Isaac AsaborIn many cultures across the world, there exists a long-standing social taboo: “Do not speak ill of the dead.” The phrase is recited like gospel, often in the wake of the passing of individuals whose legacies are mired in controversy, oppression, or outright evil. While this tradition is rooted in reverence, closure, or the decorum of mourning, it has in recent times been twisted into a tool of hypocrisy, a means of shielding public figures and private individuals alike from rightful scrutiny after death. And in Nigeria, where history is regularly manipulated or erased altogether, this silence becomes not just dishonest but dangerous.
This opinion might seem harsh to many, but in the interest of truth, justice, and accountability, we must confront this hypocrisy head-on. The refusal to speak honestly about the dead, especially those who wielded power, shaped history, or perpetuated suffering, is not virtue. It is cowardice masquerading as respect.
The maxim “De mortuis nil nisi bonum” (Of the dead, say nothing but good) has its origins in ancient civilizations, particularly in Roman times. It was believed that speaking ill of the dead disturbed their peace or invited bad luck. Religions, particularly Christianity and Islam, also promote forgiveness and warn against judgment, especially after someone has passed. In traditional African settings, including in Nigeria, ancestors are revered, and death marks a person’s transition to another realm. Criticizing the dead is therefore seen not just as disrespectful, but as sacrilegious.
However, the original intent of the taboo was to discourage slander, gossip, and the unnecessary vilification of ordinary individuals who are no longer around to defend themselves. It was not meant to shield powerful figures from the consequences of their actions or to rewrite history in glowing, dishonest prose.
Let us bring this hypocrisy home to Nigeria. Over the years, we have watched how the deaths of controversial leaders, former military dictators, fraudulent politicians, and morally bankrupt public officers have been greeted with eulogies that gloss over their destructive legacies. Newspapers and television stations parade sanitized tributes, calling them “visionaries,” “great statesmen,” and “heroes of democracy”, even when their records say otherwise.
This was the case when General Sani Abacha died. Suddenly, the man whose regime was stained with human rights abuses, torture, looting of billions of dollars, and political assassinations was referred to as a “patriot” in some quarters. How? Why must we be forced to play along with this rewriting of history in the name of respect for the dead? It is not only hypocritical but dangerous. The youth who did not witness the period firsthand may be misled. The victims and their families may feel further betrayed. And we as a nation lose the opportunity to confront the past, learn from it, and hold future leaders accountable.
When we silence criticism of the dead, especially those who shaped the society we live in, whether for good or for evil, we are actively contributing to collective amnesia. It is this historical erasure that enables the same patterns of corruption, oppression, and brutality to repeat themselves. By not telling the truth, we give future tyrants permission to act without fear of legacy.
Some might argue that death is a sacred passage and that criticism should be reserved for the living. That is a fair sentiment when applied to ordinary citizens who made no significant public impact. But when someone holds power, be it as a president, governor, military leader, judge, business tycoon, or spiritual figure, they become part of the nation’s moral and historical fabric. Their actions, good or evil, outlive them. To not examine and speak of those actions truthfully, even after their death, is to betray the truth itself.
What becomes of our national consciousness when those who inflicted pain and mismanaged public trust are painted as heroes simply because they have died? Are we to celebrate the looter because he donated to the church before dying? Or the dictator because he built roads with the blood of the people? Or the fake prophet because his crusades drew crowds? This moral confusion is a direct result of refusing to call things by their true names.
Death should not exonerate a person from accountability. If anything, death provides the necessary distance and perspective to evaluate someone’s legacy honestly, without fear of retribution. Many truths are only spoken after someone dies, because they suppressed opposition while alive. Should we now suppress ourselves again, even when they are gone?
This is not to say we should speak ill of the dead for sport or malicious satisfaction. No one is advocating for witch-hunts or public lynching of a person’s memory without evidence or balance. But there is a difference between respectful honesty and dishonest praise.
Respect for the dead does not mean dishonesty about their deeds. It is entirely possible to say, “This man served his country, but he also silenced the press, embezzled public funds, and trampled civil liberties.” That is not hatred. That is history. And that is truth.
It is also not about holding on to grudges or refusing to forgive. Forgiveness is a personal moral choice. But forgiveness is not the same as forgetting, or pretending harm did not occur. Victims of abuse, genocide, political imprisonment, police brutality, and economic hardship caused by deliberate policies deserve the right to tell their truth, regardless of whether the perpetrator is dead or alive.
The media in Nigeria must also take some blame in perpetuating this culture of hypocrisy. Many outlets are quick to roll out tributes, sometimes pre-written, celebrating former leaders upon death, conveniently omitting their failings. Public office holders who condemned the deceased while alive quickly rush to eulogize them with flowery adjectives, all for political optics. Religious leaders who once rebuked such persons suddenly speak of them as “good men of God” after they pass.
This duplicity creates a schizophrenic society, where no one is truly sure of what is true, and what is politically convenient to say. We cannot build a future on such dishonesty.
We must, as a society, start practicing honest remembrance. That means telling the full story, warts and all. Our history books must reflect the truth, not glorified propaganda. Our public discourse must allow for both praise and criticism of the dead, depending on what they deserve. Victims of injustice should not be guilt-tripped into silence just because their oppressor has died.
If we continue in this culture of hypocritical silence, the message we send to future generations is clear: “Do whatever you like while in power. When you die, we will all pretend you were a saint.” That is a suicidal path for any society.
It is not wrong to speak ill of the dead, if the truth demands it. What is wrong, what is immoral, what is hypocritical, is to lie about the dead, to polish their images, and to call evil good just because the person can no longer speak.
Truth must not die with the dead. If we want justice, if we want accountability, and if we want to grow as a people, we must learn to speak the truth, in life and in death.
Let the dead rest in peace, but let the truth rest in none.
