As we have learnt this week, some Nigerian public officials apparently have the power to make Nigerians disappear and “nothing will happen.” No, we are not at the height of a tyrannical military rule but 25 years into our democratic journey as a country.
What would have been a short, private encounter between a Bolt driver, Stephen Abuwatseya, and Alex Ikwechegh, who happens to be a member of the House of Representatives, has become a lightning rod that is making us interrogate our culture of impunity and habitual abuse of power.
While the details are still emerging, what we have learned from the video of the encounter is that Mr. Abuwatseya was hired to deliver a package to the lawmaker’s residence. Something happened off camera that the legislator appears not to like and led to the driver being assaulted by the lawmaker himself. In his rage, the lawmaker delivered that classic line of the Nigerian oga: “Do you know who I am?”
While the driver might not know him (and he confessed he didn’t and only cared to be paid so he could get on with his business), and most Nigerians probably didn’t until this video surfaced and went viral, it is clear that their introduction to Hon. Ikwechegh is not a very complimentary one. First impressions, they say.
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But just to be clear he is properly identified, Ikwechegh, a Member of the House of Representatives, slapped some sense into Mr Abuwatseya, whom he called a rat, and proclaimed his power: “I can make this man disappear from the whole of Nigeria, and nothing will happen.”
For good measure, he added: “I am not going to call my policemen to beat you up. I will do that myself. I will tie you up, lie you down, and put you in my generator house.”
There was a lot more said that cannot be analysed in the space allotted this column. But we must note the troubling threat to “disappear” for demanding he be paid for services rendered.
We must also note Mr Ikwechegh’s claim that he could do this and not face any consequence, presumably because of his position of power. After all, he did infer that he owned some policemen he could order to violate human rights. He did refer to them as “my policemen.”
The last time I checked, the police did not belong to any individual, elected or not, but to the Nigerian state to serve and protect all Nigerians, not to beat them up at the behest of one oga.
Of course, Ikwechegh’s actions are not the first of its kind. It is only the latest manifestation of the systemic abuse of power that some Nigerian public officials have become accustomed to and the culture of impunity it has engendered. This culture has been deeply entrenched.
Some months ago, a public commentator, Dan Bilki Kwamanda, was recorded being flogged by some security operatives. His offence was that he was insulting the governor of Kaduna State. I do not approve of Mr Kwamanda’s vituperative criticism—directing gutter-level personal insults at public officials is unwarranted; however, the abuse of his human rights by agents of the state should not be condoned either. There are legal channels to deal with such issues.
Mr Kwamanda had it easy when compared to Abubakar Idris, alias Dadiyata, the online political critic who has been disappeared since August 2019 when he was abducted at home by gunmen. Five years down the line, his whereabouts have remained unknown. His mother, whom I had the honour of interviewing in the aftermath of his abduction, passed away not knowing what happened to her son. His wife, two children, and the rest of his family have remained prayerful that someday he might return. Their pain is unimaginable.
There are others, like the journalist Jones Abiri. For two years, Mr Abiri disappeared following his arrest for his publication. Neither his family nor lawyers saw him or knew of his whereabouts for two whole years. It took the tenacity of civil society groups like the Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ) to dig him out of a secret dungeon of the Directorate of State Services (DSS).
So, when powerful figures like Mr Ikwechegh threaten to disappear innocent Nigerians over some personal issues and boast that nothing will happen, it should cause us grave concern.
While the tradition of disappearing people may have roots in our history of military rule, it has no room in a democratic culture that is 25 years old and in this century.
The trappings of power—the security details and the logistical support made available to public office holders at the expense of Nigerians—are meant to facilitate such officials’ service to the public, not to be appropriated for personal use and abuse.
The power to disappear things should only be deployed to disappear the suffering and pains of Nigerians, not the Nigerians themselves. Anything besides that is an outright abuse of power. Power is a trust that must be administered with great caution and responsibility. Those voted into public office must be held accountable by the system that facilitated their access to power.
This is why I was delighted to read that Mr. Ikwechegh’s political party, the All Progressive Grand Alliance (APGA), promptly issued a statement condemning the lawmaker’s conduct. The party did not mince words in calling out its flag bearer in a demonstration of its willingness to hold those who rode its platform to office to a minimum standard of ethical behaviour.
Often when such things happen, some parties prefer to shove the matter under the carpet, thereby aiding and abetting the misconduct of their party members. Interestingly, Mr. Ikwechegh, in his public apology, commended his party and the police for swiftly calling him out and for their willingness to hold him accountable.
Which brings us to the matter of his apology. Would he have tendered one if he hadn’t been caught in the act through that video that went viral? Did his apology on the floor of the House meet the requirement? For one, he expressed a willingness to cooperate with the police in investigating the matter. I hope this will not translate to cutting corners and paying his way out through shady channels? He also expressed a willingness to start an initiative that would promote respect among Nigerians. It would be a good thing to hold him to his word on this.
He apologised to his colleagues in the House of Reps, who have decided to initiate disciplinary actions against him (I hope that is not merely for the optics). He also apologised to the generality of Nigerians, who have taken him to task over his misconduct. Of the man he assaulted and called a rat, though, his public apology fell short. Yes, he confirmed that he and Mr Abuwatseya had “explored alternative dispute resolution methods” and have “reached a respectful resolution,” but he did not directly apologise to his victim.
While one should commend the police for raising alarm at the way the lawmaker called the IGP and the entire police into disrepute, I must still express reservations that the police, in fact, did lock up Mr Abuwatseya for a night and impounded his vehicle at the behest of Mr Ikwechegh following the assault. While the police investigate the lawmaker for his deeds, it must also investigate the officers who aided him in this act of impunity against Mr Abuwatseya.
While we await the disciplinary action the House of Reps is going to take on Mr Ikwechegh, I hope it will be an action that is significant both in punitive terms and as a deterrent for other public office holders from abusing power.
This may not be enough to end the culture of impunity and abuse of power, but it should be resonant enough to start a rethink among Nigerian elites and public office holders. Let this be a significant moment, not just in the life of Mr Ikwechegh, but for Nigeria at large.
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