Viewpoint
By George Ozalla
I have painstakingly researched and therefore make bold to state that every society where justice is treated as a privilege rather than a right, there exists the danger of abuse, corruption, and eventual breakdown of moral order. The abuse of pardon, particularly when unchecked, provides a fertile ground for this decay. Clemency, when properly applied, is a noble prerogative of mercy that tempers the rigidity of law with compassion. But when it is applied arbitrarily, selectively, or with a clear bias, it becomes a dagger pointed at the heart of justice.
The challenge with unchecked pardon is that it undermines the credibility of the justice system. If those who commit crimes know that pardon is available not on merit but on connection, wealth, or influence, deterrence collapses. This is evident in countries where leaders habitually grant amnesty to political allies, militants, or individuals convicted of corruption, while petty offenders rot in jail. In such instances, pardon is no longer a redemptive act but a weapon of impunity.
History offers grim lessons. Nigeria, for instance, has witnessed serial abuses of state pardon. High-profile politicians convicted of looting public funds have been set free under the guise of national reconciliation. Yet, thousands of ordinary citizens who commit minor infractions remain imprisoned without trial. Such selective application of pardon reinforces inequality, breeds cynicism, and deepens the erosion of public trust in the justice system.
Unchecked pardon has also entrenched the culture of impunity in governance. Public office holders who ought to serve with accountability and integrity now see corruption as a low-risk, high-reward enterprise. The abuse of clemency emboldens them, for they know that political loyalty often weighs more heavily than justice when decisions on pardon are made. In many cases, the treasury is looted with reckless abandon, knowing that the price of eventual conviction can be negotiated away through presidential or gubernatorial pardon.
This phenomenon is not peculiar to Nigeria alone. Around the world, from Latin America to parts of Asia, unchecked pardon has been exploited as a political tool rather than a moral instrument. Leaders deploy it to consolidate power, reward loyalists, silence critics, or rewrite the legacy of their administrations. The noble spirit of clemency thereby mutates into an instrument of political convenience.
The great danger lies in its long-term effects on social order. When pardon is abused, citizens gradually lose faith in the justice system. The idea that all men are equal before the law collapses under the weight of selective mercy. What emerges is a society where the powerful and well-connected operate under a different set of rules than the powerless. At that point, laws no longer serve as instruments of justice but as tools of oppression against the weak and protection for the strong.
I recall many years ago when I stumbled on this popular statement made by former U.S. Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia. He observed that “good societies are not achieved by good laws but are built upon the effect of one good person upon another, and to expect more from law than good behaviour demeans virtue.” His words underscore the truth that a functioning society cannot rely solely on legal frameworks. When the human element of virtue and fairness is lost, even the most sophisticated legal codes become meaningless.
Unchecked pardon magnifies this danger. By reducing justice to the whims of power, it distorts the very principle of equality before the law. The damage is not only institutional but also moral, as citizens gradually internalize the belief that wrongdoing can be washed away through political patronage or dropping of names. The outcome is predictable—lawlessness spreads, social order weakens, and violence takes root.
The Nigerian experience bears this out. The amnesty program for Niger Delta militants, though initially conceived to end hostilities and restore peace, has over time created an unintended precedent. While the program succeeded in reducing violence in the oil-producing region, it also sent a dangerous signal that violent rebellion could be rewarded with state recognition and monetary compensation. Groups in other regions have since taken cues from this, believing that crime or insurgency can be forgiven, legitimized, and even incentivized by government pardon.
Corruption pardons have been no less damaging. When a former governor convicted of looting billions was granted state pardon, the message to the public was clear: if you are powerful enough, crime has no consequence. Such actions strip the law of its deterrent function. Meanwhile, ordinary Nigerians who commit minor thefts to survive languish in correctional facilities, sometimes for years, without trial. The imbalance is stark and corrosive.
Unchecked pardon also emboldens cultism and violent gangs in schools and communities. When cult leaders and hardened criminals are shielded by political patrons or given clemency without rehabilitation, their release often fuels cycles of violence. They return to society with reinforced bravado, knowing that their connections can always secure another pardon. This culture of recycled violence eats away at the social fabric and endangers future generations.
The fight against impunity requires courage and consistency. Clemency should be guided by transparent criteria, not the whims of officeholders. Mercy must never be confused with selective favouritism, and pardon must always strengthen, not undermine, the moral authority of the law. Without this balance, the concept of justice risks degenerating into farce, leaving society at the mercy of the powerful rather than protected by the rule of law.
Justice tempered with mercy is a beautiful principle. But justice subverted by selective pardon is poison to the soul of any nation. Until societies, particularly Nigeria, confront this contradiction with honesty and reform, the cycle of corruption, violence, and distrust will persist. The lesson is clear: clemency must heal wounds, not open fresh ones; it must strengthen virtue, not reward vice; and above all, it must serve justice, not power. And of course, if we lose our corporate morality as a nation, we have got to pick up rationality, and where that also fails, we must cling on to legality. Losing all the three will take us straight to a Hobbesian state.
As a man of integrity, when you encounter a serial offender or a troublesome person trying to draw you into saving him or her, the principled path is clear: advise them to do the right thing, or at most bring the parties together in pursuit of peace. But once the truth is established, you must take a stand. To remain neutral in the face of injustice is not wisdom—it is cowardice.
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