassion today may one day stand in need of it—and history has a way of remembering who showed mercy, and who weaponized power.
Nigeria must decide: are we building a system driven by revenge, or a nation guided by principles?
That is the real question.
And that is the lesson.
— © Suleiman Abubakar Malcolm X
In a country where power is often mistaken for superiority, and authority is used as a weapon rather than a responsibility, Nigeria continues to face a deeper crisis—not just of governance, but of character.
Let us be brutally honest.
If the situation were reversed—if it were Nuhu Ribadu in chains or under restriction, and tragedy struck with the loss of his mother—would he be granted the basic human right to attend her funeral?
The painful truth is this: many Nigerians already know the answer.
There is a growing belief, grounded in precedent, that such compassion would not be extended—especially under the kind of political environment shaped by figures like Nasir El-Rufai.
This is not speculation. It is history speaking.
When Col. Sambo Dasuki lost his father, Alhaji Ibrahim Dasuki, he was denied the simple dignity of paying his last respects. That moment remains one of the clearest examples of how power, when stripped of humanity, becomes cruelty.
And those who enabled or justified that decision cannot today pretend to stand on the moral high ground.
This is why the current moment is bigger than politics.
It is about the kind of nation we are becoming—a place where power is used to settle scores, where empathy is conditional, and where justice is selective.
Yet, in the midst of all this, Nuhu Ribadu’s posture sends a different message. A message that leadership must rise above vendetta. That restraint is not weakness, but strength. That even in disagreement, humanity must not be discarded.
Because one day, the tables will turn. Power is temporary. Positions expire. But character endures.
Those who deny others compassion today may one day stand in need of it—and history has a way of remembering who showed mercy, and who weaponized power.
Nigeria must decide: are we building a system driven by revenge, or a nation guided by principles?
That is the real question.
And that is the lesson.
— © Suleiman Abubakar Malcolm X
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