COLUMN

Power, Strategy, And Betrayal

By Abdulrauf Aliyu 

Reading Ibrahim Babangida’s autobiography A Journey in Service alongside other critical sources, including Dan Agbese’s "Ibrahim Babangida: The Military, Politics and Power in Nigeria" and Karl Maier’s "This House Has Fallen", broadened my understanding of the intricate power dynamics of Nigeria’s military era. Leadership at the highest level is often a game of strategic maneuvering, where survival depends on foresight, decisiveness, and the ability to control key institutions. The gradual breakdown of the Babangida-Abacha alliance, culminating in the annulment of the June 12 election and Abacha’s subsequent rise, is a textbook case of power struggles, strategic miscalculations, and realpolitik at its most brutal.  

Sun Tzu, in "The Art of War", asserts that "if you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles." Babangida’s failure was not in understanding his enemies but in misjudging his allies. Robert Greene’s *The 48 Laws of Power* offers a strikingly relevant warning: “Do not leave your fate in the hands of others.” Yet, this is precisely what Babangida did when he placed undue reliance on Abacha to safeguard his political survival. It was a fatal error, as Abacha was neither a mere enforcer nor a loyal subordinate but an ambitious tactician with a long-term vision for absolute power.  

The alliance between Babangida and Abacha was initially built on mutual benefit. Together, they orchestrated the 1985 coup that ousted General Muhammadu Buhari, with Babangida taking the presidency while Abacha cemented his influence within the military hierarchy. Abacha, known for his cold, calculating demeanor, was never one for ideology or grand policy designs—he was primarily a power player. As Babangida sought to implement economic and political reforms, Abacha’s role remained that of an enforcer, ensuring the regime’s survival through strategic repression. However, power struggles within authoritarian regimes often follow an inevitable trajectory: the longer a leader remains in office, the more vulnerable he becomes to ambitious subordinates who begin to see themselves as successors rather than loyalists.  

The failed Orkar Coup of 1990 marked a significant turning point in Babangida’s grip on power. Although he survived the attempted overthrow, the event exposed deep fractures within his regime. Historically, failed coups tend to either consolidate a leader’s control—by eliminating opposition—or expose their vulnerabilities. In Babangida’s case, the latter occurred. His survival came at a cost: heightened paranoia, over-reliance on an inner circle of power brokers, and a desperate need to balance competing military factions. He attempted to maintain control through a complex system of patronage, but in doing so, he inadvertently strengthened the very forces that would later sideline him.  

From a strategic decision-making perspective, Babangida’s handling of the aftermath of the Orkar Coup can be likened to a military general who, despite winning a battle, suffers significant logistical and morale setbacks. He became increasingly reliant on Abacha and other senior officers to manage security matters, effectively ceding a portion of his authority. In authoritarian settings, control over the coercive apparatus—the military, intelligence services, and security agencies—is paramount. Babangida, once the undisputed master of this system, found himself entangled in a network of power dynamics that left him exposed to internal maneuvering.  

The annulment of the June 12, 1993, presidential election is perhaps the most defining moment of Babangida’s presidency. For years, scholars and political analysts have debated the extent to which he was personally responsible for the decision. His autobiography offers a revealing perspective: rather than being the mastermind of the annulment, he presents himself as a leader trapped between military hardliners who refused to accept Moshood Abiola’s victory and a civilian population demanding democracy. This portrayal challenges the conventional narrative that Babangida willfully sabotaged Nigeria’s democratic transition. Instead, it suggests that by the early 1990s, his ability to control the political landscape had significantly diminished.  

The strategic calculus surrounding the annulment was complex. Had Babangida insisted on honoring the election results, he would have faced an immediate and possibly violent coup, likely led by Abacha himself. On the other hand, suppressing the democratic mandate outright would have provoked mass unrest and international condemnation. His attempt at a middle-ground solution—installing an Interim National Government (ING) under Ernest Shonekan—was a tactical retreat, but one that ultimately failed to achieve its intended purpose. In strategic decision-making, there is a principle that compromise in high-stakes situations often satisfies no one and creates new vulnerabilities. Babangida’s reluctance to take a definitive stand ensured that his exit from power would be dictated by others rather than on his own terms.  

The ING was doomed from the outset. It lacked legitimacy, authority, and most importantly, the backing of the military. Abacha, who had been waiting in the shadows, saw his opportunity and struck in November 1993. Unlike Babangida, Abacha did not concern himself with political balancing acts or ideological posturing. His approach to power was straightforward: eliminate opposition, consolidate control, and rule with absolute authority. Where Babangida had relied on persuasion and negotiation, Abacha ruled by fear and suppression.  

A close reading of Babangida’s book reveals an interesting admission—he expresses surprise at how swiftly Abacha dismantled the structures he had put in place. This suggests that, despite being one of Nigeria’s most astute political operators, Babangida underestimated Abacha’s long-term ambitions. There is a recurring pattern in history where leaders, having ruled with the support of strongmen, fail to recognize the moment when their enforcers transition from loyal subordinates to potential successors. Julius Caesar’s reliance on Brutus, Stalin’s early partnerships with his eventual purge victims, and even more contemporary examples in African and Latin American politics all demonstrate this phenomenon.  

The speed with which Abacha moved to consolidate power after November 1993 speaks to his superior strategic positioning. Unlike Babangida, who sought to navigate a complex web of political interests, Abacha operated with ruthless efficiency. His government was characterized by swift crackdowns, extrajudicial killings, and a complete dismantling of any opposition. While Babangida had sought a controlled transition, Abacha ensured there would be no transition at all.  

Reflecting on this period from a leadership and strategic decision-making perspective, Babangida’s greatest strength—his ability to balance competing interests—became his ultimate weakness. He thrived in an environment of calculated ambiguity, where different factions believed they had a stake in his survival. However, ambiguity is not a sustainable long-term strategy. Eventually, a moment comes when a leader must make a decisive stand, and Babangida hesitated at a critical juncture. His legacy, therefore, is one of paradoxes. He was a master strategist who miscalculated when it mattered most. He was a military ruler who envisioned a transition to democracy but became entangled in the very system he sought to escape. He was a political survivor who, in the end, was outmaneuvered by a man who had been in his shadow for years.  

Abacha’s rise to power underscores the fundamental rule that control over the instruments of force ultimately determines political survival in an authoritarian system. While Babangida enjoyed immense influence over policy and governance, Abacha’s grip on the military hierarchy allowed him to dictate the ultimate outcome. The contrast between their leadership styles is stark. Babangida’s government, despite its flaws, attempted to incorporate elements of consultation, political engineering, and economic reform. Abacha’s rule was defined by an unrelenting focus on personal power, with little regard for institutional development or political pluralism.  

Looking back at this period in Nigerian history, it becomes clear that the Babangida-Abacha dynamic was a microcosm of broader trends in authoritarian governance. It highlights the dangers of prolonged transition processes, the risks inherent in relying on strongmen for political survival, and the inevitable consequence of failing to recognize when control has slipped away.  

The intersection of leadership, power, and strategy in this era serves as a case study in political maneuvering under high-stakes conditions. It also reinforces a timeless lesson about power: those who wield it must either control their environment completely or risk being consumed by it.