Reciprocal Criminality: Surveillance, Power, And The Crisis Of Legitimacy In Contemporary Nigeria
By
Nze David N. Ugwu
In every constitutional democracy, there exists an uneasy balance between power and restraint, secrecy and transparency, national security and individual liberty. That balance is tested most severely not during periods of stability, but in moments of political confrontation. Recent tensions between Mallam Nasir El-Rufai, former Governor of Kaduna State, the Federal Government of Nigeria, and the National Security Adviser, Mallam Nuhu Ribadu, have ignited one such moment. At the center of the controversy lies a deeply troubling allegation: the tapping of a telephone conversation.
The dispute is not merely about one intercepted call. It raises a larger and more consequential question: when political actors accuse one another of unlawful surveillance, and when each side claims the other engages in similar conduct, what happens to the rule of law? This is where the concept of reciprocal criminality becomes analytically useful—not in its traditional extradition-law meaning, but as a moral and political phenomenon in which one alleged wrongdoing is justified by pointing to another.
The controversy reportedly began when Mallam Nasir El-Rufai publicly stated during a television interview that he had knowledge of a tapped phone conversation involving the National Security Adviser, Mallam Nuhu Ribadu. According to El-Rufai, the conversation suggested plans for his arrest. He further remarked that while tapping a phone may be illegal, the government itself listens to citizens’ calls without court orders. The implication was clear: if the state engages in unlawful surveillance, it has little moral authority to condemn similar conduct by others.
The Federal Government responded swiftly. Officials rejected the allegations and initiated legal proceedings, citing statutory provisions under the Nigerian Communications Act and the Cybercrimes Act that criminalize unauthorized interception of communications. What could have remained a political exchange thus escalated into a legal confrontation.
Yet beneath the legal arguments lies a deeper issue: legitimacy.
Section 37 of the Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria guarantees the privacy of citizens, their homes, correspondence, and telephone communications. This guarantee is not ornamental. It is foundational. It establishes that privacy is not a privilege granted by the state but a right protected against the state. However, like many constitutional rights, it is not absolute. The law recognizes circumstances—particularly those involving national security and serious crime—under which interception of communications may be authorized. Such authorization, however, is meant to be structured, supervised, and subject to judicial oversight.
The law does not permit private citizens to intercept calls. Nor does it allow government agencies to do so arbitrarily. Surveillance without legal authorization is unlawful whether conducted by an individual or by the state. The difference lies not in who performs the act, but in whether due process has been followed.
Was El-Rufai right in tapping the NSA’s phone?
If one approaches the question strictly from a legal standpoint, the answer appears straightforward. Unauthorized interception of communication is a criminal offense. There is no statutory exemption for political self-defense. Even if a person believes he is being targeted unfairly, the law does not authorize him to engage in counter-surveillance. To admit participation in or knowledge of illegal interception without reporting it compounds the legal exposure.
But law does not operate in a vacuum. El-Rufai’s defense rests not on technical legality but on moral symmetry. His argument, stripped of political nuance, is this: if the state routinely violates privacy rights without court orders, then condemning a citizen for similar conduct reflects hypocrisy rather than justice.
This is where reciprocal criminality becomes relevant. It is the logic of “you do it too.” It is the attempt to equalize guilt so that accountability dissolves into mutual accusation.
However, reciprocal wrongdoing does not cancel illegality. Two wrongs do not produce a right. The rule of law demands consistency, but it does not collapse because more than one party may be culpable. If both state actors and private citizens violate the law, then both are subject to it.
The second and equally troubling question is whether the National Security Adviser—or the security apparatus more broadly—is justified in tapping citizens’ phones without court orders.
National security agencies in Nigeria possess lawful authority to conduct surveillance. But that authority is circumscribed. It must be exercised within statutory and constitutional limits. Interception typically requires judicial authorization or, in narrowly defined emergency situations, prompt judicial review after the fact. The rationale for such oversight is clear: surveillance powers, if unchecked, become instruments of political control rather than tools of public protection.
If surveillance occurs without court orders, without documented emergency justification, and without oversight, then it represents a breach of constitutional guarantees. The problem is not the existence of surveillance powers. Democracies require them. The problem is secrecy without accountability.
The controversy between El-Rufai and Ribadu therefore exposes a deeper structural tension within Nigeria’s political system: the blurred boundary between state security and political rivalry. When surveillance is perceived as a political weapon rather than a security necessity, public trust erodes. When former governors allege illegal interception and government officials respond with prosecution rather than transparent clarification, suspicion deepens.
This is not merely a personal conflict. It is a test of institutional maturity.
In mature democracies, allegations of unlawful surveillance trigger independent review mechanisms. Parliamentary oversight committees, judicial commissions, and transparent reporting requirements help restore confidence. In environments where institutions are weak or politicized, disputes of this nature risk becoming spectacles of mutual recrimination.
The ethical dimension of reciprocal criminality is equally significant. Political actors often justify questionable conduct as defensive measures against anticipated abuse. “If they are watching me, I must watch them.” “If they break the rules, I must break them first.” Such reasoning creates a downward spiral in which legality becomes strategic rather than principled.
The danger lies in normalization. When leaders casually admit to illegal acts in public interviews, it signals that the boundary between lawful and unlawful conduct has become negotiable. When governments respond selectively—prosecuting opponents while ignoring broader systemic concerns—it reinforces perceptions of double standards.
At its core, this episode forces Nigeria to confront a difficult but necessary question: is the rule of law stronger than political rivalry?
If El-Rufai engaged in unlawful interception, the law should take its course—fairly, transparently, and without political embellishment. If state agencies have engaged in unlawful surveillance without court orders, that too demands investigation and correction. Accountability cannot be selective. It must be systemic.
Reciprocal criminality, when left unchecked, erodes legitimacy from both sides. It converts governance into accusation and justice into retaliation. It transforms surveillance from a security tool into a political instrument. And it leaves citizens caught in the crossfire of elite disputes, uncertain whether their rights are protected or merely invoked when convenient.
The long-term implications extend beyond this particular confrontation. Nigeria’s democratic consolidation depends on public confidence in institutions. Privacy rights, judicial oversight, and transparent enforcement of the law are not abstract ideals; they are safeguards against authoritarian drift. When surveillance powers expand without oversight, democracy weakens. When political actors resort to unlawful counter-measures, civic norms deteriorate.
The controversy between Nasir El-Rufai and the National Security Adviser is therefore not simply about who tapped whose phone. It is about whether constitutional guarantees remain meaningful in practice. It is about whether national security can coexist with civil liberty. It is about whether the law applies equally to the powerful and the powerless.
In the final analysis, neither private individuals nor state actors are justified in bypassing the law. Surveillance without due process—whether undertaken by a former governor or a national security office—undermines the very system it claims to defend. Reciprocal criminality may offer rhetorical cover, but it provides no legal absolution.
Democracies survive not because conflicts disappear, but because conflicts are resolved within institutional boundaries. The true measure of this episode will not be who wins the political argument, but whether Nigeria strengthens its oversight mechanisms, clarifies its surveillance procedures, and reaffirms that no one—however powerful—is above constitutional restraint.
Only then can the spiral of reciprocal accusation give way to restored legitimacy.
Nze David N. Ugwu is the Managing Consultant of Knowledge Research Consult. He could be reached at [email protected] or +2348037269333.
