In the days following the death of former President Muhammadu Buhari, Nigerians have responded in varying ways—some with solemn mourning, others with indifference, and a vocal minority with celebration. Farooq Kperogi’s recent Saturday Tribune column, “Celebrating Buhari’s Death Vs Forgiving Him,” attempts to wrestle with this spectrum of reactions. Yet, while the piece is eloquently written and layered with metaphor, it ultimately descends into selective outrage, personal speculation, and a one-dimensional portrayal of a man whose legacy—like that of any major leader—was far more complex.
Kperogi opens with a philosophical reflection on death as the great equalizer, invoking the image of schoolchildren in line for punishment. He cautions against rejoicing over another’s demise, only to then spend the rest of the article making a case—directly and indirectly—that Buhari deserves no forgiveness. This contradiction between moral posture and rhetorical tone is hard to ignore.
At the heart of Kperogi’s piece is the claim that Buhari's offenses against Nigeria were “unforgivable” and that the damage he allegedly did is “beyond the realm of human capacity” to pardon. But this is not only excessive—it is dismissive of the fact that Buhari remained a popular leader among millions of Nigerians and was democratically elected—twice. To suggest that all Nigerians feel irreparably wounded by him is simply untrue.
Even more speculative is Kperogi’s claim that Buhari’s desire to return to power was fueled by a grudge against former military ruler Ibrahim Babangida (IBB), who overthrew him in 1985. This dramatic theory strips Buhari’s political journey of all democratic substance. It ignores the fact that he contested three presidential elections—2003, 2007, and 2011—before winning in 2015 as the candidate of a broad coalition driven by public discontent with the existing order. Millions of Nigerians supported his message of integrity and change. To reduce that movement to a revenge mission is not only inaccurate—it is disrespectful to the electorate.
Kperogi further portrays Buhari as incapable of forgiveness, citing his fallout with IBB and perceived coldness toward former President Shehu Shagari’s funeral. But that claim is flatly contradicted by actions Buhari took while in office. For instance, he approved presidential pardons for convicted former governors Joshua Dariye (Plateau) and Jolly Nyame (Taraba) in April 2022. These were figures convicted of corruption and serving long prison sentences. Others pardoned included Lt. Col. Akiyode, Aminu Buba, and Ewa Henshaw, some dating back to the military era.
If Buhari were as vengeful and unforgiving as claimed, he would not have exercised clemency in these high-profile cases—particularly given the political risk and public criticism they attracted. His decision to pardon these men was framed as an act of national reconciliation, not personal animosity.
Nowhere is Buhari’s capacity for magnanimity more evident than in his historic recognition of June 12 as Democracy Day—a profound gesture aimed at healing decades-old wounds. For context, June 12, 1993, marked Nigeria’s freest and fairest election, won by the late Chief Moshood Abiola but annulled by none other than IBB—the same person Kperogi claims Buhari held a life-long grudge against.
Yet it was Buhari—not IBB, not Obasanjo, not Jonathan—who officially recognized June 12 as Nigeria’s true Democracy Day, posthumously honored MKO Abiola with the highest national award (GCFR), and formally acknowledged the injustice of the annulment. This act was not just symbolic—it was a national reconciliation of deep historical weight. It specifically sought to appease the Southwest, a region perceived to have been most wounded by the June 12 annulment, and it was widely praised across political divides.
To ignore this major moment of healing, and continue to frame Buhari as vindictive and obsessed with settling scores, is intellectually dishonest.
Kperogi also refuses to acknowledge Buhari’s developmental achievements. His administration delivered key infrastructure projects—the Second Niger Bridge, Abuja-Kaduna railway, Lagos-Ibadan rail, and multiple expressways. He introduced and expanded the Anchor Borrowers’ Programme, revitalizing local agriculture and boosting food production. Under his leadership, Nigeria’s anti-corruption agencies regained a measure of public credibility, securing recoveries and convictions in ways no recent government had. And while insecurity remained a challenge, his government significantly degraded Boko Haram’s territorial hold, a marked difference from the pre-2015 situation.
Yes, Buhari had shortcomings. His aloof communication style and some economic policies alienated parts of the population. Yet even those failures don’t justify a one-sided portrayal that erases everything else.
Ironically, for all his talk of humility before death, Kperogi’s piece ends up as more of a posthumous indictment than a reflection. It fuels bitterness more than it fosters understanding. And it demands from Buhari the very grace it fails to extend.
The truth is, Buhari was neither saint nor villain. He was a man of convictions, flaws, ideals, and contradictions. But he was also capable of mercy, forgiveness, and gestures of national unity. His legacy will be debated for years—but only fairly if we are willing to tell the full story, not just the parts that validate our frustrations.
In the end, Buhari has returned to his Creator. Judging his soul is beyond us. But how we speak of the dead—especially public servants who shaped the course of a nation—says more about our values than theirs.
Let this be a time for reflection, not revenge. A time for truth, not twisted memory. A time to remember that leadership may fail, but history must never.
Written by Ahmed Abdulkadir, Board Chairman, Katsina State Radio and Television Services.
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