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Reuben Abati: Truthsayer Or A Soothsayer?

February 2, 2009
Image removed.Let me first say that I am sending this article to NVS in the hope that it will be published either on Tuesday, 3 February 2009 right next to the regular spot of Dr. Reuben Abati, or on 4 February 2009. The latter will mark one month since the story broke about his being one of those senior journalists allocated land by the former Minister of the Federal Capital Territory (FCT), Aliyu Umar Modibbo, in a scheme designed to compromise them.

In addition to appearing in Guardian on Sundays, Reuben Abati also appears on Sundays. As Chairman of the Editorial Board of Guardian, it is safe to say that he pens at least one editorial weekly. That is a man with a lot of visibility, as well as opportunity in influencing public opinion. As a follower of his writing, I know he has been doing a lot of that for several years.

The Saharareporters story has, however, called to question his credibility, and credibility is the foundation on which rests the longevity and legacy of every opinion-writer.

As others have pointed out, it is not that Abati or any of the others involved in the story, apart from EFCC chairman Farida Waziri, has specifically been accused of corruption. It was, however, suggested that his fingers may have been soiled. His silence is almost a confirmation of his complicity.


Saharareporters, which first reported extensively on Modibo last September, said that the Minister was being investigated, and that he expected to be removed from office. But the key sentence in the January 4 story about the journalists is this one: “While awaiting his removal from office, Modibbo hurriedly allocated lands to 24 individuals on September 24 2008.”

One of those individuals, indeed the most prominent journalist on the list, was Reuben Abati. Some of the other editors have come forward to explain that they did nothing wrong, and that they did pay for the property they got. In fact, Saharareporters reported an FCT official as telling the website that “all ministerial approvals derive from land applications.”

The problem is that the official said “approval”, not “allocation”. In other words, and because not all allocations necessarily derive from applications, it is possible that some editors on the published allocation list may neither have applied for the land they received, nor paid for it.

It seems to me that this is what bothers a lot of observers about the silence of Reuben Abati. But there is another point that is troublesome that ought to be disposed off in any meaningful rebuttal. That point is whether all land applications in the Federal Capital Territory are resolved by means of ministerial allocation or approval. I mean, when I pay in advance for something by means of such financial instruments as a cheque or credit card or money order, I normally expect to be informed that I am “approved” or “successful”. The language of “allocation”, on the other hand, suggests something of a favour or a concession or an allowance or a gift.

It is this suggestion of impropriety that ties into Mr. Moddibo’s image as a corrupt and manipulating official who sought to manage his problems by, among others, “allocating” landed property to influential media figures to gain certain figures. It grants the Saharareporters account credibility that has not been helped by the eloquent silence of Reuben Abati.

Another interesting coincidence exists. Reuben Abati’s first column following the Saharareporters’ story was published was called “The scam that failed”. It was about how someone had tried to use his great name to scam his friends.

According to Reuben Abati, he was going to the office when a lady called him. “The caller had stated clearly that she suspected that some people had hacked into my e-mail”, he wrote. “I kept asking her: are you sure? How?”

It seemed that someone was trying to use Dr. Abati’s e-mail account (“And they used my exact e-mail”, he later wrote. “The message was sent from my box not a look-alike”, he wrote) to scam his friends into donating money allegedly to help the journalist’s daughter who had “been in an accident”.

As an unsophisticated man, Dr. Abati’s account was confusing to me. It seemed funny for someone just to call you and say: I suspect some people have hacked into your e-mail. Personally, that is not how my friends talk. When people receive such an email about serious issues like accidents, they would usually first say, “I am sorry to hear about your daughter…” After all, although the letter may have been written badly, that could have merely have been because the writer was distressed.

Anyway, hearing such a message, the listener would respond, saying things like: “My daughter? What happened…There is nothing wrong with my daughter o! E-mail? India? Ogbele-o! India ke? Me I nor go Ibadan sef, talk less of India…”

That kind of altercation is what I would have with my friends before the situation was clarified and we reached the conclusion that someone had hacked into my e-mail account (or merely had my password). But Dr. Abati seems to have a different kind of friends; the very first one that called him immediately announced to him she suspected his e-mail had been hacked into.

In any event, Dr. Abati triumphantly published the story. Curiously, he did not show any of the usual responses one would have expected of a journalist to try to crack the case: using the crime reporters in Guardian newspaper, or his police contacts, or any other clever scheme. I mean, think about it: Someone has figuratively taken the key in your pocket and is driving off in your car, and you have a chance to catch him and put him away, but your response is triumph, not outrage? Personally, I thought that was very strange, but don’t mind me: I have been known to be wrong many times in my life.

However, all that was several days after Saharareporters published the story about a possibly contaminated land deal in which Reuben Abati was mentioned, and in which—unlike the scam story—his reputation was on the brink of tatters.

Other journalists, concerned about their reputation, immediately stepped forward and offered an explanation, no matter how unsatisfactory it may have been, about their names on that list. But a full month later, and despite numerous appeals by concerned writers, readers and even his fans, the Guardian’s Reuben Abati—a man that mounts the podium at least twice every week—has refused to say anything.

What are we to make of this? That Reuben Abati was caught with his finger in a closing whorehouse door, and cannot explain his injury at home? That Reuben Abati cannot believe that someone finds a naughty list that contains his name and actually has the audacity to publish it? That Reuben Abati thinks it is his birthright to instruct the world about proper conduct but infradig for him to defend his father’s name?

I do not know. All I know is that given that he studied literature and law but not journalism, he does not understand the fidelity in his adopted profession between what he professes and what he lives; that not only must he write the truth, he must live the truth.

Speaking of the nature of truth, it was the 18th century German satirist, Georg Christoph Lichtenberg, who was also a mathematician, physicist and astromoner, who once observed that "Soothsayers make a better living in the world than truthsayers".

For years, Reuben Abati has given the impression he is a truth-sayer, a man of credibility and character. But is he really only a soothsayer? If he imagines that integrity can sometimes take a vacation, he is probably only a soothsayer who dreams of hoodwinking his profession and his nation.

If he wants to sit on the Olympian heights of the Guardian, on a chair on which heavyweights constructed for him and pay lip service to the motto, “Conscience, nurtured by truth”, he may be a soothsayer.

If he feels that silence will make go away the loud, eerie echo that has followed the story about the land allocated to him by a disgraced Minister, he is certainly a soothsayer.

No, silence will not make this go away. Not for Reuben Abati. And not for his employers, the Guardian, either. It is inconceivable that any journalist, any journalist at the New York Times or the Times of London would ignore a public scandal of this nature—and carry with the swagger of an Egba chief.

Reuben Abati would not be the first to have tried to bury hypocrisy in the cold soil of silence. Nor would he be the first to discover how impossible that is.

Me, I am not perfect; that is not the idea. And that is why I offer this free advice to Reuben Abati: If you exercised an error of judgment, simply admit it like a man so that you can move on. Nobody is without fault, but pretending to be better makes a caricature and a masquerade of you. If Reuben got an improper land allocation, he can return it and arrange to purchase another, properly.

Only that—not this arrogant show of silence—is how a true man wins respect.

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