THE TRIAL OF EL-RUFAI

ABUBAKAR SHEHU contends the need for the law to run its course

In Nigeria’s political theatre, one script appears again and again: when powerful figures face the scrutiny of anti-corruption agencies, they suddenly rediscover the language of civil liberties, human rights, and the rule of law. It is a curious transformation, one that often arrives only after years of wielding power with little tolerance for dissent.

The latest example of this familiar spectacle is unfolding around the detention of Nasir el-Rufai, who governed Kaduna State from 2015 to 2023. His family has now stepped forward, loudly condemning his continued detention by the Independent Corrupt Practices and Other Related Offences Commission (ICPC) as unlawful.

In a statement issued by his son, Mohammed El-Rufai, the family argued that the 14-day remand order obtained by the ICPC had expired and that the anti-corruption body no longer possessed a valid legal instrument to keep the former governor in custody.

On the surface, the argument sounds like a principled defence of constitutional rights. But beneath the rhetoric lies a troubling hypocrisy, one that exposes how some political elites treat justice not as a universal principle but as a convenience.

The irony is difficult to ignore. For years, critics accused El-Rufai’s administration of displaying an authoritarian streak, often dismissing dissenting voices, civil society groups, and political opponents with little patience for dialogue.

When activists protested government decisions, they were frequently labelled troublemakers. When journalists raised uncomfortable questions, they were sometimes portrayed as enemies of progress.

Yet today, the same political circle now positions itself as a champion of civil liberties. Suddenly, the language of “due process,” “lawful detention,” and “constitutional rights” dominates the conversation, not because the political class has discovered a newfound respect for democratic principles, but because the wheel of accountability has turned in their direction.

What makes the family’s outrage particularly troubling is the attempt to recast a corruption investigation as political persecution.

The ICPC is investigating serious allegations against the former governor, including questions surrounding the whereabouts of €1.4 million, suspicious payments totalling more than ₦2.1 billion, and transfers exceeding ₦428 million into undisclosed accounts. These are not trivial accusations.

They are precisely the kinds of financial questions anti-corruption agencies are mandated to investigate.

Yet instead of allowing the investigative process to unfold, the response from the family has been to frame the issue as a political vendetta, accusing the ICPC of acting as a tool of persecution.

Such tactics are hardly new in Nigeria’s political landscape. When confronted with allegations, powerful individuals often deploy a familiar playbook: attack the investigators, question the legitimacy of the process, and rally public sympathy by claiming victimhood.

It is a strategy designed to shift attention away from the substance of the allegations.

What the El-Rufai family’s reaction ultimately reveals is a deeper issue within Nigeria’s political elite, a sense of entitlement that treats accountability as an affront rather than a necessity.

For decades, many public officials have operated under the assumption that political power provides a shield from scrutiny.

When investigations occur, they are often interpreted not as legitimate oversight but as personal attacks. This mindset is deeply corrosive to democratic governance.

In any functioning democracy, former officeholders must be subject to the same legal scrutiny as ordinary citizens. The fight against corruption cannot be selective, nor can it be halted simply because the individual under investigation once occupied a powerful office.

Instead of issuing statements attacking investigative institutions, the more responsible course of action for the family would be to allow the legal process to run its course. If the former governor is innocent, the courts will ultimately determine that.

If the detention procedures were indeed flawed, his legal team has the right to challenge them through the judicial system. That is how the rule of law works.

But launching a public relations campaign that paints anti-corruption investigators as political enemies risks undermining public trust in institutions already struggling to establish credibility.

It sends a dangerous message: that powerful families believe they can influence public perception whenever accountability knocks on their door.

The controversy surrounding El-Rufai’s detention represents more than just another political dispute. It reflects a broader struggle within Nigeria’s democracy, the battle between accountability and entrenched privilege.

For too long, powerful figures have treated public office as a shield against scrutiny.

That culture must change. The rule of law cannot operate selectively, protecting the powerful while punishing the powerless.

If Nigeria is to build a credible system of governance, anti-corruption investigations must proceed without intimidation, political interference, or emotional appeals designed to derail justice.

The loud protests from the El-Rufai family may dominate headlines, but they should not distract from the fundamental principle at stake.

No individual, regardless of political stature or family influence, should be above the law.

If the former governor has answers to the questions raised by investigators, the courtroom remains the proper place to present them.

Public statements and social media posts cannot substitute for legal accountability.

Until Nigeria’s political elite accept this reality, the cycle of corruption allegations, political outrage, and institutional mistrust will continue.

And the nation’s democracy will remain trapped between the promise of justice and the persistence of privilege.

 Shehu writes from Abuja