𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐒𝐨𝐤𝐨𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐨 𝐔𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐮: 𝐀 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐀𝐭𝐢𝐤𝐮𝐬

𝐁𝐲 𝐄𝐦𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐡 𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥

I am not one of those who believe that a man’s entire character can be reduced to the verdict of his former boss. Chief Olusegun Obasanjo has written extensively about his former Vice President, Atiku Abubakar, and much of what he has said has been unflattering, to put it mildly. But I do not wish to dwell on that. Obasanjo’s views, however strongly held, are ultimately the views of one man who had his own political battles with Atiku when they both ran this country. There was enough bad blood between them that any objective observer must take Obasanjo’s criticisms with caution.

The contrast I wish to draw here is not between what Obasanjo says and what Atiku says about himself. It is between what Atiku said in 2022 and what Atiku says in 2026. That is a comparison that requires no intermediary. It is simply a matter of looking at the man’s own words and actions across two tragic incidents, separated by four years, and asking ourselves what they reveal.

I rarely agree with almost everything a politician says while questioning his moral authority to say it. But that is precisely where I found myself yesterday, reading Atiku’s statement on the death of Miss Mary Habila—a twenty-six-year-old reportedly found dead at David Umahi’s residence. He raised valid points. His frustration is one many Nigerians share.

Yet I cannot shake the feeling that Atiku himself has not properly accounted for his own past. Until he does, his righteous anger today will always strike those of us who remember the last time a young woman was brutally murdered and he retreated when he should have stood firm.

The Mary Habila case is horrifying. Atiku is right to demand answers, right to push for an independent autopsy, right to insist the family be protected. On paper, his statement is everything opposition leaders should say.

But then, I recall the events of May 2022, when another young girl, Deborah Samuel, was brutally murdered by a mob in Sokoto over allegations of blasphemy. This happened in the run-up to the 2023 presidential election. The nation was outraged. Atiku, like many others, initially condemned the killing. He posted that there could be no justification for such a gruesome murder, and for a brief moment, it appeared that the Waziri of Adamawa was prepared to take a stand that might cost him political capital.

Then the backlash came. Mostly from northern political circles who felt betrayed. And what did Atiku do? He deleted the posts. He claimed the statement was posted without his approval—from his verified handle, mind you. That was hard to swallow.

Let us reflect on what that retreat signified. Atiku did not merely withdraw a social media post; he sent a signal that his commitment to justice was conditional on political convenience. He was telling the northern political elite that their displeasure mattered more to him than the life of a young woman lynched by a mob. This is the same man who now speaks so eloquently about accountability, but tested, he chosen ambition over Deborah Samuel. That was a moment that demanded moral clarity, and Atiku failed that test.

Now, four years later, we have another Atiku. This one speaks with the confidence of a man who has nothing to lose. He is asking that a Minister step aside, calling for an independent investigation and insisting that the federal government cannot treat the death of a young woman as an inconvenience. Every sentence in his latest statement is carefully constructed to project an image of a man of principle. He even took the precaution of signing it with his initials (AA) to prevent any claims that it was not authorised.

But the question that will not go away, and I know many Nigerians feel this way, is whether we are suddenly expected to forget the Atiku of 2022. How does a man who looked the other way when justice stood in the way of his votes now demand justice when it costs him nothing? How does a leader who buckled under the weight of his own political base now muster the spine to take on a sitting President over the death of a citizen in a Minister’s home? The hard truth is that moral authority is not a tap you turn on and off as it suits you. It is built in the tough moments when the crowd is against you, when you stand your ground, when you are prepared to lose an election rather than lose your integrity.

I am aware of the apparent contradiction in what I am saying. Here I am, conceding that Atiku’s current statement is substantively correct, even admirable, while simultaneously arguing that he lacks the moral authority to make it. This is not hypocrisy on my part; it is the painful reality of leadership in Nigeria. A man can speak truth and still lack the credibility to be heard. The tragedy is that we are forced into a corner where we must acknowledge a politician’s correctness while dismissing his consistency. That is not my contradiction to resolve. It is his.

Let me be precise: on the substance of the Mary Habila case, Atiku is correct. His demands for an independent autopsy, for the protection of the family from intimidation—these are unimpeachable. I say so without qualification.

But correctness on substance is not the same as moral authority. A broken clock is right twice a day. The question before Nigerians is not whether Atiku’s words are accurate—they are. The question is whether he has earned the right to speak them. On that, the record of 2022 speaks for itself.

There is a hierarchy of political virtues. At the bottom is factual accuracy, getting the details right. Above that is strategic wisdom, choosing the right battles at the right time. But at the very top is consistency—the willingness to apply the same standard to your allies as to your enemies, to your own base as to your opponents, to moments of political convenience as to moments of political peril.

But he has failed the third—the highest test. And in the hierarchy of leadership, the highest test is the one that matters most. A man who cannot pass it has no business demanding that others be held to account.

Some will say I am being unfair. They will argue that a man can be right today even if he was wrong yesterday, and that we should judge each statement on its own merits. They are not wrong—in theory.

But Nigeria is not a theory. It is a country where the same leaders who weep for one victim are silent for another, depending on which constituency is watching. It is a place where moral authority is the only currency that cannot be printed, and where those who have spent it recklessly cannot simply mint more when it suits them.

His current statement was carefully written, strategically placed. That is the point. He has learned to sound like a man of principle without being one. He did not find his voice in 2026; he only found a better script. A man who could not stand up to his handlers in 2022 cannot now expect us to believe he has suddenly found courage.

Until Atiku explains why Deborah Samuel’s murder did not deserve the same passion and urgency, his words will remain exactly what they are: political. For the family of Deborah Samuel, for those who watched him retreat when the pressure mounted, his outrage today must feel like a painful reminder of what could have been. They must wonder why their daughter’s murder was not worthy of the same courage and demand.

This is the tragedy of Nigerian political leadership. Leaders speak passionately on one issue and maintain a calculated silence on another, depending on which way the political wind blows. We have learned to accept that our politicians will stand with us only when it costs them nothing. Atiku is not alone in this, but he is a particularly instructive case.

Nigerians have long memories. They remember that when Deborah Samuel died, Atiku was not there for her or her family. He chose, instead, to placate the mob that murdered her. That choice has cost him something far more valuable than votes. It has cost him the moral authority to speak as he now does.

As-salamu alaykum.

Emameh is Public Affairs Analyst, Media Consultant and Researcher.

:emamehgabriel@gmail.com
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