I am unsure how many Nigerians watched the Independence Day broadcast on October 1, 2025. Did you? It was one of the most reflective moments. Have you ever felt like quitting? Have you ever felt like losing faith? Has hope ever slipped away from you? Have you ever wished for something but still felt defeated? Has your life ever been stuck for years without resolution, caught in a struggle for fairness and reparation? Have your remarkable achievements come to a halt in the flow of time?
We are uncertain about the duration of our current state of uncertainty. It is possible that we need to keep sharing our narrative until the appropriate individuals genuinely empathize with the long-standing injustices and struggles we have faced and take action to address them. The ultimate responsibility lies with the President.
Let me recount our story.
The cancellation of the presidential election held on June 12, 1993, which many thought was won by Chief MKO Abiola, triggered a political crisis in Nigeria.
During General Sani Abacha's rule from 1995 to 1997, the government declared the uncovering of coup conspiracies. Several military personnel and civilians were detained and charged with attempting to topple the administration. Numerous individuals endured torture, fabricated trials, and severe punishments. The so-called "phantom coups" gained notoriety as symbols of governmental oppression.
In 1998, Abacha passed away unexpectedly. Nigeria started moving towards a civilian government. In 1999, Olusegun Obasanjo was chosen as Nigeria's president. He created the Human Rights Violations Investigation Commission (known as the Oputa Panel) to look into misconduct during the military regime.
From 2001 to 2002, the Oputa Panel conducted public hearings, revealing the facts about the fake coups. The report cleared the accused and suggested compensation, reinstatement of positions, and formal apologies. Between 2009 and 2011, the Council of State approved financial support and aid for the victims, though progress came to a halt.
Today is a present. Tomorrow is a promised gift. What kind of justice and recompense will President Bola Tinubu leave for us, the unspoken and improbable champions of June 12?
Amid Nigeria's challenging path towards democracy, a hidden group of heroes continues to suffer from the injustices of the past. Almost three decades after the grim period of phantom coup accusations during Abacha's rule, the effects of torture, unjust imprisonment, and broken aspirations still affect the lives of military personnel and civilians who were wrongly accused. Their narratives—of sudden arrests, harsh interrogations, and lost careers—are not just minor details in the country's history but enduring symbols of strength and steadfast hope.
On October 1, 2025, Nigeria celebrated its 65th anniversary of independence. President Tinubu remained quiet regarding us. Nevertheless, as the nation honors its hard-earned freedom, a shadow remains—a history of unfairness that still affects military personnel and civilians wrongly implicated in the so-called "phantom coups" of the 1990s. Their experiences, characterized by abuse, unjust detention, and lost aspirations, serve as a somber reminder of the unresolved challenges in Nigeria's journey toward democracy.
The 1990s marked some of the most challenging periods in Nigeria's history after gaining independence. Under Abacha's military rule, there was strict control, suppressing opposition and removing those seen as dangers in a very harsh manner. In 1995 and 1997, the government claimed to have found plots to overthrow the regime—claims that were generally considered to be false, aimed at justifying the removal of Abacha's rivals inside the military and among civilian groups.
Hundreds of senior officers and civilians were arrested, charged with conspiring to topple the government. The list of those affected reads like a tribute to Nigeria's most talented military personnel: Colonels Lawan Gwadabe, Olusegun Oloruntoba, Gabriel Ajayi, Emmanuel Ndubueze, Rowland Emokpae, Bello Fadile, Edwin Jando; Navy Captains Lawrence Fabiyi and Denis Omesa (that's me); Lt-Colonels Martin Igwe, Sam Oyewole, Happy Bulus; Majors Akinloye Akinyemi, Kayode Olowomoran, and numerous others. These individuals, who once had promising futures in the highest levels of military command, had their careers—and lives—severely disrupted.
The techniques employed to obtain confessions and achieve convictions were equally harsh and inhumane. Victims were drenched in muddy water, left to die during the night, blindfolded, restrained with handcuffs and shackles, and exposed to the elements without clothing for extended periods. Torture rooms became their daily existence: upper limbs bound to lower limbs, bodies hung in a manner reminiscent of a bird ready for roasting, with wrists, armpits, and ankles severely injured beyond identification. Numerous individuals suffered lasting physical and mental injuries.
The impact of these abuses has been catastrophic. Several of the accused fell victim to physical and mental deterioration caused by years of torment and unjust detention. Others have passed away, their bodies buried without ever receiving justice. For those who lived through it, the suffering continues—expressed through feelings of shame, social withdrawal, and a deep sense of being betrayed by the country they once proudly served.
Our families have also experienced the worst of this unfairness. Children were raised without their fathers, partners faced challenges in maintaining family unity, and the shame of being linked with "traitors" remained even after the regime that oppressed them was gone. For almost thirty years, these men and their relatives have waited—sometimes with hope, more often with despair—for the country to recognize their pain and offer compensation.
After the return to civilian governance in 1999, expectations for justice were revived. Obasanjo, who had previously served as a military leader and was a victim of Abacha's oppression, created the Human Rights Violations Investigation Commission—commonly referred to as the Oputa Panel. The commission's purpose was straightforward: to examine the violations that occurred during Nigeria's period of military rule and suggest remedies for those affected.
The conclusions of the Oputa Panel were clear-cut. The so-called individuals accused of plotting a phantom coup were innocent, with their confessions obtained through coercion, and their punishment a serious case of injustice.
The committee suggested several actions to address these injustices, including a formal apology from the national government and compensation for the hardships experienced.
Reinstatement of ranks and privileges, advancement to the positions they would have reached if their careers had not been disrupted, and full rehabilitation for every victim.
These suggestions went beyond mere gestures. They provided Nigeria with a chance to honestly address its history and provide real compensation to those who had endured the greatest hardship.
However, more than two decades since the Oputa Panel completed its tasks, the victims of the fictitious coups are still waiting. Various governments—those led by Obasanjo, Umaru Yar’Adua, Goodluck Jonathan, and Muhammadu Buhari—did not fully carry out the panel's suggestions. Documents remained untouched in government records, and the expectations of the victims fluctuated with every new administration.
Although the Council of State approved compensation and other forms of relief in 2009 and 2011, no substantial steps were implemented. The victims' stories were characterized as "unjust, inhumane, satanic, and heartless acts of impunity," which continue to be documented not only in Nigeria's official records but also in "international libraries."
Numerous individuals who were accused have passed away, their bodies laid to rest without ever experiencing justice. Those of us who are still alive carry the burden of trauma, embarrassment, and a sense of betrayal. They talk about careers ended prematurely, reputations destroyed, and families left to endure the pain caused by their misfortune.
Even after many years of frustration, the victims have not turned to demonstrations or aggression. Rather, they have entrusted themselves to the idea of fairness and the kindness of Nigeria's leaders. Their optimism, although weakened, continues to endure.
On the occasion of Nigeria's latest Independence Day, the remaining victims and their families have once again urged President Tinubu. We remain trapped in the past, overlooked in the present, and without hope for the future. We are highlighting the undeniable facts and recommendations outlined in the Oputa Panel's report, along with the Council of State's endorsements, and are requesting just one thing: action.
Our requests are clear: immediate adoption of the Oputa Panel's suggestions; advancement to suitable higher positions within the military, matching their peers; a formal apology for unjust imprisonment, abuse, and hardship; and full recovery and compensation for the suffering and mental strain experienced over 22 years. We also deserved recognition.
Justice that is delayed should not be considered as justice that is denied. For us, the promise of June 12—the day representing Nigeria's democratic hopes—is not merely a date to commemorate but a summons to take action.
The challenge faced by the victims of the phantom coup is more than just an individual effort to seek justice. It represents a trial of Nigeria's dedication to the rule of law, human rights, and democratic values. As President Tinubu noted during his 2024 Democracy Day speech, the journey toward democracy was "difficult and perilous," characterized by the loss of many brave individuals.
The individuals affected by the phantom coups are among those who courageously gave up their futures for the sake of a better nation. Their sacrifices, including those of Chief MKO Abiola, Kudirat Abiola, Gen. Shehu Yar’Adua, and many others, must never be overlooked. Adopting the suggestions from the Oputa Panel would convey a strong statement: that Nigeria is ready to face its most troubling periods, recognize the pain endured by its people, and seek reconciliation. It would also act as a warning against future violations, reinforcing the idea that no individual is above the law.
The accounts of these individuals reflect the harshness of bygone days and the enduring strength of the human spirit. A former officer shared the suffering he experienced: "Drenched in dirty water, left to die at night, blindfolded, handcuffed, bound with chains, and exposed to the elements without clothes for hours." Others remembered being restrained in uncomfortable postures, hanging "like a bird ready for cooking," with their wrists and ankles severely injured.
Even amidst these terrible events, the victims have shown a calm sense of honor, expecting compensation from the Federal Government. They have not turned to demonstrations or aggression. Rather, they have trusted in the idea of justice and the kindness of Nigeria's leaders. Their hope, although weakened, continues to endure. But how much longer can a fading spirit keep hoping?
The fight for justice by the victims of the phantom coup is more than just seeking personal compensation. It is about the country's readiness to face its history and make sure that the sacrifices made for freedom are not overlooked or meaningless. As Nigeria deals with the ongoing challenges of building a nation, how it treats its most vulnerable citizens will greatly influence the resilience and credibility of its democracy.
President Tinubu, shaped by the fight for democracy and having endured political repression, is in a special position to tackle this ongoing wrong. His government can show that Nigeria's democracy goes beyond elections and structures, focusing instead on justice, responsibility, and the safeguarding of human rights.
For almost thirty years, the victims of the phantom coups have waited—sometimes with hope, often with sorrow. Several have passed away, others are disabled, and their suffering has affected everyone. Still, they hold on to the belief that justice can be achieved. They have put their faith in President Tinubu, convinced that, unlike previous leaders, he recognizes the significance of justice and the need to mend the country's historical scars.
As a former officer stated, "We have faith in Asiwaju. We can't cease to hope. That is the sole symbol of our dignity."
As Nigeria celebrates 26 years of continuous democratic rule, these unrecognized victims find themselves at a critical juncture, their belief in justice weakened but not destroyed. We turn to President Tinubu, who himself emerged from the fight for democracy, to address the injustices that have persisted across different governments. For them, the significance of June 12 is more than just a date to remember; it is a demand for action—a request for acknowledgment, compensation, and the return of honor that has been withheld for too long. Their hope, though fragile, remains strong, relying on the country's readiness to face its history and pursue genuine justice, ensuring that the efforts made for freedom are neither overlooked nor meaningless.
The tale of Nigeria's unseen coup victims is one of hardship and endurance, of unfairness and optimism. It highlights that the path toward democracy remains unfinished until each individual, irrespective of their level of marginalization, attains justice. For those affected by the phantom coups, their loved ones, and the spirit of Nigeria, justice must not be delayed any further.
Omesa, a former naval officer, writes from Badagry, Lagos
Provided by SyndiGate Media Inc. (Syndigate.info).
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