There’s something about watching a political party change its colors that makes you feel unsettled — not just a little disappointed, but confused in a way that makes you retrace what you thought you knew. That’s how I felt reading Mr. Macaroni’s reaction to President Bola Tinubu’s recent pardons. He didn’t mince words. He called the All Progressives Congress (APC) “a party filled with the most corrupt people” and framed the whole episode as another sign that the party has become what it once condemned.
Let’s step back. The headline move here was the pardon itself: Tinubu granted clemency to 175 people convicted of a range of crimes — drug trafficking, human trafficking, murder, illegal mining, and other serious offenses. You can imagine how that landed. Social media, as usual, was buzzing. People shared outrage, disbelief, sarcasm, worry. Some users argued that civil society groups should have been out protesting by now. Others were quieter, more resigned. I saw posts that ranged from fiery denunciations to weary shrugs; both reactions feel valid, for reasons I’ll get to.
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Macaroni reposted one of those public reactions and used it as a springboard. His message was blunt: the APC now practices the evil it once condemned, and it’s surrounded by sycophants — people who cheer or at least turn a blind eye. He described the party as a “marriage of doom and misfortune.” Dramatic? Sure. But emotions often are. There’s a narrative here that’s hard to ignore: when politicians soften their stance on wrongdoing, or reward it, it sends a signal. Maybe the signal is that power insulates people from consequence. Maybe it’s that promises of reform were more talk than commitment. Perhaps both.
Why this matters: trust. Political parties survive — or don’t — on the credibility they build. If a party runs on anti-corruption rhetoric and later appears to shelter or pardon the very people who embody corruption, supporters feel betrayed. Opponents feel vindicated. And neutrals? They get pulled into cynicism: if one side is as bad as the other, why care? It’s a slow drip toward apathy. I don’t mean to exaggerate, but small shifts in how leaders treat law and justice can reshape public faith over time.
Now, I’ll be honest: part of me wants to see more nuance here. Pardons aren’t always simple acts of favoritism. In some systems, executive clemency is used for rehabilitation, mercy, or correcting unfair sentences. There can be legal or political reasons that aren’t public. But — and it’s a significant but — when a wave of pardons covers people convicted for violent crimes or organized criminality, skepticism is natural. That skepticism looks less like paranoia and more like asking for accountability. I think that’s fair.
A couple of other things stand out. One, the tone from Macaroni is raw, perhaps intentionally so. Calling the APC a party of “the most corrupt people” is a broad stroke, yes, and maybe a bit hyperbolic. Yet it captures how some people feel: not just disappointed, but alarmed that the institution meant to govern is now complicit in the very behaviors it once criticized. That phrase — “surrounded by worst sycophants” — is meant to paint a picture of enablement, of people who cheerlead rather than challenge. It’s a human reaction: when you see your leaders choosing loyalty over law, you react strongly.
Two, the public reaction reflects uneven expectations. Some citizens expect firmness: crimes deserve punishment, pardons should be rare and carefully justified. Others are willing to entertain mercy, especially if they believe the justice system is flawed. Then there’s the political calculus: how much of this is about politics, about rewarding allies or shoring up support? We can’t know every motive, but the optics are clear and damaging to trust. And optics matter — sometimes they matter more than the actual legal justifications, because people’s belief in a fair system is itself a public good.
I’ll admit I’m torn. On a personal level, I’ve seen cases where clemency felt right, where continued punishment seemed cruel or unnecessary. In other instances, pardons seemed like thinly veiled favors. That mixed feeling is human — contradictory, a little messy. It doesn’t absolve leaders from explaining their choices, though. Transparency helps. Explanation eases suspicion. Silence fuels the worst interpretations.
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What would help now? A couple of modest things, really. Clear explanations for the pardons, publicly available documents showing the reasons and the legal processes involved. Independent oversight or at least an explanation from civil society watchdogs. If there were political bargains or exceptional circumstances, say so. People accept complicated answers better than they accept no answer at all. And if the administration truly believes these pardons were justified, an open conversation might turn down the temperature.
At the same time, critics like Macaroni are important. They push, provoke, and point to inconsistencies. Even when their language is stark, they help keep public attention where it belongs: on accountability. Not every critique is balanced, obviously. But the anger and alarm tell a story that can’t be ignored.
So where does that leave us? We have a headline-grabbing pardon, a public outcry, and a celebrated activist calling the governing party corrupt and insulated by sycophants. Some of his language is fiery, some of it blunt — that’s part of the point. Politics should make people feel things; otherwise, what’s the point? Still, feeling things isn’t enough. The hard work is in answers, in records, in checks and balances. People will keep talking. They’ll watch what comes next. If nothing changes, the words will settle into a narrative — the one Macaroni sketched — whether it’s fair or not.
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