Muhammadu Buhari and the Politics of Memory

Buhari

Photo Illustration by Ezinne Osueke / THE REPUBLIC. Source Ref: FLICKR, WIKIMEDIA. 

THE MINISTRY OF POLITICAL AFFAIRS

Muhammadu Buhari and the Politics of Memory

Understanding the different responses to Buhari’s death helps us understand his legacy on a divided nation.
Buhari

Photo Illustration by Ezinne Osueke / THE REPUBLIC. Source Ref: FLICKR, WIKIMEDIA. 

THE MINISTRY OF POLITICAL AFFAIRS

Muhammadu Buhari and the Politics of Memory

Understanding the different responses to Buhari’s death helps us understand his legacy on a divided nation.

On 17 July 2025, as part of events marking the national mourning period for former President Muhammadu Buhari, his successor, President Bola Tinubu, renamed the University of Maiduguri after him. The move was met with protests by some university alumni, and planned engagements aimed at deterring the National Assembly from ratifying the change by amending the university’s establishment act. There is also the irony that Tinubu himself had led some opposition to Goodluck Jonathan’s proposed renaming of the University of Lagos after the late Moshood Abiola, citing that the nation ‘must be careful not to localise or sectionalise MKO.’

Such moves and responses demonstrate how a society responds to the passing of political figures whose actions have a profound impact on the lives of many, for better or worse. After all, if these leaders are content with engaging in the business of carefully crafting narratives to achieve electoral power, surely, they must be content in understanding that at some point, they will cede control of this narrative to history.

Muhammadu Buhari’s death on 13 July 2025, at the age of 82, has ushered Nigerians to another moment in reconciling with a tenuous and divided society. To some, he was a man whose integrity and principled disposition endeared him to millions, allowing him to convince people to entrust him with responsibility. To others, he was seen as a poor administrator whose failure to acknowledge his shortcomings squandered the hopes and aspirations of a generation, setting Nigeria back on its quest for growth. Various reactions depict how different experiences can lead citizens of the same country to view the same leader differently. This division, regrettably, does not transcend the country’s well-laid fault lines along geography and ethnicity. It should force a sober reflection on the passing of a former president and the lessons of this period for Nigerians today and our interaction with memory.

FALLOUT

Muhammadu Buhari, born in December 1942, attended school in Daura, Katsina State and then proceeded to join the military shortly after independence. His reputation for fairness, discipline and austerity was largely attributed to his military training. As a young officer, he was affected and shaped by the coups and counter-coups that took place in the early 1960s. By 1976, he became the military governor of the North East, which today comprises six states. He would also serve as a federal commissioner for petroleum and natural resources in 1977, as well as a frontline military commander, which enhanced his stature in the army and his reputation for decisive leadership during the 1983 Chadian Affair.

In 1983, Buhari assumed office as head of state after a coup that ended the democratic administration of Shehu Shagari. In hindsight, some of the criticism that trailed his later performance as president should have been ironic given some of his actions during the strict and draconian regime he headed. Among his actions were the infamous ‘Decree No. 4’, which granted the regime the power to imprison journalists and restrict press freedoms. His government was also criticized for its poor economic policies, which resulted in job losses, inflation, and a recession. His government embarked on a ‘War Against Indiscipline’, which was an extreme form of national reorientation and led to the incarceration of hundreds of politicians and businessmen amidst an environment of fear. He was accused of restricting decisions to a small group within government and, in perhaps Nigeria’s most infamous diplomatic faux pas, tried to kidnap former transport minister Umaru Dikko from the United Kingdom. The incident, which led to the severing of ties between the two countries, was an embarrassment and added to the litany of grievances that led Nigerians to welcome the Ibrahim Babangida coup of 1985.

After his removal from office, he retired to his farm before serving as chair of the Petroleum Trust Fund under the Sani Abacha regime, a stint that was criticized for his poor supervision and lopsided project locations. This, along with his austere and simple disposition, endeared him to many who supported his repeated bids for the presidency from 2003 till his successful run in 2015. The heady optimism and hope that a new party and a ‘reformed democrat’ brought meant that, more than any Nigerian since independence, Buhari was in a position to reshape Nigeria. The mandate he received and the goodwill he enjoyed displayed would have empowered his camp to believe he was impervious to the criticisms that many past leaders experienced. Instead, it should have been a warning on how quickly the tide could turn if he disappointed.

It didn’t take long for Nigerians to notice Buhari struggling with the challenges of leading a country as diverse as Nigeria. His slow approach also belied the urgency that many expected a three-time presidential candidate to tackle Nigeria’s problems. He took six months to appoint cabinet members, kept the currency artificially high and, in doing so, created a gap between official and black market rates that was exploited by a few. He displayed a firm posture to combat insecurity and tackle corruption, but left a country still spending billions on fighting Boko Haram, the same insurgent group he had dismissed during his campaign. Buhari’s economic policy, which largely relied on redirecting funds to mass welfare projects without the requisite market reforms for sustainability, failed to yield dividends. The crippling responsibility of the presidency took its toll, and he spent weeks outside the country on several health-related trips, which in itself earned criticism after he pledged to end medical tourism and told officials not to do the same.

If one could excuse the lack of awareness of the awesome burdens of the Nigerian presidency during Buhari’s first term, it’s harder to justify Buhari’s bid to seek re-election despite the evident toll that the presidency took on his health. Still, his enduring popularity, mainly in the north, coupled with a desire to delay a potentially divisive party primary for the ruling All Progressives Congress, ensured a second term. During the next four years, Buhari focused on social welfare and established a ministry dedicated to humanitarian affairs. He also presided over a well-praised response to the COVID-19 pandemic. But this term also saw the October 2020 #EndSARS protests, which largely ended after soldiers fired at peaceful protesters in Lagos and where he decried protesters as rioters seeking to remove him from power. Months later, he would ban X, formerly known as Twitter, after the platform deleted an insensitive statement that referred to the civil war and brought memories of his regime enacting Decree Number 4. He would end his term with a series of disruptive policies, such as the since-reversed redesigned Naira scheme, which failed to achieve its aims.

A fairly aloof disposition to governance was a relic from his military era, and perhaps from an age where leaders were not accustomed to explaining themselves to civilians. It would show in flippant and disappointing gaffes, whether it was reinforcing antiquated gender norms about his wife belonging in the kitchen, justifying preferential treatment to states that gave him more votes, which were mostly in the north, or denigrating young Nigerians as ‘lazy Nigerian youths’. Perhaps most impactfully, Buhari’s speech during the #EndSARS protests, after weeks of Nigerians begging their leader to speak, was criticized for being tone-deaf and disregarding the many young Nigerians who demonstrated civic engagement by making their voices heard.

Buhari’s aversion to direct, effective communication meant that he failed to form the necessary emotional connection with the Nigerian public, which would have warranted sympathy when he fell short. His aides repeat that he was funny and jovial, but Nigerians were not laughing. His reputation for integrity and incorruptibility, which largely held, was still marred by the presence of controversial politicians in his cabinet and in the upper echelons of his party. Buhari was also criticized for engaging more with the foreign media than domestic actors. The same disillusionment that trailed his departure from office in 1985 would be present, this time with a new generation that felt disappointed by many, who believed his poor economic policies had squandered their youth. This led to the japa syndrome and further accelerated Nigerian brain drain.

Buhari’s defenders cite his extensive investment in infrastructure projects and his commitment to addressing pension payments for civil servants that had been ignored. They also cite that he inherited a difficult situation, one that would have tested even the best administrative leader. However, even the administration’s flagship programmes, ranging from the Survival Fund to the conditional cash transfer for some of the poorest families in the country, have been unsustainable due to rising inflation costs. Allies of the president will point to difficult forces against his term, but there can be no clearer mark of his failings than for a national leader who presided over billions in budget allocations and embraced nationalist campaign rhetoric to have passed on in a foreign hospital.

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GHOST PROTOCOL

Buhari’s poor performance as president belies the service that he provided to the country, from a largely meritorious stint as an army officer and the image of an incorruptible leader triumphing in a political space that is largely associated with corruption and shady dealings. Buhari’s consistency in engaging with the political process, even at its worst, and emerging victorious is as good an advertisement for the increasing maturation of Nigeria’s democracy and the promise of building a more perfect nation.

This leads to the reflection required to understand Buhari’s ‘fall from grace’ in the eyes of many. A society that embraced Buhari with open arms in 2015 should reflect on why his death, a decade on, has elicited a far more uneven reaction. There should be questions about what values Nigerians sought and saw in his election, what changes occurred during his time in office, and what these reflections reveal about the country he left behind. This will be particularly key as many seek to present themselves as his heirs in upcoming electoral contests, and whether the term ‘Buharist’ remains a bankable currency in 2027.

Political philosophy is rife with concepts that address the influence that deceased leaders play in our politics. American philosopher Hannah Arendt, in On Revolution, explores narrative remembrance and how an individual’s life can be interpreted as inspiring political action and incorporated into the public narrative. Friedrich Nietzsche, in On the Use and Abuse of History, warns of how the past is glorified to perpetuate power relations and manage dissent. Benedict Anderson, in Imagined Communities, touches on how nations are socially constructed through shared narratives about the past.

This idea of the past, and how we interact with it, is part of the challenge in understanding the volatile response to Buhari’s death. Discussing what we expect also reflects on the relationship that leaders have with their citizens. An example is in clear communication about capacity, and we can start with health. In other democracies, leaders are expected to communicate health-related challenges and justify their ability to manage it and their responsibility. Yet, when in office, Buhari spent periods hospitalized, even leading to the long-lasting belief that he had died and been replaced by a clone. Even days before his death, key communication aides were rebutting rumours of his ailment and have since been shown for their poor tact with his demise. This incident is not without precedent. Umaru Musa Yar’Adua’s health challenges plagued his three years in office and led to a constitutional crisis because he did not hand over to his vice president. President Bola Tinubu has also been rumoured to be dealing with health challenges, but has not addressed this, leaving Nigerians to speculate about his fitness for the role.

Another example is in unpacking the mixed response to Buhari’s death. His political base in the north has expectedly shown more sadness at his death; similarly, an older generation more steeped in respectability politics has been quiet. Conversely, citizens in other parts of the country, who can claim to have been shortchanged by a president accused of nepotism, have been more nonchalant, and in some quarters, a younger generation has responded with gleeful abandon. This divide speaks to his contribution, however unintended, to a divided society. It was evident in 2020, with pro-SARS protests in the north to counter the #EndSARS protests, which were mostly in the south, and more so in how candidates still relied on ethnic sentiments and appeals to prove electoral viability in 2023.

What this tells us is that if we can’t agree on how we want our society to be, and if we can’t agree on how we interact with our leaders, then we are unlikely to agree on how to react to Buhari’s death. This is not strange, and it is perfectly natural. The concern arises when the disagreement stems from areas that expose existential divisions within a society, and our failure to try to use the shared experience to address those questions.

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ROGUE NATION

The reality is that the politics of memory, especially as it concerns public figures, has reached a moment where we exist and interact strictly in binaries. Nigerian author Molara Wood decries the lack of rigour in documenting public figures, and how many exist as ‘…caricature, cartoon villains or improbable saints…’ This binary approach is concerning because, in an era of increased polarization, it deprives us of the space to actually reflect and learn from the legacy of influential milestones in our country’s history. We see this in how another favoured Katsina son, Yar’Adua, continues to have a more positive legacy because his short term in office meant he died a hero and, unlike many Nigerian leaders, did not live long enough to become a villain.

Modern-day Nigerians exist in an age fueled by social media and echo chambers, where disinformation can be weaponized to reinforce biases and perceptions. It is also a reflection of information overload that it is easier to interact and process in binaries than to engage in the complexity of the moment. Sadly, it also means that there is a lack of nuance in engaging with thought. Buhari’s virtues can coexist alongside his evident difficulty in living up to the promise of his presidency, which can be contextual depending on the part of the country you’re from.

This binary approach of hero and villainy continues to affect our politics, where a politician or leader can be appealing or harmful depending on their ethnicity, religion or gender. This lack of contextual reflection in such a shared experience, as a national leader passes away, should serve as a warning and a sign that past mistakes can be repeated. After all, Jonathan’s appeal appears to have aged well a decade after he left office. As recently as last year, some online posts even positively compared Buhari’s era to that of Tinubu, whose period has also been associated with trying times. A vilified Buhari today could easily receive calls for sainthood in the future.

The death of a leader should prompt a reflection on how society interacts with the state, particularly during their tenure in office. Remembering Buhari’s controversial actions should force a conversation about how citizens choose and want to engage with leaders. There have been flippant comments online about celebrating the death of such a polarizing figure, but there is a sad undertone—for millions, it is an attempt to absolve ourselves of the harsh reality that many cede agency in shaping society to the select few who choose to interact in different ways. There is a contentment for the many who have washed hands off caring or hoping about Nigeria to easily lay blame at those who are saddled with responsibility, with the wrong lesson here that taking care of one’s ‘constituency’ will lead to them making sure there at least mourners at one’s funeral and praise singers online and during coverage. This is not how citizens should feel about public service.

A lesson from Buhari’s term in office is how many Nigerians, either through civic action or private sector activism, protested the injustice of the state and blazed a trail of alternative leadership. These examples will undoubtedly shape the country’s future. There is a crucial point to acknowledge the privilege required to make this case. Millions of Nigerians who have been adversely affected by the Buhari years do not have the luxury of time to engage with such rigorous arguments. Short-term approaches to campaigns and governance, perfectly exemplified in the rise of vote trading in elections, is symptomatic of how difficult it is to carry out the long-term thinking necessary to grow a nation. Sadly, we live in a country where even hope appears to be a freedom restricted to an elite class that can afford to think beyond a single presidency.

There are several reasons why it is necessary, ranging from nation-building to reorienting how Nigerians engage with leadership. But a key reason is also in shaping future sets of leaders. Any politician reviewing recent coverage will likely see the harsh treatment and choose to cater to a subset of the population in order to achieve elected office. They will govern accordingly, in a divisive and clientelistic manner, to ensure re-election or elevation to higher office, and proceed till they are either retired or die. If Nigerians want to inspire the right set of leaders for public service, then shared experiences like this should focus on reflecting on what kind of country they met, served, and left behind. It should also provide the space for reorienting minds to see politics as more than an entitled position but a calling to serve. It should highlight the vast and distinct demographics that are present at any level, from federal to local, that any leader will need to cater to. However, it should also explore the nuanced politics of memory in an era where narrative crafting remains a powerful tool. This is at the heart of varied responses to Buhari’s legacy and an age in Nigerian history.

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FINAL RECKONING

Buhari’s passing is a reminder that, ultimately, it is what we do that defines us. There is also the expected risk of interacting in the public space. If Buhari had passed on before returning to power, the narrative of his integrity would have supplanted the recent reminder of his administrative incapacity. The big question is how we manage this lack of basic standards in something as existential as how we evaluate leadership.

A solution to address the present divide is by actively embracing knowledge. Buhari’s death represents another fraying of the ties between Nigeria and former leaders that saw a fragile country, one reluctant to reflect on sensitive moments for fear of causing rupture. But modern-day Nigeria, in a twisted circumstance of fate, has developed resilience from the many shocks and storms it has had to endure.

If Nigeria is to fully evolve from the politics of memory, it should do so by actively studying it. In other established climes, scholars embark on doctoral programmes or attempt to thoroughly document and study past leaders to derive lessons for the future. The necessity of presenting fair accounts as a marker of history is crucial in avoiding the volatile perception of leaders looking good solely in comparison to their successors, which in itself is a sad indicator of a society that successively chooses leaders poorly.

In the end, no one can and should police how people and society grieve and react to a leader’s passing. It is perfectly fine to mark the end of a life and react to its profound impact, positive or negative. It is also natural that no two people, or parts of the same society, will react to any news or passing in the same way. But a society can only truly grow from such shared experiences if there is a clear attempt to learn from them. This way, the response to Buhari’s death may shock, inspire, or inform the next generation of leaders. Muhammadu Buhari, for all his appeal and faults, has transitioned from man to memory and become a marker in Nigerian history. It is incumbent on us to learn from it to ensure the future is better off⎈

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