MUCH has already been said and written about the life, public service career, passing, and burial of Nigeria’s former president, Muhammadu Buhari, GCFR. So rather than revisit the familiar aspects of his legacy, I have chosen to reflect on some of the less-discussed, subtle events and characteristics that shaped him in life and continue to define his memory in death.
During his presidential campaign between 2013 and 2015, Nigerians were bombarded with stories highlighting both the flaws and virtues of candidate Buhari. His critics within the then-ruling People’s Democratic Party (PDP) brought to light many of his past missteps and controversial traits, while his backers in the All Progressives Congress (APC) painted him as a principled, incorruptible patriot. This tug-of-war of narratives culminated in his victory over then-incumbent President Goodluck Jonathan in 2015, followed by his reelection in 2019.
Given how extensively his leadership style, governance record, and worldview have been dissected, this reflection intentionally avoids rehashing those well-trodden subjects.
As Buhari was laid to rest in his hometown of Daura, Katsina State on Tuesday, July 15, following his death on Sunday, July 13 in a London hospital at the age of 82, a Shakespearean line came to mind:
“…the good is oft interred with their bones…”
This line, from Julius Caesar and spoken by Mark Antony, captures a recurring truth — that people often remember the wrongs committed by the deceased far more than their good deeds. And in the case of President Buhari, this sentiment has come alive in the wake of his passing, particularly among Nigeria’s youth, whose reactions on both traditional and social media have been overwhelmingly critical.
Their resentment is rooted in what they saw as an antagonistic relationship with Buhari’s government. Instead of mourning with praise, many young Nigerians have reacted with a torrent of negative comments — some bordering on celebration of his death.
This bitterness stems partly from Buhari’s 2016 remarks during a UK visit, in which he described Nigerian youth as lazy — a comment that left a lasting wound. More significantly, his handling of the 2020 #EndSARS protests, during which security forces under his watch brutally suppressed unarmed demonstrators, cemented the perception of his administration as repressive and unfeeling. Earlier in his leadership career, the introduction of Decree 4, used to silence the press and imprison journalists, Nduka lrabor and Tunde Thompson, both of whom were newspaper editors further alienated him from a critical segment of society — the media.
Even the political elite, a group Buhari later belonged to, did not escape his harsh measures after he truncated democracy via a military coup d’état staged in 1983 to install himself as a military dictator. During his tenure as military head of state from 1983 to 1985, after he toppled the democratically elected government of President Shehu Shagari and Vice President Alex Ekwueme, he positioned himself as a strict enforcer with little regard for democratic norms but ruling with draconian laws.
It is trite to state that as an autocratic ruler, Muhammadu Buhari’s regime was marked by repression and authoritarianism. Many politicians he overthrew in his 1983 coup were sentenced to lengthy prison terms, with some dying in custody or suffering severe health consequences such as blindness. His iron-fisted rule lasted 20 months before he was ousted in another military coup by his fellow officers.
Despite his brutality evidenced by his harsh actions, Buhari made a surprising political comeback three decades later, returning to power through democratic elections in 2015. This remarkable political resurrection underscores Nigerians’ deep capacity for forgiveness.
An example of this forgiving nature is seen in Pa Bisi Akande, former Osun State governor and one of those unjustly imprisoned during Buhari’s military regime. Decades later, Akande became interim chairman of the All Progressives Congress (APC), the very political party that facilitated Buhari’s reentry into leadership as a democratically elected president.
Yet, while many older Nigerians — including some of his former political victims — have chosen to speak respectfully of Buhari after his passing, Nigeria’s youth have shown little restraint. Their criticism has been harsh and, at times, celebratory of his death. The contrast is stark: elders have taken a more measured approach, allowing time to dull the pain of the past, while younger Nigerians remain defiant and outspoken.
Their anger is rooted in events like Buhari’s 2016 remark in the UK labeling Nigerian youths as “lazy,” and his administration’s violent crackdown on peaceful #EndSARS protesters in 2020. Buhari’s history of stifling press freedom — notably through Decree 4 — also alienated the media and many civil society actors. Unlike the elders who seem to have moved on, the youth have not forgotten — or forgiven.
This generational divide in the perception of Buhari reflects a deeper shift in societal values. Traditionally, African cultures discourage speaking ill of the dead — a norm grounded in ancestral respect, communal harmony, spiritual beliefs, and the reverence for elders. Yet today’s youth seem to be moving away from this custom, choosing instead to air their grievances openly, even after a leader’s death.
I find this cultural erosion troubling.
Hence one of the most significant takeaways from Buhari’s life, leadership, and passing is this cultural shift — a warning sign that we are losing essential values that once held our society together.
As I reflected on the mixed reactions to Buhari’s death, I was reminded again of Mark Antony’s famous line from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar (often mistakenly attributed to Macbeth):
“The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones.”
This quote speaks volumes. It highlights how society tends to remember a person’s flaws long after they’re gone, while their virtues are quickly forgotten. Buhari’s legacy seems to follow this pattern — with many quick to recall his wrongdoings while overlooking his contributions.
In African tradition, avoiding criticism of the dead serves several purposes. It honors the deceased as ancestors who are believed to continue influencing the living. It maintains social peace, reinforces cultural values, and aligns with deeply held spiritual beliefs about the afterlife.
Interestingly, this practice is not unique to Africa. In many Asian societies, including Chinese and Japanese cultures, speaking ill of the dead is frowned upon. Indigenous cultures around the world also share this view, and even some Western societies — though less rigid — maintain a similar decorum, especially during official tributes or funerals.
However, in the West, especially among Caucasian societies, this restraint is not always observed. A striking example is the reaction to the death of former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher in 2013. Her passing sparked not only political debate but also outright public celebrations by those who opposed her policies — especially among working-class communities devastated by her economic reforms.
Street parties in areas like Brixton and Glasgow made headlines, while miners and their unions — still angry over her handling of the 1984–85 miners’ strike — expressed open contempt. Even politicians like Tony Benn offered pointed critiques of Thatcher’s legacy, accusing her of deepening social inequality.
This type of reaction — reminiscent of what we’re witnessing with Buhari’s passing — shows how deeply divisive leaders leave behind polarised legacies. In Nigeria, the public response has been similarly split along generational lines: the youth, many of whom bore the brunt of Buhari’s policies, are his harshest critics, while the older generation, including political figures and former allies, have been far more reserved or even respectful in their eulogies.
Take, for instance, the subtle tributes by former President Olusegun Obasanjo (OBJ) and Labour Party presidential candidate Peter Obi. Both men, in what appeared to be carefully worded statements, said Buhari “did his best.” This ambiguous phrasing mirrors the diplomatic tone often used when paying respects to controversial figures — a nod to civility without fully endorsing the legacy.
In sum, Buhari, like Thatcher, will remain a deeply debated figure in history. And just as Thatcher’s impact continues to stir reflection in the UK, Buhari’s rule — both as a dictator and a democrat — will likely dominate Nigerian discourse for years to come. The generational divide in how he is remembered — youth versus elders — may be the clearest reflection of how his leadership was received, and perhaps, of the cultural transformation underway in Nigeria itself.
Despite the scorn and resentment many young Nigerians still hold toward President Buhari—even after his passing—the turnout at his burial in Daura was massive and intense. As is often the case with public ceremonies in Nigeria, especially high-profile funerals, the event was marked by disorganisation and chaos, much like the burial of the late President Umaru Yar’Adua in Katsina State back in 2010.
It is regrettable that, despite President Tinubu constituting a 25-member committee to plan Buhari’s state burial, the coordination was far from impressive—certainly not chaotic, but underwhelming. In contrast, events organized by professionals in the private sector typically run much more smoothly. This raises a critical question: why don’t government agencies responsible for such high-profile events enlist experienced private sector planners to achieve the polished standards we often admire in other parts of the world?
Fortunately, no casualties were reported during Buhari’s funeral. And to President Tinubu’s credit, he played a highly visible and active role in the entire process. From dispatching Vice President Kashim Shettima and Chief of Staff Femi Gbajabiamila to London to accompany Buhari’s body back home, to participating in the final interment, Tinubu demonstrated statesmanship and upheld the dignity of the presidency, both in life and in death.