The law is often described as a cold instrument—dispassionate, technical, and restrained. Yet history teaches that when law is captured by an unrestrained mind, it becomes a weapon of cruelty, hypocrisy, and organized injustice. Dr. Abubakar Alkali’s recent intervention on the alleged illicit wealth of former Attorney General of the Federation, Abubakar Malami, invites Nigerians to interrogate not only the legal consequences of abuse of office, but also the moral, psychological, and social wreckage left behind when a custodian of justice becomes its most cynical violator.
The interim forfeiture of 57 assets, including the so-called Rayhaan University, granted by Justice Emeka Nwite, is more than a procedural milestone. It is a symbolic rupture in a long tradition where powerful public officers loot the treasury, weaponize the justice system against others, and later retreat into immunity, technicalities, or endless appeals. Nigerians are justified to describe this moment as “sweet justice,” not out of malice, but because of the historical imbalance it corrects—however briefly.
Dr. Alkali’s argument that Rayhaan University be converted into an Almajiri School and Skills Acquisition Centre is profoundly moral, not merely administrative. It proposes that stolen wealth should not just be recovered, but redeemed—turned into social repair. Kebbi State, which tragically leads in out-of-school children statistics, presents a cruel irony: a man alleged to have accumulated obscene assets from public office now seeks to govern a population he helped impoverish. This is not just political audacity; it is ethical obscenity.
What distinguishes the Malami episode from routine corruption narratives is not merely scale, but posture. The allegation is not of quiet theft followed by shame or retreat, but of brazen defiance—an unrepentant insistence on keeping loot, challenging new authorities, and allegedly preparing to manipulate the same judiciary he once dominated. This posture reflects a deeper malaise than greed. It suggests a pattern where power intoxicates, cruelty excites, and punishment of others becomes a private pleasure.
While in office, Malami was notoriously fearless in chasing perceived enemies. Detentions, prosecutions, and public humiliations were meted out with a zeal that often appeared selective and vengeful. The irony is now complete: the shoes he forced on others have found his own feet. As the caution attributed to Nnamdi Kanu reminds us, “Don’t you know that God is a God of justice?” That justice, slow but relentless, has finally knocked.
Psychologically, such conduct can be described—without clinical diagnosis—as exhibiting traits of enforcing sadism or moral sadism: deriving gratification from punishing others under the cloak of authority and righteousness. This is distinct from genuine law enforcement. A true servant of justice may punish wrongdoing with firmness, but without delight. The troubling allegation here is of a personality that experiences an adrenaline or dopamine-like rush from dominating, humiliating, and destroying others—especially under the guise of legality. This overlaps with what philosophers describe as schadenfreude—pleasure in another’s suffering—but goes further by actively engineering that suffering.
This explains the paradox: why such an official could appear ruthless against some looters while allegedly orchestrating a more elaborate looting scheme with family members. The goal was not justice, but control; not morality, but thrill; not deterrence, but domination. In such a mindset, the law becomes a stage, victims become props, and cruelty becomes performance.
Dr. Alkali’s proposal to convert Rayhaan University into an Almajiri and Skills Acquisition Centre directly confronts this moral inversion. It takes a symbol of alleged greed and transforms it into a platform for dignity. Training vulnerable children in welding, carpentry, ICT, mechanics, and other trades would not only reduce out-of-school numbers; it would attack the root causes of crime, insecurity, and terrorism. Likewise, the suggestion to convert the Azbir Arena into a military barracks to combat Lakurawa terrorists is a reminder that public assets must serve public safety, not private vanity.
However, this moment also demands caution. Nigeria has seen this movie before: dramatic arrests, asset forfeitures, and loud proclamations, only for the same assets to quietly return through the “back door” of appeals, compromised prosecutions, or political bargaining. If the present authorities merely reenact the hypocrisy of past regimes—using Malami as a scapegoat while preparing their own future immunity—then this episode will only deepen public cynicism. Justice must not be selective, theatrical, or transactional. Otherwise, it becomes another vicious circle of imprudence.
It is in this context that opposition to bail becomes morally intelligible. This is not vengeance; it is consistency. A man who once denied others mercy, prolonged detentions, and relished prosecutorial power should not suddenly benefit from the leniency he never believed in. Equality before the law demands symmetry of consequences.
Perhaps the most infuriating dimension of this saga is Malami’s apparent ambition to become governor of Kebbi State. This represents the peak of criminal arrogance: to seek immunity and executive power over a people whose suffering allegedly financed one’s excesses. Immunity, in this sense, becomes not a constitutional safeguard but a stolen shield—an attempt to convert democratic mandate into legal amnesia.
Nigeria must draw a firm line here. The era where alleged looters recycle themselves as governors, senators, or “elder statesmen” must end. Power should no longer be the reward for plunder, nor office the refuge of the accused. The patience of the Nigerian people has been stretched to its moral limits.
In the end, Dr. Alkali’s intervention is not about vengeance; it is about restitution. It is about turning stolen bricks into classrooms, looted halls into workshops, and corrupt arenas into security bases. It is about reminding those intoxicated by power that justice may be delayed, but it is never forgetful.
If Malami’s justice is indeed coming “fast and sweet,” it is because the weight of stolen wealth is finally lifting off the nation’s chest and settling where it belongs—under the unforgiving glare of public accountability. Let this not be an episode. Let it be an ending.
Justice, Kleptomania, and the Moral Reckoning of Power: An Amplification of Dr. Abubakar Alkali’s Intervention on the Malami Affair By Barrister Aguiyi Joseph Obinna
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