BY EMAMEH GABRIEL
It is a rare thing indeed for a politician to make, during what should have been a routine interview, an admission that carries legal consequences of this magnitude. When Nasir El-Rufai sat before the cameras on Arise TV on Friday night and told the world that he and his associates listen to the phone calls of the National Security Adviser, Mallam Nuhu Ribadu, because “we have our ways,” he did not appear to be making a confession. He appeared to be boasting. And in that moment, whether he realised it or not, he may have handed law enforcement something far more valuable than any political point: evidence.
The question now is whether that evidence will lead anywhere. Can a man be prosecuted for effectively admitting on live television that he participated in or benefited from the illegal interception of the communications of the country’s top security official? The answer, in strict legal terms, is yes. Whether it will happen is another matter entirely, and that depends on factors far removed from the black letter of the law.
Let us begin with the law itself, because it is surprisingly clear on this subject. Section 37 of the 1999 Constitution guarantees the privacy of citizens, their homes, correspondence, and telephone conversations. This is not a qualified right. It is not subject to the whims of powerful individuals. It stands as a fundamental protection, one that the courts have repeatedly affirmed. Below that constitutional guarantee, is a web of statutory provisions designed to give it teeth. The Cybercrimes Act of 2015, in Section 22, specifically criminalises the intentional interception of any non-public transmission of data, which includes telephone calls.
The punishment upon conviction includes imprisonment or fines, or both. The Nigerian Communications Commission Act reinforces this prohibition. There is no ambiguity here. The law says you cannot listen to another person’s phone calls without lawful authority, and lawful authority means a court order, not personal curiosity or political rivalry.
Now apply that to what El-Rufai said. When asked how he knew that Ribadu had allegedly ordered his arrest, he replied: “He made the call, because we listen to their calls. The government thinks that they are the only ones that listen to calls, but we also have our ways.” When the interviewer pressed him on whether this meant he had tapped the NSA’s phone, he confirmed it: “Someone tapped his phone.” And when reminded that wire-tapping is illegal, he responded: “I know, but the government does it all the time.” That is not a denial. That is not an evasion. That is an admission that he knew about the interception, that he or his associates were involved in it, and that he understood it to be unlawful. In any functional criminal justice system, that statement would be Exhibit A.
But the legal analysis cannot stop at the simple fact of privacy violation. The position of the person whose calls were intercepted matters enormously. The National Security Adviser is not a private citizen in the ordinary sense. He is the principal adviser to the President on security matters, the coordinator of Nigeria’s intelligence community, and the official with access to the most sensitive information the state possesses. His communications are not just his own; they bear directly on national security. If private individuals can intercept his calls, then they can access state secrets. They can learn of military operations before they happen. They can discover the identities of intelligence sources. They can anticipate the government’s negotiating positions. They can, in short, compromise the security of every Nigerian.
This is why the Presidency’s response, through Bayo Onanuga, focused not just on the illegality of wire-tapping but on its national security implications. The statement asked whether El-Rufai and his collaborators have access to wire-tapping facilities, and it warned that such capability in private hands poses a serious threat. That is not political hyperbole. It is a factual observation. If a former governor can listen to the NSA’s calls, then so can foreign intelligence services. So can criminal organisations. So can anyone with enough money and connections to acquire the necessary technology or recruit the necessary collaborators. The revelation that such capability exists outside government control should trouble every Nigerian who cares about the country’s security.
There is also the question of how this interception was accomplished. El-Rufai spoke of “we” and “our ways.” Who is “we”? Are these political associates? Former security officials? Serving officers who still have access to surveillance infrastructure? Private contractors with technical expertise? The answer matters because it determines the scope of the investigation and the nature of the threat. If the interception was carried out by current or former security officials, then the rot goes deeper than one politician’s indiscretion. If it was carried out using privately acquired technology, then the government needs to understand how that technology was obtained and whether it remains in use.
These are not questions that can be answered by press statements or television interviews. They require a proper investigation.
Now, the prosecution of any offence requires more than a television confession, no matter how damning it sounds. The standard of proof in criminal matters remains beyond reasonable doubt. El-Rufai’s words are admissible evidence, and powerful evidence at that, but they would need to be corroborated. Investigators would need to determine who actually did the tapping, what technology was used, and whether the former governor’s claim to have known about it is truthful. They would need to obtain call records, examine digital devices, and interview witnesses. They would need to establish the chain of evidence and ensure that whatever they find can withstand scrutiny in court. This is difficult work, and it becomes exponentially more difficult when the person at the centre of it is a former governor with considerable political connections and resources.
There is also the practical reality that any investigation into El-Rufai will be viewed through a political lens. He is not a neutral figure. He is a prominent politician with ambitions and enemies. He has accused the NSA of using security agencies to persecute him. He has alleged that the ICPC has become a personal tool of Ribadu. The moment the government announces an investigation, his supporters will cry persecution as they are already doing. They will say it is a witch-hunt, a vendetta, a distraction from the government’s failures. And they will find a sympathetic audience among those who already believe that security agencies are weaponised against opposition figures. This is the curse of Nigeria’s hyper-politicised environment: even the most legitimate investigation becomes a political football, and the truth is often the first casualty.
But the government cannot allow that reality to paralyse it. If the rule of law means anything, it means that no one is above accountability, not even former governors with powerful friends. The admission was made publicly. The legal framework exists. The national security implications are undeniable. To do nothing would be to send a message that the law is optional, that powerful individuals can admit to crimes with impunity as long as they have the right political connections. That message would be devastating, not just for this case but for the entire project of constitutional governance in Nigeria.
What is needed is an investigation that is professional, transparent, and focused on the facts. The security agencies involved must resist the temptation to turn this into a political operation. They must follow the evidence wherever it leads, even if it leads to uncomfortable places. If they find that El-Rufai was indeed involved in or benefited from illegal wire-tapping, they must build a case that can survive in court. If they find that he was merely boasting or speaking metaphorically, they must say so. If they find that others were involved, including current or former officials, they must pursue them as well. The goal must be truth and accountability, not victory in a political feud.
There is another dimension to this that deserves attention. El-Rufai’s defence, to the extent he offered one, was that the government does it too. This is not a defence in law, but it is a serious accusation. It raises a legitimate question that must be examined: when and how can the government legally intercept communications? The answer is that the government does have the legal authority to wiretap, but only under strict conditions and with proper judicial oversight. Section 46 of the Cybercrimes Act permits a law enforcement officer to apply to a judge in chambers for an order to intercept communications. The judge must be satisfied that there is probable cause to believe the target is involved in a serious offence and that the information sought is relevant to the investigation. Beyond the Cybercrimes Act, agencies like the Department of State Services operate under various laws and standing protocols that allow for surveillance in the interest of state security, but the consistent requirement across all legal frameworks is judicial authorisation. There is no provision for warrantless wiretapping of Nigerian citizens on Nigerian soil.
A thorough investigation into El-Rufai’s claims cannot ignore this. It must examine whether state surveillance is being conducted lawfully, whether oversight mechanisms are functioning, and whether citizens are being protected from government overreach as well as private intrusion. This is not what the Presidency may want to hear, but it is what the rule of law requires. An investigation that exposes private wire-tapping while ignoring potential state overreach would be incomplete and would rightly be seen as hypocritical. If El-Rufai has evidence that security agencies are tapping phones without court orders, the proper place to present it is not a television studio but a court of law, where it can be tested and where those responsible can be called to account. The burden of proof for his claims, like the burden of proof for his own culpability, rests with whoever makes the allegation.
The bottom line is straightforward. Nasir El-Rufai said on national television that he and his associates listen to the NSA’s phone calls. He acknowledged that this is illegal. The National Security Adviser holds a position that is central to the safety of every Nigerian. If private citizens can intercept his communications, the nation’s security is compromised. The law provides for prosecution. The evidence is, at minimum, sufficient to justify an inquiry. The only remaining question is whether the government has the will to follow through, not as a political exercise but as a genuine effort to uphold the law and protect the state. Nigerians have seen too many investigations that begin with great fanfare and end in silence. This one must be different, not because El-Rufai deserves special treatment, but because the stakes are too high for business as usual.
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