National Honours, National Memory And The Question Nigeria Must Not Avoid

“Philanthropy does not cancel provenance, and investment does not absolve complicity. A nation still recovering stolen wealth cannot afford to decorate figures connected to its disappearance.”

By Lanre Ogundipe

In every nation, honours serve a purpose beyond ceremony. They are instruments of memory. They tell a story about what a society values, whom it celebrates, and what kind of conduct it ultimately endorses. This is why the recent decision by Bola Ahmed Tinubu to confer the Grand Commander of the Order of the Niger (GCON) on Gilbert Chagoury has stirred deep unease across sections of the Nigerian public.The concern is not driven by envy, politics, or sentiment. It is driven by history.Gilbert Chagoury is not merely a successful businessman who rose by enterprise alone. His name is inseparable from one of the most traumatic periods in Nigeria’s economic history — the era of Sani Abacha, under whose rule billions of dollars were siphoned from the public treasury. That era left scars Nigeria is still struggling to heal, as recovered funds continue to trickle back from foreign jurisdictions decades after Abacha’s death.

This context cannot be wished away.

During international investigations into Abacha-era looting, Swiss authorities prosecuted Chagoury for money laundering linked to funds traced to the Abacha network. He was convicted, fined, and compelled to return substantial sums. These were not allegations resolved by reputation management or public relations; they were judicial findings concluded in a foreign court of law. Later, in the United States, federal authorities investigated his involvement in illegal foreign political donations, leading to a significant financial settlement to resolve the matter.

These facts are part of the public record. They form the historical backdrop against which any national honour must be evaluated.

Supporters of the GCON award argue that Chagoury’s later years tell a different story. They point to his investments in Nigeria’s built environment, his role in large construction projects, luxury real estate developments, and the ambitious Eko Atlantic City project. They cite employment creation, urban expansion, and corporate philanthropy. They reference donations to health institutions, educational causes, and emergency interventions, including support during national crises.

All of this is true — but it is not sufficient.

The issue before Nigeria is not whether Gilbert Chagoury has done good things. It is whether the totality of his record — including legal culpability in financial flows connected to Nigeria’s looting — qualifies him for one of the highest moral endorsements the Nigerian state can bestow.

National honours are not rewards for economic activity alone. If they were, Nigeria’s richest citizens would simply rotate them among themselves. Honours exist to recognise service that uplifts the nation without undermining its ethical foundations.

When a GCON is conferred on an individual whose past includes a conviction for laundering funds tied to Nigeria’s stolen wealth, a dangerous signal is sent: that economic power, proximity to influence, and subsequent philanthropy can neutralise earlier involvement in acts that harmed the nation.

This is not justice. It is selective remembrance.

Nigeria is still recovering Abacha loot. Entire generations were denied opportunities because resources meant for schools, hospitals, roads, and security were diverted into private vaults abroad. Families suffered. Institutions weakened. Trust in governance collapsed. To honour figures connected to that architecture of loss — without public explanation or moral reckoning — is to reopen wounds without acknowledging them.

Equally troubling is the opacity surrounding the award. No detailed justification has been offered. No explanation of the criteria applied. No acknowledgment of past convictions or settlements. Nigerians are simply expected to accept the decision as an unquestionable exercise of presidential discretion.

But honours derive legitimacy not from power, but from public trust.

A state that seeks to fight corruption must be consistent not only in prosecution but in symbolism. It cannot condemn looting while celebrating those entangled in its global pipelines. It cannot preach accountability while rewarding proximity to unaccountable wealth.

This debate is not about denying anyone redemption. It is about insisting that redemption, if it exists, must be transparent, earned, and morally intelligible. Charity is commendable, but charity funded by wealth whose origins include public loss carries an unresolved ethical burden. Investment may stimulate growth, but growth built on unresolved history remains morally fragile.

If the Presidency believes that Gilbert Chagoury’s later contributions outweigh his earlier entanglements, then Nigerians deserve a clear, honest explanation. Silence deepens suspicion. Transparency builds legitimacy.

National honours should unite the nation around shared values. When they provoke division, it is a signal that the honour system itself is drifting away from its moral anchor.

Nigeria must decide what its honours truly represent: service or success, integrity or influence, memory or convenience.

History is watching. More importantly, Nigerians are watching.

Ogundipe, a public analyst, former President Nigeria, and the Africa Union of Journalists, writes from Abuja January 20, 2026