Introduction
In 1979, the irrepressible Fela Anikulapo Kuti released Unknown Soldier, a haunting protest against state impunity and institutional absurdity. In that song, Fela coined the phrase “government magic” to describe the inexplicable, often contradictory actions of state authorities’ actions that defy logic, due process, and sometimes even the law itself. Decades later, that phrase still finds troubling relevance in Nigeria’s governance and legal landscape.
The recent ordeal of Nasir El-Rufai presents yet another stage upon which this “government magic” appears to have been performed.
Arrest and Detention: The First Act
El-Rufai’s arrest by the Independent Corrupt Practices and Other Related Offences Commission (ICPC) marked the beginning of a legal drama that has since raised eyebrows among legal observers and the public alike. While the ICPC, like other anti-corruption bodies, is vested with powers of investigation and prosecution, those powers are not without constitutional limits. The right to personal liberty, enshrined in Section 35 of the Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria 1999 (as amended), requires that any person arrested must either be charged to court within a reasonable time or granted administrative bail pending further action.
Yet, in El-Rufai’s case, administrative bail was reportedly not forthcoming in the immediate aftermath of his arrest. This refusal, whether justified by the gravity of allegations or not, raises questions about the exercise of discretion by law enforcement agencies. Discretion, after all, must be guided by law, not arbitrariness.
The Bail Conundrum: Between the Court and Compassion
As El-Rufai remained in custody, his legal team approached the court seeking bail, a constitutionally recognized remedy when liberty is at stake. The matter was thus properly submitted before a judicial authority for determination.
However, in what many have described as a curious twist, the ICPC subsequently granted him bail not on legal grounds, but on “compassionate grounds” following the death of his mother. This development, while humane on its face, introduces a troubling legal paradox.
Why would an agency that had earlier declined administrative bail suddenly grant it under compassionate considerations, especially when the issue of bail was already sub judice? Does this not blur the line between legal process and administrative discretion? More importantly, does it not risk undermining the authority of the court already seized of the matter?
Who gave the order for his release? Who is that powerful figure behind the scene that ordered his release without recourse to the Court? One wonders if this privilege is open to all Detainees across the country or for selected few?
It is here that Fela’s “government magic” begins to echo loudly.
In 1983, when the curtain fell on Nigeria’s Second Republic with all the subtlety of a military hammer, Chief Ebenezer Babatope then serving as Director of Organisation for Chief Obafemi Awolowo’s Unity Party of Nigeria found himself upgraded from party strategist to involuntary guest of the state, courtesy of General Muhammadu Buhari.
For the entire 20 month interregnum of military “discipline,” Babatope was detained without the inconvenience of a trial because, after all, due process can be such a tedious civilian habit.
While he languished behind bars, tragedy struck: his father fell ill and, inevitably, passed on. In a moment of human vulnerability, Babatope appealed to the benevolence of the regime seeking temporary release to perform the final rites and mourn his departed father.
The response he received, however, was a masterclass in bureaucratic absurdity, worthy of a theatre of the surreal. Rather than sympathy or even silence, the regime, in its clinical efficiency, posed a question of its own: How, exactly, did you come by the information that your father is dead?
Thus, in that peculiar season of governance, grief required verification, mourning demanded evidence, and even death itself was apparently subject to military authentication.
As fate would have it, the wheels turned quietly, but unmistakably. In 1985, General Muhammadu Buhari himself fell from power, deposed and detained by his friend turned successor, General Ibrahim Babangida. Then, in 1988, tragedy visited him: his mother passed away.
This time, however, the machinery of military authority discovered a gentler rhythm. According to his biographer, John Paden, in Muhammadu Buhari: The Challenges of Leadership in Nigeria, Buhari was released following his mother’s death and permitted to travel to Daura to mourn.
One cannot help but observe the contrast. Where compassion had once been replaced with cold inquiry, it now found expression in timely concession. It would seem that in the peculiar arithmetic of power, mercy is not always a constant sometimes, it is a privilege.
And so, one is reminded almost inevitably of George Orwell’s enduring line in Animal Farm: all animals are equal, but some, it appears, are more equal than others.
Sub Judice and Institutional Contradictions
The doctrine of sub judice exists to prevent interference with matters pending before a court of law. Once a bail application is before the court, prudence and indeed respect for judicial authority demands that other actors refrain from taking steps that could render the court’s eventual decision academic or nugatory.
The ICPC’s decision to grant bail under these circumstances, even if well intentioned, appears to sit uneasily with this principle. It creates a scenario where executive action overtakes judicial consideration, raising legitimate concerns about institutional coordination and respect for due process.
Adjournment and the Lingering Question
Adding another layer to this unfolding narrative, the court has now adjourned the bail application to a later date in April.
This adjournment, though procedurally routine, now exists in a somewhat awkward context: the applicant whose liberty is being sought is already out on administrative bail granted on compassionate grounds.
What then becomes the purpose of the pending application? Will the court proceed to determine it on its merits, or will it be rendered otiose by subsequent events?
These are not merely procedural curiosities; they strike at the heart of legal coherence and institutional integrity.
Government Magic Revisited
Fela’s metaphor of “government magic” was never about illusion for entertainment, it was a critique of a system where actions of the state defy logic and accountability.
In El-Rufai’s case, the sequence of events from arrest, refusal of bail, court intervention, and eventual administrative bail on compassionate grounds presents a pattern that is difficult to reconcile within a strict legal framework.
It suggests a system where outcomes are sometimes shaped not solely by law, but by shifting considerations that may not always be transparent or consistent.
Conclusion: Law or Magic?
The law thrives on predictability, consistency, and adherence to established principles. Where these are absent, what remains is uncertainty and, perhaps, a touch of Fela’s “government magic.”
The El-Rufai episode serves as a reminder that the legitimacy of legal institutions depends not just on the powers they wield, but on how those powers are exercised. Administrative discretion must not become a substitute for judicial determination, nor should compassion, however noble, be deployed in a manner that complicates due process.
As the matter returns to court in April, one can only hope that clarity will emerge from the haze of contradictions. Until then, Fela’s voice from 1979 continues to resonate, reminding us that in Nigeria, the line between law and “government magic” is sometimes perilously thin.
