Tag: music

Almost all Nigerians know the significance of June 12, but not many know what was already unfolding behind the scenes, even before any vote was cast.

Lets rewind

Its May 18, 1993, the secret base is Suite 1034 of Abuja Sheraton Hotel. According to the veteran journalist, Richard Akinnola, this room had served as a rendezvous for key actors opposed to the June 12 election. They included both military and civilian stakeholders central to the whole judicial plot. While Arthur Nzeribe and Abimbola Davis (ABN Director of Operations) did the whole ABN civilian optics, Brigadier-General Haliru Akilu (intelligence chief) and Clement Akpamgbo (Attorney-General of the Federation) worked things out from the security and legal ends, respectively.

But what was the objective?

June 12 must not produce a legitimate winner, and all this must be done naturally. The goal was to make it look as though the government tried to transition to civilian rule but was faced with electoral malpractices and legal challenges.

From that meeting, the plan began to take shape. A suit would be filed to stop the election just days before it was scheduled to hold. But even that had to be carefully staged. The plaintiff could not just be anyone; they had to look neutral, at least.

But even neutrality had to be manufactured. It couldn’t look like a Northern elite trying to stop a Southern candidate or as though the military was protecting its own interests.

So the meeting produced a consensus on the identity of the plaintiff.

Enter Abimbola Davis, a Yoruba man, lowkey, respectable and detached enough to file a case against the election without immediately raising suspicion (or so they calculated).

Next problem? The judge.

A case like this could not be left to chance; if the plaintiff had done his bit, his lawsuit needed to land before someone who would ‘cooperate’. Don’t forget that Babangida’s Decree 13, promulgated on January 1 that year, clearly states that no court ruling can “affect the date or time of the holding of the election. But of course, a judge could find a way out. So, the actors brought in a female for gender balance, at least women are known for their integrity.

That’s how Justice Bassey Ikpeme joined the plot. And once the pieces were in place, everything began to move fast.

June 10, 1993 (Two days to the election).

Most Nigerians were winding down for the night. Some already asleep. Others sitting in darkness (typical NEPA outage), saving whatever energy they had left for what was supposed to be a defining day.

But somewhere else, the lights were very much on. At exactly 9:35pm, Justice Bassey Ikpeme, a close associate of the Justice Minister, Akpamgbo, delivered what many still regard as one of the most suspicious rulings in Nigeria’s democratic history. One wonders whether it was truly a judicial decision or simply a verdict dictated from the Villa and announced through the bench.

Not only did she attempt to stop an election that was barely hours away, she also made sweeping pronouncements at an early stage of the case, even though the NEC had not been called in. For many observers, this was no ordinary legal dispute. It looked less like justice and more like a script already written, with everyone merely playing their assigned roles.

Even though this ruling contravened Babangida’s Decree 13, it became the legal seed upon which the annulment later grew.

By Wednesday, June 16, when Prof. Humphrey Nwosu announced that NEC would suspend further release of the presidential results until further notice, he was already moving within a trap whose full dimensions he may not have recognised.

The next day, Thursday June 17, pressure mounted. Two separate court orders reversed the earlier stoppage, while a Lagos High Court judge, Justice Moshood Olugbani, ordered NEC to release the results within 24 hours. Dr Beko Ransome-Kuti, chairman of the Campaign for Democracy, also issued his own ultimatum: release the results within a day, or the movement would do so itself.

Watching the whole theatrics going on, the same Nigerians who had dressed up happily that Saturday morning suddenly went quiet with that familiar thought at the back of their minds: so this is how it ends again?

Unlike the first and second republics, this time was different. Nigerians had seen their votes with their own eyes. They had stood in the queues, waited under the sun, and watched the counting. So they knew exactly what had happened. The coming days would be tense with various debates about what was coming

Then on June 23, 1993, the pretence ended.

The Babangida regime annulled the June 12 presidential election. Just like that. No regard for the millions who had come out peacefully to vote. Suddenly, the midnight court orders began to make sense. What looked random had been carefully coordinated long before any election. The whole electioneering process and move for democracy was a farce, June 12 was only acceptable if it produced the result they wanted. Once it did not, democracy itself became the problem.

And that is where Nigerians must pay attention today. Because these things rarely begin with tanks on the streets. They begin quietly. A blocked reform here, a compromised electoral institution there, and a court suddenly eager to intervene in party affairs.

It’s a circle, politicians today are testing how far they can go, and the citizens remain distracted until it is too late. Back then, it was NEC. Today it is INEC. The letters may have changed, but the lesson did not.

When those meant to protect elections begin to look uncertain, or those in power start gathering too much confidence before votes are cast, Nigerians should remember June 12. Because conspiracies do not always announce themselves. Sometimes they arrive dressed as procedure, legality and politics as usual.

June 12 remains less a memory of 1993 and more a warning for 2027.