Politics

Tinubu’s Controversial Clemency and the Moral Crisis It Sparks

Published by admin on October 18th, 2025.

Tinubu’s Controversial Clemency and the Moral Crisis It Sparks

President Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s recent exercise of presidential clemency has stirred significant public outcry—particularly over the inclusion of Maryam Sanda, convicted in 2020 for the brutal murder of her husband. While the Nigerian Constitution under Section 175 gives the president the authority to pardon convicts, this power, though legal, is not beyond ethical scrutiny.

Clemency is meant to be a tool of justice, not a betrayal of it. It is intended to show compassion in cases where the law may have been too harsh or where individuals have shown genuine rehabilitation and remorse. Unfortunately, the perception surrounding Tinubu’s recent pardon list suggests otherwise. It appears, to many Nigerians, to be an exercise in privilege and political favoritism rather than a demonstration of justice tempered by mercy.

Among the 175 individuals considered for pardon are those convicted of serious crimes, including drug trafficking and violent offenses. The most contentious name on the list is Maryam Sanda. Her case gripped national attention not only because of its gruesome nature but because it represented a rare moment when justice seemed to work against the rich and well-connected. Her clemency risks undoing that fragile sense of hope.

Following widespread backlash, the federal government clarified that no inmates had yet been released under this clemency process. The Attorney-General, Lateef Fagbemi, stated that the exercise is still at the “final administrative stage” and undergoing further review. This pause presents an opportunity for the Tinubu administration to reconsider and possibly revise its decisions before irreversible damage is done to public confidence in the justice system.

What’s particularly troubling is how the pardon was presented to the public. When news broke about Sanda’s inclusion, a media briefing was quickly arranged, featuring Bilyaminu Bello’s estranged biological father, who claimed he had requested clemency for the sake of his grandchildren. The optics were troubling: the man had reportedly been absent from his son’s life, yet was now being used as a prop in what many saw as a staged justification.

Meanwhile, the family who had raised and buried Bilyaminu—those who bore the emotional and psychological weight of his death—were neither informed nor consulted. They later released a statement expressing their dismay, calling the clemency “the worst possible injustice” they could endure.

Forgiveness, in its truest form, must come freely from those wronged—not forced through political theater. The attempt to sanitize this pardon through selective storytelling only deepened public resentment and underscored the sense that justice in Nigeria is negotiable if one has the right connections.

There is nothing inherently wrong with mercy. A functioning justice system must always leave room for redemption. However, such mercy must be based on transparent criteria—clear evidence of reform, remorse, and a fair evaluation process that includes input from victims and their families. The clemency list, as it stands, appears to reward privilege rather than rehabilitation.

The inclusion of convicted drug traffickers is especially jarring, given the government’s recent push to combat drug abuse. How can a nation preach zero tolerance for narcotics while simultaneously offering pardons to those convicted of trafficking them?

Presidential pardons have a troubling history in Nigeria, often used to favor allies, exonerate cronies, or signal elite impunity. But Tinubu’s approach stands out for its audacity. It sends a dangerous message: that those with money and influence can escape the consequences of even the gravest crimes.

This kind of preferential treatment threatens the morale of law enforcement officers who risk their lives to bring criminals to justice. It tells victims that their suffering can be nullified by backroom deals and political power plays. And perhaps most dangerously, it undermines public trust in the rule of law—opening the door to vigilantism and social instability.

If the government is truly committed to justice and mercy, it should reserve clemency for the marginalized—those wrongfully convicted, the poor serving disproportionate sentences, or the thousands of detainees languishing in prisons without trial. These are the people who need mercy, not those who already benefit from a system stacked in their favor.

The ongoing review of the clemency list gives the president a chance to right a wrong. Names that discredit the exercise should be removed. The criteria for selection must be published and made open to scrutiny. Furthermore, the body responsible for advising the president on such matters should include civil society actors, legal professionals, and representatives of victims’ families to ensure balance and fairness.

Every pardon is a message. This one tells Nigerians that justice is conditional—dependent not on the crime, but on the clout of the criminal. That is a message this country cannot afford.

If President Tinubu wants to restore public confidence and reaffirm his administration’s commitment to the rule of law, he must revisit this decision. Clemency without morality is not justice. It is corruption cloaked in compassion. The president must choose principle over privilege.