A few weeks ago, I participated in a discussion on a WhatsApp group dedicated to political discourse. The conversation revolved around the reported exposure and arrest of former Attorney General of the Federation, Abubakar Malami SAN, and his sons over alleged corruption involving the diversion of billions of naira from public funds during his tenure under President Muhammadu Buhari. The discussion was intense, animated by divergent views and widespread satisfaction with what many perceived as renewed seriousness by Nigerian anti corruption agencies in tracking and prosecuting kleptocratic public officials.
Many participants expressed excitement at the development, interpreting it as a sign that no one was above the law. However, the atmosphere of optimism abruptly shifted when an elderly participant, Mr Agboola, made a brief but chilling submission. In simple but profound words, he stated, “Class will take care of its own.” That single statement froze the conversation. No one offered a rebuttal. No one pushed the discussion further. The silence that followed spoke louder than the heated exchanges that preceded it.
As I reflected on that statement, I was reminded of Karl Marx’s theory of class struggle, which identifies class conflict as the fundamental driver of social tension and historical change. Marx attributed societal conflict to the division between classes, particularly through what he termed historical materialism. This refers to the accumulation of wealth and resources by a minority at the expense of the majority, enabling a privileged class to control the means of production. These means of production include physical assets such as land, factories, machinery, raw materials, financial capital, and technology used to produce goods and services.
According to Marx, the bourgeoisie, as owners of the means of production, exploit the proletariat, whose labour sustains production but who remain impoverished. While wealth accumulates in the hands of the bourgeoisie, the proletariat is trapped in economic hardship. This structural imbalance, Marx argued, inevitably generates conflict within society.
However, when examined within the Nigerian context, the problem appears even more complex than Marx’s classical formulation. While Marx identified land, capital, and industry as the means of production, the Nigerian parallel situates government institutions as the primary means of production. In Nigeria, political office itself has become the most lucrative asset. The political class and their allies struggle relentlessly to gain access to government houses, not primarily to serve, but to control public treasury and appropriate collective wealth without conscience.
The result is a system in which public funds are looted while citizens endure deepening poverty, decaying infrastructure, and economic stagnation. Over the past two decades, Nigeria has witnessed an unending parade of corruption scandals. These include the Malabu oil scandal in which even a former president, Olusegun Obasanjo, was implicated, the disappearance and non remittance of billions of dollars in crude oil revenues under the Nigerian National Petroleum Corporation, notably during the tenure of former petroleum minister Diezani Alison Madueke, the 2.1 billion dollar arms procurement scandal involving former National Security Adviser, retired Colonel Sambo Dasuki, the fuel subsidy fraud, and numerous cases involving state governors, ministries, departments, agencies, and politically exposed individuals.
Despite these revelations, prosecutions have largely lacked seriousness and finality. Many cases languish endlessly in court, while accused elites routinely evade justice through medical theatrics, procedural delays, and endless adjournments. In stark contrast, ordinary Nigerians accused of minor offences are often denied bail, subjected to prolonged detention, and processed swiftly through the justice system. This disparity exposes a justice system captured by political and economic elites, thereby emboldening them to abuse public trust, embezzle funds, and mismanage national resources without fear of real consequences.
For instance, a poor individual accused of theft is likely to remain in detention due to bail denial or inability to meet bail conditions, while cases involving high profile defendants proceed slowly, with courts readily granting bail on lenient terms. Wealth and influence are frequently deployed to obstruct justice, manipulate legal processes, and exhaust public interest until cases quietly fade into irrelevance.
A recent example is the case of a former governor of Kogi State who was declared wanted by the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission over allegations of corruption. This declaration was made despite the commission being aware of his exact location and having the capacity to arrest him promptly. Subsequent attempts to arrest him were reportedly thwarted by state security operatives attached to the sitting governor, effectively shielding the former governor from prosecution. This incident vividly illustrates institutional complicity and the protection of class interests.
While the EFCC has recorded notable successes in prosecuting low level crimes such as advance fee fraud, cybercrime, and other offences often associated with ordinary citizens, its conviction rate against powerful politicians remains dismally low. This has reinforced public perception of the agency as a tool for political vendetta rather than a genuine instrument of justice.
Beyond the EFCC, the posture of successive Nigerian governments often contradicts the public interest. During the trial of former National Security Adviser Sambo Dasuki, he consistently argued that he merely executed directives from his principal, former President Goodluck Jonathan. He insisted that if the court sought clarity on the alleged misappropriation of funds, the former president should be invited as a witness. Yet, the judiciary showed reluctance to extend its inquiry to the former president, and the Buhari administration equally lacked the political will to insist on a thorough process. Eventually, Dasuki was released, and the case remains unresolved to this day.
Similarly, convicted politicians such as Joshua Dariye and Jolly Nyame were granted state pardons, effectively nullifying their prison sentences. Former Delta State governor James Ibori, who served a lengthy prison term in the United Kingdom for financial crimes, was also granted state pardon upon his return to Nigeria. At the same time, the Nigerian government made unsuccessful diplomatic efforts to repatriate a former Deputy Senate President serving a prison sentence abroad for crimes involving human trafficking and illegal organ harvesting. These actions further demonstrate how the political elite protect their own, regardless of the gravity of their offences.
Justice in Nigeria appears selective. While ordinary citizens face the full weight of the law, the elite class shields itself and its offspring from accountability. Even the children of political figures with notorious records continue to enjoy protection and privilege, often positioning themselves for public office without shame or reckoning. It is striking that descendants of former military dictators who violently suppressed democratic movements now freely aspire to leadership roles in the same country their parents brutalised.
There is therefore little reason to dispute Mr Agboola’s assertion. In Nigeria, class indeed takes care of its own. The pressing question is not whether this is true, but how long the system can endure before the consequences become unavoidable. Karl Marx proposed violent revolution as the ultimate resolution to class oppression. As Nigerian elites continue to protect themselves while systematically betraying public trust, and as ordinary Nigerians suffocate under economic hardship and institutional injustice, one must ask whether the ruling class will reform itself in time, or whether society will be pushed toward the point of no return where Marx’s grim prescription begins to appear inevitable.
