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| Nnamdi Kanu and Judge Omotosho |
In the annals of Nigerian jurisprudence, the trial of Nnamdi Kanu, the leader of the Indigenous People of Biafra (IPOB), stands as a profound and deeply troubling paradox. It is a case that unfolds in a courtroom, presided over by learned judges, yet its foundation appears to rest on a legal phantom. At its core, this is the story of a man who has been tried, convicted, and imprisoned for an offence that does not exist in the law books of the country that condemns him.
The charge in question is terrorism. This potent label, laden with global stigma, was the cornerstone of the Nigerian government’s case against Nnamdi Kanu, the leader of the Indigenous People of Biafra (IPOB). It was the charge that justified his extraordinary rendition from Kenya, the reason for his prolonged detention, and the basis for the legal battles that have captivated the nation. Yet, a meticulous examination of Nigeria’s own Terrorism (Prevention) Act reveals a startling absence: the specific actions for which Kanu was convicted are not defined as acts of terrorism within that very legislation.
The Nigerian government’s narrative painted Kanu as a terrorist mastermind. It cited his inflammatory broadcasts on Radio Biafra, and leading IPOB. The prosecution argued that these actions instilled fear, threatened the sovereignty of Nigeria, and constituted terrorism.
However, the law demands specificity, not sentiment. The charge of terrorism, in a legal sense, is not about the ugliness of the words, it is personal actions.
The argument that, “Oh Nnamdi Kanu said what we don't like and he is the leader of IPOB, therefore Kanu is a terrorist,” is a blunder.
This line of reasoning represents a dangerous judicial shortcut. It effectively allows for a conviction which bypassed the necessity to prove that the individual’s specific conduct meets the statutory definition of a terrorist act. It convicts a man not for what he demonstrably did, but for where he came from and for what those in power want done to him. This erodes the fundamental principle of individual culpability, a cornerstone of criminal law worldwide.
In any robust legal system, a fundamental principle is that an offence must be “known to law” – nullum crimen, nulla poena sine lege (no crime, no punishment without law). This means a person cannot be punished for an act that was not clearly defined as a crime by existing statute.
By convicting Nnamdi Kanu of terrorism for actions that fall outside the explicit boundaries of the Terrorism Act, the Nigerian judiciary has risked creating a ghost offence. It has created a crime by judicial fiat, where the definition of terrorism becomes elastic, moulded not by the clear text of the law but by the political and security anxieties of the moment. This sets a perilous precedent. If the state can successfully prosecute an individual for a crime not explicitly defined in law, then no citizen's liberty is safe. The law ceases to be a shield for the people and becomes a weapon for the state.
The tragedy of Nnamdi Kanu’s legal ordeal extends far beyond the man himself. It strikes at the heart of Nigeria’s constitutional democracy and the rule of law. When the judiciary, the last hope of the common man, is perceived to bend the law to accommodate executive will, it suffers a catastrophic loss of legitimacy.
The situation presents a clear dichotomy. There is the political Nnamdi Kanu – a secessionist leader whose message few find divisive and whose methods are condemned by the few. And then there is the legal Nnamdi Kanu – a Nigerian citizen entitled to the full protection of the law, including the presumption of innocence and the right to be tried only for offences clearly defined by statute.
One can vehemently disagree with Kanu’s ideology while still defending the integrity of the legal process against him. To do otherwise is to endorse a system where the end justifies the means, where the gravity of the accusation absolves the state of its duty to follow its own laws.