Monday,
October 17, 2011 |
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Last week,
the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) accused three former
Nigerian governors – Gbenga Daniel of Ogun State, Adebayo Alao-Akala of
Oyo, and Aliyu Akwe Doma of Nasarawa – of stealing billions of naira of
public funds. One newspaper reported that the three men allegedly
mismanaged or embezzled more than 100 billion naira between them.
Two of the three men, Mr. Daniel and Mr. Alao-Akala, made court
appearances to face multiple counts of money laundering and
embezzlement. In a country where shame still has some purchase, a man
accused of unconscionable theft would wear an expression indicating his
recognition of the gravity of his alleged office. Even if falsely
accused, such a man would comport himself in a manner that leaves nobody
in doubt that he takes the charges seriously.
Not, alas, the former governors of Ogun and Oyo. Both Daniel and
Alao-Akala arrived at the respective venues of their trial with the
swagger and strut of candidates for induction into rolls of honor. Each
brought a retinue of idolizing cheerleaders. Sporting flowing white
agbada, they smiled and laughed and pumped fists and shook hands and
waved to ecstatic supporters.
If anything, the body language of the two accused men left the
impression that they mistook their trials for political rallies. Scratch
that: it was as if they were stars at a political carnival, mobbed by
adoring fans out to shower them with gratitude for peerless service. The
atmosphere was nothing if not exuberant. It was the Bode George syndrome
on steroids. Three years ago, Mr. George, a former military governor and
confidant of former President Olusegun Obasanjo, was docked on charges
of mismanaging billions of naira during his tenure as chairman of the
board of the Nigerian Ports Authority.
As if determined to mock his trial, turning its solemn proceeding into
an occasion for fashion and entertainment, Mr. George arrived at each
court session with his posse of supporters, most of them elegant women
who spotted matching dresses and expensive paraphernalia. Unimpressed by
the fashion extravaganza, the judge found Bode George guilty and sent
him – and his co-accused – straight to jail.
If Bode George’s fashion parades did not sway his judge, why are Daniel
and Alao-Akala plying the same route? Why did they act as if they were
in court to be decorated with medals for exemplary public service? Do
they see themselves as heroic and populist who are being unfairly
persecuted for championing the cause of the downtrodden?
Far from it! Nigerian prosecutors want both men to account for billions
of naira they reportedly pocketed through fraudulent means and in
illicit schemes. In other words, the EFCC has set itself the task of
proving that Daniel and Alao-Akala are crooks, pure and simple. Should
the commission’s case hold up in court, the two ex-governors are bound
to earn spots in the nation’s public ledger as “His Excellency, the
Executive Embezzler.”
In fact, if the anti-corruption agency persuades the trial judges that
the accused are guilty, then the two former governors face the prospect
of several years in jail – in addition to stiff fines. Why would a man
in such potential jeopardy trivialize his trial by behaving as if he
were the chief celebrant at an owambe outing, complete with praise
singers?
One answer, of course, is that the two ex-governors know what the rest
of us don’t know: that their trial is a ruse, a ploy, a gimmick designed
to titillate the Nigerian public and to maintain the fiction – with the
international community – that Nigeria takes seriously the war against
corruption.
Heck, it’s actually not true that the rest of us don’t know it.
Certainly, Nigerians have seen little or no reason to believe that the
apparatus of law enforcement and the machinery of justice mean business
when it comes to combating corruption. There’s much anecdotal evidence
to support the perception that anybody with loads of cash can buy his
way around the Nigerian police. Besides, Nigeria has been terribly
unlucky in several of its attorney generals. Often, it’s as if the
occupants of that hallowed office see their primary duty to be the
protection of the worst of plunderers.
Think about it: Nigeria has been the stage for a series of national and
international scandals, but without a single Nigerian official being
held to account. There’s the whole question of what happened to billions
of dollars that Nigeria reportedly earned during the first Gulf War,
when retired General Ibrahim Babangida was running the country. The late
economist, Pius Okigbo, investigated the matter, but nobody knows where
his report can be found.
There was the Pentascope scheme, in which – by some account – Nigeria
lost more than N100 billion. The National Assembly made moves to probe
the scandal, but the whole affair soon fizzled into nothingness.
Thanks to the feud between former President Olusegun Obasanjo and his
deputy, Atiku Abubakar, we learned about the questionable ways that the
cash in our country’s Petroleum Trust Fund was disbursed. Neither man
was seriously questioned on the matter.
There was the Siemens bribe scheme. In late 2008, officials of the
Germany-based engineering giant agreed to pay a record-setting fine of
$1.6 billion to the German and US governments to settle an investigation
into the company’s practice of paying bribes in exchange for contracts
in several countries, including Nigeria. Then Nigerian ruler Umaru
Yar’Adua vowed to find and prosecute any Nigerian official who accepted
the inducement. Till date, not a single Nigerian official has been
indicted.
Then, there was the mother of recent scandals: Halliburton. It involved
an extensive bribe scheme in which executives of Halliburton, a company
once headed by former US Vice President Dick Cheney, confessed to
bribing several top Nigerian officials in order to secure huge liquefied
natural gas contracts. In March 2009, the office of then attorney
general Michael Aondoakaa stated that Nigeria had sent an official
request to the US government for the names of Nigerian beneficiaries of
the bribes. You guessed right: That statement was as far as Nigeria ever
went before the whole story disappeared from the pages of newspapers –
and Nigerians were lulled to forgetfulness.
Incidents of proven or alleged betrayal of the public trust have since
lost their capacity to shock Nigerians. It’s conventional wisdom in
Nigeria that most, if not all, public officials – both in elective as
well as appointive posts – help themselves liberally to public funds.
What’s even worse is that many Nigerians have become so jaded that they
openly defend deplorable and brazen acts of corruption. On blogs and
other Internet forums, some contributors invest energy inventing all
kinds of justifications – or excuses – for public officials (among them,
presidents, governors, ministers, legislators, local government
councilors) who loot public treasuries.
Many Nigerians would often garland the necks of pickpockets with tires,
douse them in fuel, and set them on fire. But some of the same merciless
Nigerians would argue that politicians who pocket billions of naira in
stolen funds must be accorded respect due the office they hold. Some
Nigerians would not insist that occupants of exalted public office must
conduct themselves nobly. Yet, when a public official is called by the
proper name earned by his or her ignoble conduct – for example, for
stealing – some misguided apologists rush forward to demand that the
office itself guarantees its occupant some form of beatification.
President Barack Obama earns $400,000 per annum. Even his most
inveterate critics would agree that the man works hard for every dollar
he’s paid. Amazingly, no Nigerian governor – and few of Nigeria’s local
government chairmen – would agree to swap salaries with Mr. Obama. Why
is that so? For one, because most Nigerian governors collect N300
million or more each month – more than $2 million – in an entrenched
scam called security vote. Each month, then, many a Nigerian governor
pockets enough cash to pay Mr. Obama’s annual salary four or five times
over!
For that matter, every three months, members of Nigeria’s legislature
collect enough cash in “constituency allowances” to pay the US
president’s salary three times over. Yet, with the exception of a
handful of public officials, it is difficult to make the case that
Nigerian leaders work hard.
But you must give them this: Nigerian politicians know how to laugh
hard, even when they stand in the dock accused of betraying those they
were sworn to serve.
