The public fury that has greeted President Bola Tinubu’s pardon of 175 convicts is a force to be reckoned with. It is visceral, understandable, and born from a nation’s raw and justified fear. To see individuals convicted of heinous crimes like terrorism and murder granted clemency feels, for many, like abdication of justice. This newspaper does not dismiss that visceral reaction.
However, a nation cannot be governed by outrage alone. The duty of leadership, enshrined in our constitution, requires making difficult, even unpopular, decisions for the complex health of the state. While the outcry for retribution is loud, we must ask whether it is being informed by facts or manipulated by political opportunism and a lack of awareness of global democratic practice.
The truth is, the prerogative of mercy is not a Nigerian anomaly. It is a sober tool of statecraft, used in democracies worldwide to correct systemic injustices and manage broken systems. Before we condemn, it is imperative we look past the anger and examine the difficult logic behind this decision. A look at how other democracies use this very same power reveals that Nigeria’s action is not the outlier many are claiming it to be.
One cannot underestimate the depth of this feeling. For any Nigerian who has felt the violating shock of a break-in, or for the family that now double-checks every lock after dark, this presidential pardon only feet like a deep personal wound. It feels like the memory of their fear and loss has been casually dismissed.
But we must not let the heat of this moment blind us to the broader facts of the case. Our anger, however real, should not obscure three critical truths: the President acted within a clear constitutional mandate, the decision followed a multi layered and consultative process, and it serves as a pragmatic response to a prison system that is collapsing under its own weight.
The Nigerian Constitution, in its wisdom, gives the President the power of the “prerogative of mercy.” This power is broad. It does not list certain crimes that can never be forgiven. To say that some offenders are beyond redemption is to miss the entire point of mercy. By definition, mercy is for those we think do not deserve it. Furthermore, no one is being declared innocent. These individuals have been convicted and have served time. This is a reduction of their punishment, not an erasure of their guilt, based on specific reasons we will outline.
Second, this was not a reckless or secret decision.
The President did not sit alone and handpick names. A committee was formed for this exact purpose. The Presidential Advisory Committee on the Prerogative of Mercy was led by the Attorney General, a respected legal mind. Its members came from the Nigeria Correctional Service, the Nigeria Police Force, the National Human Rights Commission, and very importantly, from both the Christian Association of Nigeria and the Nigeria Supreme Council for Islamic Affairs.
This was a diverse group, not a political clique. This committee did its homework. They looked at medical reports. They considered the age of inmates. They reviewed reports from prison wardens on good behaviour. They read appeals from families and civil society groups. The final list was then approved by the National Council of State, a body that includes all 36 state governors, the Vice President, the Senate President, and former leaders. To call this a unilateral decision is simply not true. It went through more layers of scrutiny than most government policies.
Third, the first question we must answer is: what is the purpose of a prison sentence? Is it purely for punishment, or is it to protect the public? If the goal is protection, then we must ask a simple, brutal question: is there any public safety benefit to keeping this specific persons locked up, if there are need for them to be freed? For many on this list, the elderly, the infirm, the genuinely reformed—the answer is no. They no longer pose a threat. Continuing to incarcerate them is not about protecting the public; it is about state-sponsored vengeance. And while vengeance is an understandable human emotion, it is a poor and ruinously expensive principle for government. It costs millions to keep a harmless, old man in prison for life. Those millions could pay for new police equipment, better training, or community programmes that prevent crime in the first place. Releasing those who are no longer a danger is not a betrayal of justice; it is the responsible reallocation of public money away from pointless punishment and towards active crime prevention.
Fourth, let us talk about justice and safety.
What is the ultimate goal of our justice system? Is it only to punish? Or is it to create a safer society?
Endless punishment without hope breeds only bitterness. There is a mountain of evidence from around the world showing that for many offenders, especially those who have served a long part of their sentence and have shown genuine change, keeping them locked up forever does nothing to make us safer. In fact, it can make us less safe by turning their families and communities against the state.
Reintegrating a carefully vetted, reformed individual back into society, under strict conditions, is not weakness. It is a strategic investment in long-term peace. It is a statement that the state believes in redemption. A government that only knows how to punish is a government that has given up on healing.
We are not alone in this. Look at the world. It is easy to think Nigeria is making a unique mistake. It is not. Let us consider the United States, a country we often see as a model.
On Drugs: President Donald Trump, despite his tough talk on crime, commuted the life sentence of Larry Hoover, the leader of a gang behind a massive drug empire and countless violent crimes. Presidents Barack Obama and Bill Clinton also pardoned or commuted the sentences of many convicted on major drug charges.
On Terrorism: President Bill Clinton pardoned 16 members of a Puerto Rican nationalist group that set off bombs across the United States. Their crimes were sedition and conspiracy.
On Treason: Most strikingly, President Donald Trump pardoned people who stormed the US Capitol on January 6th – a direct attack on the heart of American democracy.
In every one of these cases, the American public was furious. Victims’ families were outraged. Opponents screamed corruption. But the Presidents did it because the power of clemency is meant for exactly these difficult, controversial cases. It exists to correct the excesses of the legal system and to serve a larger national interest, even when it is unpopular.
In conclusion, our stand is this.
The public’s anger is a symptom of the deep wounds caused by crime in Nigeria. We hear it, and we respect it. But governing a country cannot be done by popular opinion alone. You cannot run a nation based on Twitter trends.
President Tinubu has used a constitutional tool, following a thorough and inclusive process, to address a dire crisis in our prisons and to affirm a more complete idea of justice. This pardon does not erase the crimes committed. The beneficiaries will always carry the conviction on their record. Their freedom can be conditional and can be taken away.
This action is a recognition of a simple, powerful truth: a human being is more than the worst thing they have ever done. After a debt to society has been substantially paid, the state must have the wisdom to know when to stop punishing and when to start healing.
The real test of this decision lies ahead. The government must now ensure the successful reintegration of these individuals. And it must double its efforts to arrest and prosecute the dangerous criminals who are still at large, preying on our people.
In the difficult balance between vengeance and mercy, between the outrage of the moment and the hope for a safer future, we believe the President has acted correctly, courageously, and for the broader, more complex public good.
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