Bello Mohammed Abdullahi
Former President Olusegun Obasanjo’s recent remarks on corruption, particularly his critique of ex-President Muhammadu Buhari’s integrity, have reignited debates about hypocrisy in Nigeria’s political class. While Obasanjo positions himself as a moral compass, his holier-than-thou posturing demands scrutiny. If we are to hold leaders accountable, we must first ask: Does Obasanjo truly possess the moral high ground to lecture others on corruption?
Obasanjo’s sprawling business empire—Obasanjo Farms, Bells Secondary School, and the Olusegun Obasanjo Presidential Library (OOPL), which houses a university—raises legitimate questions. How did a career public servant accumulate such vast assets? While entrepreneurship is commendable, the timing and funding of these ventures invite skepticism. For instance, the OOPL, inaugurated in 2007, was reportedly funded by donations from contractors, oil magnates, and entities linked to the Nigerian National Petroleum Corporation (NNPC). Critics argue that such contributions, solicited during and after his presidency, blur ethical lines. Is it mere coincidence that those doing business with the government felt compelled to “donate” to his legacy project?
During Obasanjo’s tenure (1999–2007), Nigeria witnessed corruption scandals like the $180 million Halliburton bribery case, which implicated officials close to his administration. While Obasanjo himself was never directly charged, the stench of impropriety lingered. His infamous third-term bid, allegedly bankrolled by state resources, further tarnished his reformist facade.
Obasanjo’s attempt to diminish Buhari’s anti-corruption credentials reeks of selective amnesia. Buhari, for all his governance flaws, maintained a Spartan lifestyle, owning no known private estates, universities, or corporations. Unlike Obasanjo, Buhari did not leverage presidential influence to amass personal wealth or pressure contractors into funding legacy projects. To argue that Buhari’s administration was spotless would be dishonest—corruption persisted under his watch—but to claim moral superiority over him is audacious.
Obasanjo’s criticism also ignores his own contradictions. In 2019, he publicly endorsed Buhari’s re-election, praising his “integrity,” only to later disavow him. Such flip-flops suggest his moral judgments are less about principle and more about political convenience.
Nigeria’s democracy thrives on holding leaders accountable, but accountability must apply equally. Obasanjo’s legacy—though mixed with infrastructural strides like debt relief and telecom sector reforms—is marred by allegations of cronyism, vendetta politics, and self-enrichment. His famed “anti-corruption” wars targeted political foes while allies enjoyed impunity.
True moral authority requires consistency. Lecturing others about corruption while presiding over a network of patronage and personal aggrandizement undermines the fight for transparency. If Obasanjo wishes to critique successors, he must first address the unresolved ethical shadows of his own era.
Nigeria’s struggle against corruption cannot be won if past leaders, burdened by ethical baggage, dictate the narrative. Obasanjo’s contributions to national development are undeniable, but his tendency to weaponize corruption rhetoric for political relevance diminishes his stature. Rather than trading jabs, Nigeria needs leaders who lead by example—those who reject opulence built on questionable means and prioritize systemic change over self-righteous lectures.
Let Obasanjo’s legacy speak for itself. Until then, perhaps silence would be a wiser choice.
Abdullahi, a political and public affairs commentator, writes from Kaduna.
