Have you seen former President Goodluck Jonathan lately? I have. It was an online picture of him taken at a location. Wearing a simple-looking shirt and adorning that trademark smile of his, GEJ was still his calm unassuming self. There was no way you could tell this was the man who just bitterly lost in a contest everyone expected him to win, in keeping with traditions. There he was smiling and posing with a family who looked happy to be with the ex-president. It’s heart-warming to see that in a world where people who left public office are dumped.
I’m sure ex-President Jonathan now often checks his phones to find out if something was wrong with the connections. The calls are now few and far in between. Gone are the contractors; gone are the pastors with their fake prophecies; gone are the smooth talking politicians who had surrounded him; gone! I know a bit about this because I recall the first time I left office as commissioner. The few weeks weren’t bad as some folks kept in touch (may be in the hope that some stash of imaginary loot still lurked somewhere). But as the weeks rolled into months, I started to check my phones to find out if it was network or something else. I was told my phones were in perfect conditions. Like my egbon, former presidential spokesperson, Reuben Abati, who wrote that his phones had stopped rigging, I found myself in the cold. The most annoying part is the loss of friends – pals who believed you had ignored them while in office; family members who felt you didn’t make “good use” of your position to better their lot; colleagues who are prepared to punish you for being “arrogant” while in there. Then come the traducers prepared to make one’s life miserable in the form of small talks about one’s “fall”; daily reminders of things one failed to do rightly; wicked gossips aimed at pulling down reputations and distorting records; and deliberate plans to just punish and get even. And Nigerians are the experts when it comes to this. We just love to see people in power go down the drain. We relish the sweet feeling that the big man or woman is now a commoner like us. We love to mercilessly trample on the man down.
“Look,” some would say, “we could even go up to her now and pull her ears. While she was in office, she was the untouchable queen bee but now, behold, how the mighty are fallen!” And as I look at our recent history, I’m amused by the way we have treated people out of power. We danced when President Shehu Shagari was ousted, calling him the naïve leader of a corrupt regime. We quietly enjoyed as many great souls pined away in General Buhari’s gulag. We equally rejoiced when Buhari was booted out by Ibrahim Babangida (IBB) and his horde. We said Buhari was too draconian. Some even rejoiced when he was incarcerated. When the gap-toothed one eventually stepped aside, we rejoiced again, calling him a foxy Maradona, who instituted corruption and derailed democracy. Till today, IBB bears the June 12 burden. We greeted the ouster of Ernest Shonekan with dancing on some streets of Nigeria, but when General Sani Abacha passed on, some were jubilant again. Abacha, as far as they were concerned, was a tyrant. There were dances to welcome the new dispensation of President Olusegun Obasanjo. But when he left, there were more dances. We said he was the worst thing that had happened to the fatherland. Obasanjo was painted in the darkest colours possible, accused of all sorts of evils.
Then came President Umar Yar’Adua. When he passed on, Dr. Goodluck Jonathan came on board amid dances and songs, especially among the minorities, who called him the Barack Obama of Nigeria. Everyone liked the shoeless story. But it is the man himself that excited everyone: Quiet, humble, urbane, and full of youthful energies. He was a refreshing break from the past and we warmed up to the man who became the first ghetto president. I saw him twice from a distance when he was in office and each time telling myself that his simplicity was uplifting. But then, he crashed in his re-election bid. Did he fail? Did he succeed? The debates and probes are on. I’m not going to hang him. And instead of writing memoirs in some presidential library, Jonathan silently suffers. I won’t join in stamping a man already down. Besides, I know my fellow countrymen very well. Those screaming hallelujah today would say crucify him tomorrow. Don’t say I didn’t tell you so.
This was originally published in Daily Sun of July 28, 2015.