State Legitimacy in Nigeria in the Wake of the EndSARS Protests

I couldn’t tell you the day, I couldn’t tell you the month, but I know I was roughly three years old so it was either 1993 or 1994. I remember the tears. I remember the wailing. I remember the loud shouts, grunting, ransacking, and pleading. I remember my mother telling my sister to carry me outside the tiny apartment while she and my other sister pleaded and agreed to grab the stuff that wasn’t thrown out. I remember looking across the quadrangle and seeing them all over. They were on the ground floor, they were in the quad, they were in every home, throwing everything out of every opening they could find. They were legion and seemed never ending. Two, three, per flat, goodness knows how many flats, no one knows how many vans. I’ll never remember their faces, nor their names, but the chevrons on their arms to signify their rank, sergeant and corporal as I would come to learn, will stay with me. Whether or not they took glee in it, whether or not, they were paid more for being rougher with us, I’ll never know. Perhaps the perquisite that came with the raid that saw them ransack and ruin the lives of countless people, was that they could grab what they could. This was my first encounter with the Nigerian Police Force (NPF). Since then, by virtue of my living a relatively privileged life and no longer permanently living in Nigeria since 2004, I have had few dealings with the NPF. Of those I have had, I have bribed my way out of situations, I have scowled my way out of faux niceties that could lead to extortion, I have, at gun point, pleaded and argued my case that I am not a terrorist simply for the crime of not paying due deference to police and soldiers. 

October 2020 saw the latest iterations of largely peaceful protests against the Special Anti-Robbery Squad (SARS), which is part of the NPF, and the wider NPF’s wanton extortion, brutality, disappearing, and murder of Nigeria. While the protests occurred across the country in small and vast numbers, the Lekki Tollgate in Lagos State became a meeting ground for many. It became the place where scores camped day and night to voice their sadness and anger against a system that has serially failed them. This small corner of Nigeria became akin to a shining city on the hill where the best of Nigeria and Nigerians were on full display for all to see. Nigerians transformed the Lekki Tollgate from totem of corruption, to consecrated ground of Nigerian hope, union, and voice. What had been the entry into an affluent suburb of Lagos became, on the October 16, a make shift Mosque where Muslims, flanked by Christians bowed their heads in reverence to Allah. Protected by non-adherents to their faith, Christians transformed an altar of greed to one where they proclaimed their creed two days later on October 18. Artists, photographers, hawkers, bankers, farmers, and lawyers all congregated daily. Food, aid, shelter, succour, and security were provided for all who needed it. Recording with the smartphones that would have otherwise been stolen, used to illegally access personal bank accounts or as evidence of criminality by SARS operatives, Nigerians documented every moment of the protests for the world to see. This place that had come to symbolise all that was good about Nigeria became a kill box where Nigerians were penned in and slaughtered. That stretch of road turned from piggybank of rent-seeking elite to salient physical manifestation of Nigeria’s imagined union now became a trapping pit where the Nigerian army could conveniently attack.

Barely 24 hours after his political benefactor and godfather issued thinly veiled threatening tweets, October 20 saw the Governor of Lagos impose a curfew set to begin at 16:00, giving citizens across Africa’s most populous city 4 hours to race home and shelter in place. In perhaps his only sensible decision of the day, he subsequently extended the curfew to 21:00, giving people more time to make their way to and from every corner of Lagos. It also seemingly allowing the peaceful protests continue unperturbed before being ushered away - or at least that was the hope. Citizens stayed ,congregated seeking to make sure the labours of their heroes past were not in vain. Compatriots arisen in love, strength, and faith to obey Nigeria’s call to push back against tyranny. Seeking peace and justice, they sought peace from an oppressive police force, and justice for its victims. At roughly 19:00, two hours before the curfew was due to come into effect, unidentifiable vehicles made their way towards the tollgate. With citizens perfectly kettled in, the parked cars acted as forward operating bases from which men who would later be identified as soldiers of the Nigerian army moved ambushed citizens. As some citizens sat in the dark at the tollgate patriotically bellowing the Nigerian anthem as they fought back tears, and others filmed from vantage points, shots rang out. Despite taking a sworn oath to defend the safety and security of Nigerians, these soldiers became their wanton murderers. There was nothing senseless about the violence and havoc they wreaked. It was premeditated, it was exacting, and they achieved their desired result - chaos, fear, injury, and ultimately death. They effectively kettled in those they viewed as enemies of the state and methodically exacted themselves with all the firepower and disdain they could muster. With bodies disappeared under the same darkness of night in which they were murdered, injured victims ferried to hospital despite the Nigerian Army’s blocking of ambulances, and with the road painted with the blood of Nigerians, the governor finally roused from his residence. 

Assuming the role of doting and comforting, yet strangely powerless father come to provide succour to the hospitalised victims, the cruel orchestrator of their suffering made his way to their bedsides. Promising to foot the bill for the victims of actions ‘beyond his control’ while simultaneously ignoring reports of murdered victims the governor tweeted out what was in essence a pointless photo op that neglected to share the image of a victim resoundingly refusing him an audience. 

Since that tragic day, we have seen the pivot from one prevarication to the next, finger pointing, victim blaming, photo opportunities, and the creating of straw men. While everything but transparency and accountability have been the order of the day, all energies have been expended on undermining the protests and branding protesters as rabid, anarchic, violent rioters. We saw Governor Sanwo-Olu and Minister Fashola don the role of crime scene investigators like the delusional duo in a bootleg Holmes and Watson remake, uncovering somehow hitherto inexplicably undiscovered ‘evidence’. This evidence came in the form of a conveniently located, yet hidden, video camera, which though having its lens covered, was supposed to serve a dual, yet contradictory, function. On the one hand it would help clear the army of its crimes by showing that the army never wantonly fired on citizens. On the other, it would show that the mass of people were not protesters but in fact rioters whose violence had so antagonised and threatened the lives of soldiers that they were forced to defend themselves. While largely sticking with the trend set and attitude adopted by civilian leaders, the Nigerian army leadership has forged its own unique path of lies and subsequent course corrections. Perhaps too accustomed to the impunity and lack of accountability it enjoyed during the years of dictatorships, or the collusive protection in the years since, the army has done all it can to bury the truth and resort to smear tactics. The first statement released argued that the official Nigerian army twitter handle both released a statement saying: “No soldiers were at the scene’’ and released a series of images tarring headlines highlighting its actions as ‘fake news’. This initial denial morphed into arguing that the army was in fact there using trainees, at the summoning of Governor Sanwo-Olu, but never fired rounds. This eventually morphed into the position that it had fired blanks (which do little more than tear into one’s skin at over 25 metres) in defence, while simultaneously playing a humanitarian role of giving water to protesters. 

Beyond this, we have also seen lawmakers make renewed calls for other government enforcement personnel to be armed - despite the evidence pointing to the flawed logic of doing so. Tainted terrorists, activists, including, Rinu Oduala, Modupe Odele, Eromosele Adene, and the Feminist Coalition have had bank accounts frozen (following a Central Bank order), passports confiscated, disappeared and detained without cause, and blocked in the country respectively. Amid this maelstrom of lies and attacks, the Inspector General of Police has all but pulled off the perfect prestige, avoiding scrutiny and accountability. Similarly, in keeping with his characteristic inaction, the Nigerian president slow marched his way towards a flawed, and arguably threatening, statement that needed clarification and walking back. Beyond this, however, the President has maintained a level of silence in relation to this national issue, that is both deafening and not surprising. 

Considering everything above, two pressing questions which are now front of mind are, and should be, firstly, how can the Nigerian government (including state governments) (re)gain legitimacy in the eyes of Nigerians? Secondly, how can this legitimacy be effectively leveraged to include outside voices in attempted security sector and wider governance reform. While it may be easy to say that sadly there are no easy or straightforward answers, the reality - at least as I see it - is that thankfully there are none. The situation of government sanctioned, sponsored, and orchestrated violence against citizens in Nigeria is an incredibly complex and age old one. While it is not one that can be resolved overnight, there are concrete steps that can set things in the right direction. In that vein, how then does the government go about restoring legitimacy? 

Firstly, it must stop perceiving the question of legitimacy in the most narrow, narcissistic, yet nonchalant way it has always - through the lens of electoral legitimacy. No clearer evidence exists than in the ruling political party (the APC) and main opposition (the PDP) undermining the protests by reducing them to partisan playthings. The APC accused the PDP of not only fomenting the protests, but also planning to ‘unleash further attacks on the protesters’ in the recently held November by-elections. While there are questions around election rigging that continue unabated each election cycle, including that of 2019, this sort of legitimacy is not currently the kind under scrutiny and contestation by Nigerians. The legitimacy clamoured for, especially now, is for legitimacy in a broader sense. This form of legitimacy, as Allen Buchanan and Robert Keohane argue, is not rooted in a disagreement about whether Nigerians believe the government has the right to rule - as would be the case if the focus was on electoral legitimacy. Rather, it is more normative in nature and focuses on whether it has the right to rule despite a plethora of manifest failures. It is about the extent to which the state lives up to minimal objective standards of morality, accountability, and transparency in such a way as to benefit society at large and thus be seen to have integrity.

The reality which the federal, Lagos, and other State governments, along with their appeasers and sympathisers, has actively refused to come to grips with is that the legitimacy of leadership rests on a number core principles. The first of these is that any consensus on legitimacy requires relevant moral considerations, including the minimal requirement that leadership must not persist in committing injustices. If there had been, Femi Adesina, the President’s Special Adviser on Media, would not have penned the ridiculously brazen Facebook post bragging about how President Buhari ‘showed restraint’ by not ordering mass murder at the hands of the military and thereby turning the rivers of Nigeria ‘crimson’ and causing ‘mourning and lamentations’. While it is accepted that the Nigerian State has a monopoly on the legitimate use of violence, it has in this instance gone beyond this right and instead, through SARS and other actors, pursued a policy of illegitimately using this power. Secondly, and intrinsically linked with morality, is accountability. Similar to the idea of a broader appreciation of legitimacy, accountability must extend beyond simply having ministers to whom agents of the state are accountable. Accountability here is about holding individuals and bodies for breaching moral and legal standards. With the exception of House Speaker Femi Gbajabiamila suspending an aide following said aide’s killing of a newspaper vendor, little tangible attempt has been made to show accountability to citizens. Rather we have seen officials such as Attorney General Malami kowtow to the military and attempt to sell the incredulous theory that protesters had become ‘hoodlums', stealthily acquired military uniforms, gear, and tactics, and subsequently opened fire on citizens. Compounding Garba Shehu saying that the farmers had no reason or clearance to be where they were because of the insecure nature of the region. In addition, we have seen both Minister Lai Mohammed threaten to sanction CNN for the crime of accurate investigation and reporting, and the police submit and subsequently withdraw a frivolous lawsuit against the Lagos judicial panel investigating the toll gate shootings. Such actions have shown only that the state has no appetite for engaging in a concerted, substantive effort to perform the full range of governmental functions such as providing security, and redress where it is deemed responsible for insecurity.

Transparency, the final leg of the pillars crucial to legitimacy here, focuses on transparent access to institutions and individuals within and acting in service of the state. It is about both ensuring the availability of accurate information on the workings of institutions - including internal investigations and assessments. Further, these institutions (and their stewards) must ensure that those who wish to understand the mechanisms of accountability without unduly high transaction costs. This means on the one hand that information is both widely disseminated through communications platforms, thus easily accessible by all. On the other, that those who wish to find further information can do so can rely on clear processes through such things as freedom of information requests (FOIs) without institutional actors resorting to steam kettling and other such convoluted tactics. There has been no interest in being truthful or transparent with, not just the facts of the 20th, but also with those responsible for the atrocities and others guilty of human rights abuses prior and post. We recently saw Attorney General Malami ostensibly conduct an internal investigation into whether 33 former SARS officers should be prosecuted and 26 further cases should be examined in 20 days, concluding none of the cases lacked merit. With no view into, and thus no understanding of, the workings of these supposed investigation, and given his history of prevarication, underplaying critical incidences, and even undermining the law by flouting subpoenas, one would be forgiven for not taking the AG at his word. 

For there to be any real strides towards regaining legitimacy, there needs to be, as Eddie Glaude puts it, a change in the centre of political imagination and gravity, and in the focus of who matters politically. Changing, deliberately and in a widespread way, the manner in which they engage with society relies on centring both rhetoric and actions on the betterment of citizens. This includes attempting to maximally meet the highest moral standards of justice, legally redressing the harm caused by state actors, ceasing the compounding of injury by ceding its intimidatory tactics of sanctions, lawsuits, and targeted harassment to honesty and transparency to, and cooperation with, citizens. Only in first addressing and giving a true and transparent accounting of the events of this bloody episode does the Nigerian government stand any semblance of a chance, not restoring, but actually gaining, credibility with the public it purports to serve. In continuing to ignore and refuse to prioritise moral considerations, dismiss calls for accountability, and shroud itself from interrogation by citizens, the state deeper entrenches the sense of illegitimacy felt towards it. What we are witnessing here is a crisis of legitimacy born of an unwillingness by the state to engage with or remedy its failure in meeting a basic minimum standard of the full range of functions it is expected to.