By Abdulrauf Aliyu
Last week, in my back-page column for Leadership newspaper, I wrote “The Theatre of Presidential Pardon,” and I erroneously stated that Maryam Sanda’s case was still pending before the Supreme Court. A friend of mine who read the article, kindly playing the role of conscience, informed me that the Supreme Court had, in fact, affirmed the appellate court’s 2023 decision. That slip, I admit, was mine alone.
And yet, it seems that even a single factual hiccup can occupy the minds of presidential aides for days. Tunde Rahman, Senior Special Assistant to President Tinubu on Media and Special Duties, in his piece “Much Ado About a Presidential Pardon” published in Vanguard on October 19, 2025, devoted considerable attention to me. He writes: “Back home, the present clemency for some drug offenders, along with that of Maryam Sanda, has emerged as the most contentious. For instance, in his seeming desperation to nail the government over Maryam Sanda’s pardon, last Tuesday, October 14, a columnist in Leadership newspaper, Abdulrauf Aliyu, went overboard….” One can almost picture Mr Rahman at his keyboard, convinced he is a one-man censorship squad, tasked with correcting the universe of public commentary, and temporarily, I was his special duty.
Let us, however, move beyond the theatrics of attribution and focus on substance. The prerogative of mercy under Section 175 of the Constitution is a remarkable power. No one contests it. But law is made for man, not man for law, and the exercise of that power requires wisdom, prudence, and moral calibration. Maryam Sanda, convicted of killing her husband in 2017, sits at the center of a debate about the limits of clemency, not its legality. She shares the pardon list with drug barons who have decimated youth, kidnappers who turned highways into theatres of fear, and a military officer who trafficked 7,000 state-owned arms — a list that reads more like a rogue’s gallery than a catalogue of rehabilitation.
History provides lessons for those who advise, spin, or draft statements in haste. Julius Caesar’s generous amnesties toward defeated senators ended with daggers at the foot of the Senate; Louis XVI’s indulgence of nobles became a prelude to the guillotine; Imperial China’s proclamations of universal pardon often encouraged chaos rather than loyalty. Aides who rush to defend, reframe, or rationalize controversial acts would do well to recall these precedents: zeal without reflection can make one the unwitting author of farce.
The Attorney General, Prince Lateef Fagbemi, in a statement referenced by Rahman himself, subtly acknowledged the need for review and administrative rigor. Yet Rahman seems to presents it as a full vindication, as though a bureaucratic nod dispels concern over the choice of beneficiaries. Therein lies a lesson for presidential aides: transparency is not a substitute for discernment, and the elegance of explanation cannot correct imprudent judgment.
Humor is inevitable. Ordinary Nigerians, still navigating the consequences of crime and insecurity, must smile politely as kidnappers, drug traffickers, and violent offenders walk free. One can almost hear NDLEA officers, who have chased traffickers across jungles and highways, whispering over the pardon list: “Surely this must be satire.” Tunde Rahman, typing away in his office, may believe that citing Clinton, Biden, or Trump absolves all scrutiny. Yet context is everything. U.S. or European pardons occurred in conditions and histories vastly different from Nigeria’s daily reality, where roads, homes, and lives bear the marks of violence. Historical analogy is instructive precisely because it teaches caution, not deflection.
Maryam Sanda’s inclusion is morally complex, and it was the touchstone of my column. Yet, the broader pattern cannot be ignored: those pardoned include people whose actions harmed the state and society in profound ways. Here, history again instructs: the Ottoman sultans’ universal pardons sometimes invited lawlessness; Cromwell’s post-war indulgences postponed unrest but did not prevent it; and Rome, in its later years, shows that mercy without structure erodes authority. Presidential aides who rush to defend such pardons, framing controversy as mere misinterpretation, risk appearing as courtiers rather than counselors.
In the end, satire becomes our lens. Imagine the scene: a presidential aide furiously typing, referencing centuries of foreign pardons, historical precedents, and moral philosophy, all to show that no error occurred, while the nation watches streets, schools, and homes navigate insecurity that pardons have not healed. The task, surely, is not just to justify a gesture but to understand the broader implications — the intersection of law, mercy, and societal trust.
Maryam Sanda and her fellow beneficiaries, lawfully pardoned though morally debated, illuminate this tension. It is not the prerogative of mercy that is questioned, but the execution, the selection, the optics, and the communication. Presidential aides like Rahman might do well to recall the lessons of history: Caesar’s daggers, Louis’s guillotine, Cromwell’s unrest. Defending every act without reflection transforms advocacy into spectacle, and spectacle into cautionary tale.
Humor, then, is not cruelty; it is survival. Ordinary citizens must laugh politely at the absurdity of pardons, at the spectacle of spin, and at the world in which aides convince themselves that historical citations are a shield for imprudent choices. And so, Tunde Rahman, next time you are assigned a “special duty” of framing policy, remember that context, judgment, and moral clarity often outweigh hasty justification.
History remembers those who advise well, not those who type quickly. Maryam Sanda sits legally pardoned, and her case is factually correct; the broader mercy list challenges prudence, invites reflection, and demands the careful communication that presidential aides are entrusted to provide. That is the lesson, not the minor factual slip, and it is one worth reading slowly, with humility and a wry smile
