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“When hope is taken away from the people, moral degeneration follows swiftly after.”
—Pead S. Buck
By Omoniyi Salaudeen
The Nasir El-Rufai saga serves as a seismic case study in institutional meltdown—a flashpoint where the boundaries between state security, political loyalty, and the rule of law have fundamentally dissolved. While his allies in the African Democratic Congress (ADC) frame his current ordeal as a political witch-hunt, the reality transcends a mere partisan quarrel. The standoff at Nnamdi Azikiwe International Airport, the sudden criminal charges, and the legislative probes represent a recurring pattern of power mismanagement. This is more than a crisis; it is anomie in the sociological sense—a state of systemic lawlessness where the internal gears of rules, trust, and values have ground to a halt.
The most harrowing aspect of this social degeneration is its vicious cycle. When citizens witness the failure of their institutions, they adopt a culture of impunity and a rascally disregard for the rule of law. El-Rufai’s current moral grandstanding and accusations of persecution are classic symptoms of this untamed defiance. By appearing with a horde of supporters potentially poised for unrest, he signals a belief that he remains above the law.
In his latest outburst, the pint-sized former Governor of Kaduna State reportedly threatened to expose secrets regarding the nation’s political landscape. It is a fundamental error of judgment to believe that one individual can intimidate a government. In politics, today’s ally is often tomorrow’s target, yet the standards of civic behaviour should not be subject to the vagaries of political friendships. The public warfare between El-Rufai, the Presidency, and his successor, Governor Uba Sani, suggests that the internal mechanisms for dispute resolution have collapsed, giving way to a scorched-earth political climate.
Stable democracies rely on a tacit understanding among the powerful to respect certain norms to ensure system stability. El-Rufai’s perceived arrogance suggests a belief in immunity from consequence. Paradoxically, he now finds himself at odds with the very state institutions he once leveraged to execute his own controversial policies—such as the mass dismissal of teachers and the demolition of private property.
The law must remain the law, regardless of whose horse is gored. If the Kaduna State House of Assembly’s allegation of the mismanagement of ₦432 billion is proven, he must face the consequences. Conversely, if these charges are purely a political vendetta, it confirms that investigative bodies like the EFCC and DSS are being used as weapons rather than independent arbiters. Either way, the institution fails.
The gravity of the situation peaked with reports that the DSS filed criminal charges against El-Rufai for allegedly intercepting the phone calls of the National Security Adviser (NSA), Nuhu Ribadu. It is a terrifying breach of protocol for a former governor to possess the means—and the audacity—to monitor the state’s top security officer. It suggests that our national intelligence apparatus has become a sieve, compromised by private networks operating parallel to the state.
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El-Rufai’s bravado on Arise TV—claiming “we also have our ways”—displays a startling disregard for state secrets. There is a grim, poetic irony here: the man who was once the primary architect of institutional ruthlessness now reaches for the shield of civil liberties only after losing the sword of power.
One major limitation of speaking too much and too fast is the increased likelihood of making verbal errors or inaccurate statements. El-Rufai has long been described as a gadfly—someone who intentionally provokes, but his tendency to over-share often turns his strategic moves into a choreographed script that his opponents can read in advance. By talking loudly and frequently, he is attempting to transform a criminal investigation into a political referendum. However, his verbal error is exactly what his opponents are now using to trap him. By trying to sound powerful and in the know, he handed the government a confession on a platter.
In the eyes of the public, his loudness is a defence mechanism. He knows that if he stops talking, the focus will stay strictly on the N423 billion missing from Kaduna’s coffers. But by keeping the room noisy, he hopes to distract from the numbers—but the government is simply using his own words to build a secondary cage, the cybercrime charges, around him.
A man who is truly confident in his innocence doesn’t need to brag on TV or bring a human shield to a routine interrogation. By detaining him, the authorities are signalling that the scale of the alleged financial mismanagement in Kaduna is too large to ignore, regardless of the political optics or the protesters outside. While the EFCC handles the money, the DSS has launched a parallel strike. They formally filed a three-count criminal charge (FHC/ABJ/CR/99/2026) against him for admitting to the unlawful interception of the NSA’s phone calls, failing to report the individuals who carried out the wiretapping, compromising national security through the use of unauthorized technical systems.
This is where his tendency to talk too much and too fast finally caught up with him. If he hadn’t gone on Arise TV to brag about hearing the NSA’s private calls, the government would have had a much harder time pinning a cybercrime charge on him.
By trying to look untouchable and all-knowing, he provided the exact evidence needed to keep him in a cell. The prosecution’s case is literally built on his own televised words. Despite his attempts to control the narrative with a media blitz and a mobilised mob, the legal system has effectively boxed him in. He is expected to be brought before the Federal High Court in Abuja shortly to take his plea on the cybercrime charges.
Whether the government makes him a martyr or not, they have successfully moved the battle from the court of public opinion, where El-Rufai excels, to a court of law, where his own words are being used against him.
The sad irony is that Nigerian state has become a theatre of the absurd where the law is a variable, not a constant. This meltdown is not just about one man; it is about the total dissolution of the boundary between the state and the individuals who run it. When security apparatuses are bugged by former operators and financial watchdogs only bark when a big man falls out of favour, the institution hasn’t just failed—it has fundamentally liquefied.
