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It wasn’t the news itself that stunned me; it was the silence that followed. I was sitting among leaders from across the globe when I received the alert: Former President Muhammadu Buhari has died. As one of only two Nigerians present, I shared the news aloud, half-expecting silence, perhaps prayer, or even the usual diplomatic nods. What came instead was something else entirely.
My Nigerian colleague spoke words so scathing, so unfiltered, that they emptied the room. Leaders from other countries slowly withdrew, leaving me sitting with the heavy weight of cultural grief wrapped in national bitterness. In that awkward moment, I changed the subject, not to defend Buhari but to protect Nigeria from a spectacle. I wasn’t just uncomfortable; I was disturbed.
Later that night, I wandered through the digital crowd we now call social media. Post after post, article after article, it was rage. Not just political criticism, but joyful mockery. Some wrote as if death had delivered justice. Others cursed his memory and blamed him for their poverty, their losses, and their disillusionment. Someone even claimed their career collapse was Buhari’s fault. I read and reread, not to argue but to understand. But all I could feel was numbness.
“Nigeria is a land aching for honest leadership and genuine reform. But we will not get there by breeding contempt, even for those we feel have failed us.”
Not because I didn’t understand the pain. I do. Nigeria’s economic wounds are deep. When Buhari was elected, he carried a nation’s impossible hope on his shoulders. However, Buhari’s tragedy was squandered goodwill. Nigerians crowned him with unprecedented goodwill. He was a man many believed in, who was welcomed as a messiah against corruption. Instead, they felt betrayed. Jobs disappeared, the Naira plummeted, killings surged, and nepotism allegedly flourished. The dream became a drought. When that hope curdled into despair, the pendulum swung to rage.
But still I ask: why do we weaponise death?
Why do we hurl curses at someone who can no longer respond? Why do we dance on graves, hoping it will heal us? I am not defending Buhari’s record. But I am questioning the posture of our hearts. Are we really seeking justice, or simply rehearsing pain? Do the dead bear our burdens, or do they only expose the ones we have carried too long?
Scripture diagnoses our condition: “Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks” (Luke 6:45). The vitriol isn’t really about Buhari; it is about unhealed national trauma. Again, scripture confronts us here. “Honour all men. Love the brotherhood. Fear God. Honour the king” (1 Peter 2:17). That verse doesn’t come with footnotes or exceptions. It doesn’t say honour only those who led well, or respect only those who fixed the economy. It speaks to how we respond even when we are hurt.
To honour is not to excuse. It is not to rewrite history. Honour doesn’t mean endorsement; it means acknowledging inherent dignity. Honour isn’t approval. It is acknowledging this radical truth that every man, including the ones who disappointed us, was made in the image of God. Honour acknowledges humanity, even flawed, failed, or fallen humanity.
Read also: A nation reflects: Nigerians on the legacy of Muhammadu Buhari
There is biblical precedent for critique. The prophets spoke boldly. Jesus called out the hypocrisy of dead kings. Paul warned Timothy about the harm of Alexander the coppersmith. But even in truth-telling, the tone matters. The motive matters. Criticism rooted in justice differs from contempt soaked in vengeance.
The dead, the Bible reminds us, no longer know what is said of them (Ecclesiastes 9:5). Judgement now belongs to God. “It is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgement” (Hebrews 9:27). Which means we don’t speak for the benefit of the dead; we speak for the formation of the living.
When we insult the dead, we don’t expose them; we expose ourselves. What we say after someone dies often reveals what we truly believed about them, yes, but more dangerously, it reveals who we are becoming.
Here’s what I tell wounded Nigerians in therapy: “Your pain is valid. Your rage is understandable. But your healing begins when you stop letting dead men rent space in your soul.”
Nigeria is a land aching for honest leadership and genuine reform. But we will not get there by breeding contempt, even for those we feel have failed us. Truth is not less true when spoken with grace. And grace is not weakness; it is strength under control.
Critique policies, not souls. Chronicle policy failures factually. Demand accountability from living leaders. Document failures factually as historians do without dehumanising language. But delete dehumanising labels like “demon,” “animal,” and “Satan.” (Exodus 20:16 forbids false witness, not factual critique.) “Let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt” (Colossians 4:6).
So, what do we do with our disappointment? We speak it. We process it. We demand accountability, reform, and integrity in public office. But we do it without reducing people to hashtags of hate or trophies of our trauma.
The apostle Paul, no stranger to failed leaders, commanded, “Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse” (Romans 12:14). Notice he didn’t say feel blessed. He said, Speak it. Words create spiritual climates. Perhaps Nigeria’s redemption begins when we stop cursing graves and start speaking about resurrection over our living nation.
We must steward Nigeria’s memory truthfully. Chronicle mismanagement. Demand accountability from living leaders. But do it to heal the nation, not to desecrate the dead. In the end, nations are judged not by how they bury leaders, but by how they birth redemption from ruin.
The question is not what Buhari did or did not do. History and heaven will wrestle with that. The question is, who are we becoming in the wake of our losses?
I am reminded again: “Do not speak evil against one another, brothers” (James 4:11). And if that applies to the living, how much more to the dead? Let history write its critique. Let us write with dignity.
Not for Buhari. For ourselves. For Nigeria. For the future.
Dr Toye Sobande is a strategic leadership expert, lawyer, public speaker, and trainer. He is the CEO of Stephens Leadership Consultancy LLC, a strategy and management consulting firm offering creative insight and solutions to businesses and leaders. Email: contactme@toyesobande.com
