Special to USAfrica magazine (Houston) and USAfricaonline.com, the first Africa-owned, US-based newspaper published on the Internet.
Amarike Akpoke is a Contributing Analyst to USAfricaonline.com
The fainting episode involving six young suspects in court before their arraignment has once again shone a spotlight on an unsettling pattern in Nigeria’s judicial proceedings. Force Spokesperson Muyiwa Adejobi, had in a statement signed on behalf of the Inspector General of Police (IGP), Kayode Egbetokun, described it as a “deliberate, scripted act to attract negative attention.” He further noted that “under Nigerian law, individuals who have reached the age of criminal responsibility are accountable for their actions, regardless of their age.” But can one blame those arraigned minors, reportedly malnourished, disheveled, and weak, for resorting to fainting theatrics frequently employed by their adult counterparts? Perhaps, they were simply looking up to a Nigerian adage for inspiration: Nne ewu na-ata agbara, nwa ya a na-ele ya anya n’ọnụ (When the mother goat eats straw, its kids will be looking at its mouth.) They have witnessed, time and again, powerful figures escape accountability by dramatizing sudden sickness and fainting spells in court. From the former acting MD of NDDC, through the Pension Reform chief, to the recent Binance executive, a slew of prominent individuals have, quite literally, fainted their way out of justice.
The “fainting defence” has become a notorious courtroom tactic, a convenient diversionary drama to evade scrutiny, and, apparently, a role model for impressionable young defendants. If adults with vast resources and influence can faint their way through and out of accountability, is it any wonder that desperate, young individuals might try the same? Rather than focusing on “stage-managed” acts in court, perhaps the attention should shift to addressing the systemic conditions that lead to such absurdities. The rot in Nigeria’s justice system, marked by selective accountability and courtroom theatrics, has fostered an environment where young and old alike resort to manipulation rather than relying on the fairness of judicial proceedings.
In 2022, a national daily compiled a list of eleven prominent Nigerians, who suddenly fell sick in court rooms, while standing trials for alleged corruption cases. Those notable figures seemingly caught the “courtroom illness bug,” marking a theatre of ironies in Nigeria’s criminal justice system. The legal farce is usually all very familiar scene. Soon after the corruption charges are read by the prosecuting counsel, the defence lawyer will stand up to present a plea for bail on health grounds through an ex-parte motion. They will argue client’s “critical” condition, and the court promptly grants the request. In some instances, the accused suddenly ‘fall sick’ in EFCC custody. The lawyer quickly files for their release, citing the urgent need for medical care abroad, a move that aligns with this well-practiced strategy. Another would add a dramatic twist by arriving at court in an ambulance, then collapsing on a stretcher. In another case, the accused will slump at the police headquarters during questioning, with a standby cinematographer carefully filming the whole episode, showing the accused struggling to stand – all conjuring a powerful visual that underscored the desperation and uncanny creativity in the face of corruption charges. Such fainting episodes during questioning over corruption, further reinforced the narrative that illness strikes at the most opportune of moments.
Not yet done, another will ‘pass out’ halfway through the reading of criminal charges, causing panic in the courtroom, underscoring the perception that accountability is often a matter of theatrics rather than transparency. The latest on the list is the discharge of Binance Holdings executive Tigran Gambaryan from $35 million money laundering charges on health grounds. It represents another of such courtroom drama where “sudden illness” has become a recurring spectacle during high-profile corruption trials. This incident aligns disturbingly well with fainting theatrics, strategic health crises staged in courtrooms as a last resort to escape accountability. Gambaryan’s case may be the latest addition, but with an added twist; beyond a medical plea, it was “diplomatic pressure” that tipped the scales, painting a stark picture of selective justice.
Related to the courtroom theatrics is another genre – theatrics of power and the spectacle of feigned political persecution. In the annals of Nigerian political drama, few scenes are as vivid as that of a former State Governor, recounting his alleged “brutalization” by mobile policemen in July 2018. His lament was filled with descriptions of physical assault, excruciating pain, and the “army of occupation” he claimed had descended upon his State under orders from the Presidency. In his signature emotive style, His Excellency declared that he was “slapped and beaten,” shot at, and warned the world of impending doom should anything happen to him. The persecution imagery adroitly crafted was rich and calculated. He appeared before the cameras with a heavily bandaged face, his left arm in a sling, conveying the appearance of a governor-turned-martyr for his people. This was not simply a press briefing; it was a theatrical performance meant to evoke outrage, sympathy, and a rallying cry against perceived oppression.
This portrayal of persecution, laced with a foreboding sense of doom, sought to transform the political stage into a battlefield of conscience. But that dramatic turn was not merely an isolated incident. It fitted neatly within a larger pattern in Nigerian politics, where some political actors often turn to performative displays to sway public opinion. These acts of public suffering are not only spectacles; they are ‘spot-on’ strategic. The bandages, slings, and guttural speeches serve to reframe narratives, making alleged oppressors out of the opposition and heroes out of politicians with their backs against the wall. His cries to the international community and impassioned calls to “save his State” from an “army of occupation” further dramatized his ordeal, shifting his image from embattled politician to a defender of the people. His theatrics amenable to varied interpretations either as genuine outrage against injustice or yet another instance of strategic grandstanding was cumulatively designed to tap into the emotions of Nigerians who have witnessed true abuses of power and systemic failures. The former governor’s theatrics underscored the frequent blurring of politics and drama in Nigeria, where crises and acts of persecution become fodder for manipulation and public sympathy. The bandaged face, the pained speeches, and the imagery of a governor under siege are emblematic of a broader trend among some Nigerian political actors – the use of victimhood as a means of control.
These instances of courtroom fainting, wheelchair appearances, and medical deflections are quite often reserved exclusively for those accused of corruption. In a political landscape where the line between reality and performance often seems indistinguishable, the former governor’s “suffering” becomes not only a symbol of his alleged persecution but also a reminder of the theatrics that characterize the Nigerian political class. Just as with the fainting and collapses in courtrooms, his display hints at a troubling irony – the ability to wield the narrative of victimhood even when in positions of power.
In all this theatre of absurdities, the younger generation, like the proverbial kid, seems to be taking painstaking note. When high-profile defendants adopt “strategic health crises” as a route to evade the law, it sends an unfortunate message. In Nigeria’s courtrooms, theatrics trump justice, and influence outweighs integrity. From one accused stretcher arrival to another’s fainting act and the infamous “pass-out” moment by yet another accused, Nigerian courts have become stages where the accused escape responsibility through well-timed health crises. Recently, Gambaryan’s case added an international angle, revealing a judicial system willing to make exceptions when the stakes are high enough and diplomatic pressure looms. Rather than inspiring integrity and accountability, some of Nigeria’s political leaders tend to model cynicism and spectacle, creating a judiciary system where illness is a defence and the theatrics of fainting provide refuge for the corrupt. The irony is painfully clear for everyday Nigerians. While Gambaryan walks freely away from justice, minors who protested bad governance under present administration are pursued and punished with a rigour unknown to the privileged elite. Against the explicit provisions of the Child Rights Act, the minors were held behind bars for months and allegedly subjected to the dehumanizing imprimaturs of Nigeria’s detention palaces! With no diplomatic shield or high-powered legal team, they face swift legal action for exercising their right to demand accountability.
Then came the court’s decision to impose a hefty N10 million bail on each of these young suspects, many of whom are minors, a weird judicial pronouncement that contrasts starkly with the VIP treatment of exponents of fainting theatrics in Nigerians courtrooms. Without high-powered lawyers, political connections, or diplomatic advocates to intervene, the arraigned minors face a depraved system that seems more eager to make examples of them than to address their grievances. Nonetheless, the good news is that these youth are fast learners in Nigeria’s judicial double standard, and much like the proverbial “kid taking a cue from the mother goat,” they have come to understand that claiming ill health or leveraging a diplomatic lifeline may be the only shield against a harsh and selective legal process.
The judicial theatrics, diplomatic shields, and ‘strategic fainting’ that increasingly characterize corruption trials among Nigeria’s elite speak to a broken system that punishes the weak and shelters the powerful. It also speaks to a generation learning fast that, without reform, justice is not guaranteed. As long as some can simply collapse out of accountability, while others, less powerful and unheard, are dragged through courts, one might wonder: should these young protesters ‘borrow a leaf” from the Pondeis, Mainas, and the Gambaryans in Nigeria and stage their own ‘fainting’ theatrics to gain leniency?
In a country where justice bends to the whims of wealth and influence, and takes its bearing from the heartbeats of the shakers and movers, the minors are becoming fast and dexterous learners. Faced with a justice system that punishes them for seeking change but absolves those responsible for corruption, these young citizens are bound to ask if they too, should resort to health claims as an escape route. And can they be blamed? If strategically timed fainting spells and dramatic exits from the courtroom are effective for the elite, why shouldn’t these minors follow suit to evade the wrath of a system that criminalizes their calls for justice?
This is more than a question of courtroom theatrics. Yes; it is a crisis of legitimacy.
When the rule of law becomes an unequal playing field, it breeds a generation of cynics who sees justice not as blind but as willfully blind to the plight of the powerless. The justice system risks eroding trust as it continues to permit the wealthy and well-connected to dance through legal loopholes while delivering harsh judgments to those lacking means and connections. Nigeria’s judiciary stands at a crossroads. It can continue to be a stage where fainting spells and diplomatic favours shield the influential, or it can become a place where all citizens, irrespective of status or connections, are held to the same standards.
If Nigerian youths are left to learn that accountability is negotiable, the rule of law itself will wither, and justice will become a commodity traded in influence, not truth.
The message is clear! The courtrooms must become sanctuaries of fairness, not arenas for fainting theatrics. Otherwise, the next generation may be driven to ‘faint’ not just in protest, but in despair over a system that denies them the justice they seek.
