By Prof Hamza

“Adeyanju’s rhetoric is not commentary; it is character assassination masquerading as critique. Peter Obi’s lawsuit is not an attempt to criminalise uncomfortable facts. It is a challenge to the malicious and unsupported conclusions that Deji Adeyanju has grafted onto those facts”

Farooq Kperogi is rightly acclaimed as a versatile academic and a titan of Nigerian media commentary. But, a closer examination of his record reveals significant flaws and ethical breaches that complicate his stature. For instance, during a period of grief, he publicly alluded to Aisha Buhari as being “divorced” from her recently deceased husband. In another instance, he diagnosed former President Muhammadu Buhari with “dementia” without medical authority.

These are not mere differences of opinion but rather demonstrative examples of a troubling propensity to cross the lines of public decency and responsible commentary in pursuit of provocation. Our discernment of his work must account for moments where his analysis appears to veer into ethically questionable territory.

It was in this context that I encountered his latest post: a curiously defensive and, I would argue, recreant polemic aimed squarely at undermining the legal merit of Peter Obi’s suit against Adeyanju.

While Professor Farooq Kperogi’s column presents itself as an “unemotional perspective,” it is, in fact, a masterclass in constructing a narrative that selectively weaponises facts to defend defamation under the guise of robust public discourse. Its central flaw is the conflation of verifiable facts with malicious insinuation, and its argument, while intellectually stylish, is fundamentally unsound both legally and ethically.

The core of Kperogi’s defense rests on two pillars: the legal doctrines of “truth” and “fair comment.” But, his application of these doctrines is dangerously expansive. It’s one thing to state that Peter Obi, as governor, invested state funds in a company linked to his former business interests, a matter of public record. It is entirely another to label that action “fraud” and its perpetrator a “fraud” and a “scum.” The first is a fact that can be contextualised; the latter is a defamatory conclusion that imputes criminal intent without proof. The law recognises truth as a defense only if the defamatory imputation itself is true. Proving an underlying fact (the investment) does not automatically prove the truth of the malicious label (fraud) slapped onto it. Adeyanju’s rhetoric is not commentary; it is character assassination masquerading as critique.

Similarly, the “fair comment” doctrine protects honest expressions of opinion based on true facts. Kperogi points to the leaked audio as grounds for Adeyanju calling Obi a “religious bigot.” But again, Adeyanju’s language transcends fair comment. A fair comment would be, “Obi’s appeal to religious solidarity was divisive and cynical.” Branding him a “bigot” is a definitive, pejorative judgment of character that the factual record does not incontrovertibly support. The doctrine is not a license to leap from a single data point to a damning and absolute personal indictment.

Kperogi’s argument commits a critical error by excising Adeyanju’s most egregious and unsupported claims into a narrow, dismissible sidebar. He admits that claims like Obi “pays all influencers online” are baseless and that calling him “always a scum” is a reckless personal insult. Yet, he bizarrely argues that Obi should only sue on these “narrow grounds,” as if a defamation suit is a surgical strike rather than a response to the entire, toxic ecosystem of falsehoods that Adeyanju has cultivated. A defendant cannot poison the well with outright lies and then claim protection for the entire contaminated body of his speech because a few droplets within it contain mineral traces of truth.

The most pernicious part of Kperogi’s thesis is the assertion that public figures like Obi are “cowards” for suing and that such lawsuits are inherently “SLAPPs” (Strategic Lawsuits Against Public Participation). This is a grave misunderstanding of power dynamics. While SLAPPs are a real tool of the powerful, the premise that a private citizen activist is inherently the “weaker target” is naive. In the court of public opinion, amplified by social media, an activist like Adeyanju can wield immense power to shape narratives and destroy reputations with near-impunity. To suggest that a public figure must silently endure a relentless campaign of defamation, which includes both verifiable facts and outright lies woven together, is to demand they relinquish their right to a legal defense entirely. The right to “counter in the marketplace of ideas” is nullified when the marketplace is being flooded with sewage. Litigation is not always intimidation; sometimes, it is the only tool left to demand accountability for outright falsehoods.

Kperogi’s column operates on a dangerous slippery slope. By arguing that because some allegations have a basis in fact, Obi therefore forfeits his right to challenge any of them, he creates a charter for defamers everywhere. All one must do is mix a teaspoon of truth into a barrel of lies to gain immunity. The health of Nigerian democracy is not served by allowing activists to be “uncouth” and “defamatory.” It is served by fostering a culture of rigorous, responsible criticism that respects the line between holding power to account and engaging in wanton character annihilation.

Peter Obi’s lawsuit is not an attempt to criminalise uncomfortable facts. It is a challenge to the malicious and unsupported conclusions that Deji Adeyanju has grafted onto those facts. A truly “unemotional perspective” would recognise that the law exists precisely to adjudicate this difference, and that no one, regardless of their stature or profession, should be expected to accept being called a “fraud” and a “scum” as simply the price of a public life.