Malami: Can the Rule of Law Outlast Political Convenience?

Today, January 7, 2026,  Nigeria’s justice system confronts a former Attorney General of the Federation and Minister of Justice, Abubakar Malami and his family, testing northern power politics, anti corruption resolve, and whether the rule of law can outlast political convenience. Adedayo Adejobi writes.

In January 7, an Abuja courtroom will host what appears, on the surface, to be a routine legal proceeding. A judge will decide whether a former Attorney General of the Federation, AbubakarMalami, his wife, and son should be granted bail over alleged money laundering to the tune of N8.7bn.

Yet nothing about this moment is routine. It is a collision point of power, memory, politics, and law, unfolding at a time when Nigeria is once again questioning whether justice is a principle or a performance.

From hindsight, outcomes from Nigerian courts unsettle its citizens, forcing  the reader to sit with contradictions that define the Nigerian state. A former chief law officer now standing before the law. An anti-corruption narrative confronting its own architects. A northern political heavyweight caught between legacy and liability.

Malami is not just another former minister. In the politics of northern Nigeria, he emerged from Kebbi State into the heart of national power, serving for eight years as Attorney General under President Muhammadu Buhari. In a region where political capital is built on loyalty, seniority, and proximity to power, Malami became a symbol of access. He spoke for the state in court, defended executive authority, and shaped legal arguments that affected millions of Nigerians.

For many in the North, Malami represented continuity. He was part of a governing class that promised discipline, order, and moral restraint. The Buhari years drew heavily on northern political legitimacy, appealing to a narrative of integrity rooted in austere leadership and personal sacrifice. Malami was one of the custodians of that narrative, a lawyer who articulated the government’s position whenever its actions were challenged.

Today, that same man is at the centre of allegations that strike at the heart of the values he once defended. The charge of laundering N8.7 billion, alongside his wife and son, is not just a legal matter. It is a political shockwave that reverberates through the North’s power structure, raising questions about how wealth, influence, and protection circulate within elite families.

The involvement of immediate family members changes the moral context of the case. In Nigeria, corruption is often discussed as an individual failing, a lone official gone rogue. Yet the charging of a spouse and a child points to something deeper, the possibility that public office becomes a family asset, and that the boundaries between state resources and private life is blurred within the household.

For anti-corruption institutions, this case is a moment of truth. The Economic and Financial Crimes Commission has brought charges against Malami, a man who understands the law not as an abstract concept but as a tool. He knows procedure, delay, and technical defense. He knows how cases stall, how public attention shifts, and how time can become an ally.

The EFCC insists on its independence, and the charge itself suggests a willingness to confront power. Yet Nigerians have learned to look beyond the first act. They ask what happens after arraignment, after bail, after the headlines fade. Will this prosecution be pursued with the same intensity if political calculations change? Will institutional resolve survive pressure from those who prefer quiet resolutions?

The Independent Corrupt Practices Commission also stands implicated by silence or action. When allegations touch the upper echelons of government, coordination among agencies becomes a test of seriousness. If one institution advances while others retreat, the message to the public is confusion. If all retreat, the message is complicity.

Above these agencies sits the Federal Government, now led by President Bola Tinubu. His administration has spoken of reform, of restoring confidence, of renewing hope. These phrases have weight only when tested against hard cases. The Malami matter is one of such cases. It asks whether the state can pursue accountability without fear or favour, even when the accused once sat at the centre of power.

There is also the unmistakable political undertone that Nigerians whisper about but rarely see addressed openly. In Nigeria’s fluid party system, legal vulnerability often precedes political migration. Crossing from opposition or estrangement into the ruling party has, in the past, coincided with a softening of prosecutorial zeal. It is a pattern that has eroded trust and fed distrust.

This is why the question hangs heavy in the air. Will Malami and his family face the full weight of the law, or will political realignment offer an escape route? The ruling party cannot pretend this question does not exist. The All Progressives Congress controls the levers of power. Its choices, explicit or implicit, shape the environment in which institutions operate.

From a northern political lens, the stakes are complex. The North has long been sensitive to narratives of selective justice, particularly when prominent figures are prosecuted under governments perceived as hostile. This case, however, complicates that narrative. Malami was part of the establishment. He was not an outsider. If accountability is applied here, it cannot be dismissed as persecution. If it is not, the North must confront what it says about its own leadership standards.

The judiciary, too, is under quiet scrutiny. Bail is a right, but it is also a signal. How conditions are set, how proceedings are scheduled, how swiftly the case moves, all contribute to public perception. Nigerians have seen cases die not by acquittal, but by attrition. Endless adjournments, procedural detours, and fading interest have buried more corruption trials than bold judgments ever did.

This moment forces a reckoning with the legacy of the Buhari administration. That government framed itself as a moral corrective to past excesses. If a key legal figure from that era now faces serious allegations, what does it say about the depth of reform that was promised? Was integrity institutional, or was it rhetorical, dependent on personal narratives rather than systems?

For ordinary Nigerians, the story resonates on a more personal level. In a country where economic hardship is acute, where public services struggle, and where citizens are often told there is no money, allegations of billions moving illicitly provoke anger and fatigue. The inclusion of a wife and son compounds that anger, suggesting priviledge passed along bloodlines while the majority struggle.

January 7 is here. Bail may be granted or denied. Statements will be issued. Lawyers will speak. Yet the real drama will unfold in the months that follow. Will this case move steadily toward resolution, or will it dissolve into the familiar fog of legal uncertainty and political bargaining?

There are no neat conclusions yet. That is what makes this moment important. It sits at the intersection of northern political power, anti-corruption ambition, and the rule of law, pulling each in different directions.

Whichever force prevails will shape not just this case, but the credibility of institutions that claim to serve the public interest.

Nigeria has reached a stage where citizens no longer judge seriousness by arrests or press conferences. They judge by outcomes, by consistency, by the courage to see difficult cases through.

Whether Malami and his family will ultimately be held accountable, politically protected, or something in between remains an open question.

As the court prepares to rule, the country waits, not for closure, but for direction. The silence that follows may speak louder than any judgment delivered on January 7