There’s something about seeing a political party change colors that unsettles you — not just a little disappointed, but confused in a way that makes you retrace what you thought you knew. This is what I felt when reading Mr Macaroni’s reaction to President Bola Tinubu’s recent pardons. He didn’t mince his words. He called the All Progressives Congress (APC) “a party full of the most corrupt people” and presented the whole episode as another sign that the party has become what it once condemned.
Let’s take a step back. The main headline here was the pardon itself: Tinubu granted pardon to 175 people convicted of a range of crimes – drug trafficking, human trafficking, murder, illegal mining and other serious offenses. You can imagine how that landed. Social media, as usual, was abuzz. People shared outrage, disbelief, sarcasm and concern. Some users argued that civil society groups should have protested by now. Others were calmer, more resigned. I’ve seen messages ranging from fiery denunciations to weary shrugs; both reactions seem valid, for reasons I will discuss.
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Macaroni reposted one of these public reactions and used it as a springboard. Her message was direct: the APC is now practicing the evil it once condemned, and she is surrounded by courtiers – people who applaud or at least turn a blind eye. He described the party as a “marriage of doom and gloom”. Dramatic? Of course. But emotions often are. There is a finding here that is difficult to ignore: when politicians soften their stance on wrongdoing, or reward it, it sends a signal. Perhaps the signal is that power protects people from consequences. Perhaps this is because the promises of reform were more words than commitments. Maybe both.
Why it matters: Trust. Political parties survive – or don’t survive – on the credibility they build. If a party relies on anti-corruption rhetoric and then appears to shelter or pardon the very people who embody corruption, its supporters feel betrayed. The opponents feel justified. And the neutrals? They get caught up in cynicism: if one side is as bad as the other, why care? It’s a slow progression toward apathy. I don’t want to exaggerate, but small changes in how leaders treat law and justice can reshape public trust over time.
Now I’ll be honest: part of me wants to see more nuance here. Pardons are not always simple acts of favoritism. In some systems, executive clemency is used for the purposes of rehabilitation, pardon, or correction of unjust sentences. There may be legal or political reasons that are not public. But – and this is an important but – when a wave of pardons involves people convicted of violent crimes or organized crime, skepticism is natural. This skepticism seems less like paranoia and more like a demand for accountability. I think it’s fair.
A few other things stand out. First, Macaroni’s tone is raw, perhaps intentionally. Calling the APC the party of “the most corrupt people” is certainly a broad idea, and perhaps a little hyperbolic. Yet it reflects how some people feel: not just disappointed, but alarmed that the institution that was supposed to govern is now complicit in the very behaviors it once criticized. This phrase – “surrounded by the worst courtiers” – is intended to paint a picture of empowerment, of people who encourage rather than challenge. It’s a human reaction: when you see your leaders choosing loyalty over the law, you react strongly.
Second, public reaction reflects uneven expectations. Some citizens expect firmness: crimes deserve to be punished, pardons must be rare and carefully justified. Others are willing to show mercy, especially if they believe the justice system is flawed. Then there’s the political calculus: How much of this is all about politics, rewarding allies, or building support? We cannot know all the motives, but appearances are clear and undermine trust. And optics matter – sometimes more than actual legal justifications, because people’s belief in a fair system is itself a public good.
I admit that I am torn. On a personal level, I have seen cases where leniency seemed fair, where continued punishment seemed cruel or unnecessary. In other cases, the pardons looked like thinly veiled favors. This mixed feeling is human – contradictory, a little messy. However, this does not exempt leaders from explaining their choices. Transparency helps. The explanation allays suspicions. Silence fuels the worst interpretations.
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What would help now? A few things, actually. Clear explanations of pardons, publicly available documents showing the reasons and legal procedures involved. Independent monitoring or at least an explanation from civil society watchdogs. If there were political agreements or exceptional circumstances, say so. People are more accepting of complicated answers than no answer at all. And if the administration truly believes these pardons were justified, an open conversation could lower the temperature.
At the same time, reviews like Macaroni are important. They push, provoke and point out inconsistencies. Even when their language is harsh, they help keep the public’s focus where it belongs: on accountability. Obviously, not all reviews are balanced. But the anger and worry tell a story that cannot be ignored.
So where does this leave us? We have a headline-grabbing pardon, a public outcry, and a famous activist calling the ruling party corrupt and isolated by sycophants. Some of his language is inflammatory, some of it brutal – that’s part of the problem. Politics should make people feel things; otherwise, what’s the point? However, feeling things is not enough. The hard work is in the answers, in the records, in the checks and balances. People will continue to talk. They will watch the rest. If nothing changes, the words will settle into a narrative – the one Macaroni has sketched – whether it is fair or not.