Political Repression and Kokonut Democracies
by George B.N. Ayittey
The political situation in many African countries continues to remain distressing. The euphoria that gripped Africans as the "winds of change" swept across the continent, following the collapse of communism in Eastern Europe has largely dissipated and been replaced with a sense of disillusionment. While a few African despots were toppled, in the large majority of African nations they successfully beat back the democratic challenge. True, “elections” have been held in many African countries since 1990 to lend a veneer of ‘democracy” to authoritarian regimes. But as The Economist (23 Nov 1996) observed:
'Boundaries, the media, the economy and the voters’ roll are all manipulated. Opponents are squashed. Soldiers have also learnt how to play the game. Half the countries of west and central Africa are ruled by “elected” ex-soldiers, among them the bosses of The Gambia and Niger, both voted into office after recently overthrowing democratically-elected governments (21).'
In some countries opposition leaders were partly to blame. Their own divisiveness, fragmentation, and lack of imagination as well as their propensity to choose ineffective tactics played right into the hands of the dictators. Out of the 54 African countries, only 14 are democratic: Benin, Botswana, Cape Verde Islands, Ghana, Madagascar, Malawi, Mali, Mauritius, Namibia, Sao Tome & Principe, Senegal, Seychelles Islands, South Africa, and Zambia. Even then, if a rigorous definition of democracy is applied, less than 5 would meet the requirements. Apart from periodic elections, they include a freely negotiated constitution, neutral and professional armed forces, an independent judiciary, an independent media and an independent central bank.
In the postcolonial period, three scenarios have emerged in the ouster of Africa's dictators. In the Doe scenario, those leaders who foolishly refused to accede to popular demands for democracy risked their own safety and the destruction of their countries: Doe of Liberia, Barre of Somalia, Mengistu of Ethiopia, and Mobutu Sese Seko of Zaire (now Congo). (Doe was killed in September 1990; Barre fled Mogadishu in a tank in January 1991; Mengistu fled to Zimbabwe in February 1991; and Mobutu fled in May 1997.) African countries where this scenario is most likely to be repeated are Algeria, Cameroon, Chad, Djibouti, Equatorial Guinea, Libya, Niger, Sierra Leone, and Tunisia.
The Eyadema scenario is by far the most common. In this scenario, the leaders yield initially, after considerable domestic and international pressure, but then attempt to manipulate the rules and the transition process to their advantage, in the belief that they could fool their people. In the end, however, they fool only themselves and are thrown out of office in disgrace.
African countries likely to follow this route are: Angola, Burkina Faso, Burundi, Cote d'Ivoire, Gabon, Ghana, Gambia, Kenya, Mauritania, Nigeria, Rwanda, Tanzania, Uganda, and Zimbabwe. Recent events in Burundi and Kenya also show that the outcome of the Eyadema scenario is highly unpredictable and its impact on economic development deleterious. Political uncertainty and instability discourage business investment and trade.
Under both external and internal pressure to democratize, African despots resorted to various tricks and chicanery. Mobutu, for example, embraced multiparty democracy enthusiastically but created scores of parties to compete with the scores more seeking to topple him -- in fact, so many parties of his own that it became known as multi-Mobutuism. Then he called them together in a "national conference" and gleefully watched them tear each other apart. African dictators manipulated, controlled, or dictated the pace -- as well as the terms -- of the transition to democracy; excessively used their "incumbent advantage" to spring surprises on the opposition; and shut the opposition out of the state-owned media. President Daniel arap Moi of Kenya clung to the presidency by re-writing the constitution that allowed him to win elections with a minority of the vote. He succeeded because the opposition was divided and he made sure the opposition stayed that way. In fact, he rushed through parliament a bill that declared opposition alliances illegal. Says Keith Richburg, an African American reporter: "Mobilizing the masses and pressing for political reform is one thing. Actually winning election is a far more difficult proposition in countries where ruling parties control the media and dominate virtually every phase of the election process, from registering voters to deciding the location of the polling places. Africa's autocrats are proving far more durable than their counterparts elsewhere" (The Washington Post, 24 October 1992, A23).
The following quotations from two African newspapers add other perspectives:
• Governments developed new tactics to frustrate the opposition. Some like the Cote d'Ivoire and Gabon, dropping all their previous ideological objections held elections so fast that the opposition found no time to organize. Houphouet-Boigny and Omar Bongo won huge majorities for the ruling parties as early as November and September 1990. Other astute operators adopted the opposite tactic to achieve the same end, the retention of power. They simply kept the whole apparatus of the modern state in their hands, controlling state expenditure, the party press, radio and TV, patronage, bribery, the police and security forces. There is no attempt to have an interim government while all parties compete equally [as was the case in South Africa] (New African, November 1992, 12).
• The programs have been designed by African despots in such a way that they lack full press freedom, judiciary and administrative autonomy and procedural guarantees for free and fair elections. Biased electoral systems, cheating and intimidation by the incumbents, gray areas between state and party, as well as internal squabbles and disunity are among the multiple disadvantages that have dampened the opposition effectiveness.
• If some opposition movements were able to benefit from democratic openings and win polls in Zambia (1991), Congo (1992) and Malawi and South Africa (1994), this proves more difficult in countries like Zimbabwe, Ghana, Cameroon, Cote d'Ivoire, Burkina Faso, Nigeria, Kenya, and others (The African Observer, 2-15 May 1995, 3).
We examine in detail a crass attempt at "hide-and-seek" bazooka democracy in Nigeria. Democratization of Nigeria
Nigeria, the comatose giant of Africa, has been taking ungainly steps toward democratic rule. A five-year transition program was begun in 1985 under General Ibrahim Babangida but it turned out to be a sham. The program was stretched out with frequent interruptions, devious maneuvers, broken promises (at least four), and then complete nullification of the 12 June 1993 presidential election, which was considered free and fair and apparently was won by the late Chief Moshood Abiola. (Previous missed handover dates were October 1990, October 1992, and January 1993).
Most Nigerians, of course, were not surprised by the annulment and had long suspected General Babangida's desire to perpetuate himself in power. In fact, their suspicion and cynicism produced the monicker "M In political parlance, a "Maradona" is a trickster, who deviously plots diabolical political shenanigans, resorting to subterfuge and chicanery to fool the people and advance his own secret agenda. Said Olusequn Obasanjo, Nigeria's former head of state: "It has now got to a stage that when the [Babangida] government says good morning, people will look out four times to ascertain the time of day before they reply" (African News Weekly, 2 - 9 April, 1992, 3).
Nigerians initially applauded the ouster of corrupt politicians by a succession of military leaders in the 1980s; Major-General Buhari (December 1983) and General Babangida (August 1985). The coup that brought General Babangida to power aimed to get rid of those in the Supreme Military Council who had abused their power and failed to tackle the country's economic problems. But the "disciplined" military officers who were supposed to save the country seldom listened to the people.
Despite all the promises of probity, the military elite proved itself more corrupt than any regime that preceded it, taking huge kickbacks on contracts and diverting government funds. Allegations have been rife about corruption and illicit enrichment by members of Babangida government.
General Babangida was forced aside by the military top brass, led by General Sani Abacha, in June 1993 and an interim civilian government under Ernest Shonekan was installed. But after barely three months in office, Shonekan was overthrown by Abacha in November 1993. Initially Abacha attempted to quell public dissatisfaction by co-opting the opposition (offering its leaders cabinet posts) and organizing a constitutional conference. It turned out to be another scam.
The public viewed Abacha's constitutional conference with a massive dose of skepticism and cynicism. That the general twice postponed its opening did not help matters. A day after the conference finally began on 27 June 1994, it was adjourned for two weeks. The official reason? The delegates' accommodations were not ready.
Moreover, the 396 delegates, who were to deliberate on the future of democracy, congregated at Abuja as "guests of the military." A fourth of their number (96) were nominated by General Abacha and the rest "elected" under suspiciously complex rules. Delegates were chosen by "people's representatives" who were themselves elected by popular vote on 23 May, postponed from 21 May. Candidates under 35 years of age were ineligible to run. In addition, they must not be "an ex-convict, must be sane, must be a fit and proper person and must not have been declared bankrupt by a court of law" -- requirements that most of the ruling military elites themselves would fail to meet.
Logistical problems, inadequate publicity, and apathy bedeviled the electoral exercise. There was no campaigning; no voters register or cards. Confusion reigned. Voters did not even know whom they were voting for and for what purpose. And stunned by the annulment of 12 June elections, many chose to stay home. The general voter turnout across the country was scandalously low.
More suspiciously, the Constitutional Conference was not sovereign. That is, the Abacha regime reserved the right to reject or accept its recommendations. If the regime rejected them, the entire exercise would be a colossal waste and started anew. If the recommendations were accepted, the military regime would then draw up a timetable, perhaps another transition period for "civic education," voter registration, local, state and regional elections with still the possibility of interruption midstream.
Now compared with South Africa's 1991 Convention for a Democratic South Africa, the differences are glaring. Nigeria's conference was a meritricious charade that should have been dissolved. Political parties did not take part in the constitutional conference. Imagine de Klerk of South Africa banning the ANC and all political parties, arresting political leaders, clamping down on the news media, nominating 25 percent of the delegates to the conference, and declaring that its resolutions would not be binding on the white minority government.
Said a Nigerian pro-democracy activist, Arthur Nwankwo, "For it was in October, 1995 that the present military dictatorship announced its transition to civil rule programme, at the end of a bazaar of mindless men and women who crafted a self perpetuating document that goes by the name of a draft constitution. Ever since then, calculated steps have been taken with fanatical commitment, unbridled enthusiasm and effusive bravado that have ensured the national descent into hell. The hell is not only physical but equally spiritual" (Post Express Wired, 17 June 1998, 3).
On 12 June 1994, the first anniversary of the annulment, Chief Abiola belatedly declared himself "president," and was promptly arrested on charges of treason. This triggered a wave of strikes by oil workers, which disrupted oil production as we noted earlier. The paranoid military regime unleashed a wave of brutal reprisals. Pro-democracy protesters were gunned down; political leaders of different persuasions were detained. The Guardian, The Concord, Newswatch and other newspapers were shut down and their editors arrested. And all civilians were expelled from the Provisional Ruling Council (PRC) on 27 September. About 40 people, including former head of state, General Olusegun Obasanjo, were arrested on trumped up charges of plotting to overthrow the government. The irony of charge is that it was the private press which reported rumors of an impending coup, whereupon military personnel sprang into action. These events culminated with the arrest and subsequent hanging of Ken Saro-Wiwa.
General Sani Abacha ("The Butcher of Abuja") died mysteriously in June 1998. Local newspapers reported that, his wife, Maryam was "seeking political asylum in a Middle East country thought to be Lebanon," according to the Nigerian Democratic Movement. She was reputed to have inherited "the vast fortunes of her husband estimated at $5 billion including an oil refinery in Brazil and had contracted a private security outfit to guard the family, whilst she assesses the situation." This was a head of state waging "a war on corruption"
Following Abacha’s timely death in June 1998, elections were held by his successor, General Abdulsalam Abubakar. After assuming office in May 1999, President Obasanjo found the country ungovernable as elected officials were more interested in their perks and power than fixing the country's economy. A near government paralysis occurred from wrangling over distribution of power between the executive and the legislative.
For 18 months (Feb 1999 to August 2000), Nigeria’s 109 senators and 360 representatives passed just five pieces of legislation, including a budget that was held up for five months. Immediately upon taking office, the legislators voted for themselves hefty allowances, including a 5 billion naira ($50 million) furniture allowances for their official residences and offices. The impeached ex-chairman of the Senate from President Obasanjo’s own People’s Democrtic Party (PDP), Chuba Okadigbo, was the most predatory:
“As Senate President, he controlled 24 official vehicles but ordered 8 more at a cost of $290,000. He was also found to have spent $225,000 on garden furniture for his government house, $340,000 on furniture for the house itself ($120,000 over the authorized budget); bought without authority a massive electricity generator whose price he had inflated to $135,000; and accepted a secret payment of $208,000 from public funds, whose purpose included the purchase of `Christmas gifts’” (New African, Sept 2000; p.9).
Most Nigerians would dismiss what they have as a "419 kokonut democrazy," where power was transferred from an active military general to a retired military general. Said Rev. Matthew Hassan Kuka, a member of the Oputa Commission set up to investigate past human rights abuses:
"You have a president who is a retired military man, a director of national security who is a retired military man, a defense minister who is a retired military man and a director of the State Security Service (SSS) or national intelligence, who is an ex-military man. Apart from the president and all the key office-holders in the land being of military background, we don't have enough elbow room to begin to talk about subordinating this system to civilian control" (The Washington Times, Nov 1, 2001; p.A18).
On January 27, 2002 a small fire from a gas station near a central market in Lagos spread to the weapons depot at the Ikeja military base, touching off massive explosions that propelled shrapnel and shock waves for miles through the crowded slums and working-class neighborhoods that surround the base. The huge blasts sent thousands of residents fleeing in panic. Many, including children, jumped into a nearby canal, without realizing how deep it was and drowned. The death toll from the blasts and the drowning exceeded 2,000 according to private newspapers.
Residents had many reasons to be angry. The provision of basic social services, law and order was non-existent. The crime rate had soared. "Some police officers had been convicted of robbery or aiding bandits over the last year" (The New York Times, Feb 3, 2002; p.WK6). And when the explosions occurred in January 2002, there were no fire and rescue operations because the city had no trucks. Angry residents wanted to know how and why bombs, shells and rockets were stockpiled in a heavily populated area. They demanded that President Olusegun Obasanjo cancel a scheduled trip to the U.S. to attend the World Economic Forum in New York. He visited the devastation site to express his grief with the victims' families. When the distressed crowd of mothers of missing children urged him to take a closer look, he reacted in anger: "Shut up! I don't really need to be here. After all, the governor of the state is here" (The Washington Post, Feb 10, 2002; p.A20). He later apologized, saying "he was unaware at the time that lives had been lost." "How could Obasanjo have not known that people had died?" asked Jonah Nnachi, a 22-year-old trader. "If he was a person who cared for people, he would not have said those things." (The New York Times, Feb 10, 2002; p.A5)
Vice President Atiku Abubakar went to the military barracks, which had been flattened, to calm nerves. But "soldiers pelted the vice president's car with bottles and kept Vice President Atiku Abubakar from addressing them during his visit to inspect the damage, witnesses said. The soldiers forced his car to turn back under a barrage of water bottles"(The New York Times, February 2, 2002; p.A4). He had to flee. Four days later, the police force mutinied, further jolting a country already shaken by the explosions, fire and deaths. The cause of the police mutiny was unpaid back wages. Thereupon, the President's office released a statement that he had approved the immediate release of funds to cover the salaries of police officers who had not been paid. The statement emphasized that "payment will be jeopardized where mutiny is not called off" (The New York Times, February 2, 2002; p.A10).
According to American correspondent, Norimitsu Onishi, the elected Obasanjo government "is widely seen as ineffective, uncaring and dangerously fragile" (The New York Times, Feb 10, 2002; p.A5). "I don't have any interest to vote for any politician. They are all foolish. They just want to get a seat and they forget us" said Muhammad Rabiu, 27, a businessman (The New York Times, Feb 8, 2002; p.A3). In fact, Obasanjo's own parliament voted to condemn him for "ineptitude, insensitivity" and other offenses, some of which were impeachable. "The discontent arises from unchecked ethnic fighting and becalmed economy" (The Wall Street Journal, Feb15, 2002; p.A1).
M.he name was taken from the Argentine soccer star. The term is incisively double-edged. On one hand, it connotes charm and stardom but, on the other, a "dribbler." In soccer, a dribbler is a person who concocts false body maneuvers to fool and move a ball past an opponent.
Some local reports attributed his death to Viagra-induced sex orgy with Pakistani prostitutes. This information was posted on the internet on 23 Jun 1998 by the organization: ndmorg@cldc.howard.edu.
Nigeria, the comatose giant of Africa, has been taking ungainly steps toward democratic rule. A five-year transition program was begun in 1985 under General Ibrahim Babangida but it turned out to be a sham. The program was stretched out with frequent interruptions, devious maneuvers, broken promises (at least four), and then complete nullification of the 12 June 1993 presidential election, which was considered free and fair and apparently was won by the late Chief Moshood Abiola. (Previous missed handover dates were October 1990, October 1992, and January 1993).
Most Nigerians, of course, were not surprised by the annulment and had long suspected General Babangida's desire to perpetuate himself in power. In fact, their suspicion and cynicism produced the monicker "M In political parlance, a "Maradona" is a trickster, who deviously plots diabolical political shenanigans, resorting to subterfuge and chicanery to fool the people and advance his own secret agenda. Said Olusequn Obasanjo, Nigeria's former head of state: "It has now got to a stage that when the [Babangida] government says good morning, people will look out four times to ascertain the time of day before they reply" (African News Weekly, 2 - 9 April, 1992, 3).
Nigerians initially applauded the ouster of corrupt politicians by a succession of military leaders in the 1980s; Major-General Buhari (December 1983) and General Babangida (August 1985). The coup that brought General Babangida to power aimed to get rid of those in the Supreme Military Council who had abused their power and failed to tackle the country's economic problems. But the "disciplined" military officers who were supposed to save the country seldom listened to the people.
Despite all the promises of probity, the military elite proved itself more corrupt than any regime that preceded it, taking huge kickbacks on contracts and diverting government funds. Allegations have been rife about corruption and illicit enrichment by members of Babangida government.
General Babangida was forced aside by the military top brass, led by General Sani Abacha, in June 1993 and an interim civilian government under Ernest Shonekan was installed. But after barely three months in office, Shonekan was overthrown by Abacha in November 1993. Initially Abacha attempted to quell public dissatisfaction by co-opting the opposition (offering its leaders cabinet posts) and organizing a constitutional conference. It turned out to be another scam.
The public viewed Abacha's constitutional conference with a massive dose of skepticism and cynicism. That the general twice postponed its opening did not help matters. A day after the conference finally began on 27 June 1994, it was adjourned for two weeks. The official reason? The delegates' accommodations were not ready.
Moreover, the 396 delegates, who were to deliberate on the future of democracy, congregated at Abuja as "guests of the military." A fourth of their number (96) were nominated by General Abacha and the rest "elected" under suspiciously complex rules. Delegates were chosen by "people's representatives" who were themselves elected by popular vote on 23 May, postponed from 21 May. Candidates under 35 years of age were ineligible to run. In addition, they must not be "an ex-convict, must be sane, must be a fit and proper person and must not have been declared bankrupt by a court of law" -- requirements that most of the ruling military elites themselves would fail to meet.
Logistical problems, inadequate publicity, and apathy bedeviled the electoral exercise. There was no campaigning; no voters register or cards. Confusion reigned. Voters did not even know whom they were voting for and for what purpose. And stunned by the annulment of 12 June elections, many chose to stay home. The general voter turnout across the country was scandalously low.
More suspiciously, the Constitutional Conference was not sovereign. That is, the Abacha regime reserved the right to reject or accept its recommendations. If the regime rejected them, the entire exercise would be a colossal waste and started anew. If the recommendations were accepted, the military regime would then draw up a timetable, perhaps another transition period for "civic education," voter registration, local, state and regional elections with still the possibility of interruption midstream.
Now compared with South Africa's 1991 Convention for a Democratic South Africa, the differences are glaring. Nigeria's conference was a meritricious charade that should have been dissolved. Political parties did not take part in the constitutional conference. Imagine de Klerk of South Africa banning the ANC and all political parties, arresting political leaders, clamping down on the news media, nominating 25 percent of the delegates to the conference, and declaring that its resolutions would not be binding on the white minority government.
Said a Nigerian pro-democracy activist, Arthur Nwankwo, "For it was in October, 1995 that the present military dictatorship announced its transition to civil rule programme, at the end of a bazaar of mindless men and women who crafted a self perpetuating document that goes by the name of a draft constitution. Ever since then, calculated steps have been taken with fanatical commitment, unbridled enthusiasm and effusive bravado that have ensured the national descent into hell. The hell is not only physical but equally spiritual" (Post Express Wired, 17 June 1998, 3).
On 12 June 1994, the first anniversary of the annulment, Chief Abiola belatedly declared himself "president," and was promptly arrested on charges of treason. This triggered a wave of strikes by oil workers, which disrupted oil production as we noted earlier. The paranoid military regime unleashed a wave of brutal reprisals. Pro-democracy protesters were gunned down; political leaders of different persuasions were detained. The Guardian, The Concord, Newswatch and other newspapers were shut down and their editors arrested. And all civilians were expelled from the Provisional Ruling Council (PRC) on 27 September. About 40 people, including former head of state, General Olusegun Obasanjo, were arrested on trumped up charges of plotting to overthrow the government. The irony of charge is that it was the private press which reported rumors of an impending coup, whereupon military personnel sprang into action. These events culminated with the arrest and subsequent hanging of Ken Saro-Wiwa.
General Sani Abacha ("The Butcher of Abuja") died mysteriously in June 1998. Local newspapers reported that, his wife, Maryam was "seeking political asylum in a Middle East country thought to be Lebanon," according to the Nigerian Democratic Movement. She was reputed to have inherited "the vast fortunes of her husband estimated at $5 billion including an oil refinery in Brazil and had contracted a private security outfit to guard the family, whilst she assesses the situation." This was a head of state waging "a war on corruption"
Following Abacha’s timely death in June 1998, elections were held by his successor, General Abdulsalam Abubakar. After assuming office in May 1999, President Obasanjo found the country ungovernable as elected officials were more interested in their perks and power than fixing the country's economy. A near government paralysis occurred from wrangling over distribution of power between the executive and the legislative.
For 18 months (Feb 1999 to August 2000), Nigeria’s 109 senators and 360 representatives passed just five pieces of legislation, including a budget that was held up for five months. Immediately upon taking office, the legislators voted for themselves hefty allowances, including a 5 billion naira ($50 million) furniture allowances for their official residences and offices. The impeached ex-chairman of the Senate from President Obasanjo’s own People’s Democrtic Party (PDP), Chuba Okadigbo, was the most predatory:
“As Senate President, he controlled 24 official vehicles but ordered 8 more at a cost of $290,000. He was also found to have spent $225,000 on garden furniture for his government house, $340,000 on furniture for the house itself ($120,000 over the authorized budget); bought without authority a massive electricity generator whose price he had inflated to $135,000; and accepted a secret payment of $208,000 from public funds, whose purpose included the purchase of `Christmas gifts’” (New African, Sept 2000; p.9).
Most Nigerians would dismiss what they have as a "419 kokonut democrazy," where power was transferred from an active military general to a retired military general. Said Rev. Matthew Hassan Kuka, a member of the Oputa Commission set up to investigate past human rights abuses:
"You have a president who is a retired military man, a director of national security who is a retired military man, a defense minister who is a retired military man and a director of the State Security Service (SSS) or national intelligence, who is an ex-military man. Apart from the president and all the key office-holders in the land being of military background, we don't have enough elbow room to begin to talk about subordinating this system to civilian control" (The Washington Times, Nov 1, 2001; p.A18).
On January 27, 2002 a small fire from a gas station near a central market in Lagos spread to the weapons depot at the Ikeja military base, touching off massive explosions that propelled shrapnel and shock waves for miles through the crowded slums and working-class neighborhoods that surround the base. The huge blasts sent thousands of residents fleeing in panic. Many, including children, jumped into a nearby canal, without realizing how deep it was and drowned. The death toll from the blasts and the drowning exceeded 2,000 according to private newspapers.
Residents had many reasons to be angry. The provision of basic social services, law and order was non-existent. The crime rate had soared. "Some police officers had been convicted of robbery or aiding bandits over the last year" (The New York Times, Feb 3, 2002; p.WK6). And when the explosions occurred in January 2002, there were no fire and rescue operations because the city had no trucks. Angry residents wanted to know how and why bombs, shells and rockets were stockpiled in a heavily populated area. They demanded that President Olusegun Obasanjo cancel a scheduled trip to the U.S. to attend the World Economic Forum in New York. He visited the devastation site to express his grief with the victims' families. When the distressed crowd of mothers of missing children urged him to take a closer look, he reacted in anger: "Shut up! I don't really need to be here. After all, the governor of the state is here" (The Washington Post, Feb 10, 2002; p.A20). He later apologized, saying "he was unaware at the time that lives had been lost." "How could Obasanjo have not known that people had died?" asked Jonah Nnachi, a 22-year-old trader. "If he was a person who cared for people, he would not have said those things." (The New York Times, Feb 10, 2002; p.A5)
Vice President Atiku Abubakar went to the military barracks, which had been flattened, to calm nerves. But "soldiers pelted the vice president's car with bottles and kept Vice President Atiku Abubakar from addressing them during his visit to inspect the damage, witnesses said. The soldiers forced his car to turn back under a barrage of water bottles"(The New York Times, February 2, 2002; p.A4). He had to flee. Four days later, the police force mutinied, further jolting a country already shaken by the explosions, fire and deaths. The cause of the police mutiny was unpaid back wages. Thereupon, the President's office released a statement that he had approved the immediate release of funds to cover the salaries of police officers who had not been paid. The statement emphasized that "payment will be jeopardized where mutiny is not called off" (The New York Times, February 2, 2002; p.A10).
According to American correspondent, Norimitsu Onishi, the elected Obasanjo government "is widely seen as ineffective, uncaring and dangerously fragile" (The New York Times, Feb 10, 2002; p.A5). "I don't have any interest to vote for any politician. They are all foolish. They just want to get a seat and they forget us" said Muhammad Rabiu, 27, a businessman (The New York Times, Feb 8, 2002; p.A3). In fact, Obasanjo's own parliament voted to condemn him for "ineptitude, insensitivity" and other offenses, some of which were impeachable. "The discontent arises from unchecked ethnic fighting and becalmed economy" (The Wall Street Journal, Feb15, 2002; p.A1).
M.he name was taken from the Argentine soccer star. The term is incisively double-edged. On one hand, it connotes charm and stardom but, on the other, a "dribbler." In soccer, a dribbler is a person who concocts false body maneuvers to fool and move a ball past an opponent.
Some local reports attributed his death to Viagra-induced sex orgy with Pakistani prostitutes. This information was posted on the internet on 23 Jun 1998 by the organization: ndmorg@cldc.howard.edu.
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