When news broke that President Bola Ahmed Tinubu had granted a presidential pardon to Maryam Sanda, the woman convicted of killing her husband, Bilyaminu Bello, in 2017, it reignited a complex debate about the intersection of law, morality, and political discretion in Nigeria’s justice system. Sanda’s conviction for culpable homicide punishable with death was upheld to the highest level, the Supreme Court. Her pardon, therefore, raises serious legal and ethical questions about the boundaries of executive clemency and the message it sends to a nation struggling with gender-based violence and distrust in its judicial process.
1. The Law and the Power of Pardon
The 1999 Constitution of Nigeria, under Section 175(1), allows the President to grant a pardon “to any person concerned with or convicted of any offense.” This power is to be exercised after consulting the Council of State. If these formalities were observed, the pardon is technically valid. Yet, the issue is not merely about legality, but appropriateness. *The constitutional power of mercy exists to correct miscarriages of justice—not to erase the outcome of a fair and complete judicial process. In principle, executive clemency should serve justice, not dilute it. When used in a murder case where guilt was fully proven, it begins to look less like mercy and more like a political or emotional intervention.
2. The Moral Burden
Beyond law lies morality. To pardon someone who took another person’s life and whose guilt was affirmed at every level of the courts is a decision heavy with moral consequence. For the family of the late Bilyaminu Bello, this act reopens wounds that time and the justice system were beginning to heal. It sends a signal that justice can be negotiated, that even the finality of a Supreme Court judgment can be undone by a presidential signature. In a country where many citizens already believe that the powerful play by different rules, this pardon risks deepening cynicism and weakening public confidence in the justice system. It also undermines the fight against domestic violence, a scourge that continues to claim lives in silence.
3. The Emotional Argument: Mercy for the Sake of the Child
Among the quiet justifications offered for Maryam Sanda’s pardon is that she had a child with the man she killed. It is, without question, a heartbreaking reality. That little child has grown up torn between two absences: a father buried too soon, and a mother confined behind bars. It is hard not to feel compassion when one imagines that child’s future. Perhaps it was this human sentiment that weighed heavily on the mind of the President when he chose to extend mercy.
But compassion, however noble, must walk hand in hand with justice. Motherhood does not erase accountability, nor does it rewrite the facts of a crime that has been tested and affirmed at every level of the judiciary. The law cannot begin to draw lines between which mothers deserve mercy and which do not. To do so would make justice an emotional lottery.
If the intention was to show kindness to the child, there were other ways to achieve it: supervised visits, welfare arrangements, even structured rehabilitation. But to erase a Supreme Court judgment in the name of compassion risks sending a message that biology can outweigh justice.
Yes, the child deserves love, care, and stability. But the victim’s family, too, deserves closure and society deserves the assurance that life cannot be taken without consequence. When we elevate sympathy above justice, we comfort one life by quietly wounding another.
In the end, the child is the true victim in this tragedy, innocent, blameless, and caught in the middle of a nation’s moral struggle. But using the child’s pain as a reason to undo justice does not heal; it merely shifts the burden of grief from the courts to the conscience of society. True mercy uplifts without undermining justice. Anything less is sentiment dressed as compassion.
4. Implications for Society and the Rule of Law
A presidential pardon is one of the highest acts of state power. When exercised without transparent justification, it can erode the moral foundation of justice. If Nigerians begin to believe that punishment depends on connections, sympathy, or status, the law loses its deterrent power. The ripple effect is a society where crime is no longer met with predictable consequence, and where victims’ families lose faith in the courts. Justice must be firm, but fair. Mercy must be compassionate, but not careless. When these lines blur, the rule of law becomes the rule of discretion.
5. Lessons from Other Democracies
United States:
While American presidents also have the constitutional power to pardon, they rarely use it in cases involving violent crimes or murder. When such clemency is granted, it usually follows new evidence or claims of wrongful conviction. Political backlash against controversial pardons has been severe, making it an option used with great caution.
United Kingdom:
In the UK, the Royal Prerogative of Mercy exists, but it is used sparingly and almost always where there is clear evidence of a miscarriage of justice. It would be politically unthinkable to pardon a person lawfully convicted of homicide without compelling new facts.
South Africa:
Under Section 84(2)(j) of its Constitution, the President may pardon offenders, but the Constitutional Court has made it clear that such powers must be exercised rationally and transparently. In Albutt v. Centre for the Study of Violence and Reconciliation (2010), the Court held that clemency must respect procedural fairness and public interest. A pardon seen as irrational could be legally challenged.
These examples highlight one point: true democracies use mercy carefully, always balancing compassion with the need to preserve the authority of the courts.
6. Between Mercy and Injustice
The right to forgive does not mean the right to forget. Mercy that disregards justice may comfort the offender but injures the nation’s conscience. The essence of the rule of law is accountability—and once that is compromised, society begins to slide into selective justice. President Tinubu’s decision may be constitutionally protected, but it leaves behind a moral vacuum. Nigerians are not just asking whether he could grant such a pardon, but whether he should have.
7. Conclusion
A presidential pardon should represent the highest expression of justice with mercy, not mercy at the expense of justice. By freeing Maryam Sanda, the state may have acted within the law, but outside the spirit of justice. Every society must decide what it values more—closure for the guilty or comfort for the innocent. When justice is sacrificed on the altar of sentiment, we risk teaching future generations that accountability is negotiable.
Mercy must not become a tool that empties the law of meaning.
Dr Ahmed Isau
(Legal Practitioner and Law lecturer at Kwara State University.)
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