In a nation where hardly a single day passes without tragedy, it can be overwhelming for public officials to respond to all the bad news. From a vehicular accident claiming no fewer than 22 athletes returning from a national sports festival to almost 200 fatalities and dozens of others believed to have been swept away by devastating floods, it has been a period of mourning in Nigeria. Even at that, the official silence to the trending video of how CSP Baba Ali Muhammad was brutally murdered by street urchins is very telling on the value we place on the life of those we expect to protect us. 

Before I proceed, let me state that crime fighting is a risky enterprise all over the world. For instance, according to the website of the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), 47 law enforcement officers were murdered in the first eight months of last year. “Firearms were used in 76.6 percent of the felonious deaths occurring in 2024. Among officers killed with firearms, four are confirmed to have been wearing body armour,” the FBI report reveals. “The leading circumstances surrounding the officers’ felonious deaths were related to investigative/enforcement (16), unprovoked attacks (8), and ambushes (entrapment/premeditation) (6).”

However, what is different in the case of Nigeria is the growing rate at which criminals are targeting our law enforcement officers for extermination without fear. Not to mention the way we treat our policemen—alive or dead. That is not the case elsewhere. In March this year, President Donald Trump called for a mandatory death penalty for anyone convicted of killing an American law enforcement officer. After signing an executive order that would make the death penalty mandatory in such cases, Trump called on Congress to ensure it becomes a permanent law. He also honoured the widow of NYPD Officer, Jonathan Diller, who was shot during a traffic stop in March 2023. Meanwhile, I am yet to see a presidential response to the mob killing of the Divisional Police Officer (DPO) for Rano in Kano State.

I once referenced the response by Vivek Tulja, a satellite communication expert, to a question on why criminals, including members of the Mafia, avoid killing policemen unless they are cornered. “If you happen to kill a cop, you are best off using the last bullet in your magazine on yourself,” Tulja concluded. That appears not be the case in Nigeria given how the Rano DPO was executed in a most brutal manner by a mob not even afraid to record their own bestial action.

In recent days, I have had revealing exchanges with Mr Tunji Alapini, a retired Assistant Inspector General of Police, regarding this tragedy. “That an officer of the law left his home for the office and ended up being gruesomely murdered in a ‘sane’ society is beyond imagination,” said Alapini who admitted shedding tears after watching the gory video. “I am not in full picture of the incident that made those criminals believe they have a right to take the life of an officer on legitimate duty, but from the aftermath of the Police Interim Investigation report, the mob massacred the DPO because a suspect allegedly died in the cell at his station.”

While advocating that the culprits (most of whom have been arrested by the police) be made to bear “the full consequences of their action,” Alapini also expressed concern about the lack of outrage from critical stakeholders in our country on the tragic incident. “While the Police cried out about what happened to the unfortunate officer, there was a deafening silence from the Governor of Kano State, traditional rulers, National Assembly members etc. It is almost as if the lives of our police and military personnel don’t matter. And that is both concerning and saddening.”

I share Alapini’s sentiment. As the principal custodian of peace, order and security in a constitutional democracy, no institution is arguably more important than the police. But so abused is this law enforcement authority in Nigeria that both the government and society seem not to care about their personnel. Yet, given the strategic relationship between the well-being of the police and the security of citizens, we neglect this critical institution to our own peril. 

I have in the past recounted the October 2011 statement by a police officer’s wife at the Obalende barracks in Lagos which revealed the indignities to which their families had been exposed. It may be worth repeating at a time like this. “We have been suffering in silence. These barracks are like a refugee camp. We have no toilet facilities, no pipe-borne water and no electricity, and we are now being threatened by floods and reptiles,” the woman told the visiting Police Affairs Minister, Caleb Olubolade. “We live a little above animals. We are like sub-human beings here. This is a place of death; the mosquitoes here don’t surrender to insecticides…”

How do we expect the personnel of a Police force whose families live like ‘sub-human beings’ to perform optimally? Yes, I have written several columns on the excesses of the police, but we should also be fair. If the life of a divisional police officer could be taken by a mob in such a gruesome manner and authorities in Nigeria move on as if nothing happened, what justification do we have to hold them accountable when they misbehave?

Alapini suggests that the Rano Police station be named after the deceased CSP. I agree. But I also hope those in authorities can understand that the manner in whichthe life of the Rano DPO was taken is a direct assault on social order and a grave threat to the foundation of any functioning society. And there must be severe consequences, if only to serve as a deterrence to others that when you kill a policeman in Nigeria, you are digging your own grave. It must never happen again!

Health of the President
Last Thursday, former Central Bank of Nigeria (CBN) Deputy Governor in charge of economic policy, Kingsley Obiora, sent me an interesting message, followed by two lengthy posts. First, the message: “I asked two AI-powered search engines to comment on ‘Power, Politics and Death’ by Olusegun Adeniyi and ‘Original Sin’ by Jake Tapper and Alex Thompson and see if there are any similarities. Below are the responses from Elon Musk’s Grok and Sam Altman’s ChatGPT.”

The first forwarded post by Kingsley was the response he received from Grok. “To address the query, I’ll compare the behaviors of key actors in Power, Politics and Death by Olusegun Adeniyi and Original Sin by Jake Tapper and Alex Thompson, focusing on their actions, motivations, and the consequences as depicted in the books.” Both works, according to Grok, “delve into political intrigue, leadership challenges, and the handling of crises, offering a lens to examine how key figures navigate power, secrecy, and public perception.” 

In both books, Grok continues, “key actors exhibited hubris by overestimating their ability to control outcomes and denying the reality of their leader’s incapacitation. This led to catastrophic political consequences—Nigeria’s constitutional crisis and the U.S. Democrats’ electoral defeat.” But Grok also admits that while there are striking similarities, contexts differ in the two countries: “Nigeria’s political system in Power, Politics and Death was marked by weaker institutions, allowing personalities to dominate over constitutional norms. In contrast, Original Sin operates in the U.S.’s more structured democratic system, where the cover-up faced greater scrutiny due to media and electoral pressures.” On the outcomes, “Yar’Adua’s death resolved the crisis by forcing a transition to Jonathan, whereas Biden’s withdrawal led to Kamala Harris’s candidacy, which still failed to prevent Trump’s victory, highlighting different stakes and timelines.”

After a lengthy disquisition of various aspects of the two books, Grok concluded: “The key actors in both Power, Politics and Death and Original Sin exhibit remarkably similar behaviors: concealing their leader’s health issues, prioritizing loyalty over public interest, manipulating political processes, displaying hubris, and being influenced by family dynamics. These actions reflect a universal tendency among political elites to cling to power, even at the cost of transparency and democratic integrity. In both cases, the consequences were severe—a constitutional crisis in Nigeria and an electoral disaster for U.S. Democrats—underscoring the dangers of such behaviors in leadership.”

The second post was what ChatGPT had to say on both books, which is remarkably similar. “Power, Politics and Death by Olusegun Adeniyi and Original Sin by Jake Tapper and Alex Thompson, though centered on different political landscapes—Nigeria and the United States respectively—both delve into the inner workings of presidential administrations during times of crisis. A comparative analysis reveals notable similarities in the behaviors of key actors in these narratives,” ChatGPT wrote.After also comparing different aspects of the books, ChatGPT concluded: “In summary, both books shed light on the complexities of political leadership during health crises, emphasizing how inner circles can influence decisions, manipulate information, and impact national stability. The parallels between the two administrations underscore the universal challenges of governance, transparency, and the human elements that shape political narratives.”

Reading through the posts by Grok and ChatGBT, I marveled at the incredible power of AI and the future of the knowledge industry. But the message from Kingsley also prompted me to get the book, ‘Original Sin (President Biden’s Decline, It’s Coverup, and his disastrous choice to run again’ which I read on the long flight from Boston to San Francisco enroute Dallas last Saturday. The Biden book has, of course, elicited several reactions. Even the White House press secretary, Karoline Leavitt, waded in. “I think anybody looking again at the videos and photo evidence of Joe Biden with … a little bit of common sense can see that this was a clear coverup,” Leavitt responded to a question on revelations from the book. “And Jill Biden was certainly complicit in that coverup.”

I agree that both books are similar in subject. But they diverge on thrust. The Biden book is about shielding an incumbent presidentseeking a second term from the eyes of a public whose confidence is likely to be shaken by greater knowledge of his physical and mental state. In a way, it is also about protecting the institution of the US presidency from perceptions that could imperil orderly transition. In the case ofYar’Adua, it is about sustaining a power incumbency during a crisis necessitated by ill health. In both books, what comes out clearly is the uncharted territory of how to deal with presidential health confidence in an accountable manner without exposing the principal to public ridicule.

Perhaps because I was a participant observer in the narrative contained in the Yar’Adua book, I have sympathy for Mrs Jill Biden and MessrsMike Donilon, Steve Ricchetti, Bruce Reed and Hunter Biden—members of what was described by the authors as the ‘Politburo’—the Nigerian version of the ‘Cabal’. From my own experience, the assumption that people around a leader with health challenges are there only to preserve their own power and privileges is not necessarily true. Some may simply be helpless after weighing several factors on a problem over which they have no control.

While this is an issue for another day, the ultimate lesson—which is evident in both ‘Original Sin’ and ‘Power, Politics and Death’—is the challenge that comes with the illness of a national leader. For those close to such a leader and the country over which he presides.

The Ghost of June 12

‘Combining the techniques of a diarist, reporter and commentator, Olusegun Adeniyi reports the events as they unfolded under the late General Sani Abacha, he allows the actors of that drama to speak in their own words, he constructs the narrative in a chronological sequence and guides us to the climactic and sudden end of the Abacha misadventure. He provides strong entertainment in recording the statements of those willing agents of dictatorship who handed over the initiative to Abacha, but who ironically today are occupying positions of authority as democrats. The author mentions their names directly and confronts us with the fickleness of the human mind and the dangers of the personal factor in Nigerian politics…the characters in his account are either villains or charlatans, democrats or political mercenaries, men of principles or hired thugs. Without calling anyone names, he allows their deeds to place a judgment of history upon their heads…’