Opinion
June 12, Our Collective Amnesia
Most countries create their destinies around their pleasant or tragic memories. They document and engrave the experiences they collectively share from such incident. I think every important historical event ought to unify a people and foster deeper understanding among themselves.
Most developed climes understand the significance of mobilising their people using positive or negative experiences to build their nation and establish a national character. The United States of America is a veritable example. It uses the September 11, 2001, national calamity into nation-building through constant remembrance of the event and every remembrance evokes the very idea of the country.
Rememberances of this kind elicit patriotism and commitment to motherland. This pattern of deploying catastrophe and serendipity is discernible in many parts of the world where narrow-mindedness and primitive sentiments don’t confound historic national moments.
If the current feeble remembrance of the tragic annulment of the June 12 presidential election is anything to go by, it is clear that the Nigerian nation is yet to acknowledge the fundamentals of nation-building. The June 12 presidential election which Chief M. K. O Abiola won and died for, was adjudged the freest and fairest election ever conducted in the country.
The election was so historic that it changed the entire configuration of Nigeria and gave every part of the country a sense of belonging whether minority or majority tribes or persons. Abiola’s victory was indeed unprecedented in Nigeria. To borrow late Chief Odimegwu Ojukwu’s expression, the election symbolises the “first time handshake was made across the Niger”.
After military president, General Ibrahim Babangida, annuled the results of the election, there were calls by Nigerians and civil society groups to validate the results. These calls were protracted and almost destroyed the nation. The annulment became a reference point in our journey towards democracy because it negated the will of the people.
Nations are built on the principles of justice and the absence of justice breeds resentments. For instance, almost five decades after the civil war in the country, the scars remain as fresh as ever because there was never a firm process of national healing.
The June 12 election was unique and the most peaceful election ever held in Nigeria. Both Abiola and his vice, Babagana Kingibe of the Social Democratic Party (SDP), were Muslims. In other words, it was a Muslim-Muslim ticket. No cases of violence, intimidations, ballot snatching, multiple voting and rigging were reported. To cap it all, there was no protest against the results from any quarters until they were annuled.
The sudden abrogation of the election results severely harmed the country and almost led to disintegration. It caused so much damage to the very cord that ties the country together. The action of the Babangida’s military government put the country in a dangerous path.
The mandate freely given by 14.2 million Nigerians to Chief Abiola was subverted. In saner climes, the military junta that perpetrated the act would have been charged with treasonable felony and punished. Unfortunately, the absence of sanctions could not push Nigerians to clamour for justice. However, restitution can only be done when the infraction is remembered annually.
That is why the memory of June 12 must be kept alive. It is sad that only few states in the south west make efforts annually to remind Nigerians of that day when our collective mandate was plundered; when the soul of our nation was stolen.
The June 12 event has left a precarious legacy to young and upcoming generations of Nigerians that impunity, injustice and subterfuge are acceptable values of the Nigerian society. Rather than use the occasion to promote national understanding and cohesion, the country’s elite dresses the moment in sectional garb.
What should have been an occasion to unite against those who willfully divide us is littered and thrown into the gutters while the many injustices that bleed the system are left to thrive. It is indeed pathetic that 24 years after the sad event, only few voices have deemed it necessary to commemorate the event.
In the end, what did Babangida’s military junta hand over to us? Crises and instability. It took the resilience and firm belief of some Nigerians in democracy to eventually bring about civil rule in 1999.
Regrettably, some of the national issues the late Chief Abiola canvassed during his electioneering remain unattended to. 24 years after, Nigerians are still grappling with the enervating effect of poverty, unemployment, insecurity, and a moribund economy.
Therefore, a national consensus based on dialogue is needed to resolve the age long questions thrown up by the June 12 debacle. But beyond the memories of the mandate is the necessity to restructure the country to correct the existing structural imbalances that have agonised us since independence.
Fortunately, a number of such issues were addressed in the last national conference. Despite the limitations of that conference, some of the recommendations could be utilized to reposition the country.
Arnold Alalibo
The events that unfolded in Abuja on Tuesday November 11, 2025 between the Minister of the Federal Capital Territory, Chief Nyesom Wike and a detachment of soldiers guarding a disputed property, led by Adams Yerima, a commissioned Naval Officer, may go down as one of the defining images of Nigeria’s democratic contradictions. It was not merely a quarrel over land. It was a confrontation between civil authority and the military legacy that still hovers over our national life.
Nyesom Wike, fiery and fearless as always, was seen on video exchanging words with a uniformed officer who refused to grant him passage to inspect a parcel of land alleged to have been illegally acquired. The minister’s voice rose, his temper flared, and the soldier, too, stood his ground, insisting on his own authority. Around them, aides, security men, and bystanders watched, stunned, as two embodiments of the Nigerian state clashed in the open.
The images spread fast, igniting debates across drawing rooms, beer parlours, and social media platforms. Some hailed Wike for standing up to military arrogance; others scolded him for perceived disrespect to the armed forces. Yet beneath the noise lies a deeper question about what sort of society we are building and whether power in Nigeria truly understands the limits of its own reach.
It is tragic that, more than two decades into civil rule, the relationship between the civilian arm of government and the military remains fragile and poorly understood. The presence of soldiers in a land dispute between private individuals and the city administration is, by all civic standards, an aberration. It recalls a dark era when might was right, and uniforms conferred immunity against accountability.
Wike’s anger, even if fiery, was rooted in a legitimate concern: that no individual, however connected or retired, should deploy the military to protect personal interests. That sentiment echoes the fundamental democratic creed that the law is supreme, not personalities. If his passion overshot decorum, it was perhaps a reflection of a nation weary of impunity.
On the other hand, the soldier in question is a symbol of another truth: that discipline, respect for order, and duty to hierarchy are ingrained in our armed forces. He may have been caught between conflicting instructions one from his superiors, another from a civilian minister exercising his lawful authority. The confusion points not to personal failure but to institutional dysfunction.
It is, therefore, simplistic to turn the incident into a morality play of good versus evil.
*********”**** What happened was an institutional embarrassment. Both men represented facets of the same failing system a polity still learning how to reconcile authority with civility, law with loyalty, and service with restraint.
In fairness, Wike has shown himself as a man of uncommon courage. Whether in Rivers State or at the FCTA, he does not shy away from confrontation. Yet courage without composure often feeds misunderstanding. A public officer must always be the cooler head, even when provoked, because the power of example outweighs the satisfaction of winning an argument.
Conversely, soldiers, too, must be reminded that their uniforms do not place them above civilian oversight. The military exists to defend the nation, not to enforce property claims or intimidate lawful authorities. Their participation in purely civil matters corrodes the image of the institution and erodes public trust.
One cannot overlook the irony: in a country where kidnappers roam highways and bandits sack villages, armed men are posted to guard contested land in the capital. It reflects misplaced priorities and distorted values. The Nigerian soldier, trained to defend sovereignty, should not be drawn into private or bureaucratic tussles.
Sycophancy remains the greatest ailment of our political culture. Many of those who now cheer one side or the other do so not out of conviction but out of convenience. Tomorrow they will switch allegiance. True patriotism lies not in defending personalities but in defending principles. A people enslaved by flattery cannot nurture a culture of justice.
The Nigerian elite must learn to submit to the same laws that govern the poor. When big men fence off public land and use connections to shield their interests, they mock the very constitution they swore to uphold. The FCT, as the mirror of national order, must not become a jungle where only the powerful can build.
The lesson for Wike himself is also clear: power is best exercised with calmness. The weight of his office demands more than bravery; it demands statesmanship. To lead is not merely to command, but to persuade — even those who resist your authority.
Equally, the lesson for the armed forces is that professionalism shines brightest in restraint. Obedience to illegal orders is not loyalty; it is complicity. The soldier who stands on the side of justice protects both his honour and the dignity of his uniform.
The Presidency, too, must see this episode as a wake-up call to clarify institutional boundaries. If soldiers can be drawn into civil enforcement without authorization, then our democracy remains at risk of subtle militarization. The constitution must speak louder than confusion.
The Nigerian public deserves better than spectacles of ego. We crave leaders who rise above emotion and officers who respect civilian supremacy. Our children must not inherit a nation where authority means shouting matches and intimidation in public glare.
Every democracy matures through such tests. What matters is whether we learn the right lessons. The British once had generals who defied parliament; the Americans once fought over states’ rights; Nigeria, too, must pass through her own growing pains but with humility, not hubris.
If the confrontation has stirred discomfort, then perhaps it has done the nation some good. It forces a conversation long overdue: Who truly owns the state — the citizen or the powerful? Can we build a Nigeria where institutions, not individuals, define our destiny?
As the dust settles, both the FCTA and the military hierarchy must conduct impartial investigations. The truth must be established — not to shame anyone, but to restore order. Where laws were broken, consequences must follow. Where misunderstandings occurred, apologies must be offered.
Let the rule of law triumph over the rule of impulse. Let civility triumph over confrontation. Let governance return to the path of dialogue and procedure.
Nigeria cannot continue to oscillate between civilian bravado and military arrogance. Both impulses spring from the same insecurity — the fear of losing control. True leadership lies in the ability to trust institutions to do their work without coercion.
Those who witnessed the clash saw a drama of two gladiators. One in starched khaki, one in well-cut suit. Both proud, both unyielding. But a nation cannot be built on stubbornness; it must be built on understanding. Power, when it meets power, should produce order, not chaos.
We must resist the temptation to glorify temper. Governance is not warfare; it is stewardship. The citizen watches, the world observes, and history records. How we handle moments like this will define our collective maturity.
The confrontation may have ended without violence, but it left deep questions in the national conscience. When men of authority quarrel in the open, institutions tremble. The people, once again, become spectators in a theatre of misplaced pride.
It is time for all who hold office — civilian or military — to remember that they serve under the same flag. That flag is neither khaki nor political colour; it is green-white-green, and it demands humility.
No victor, no vanquish only a lesson for a nation still learning to govern itself with dignity.
By; King Onunwor
