Real reason I pleaded guilty to blasphemy charges – Jailed Kano humanist

A Nigerian freethinker and humanist, Mubarak Bala, who recently regained his freedom after being jailed for blasphemy, speaks to SOLOMON ODENIYI about his experience in jail, and his future endeavours

What was the reason behind the comment you made on Facebook that led to your arrest and eventual imprisonment?

The background story is that I was taken to a psychiatric hospital in 2014 by my family because I announced to them that I had left their religion. That was five years after I actually did. I left the religion in 2008, but I made it public in 2013. My family, friends, and associates didn’t take it lightly. They couldn’t accept it. They thought I was mentally ill. They said the religion was so beautiful that no one should leave it.

There is also a practice that if you leave the religion, you should be killed. My family followed the protocol institutionalised by Sharia. Under Sharia, you don’t punish a mad person. If someone declares that they no longer believe in their religion, the sentence is death.

However, if it is found that the person was threatened into making that decision, they could be excused. In such cases, the person is given three days to reconsider their decision. During those three days, they are expected to ‘wise up’ and re-accept the religion. But I didn’t.

The next step would be to subject the individual to psychiatric evaluation. If the person is found to be sane, they could be beheaded or harmed. I believe this is what my father and family intended to do. Alternatively, they might have sought psychiatric evaluation to create a cover for me. The problem is that even if I was sane, they could forcibly medicate me to induce insanity. In essence, they were poisoning my mind. I was perfectly fine—I just decided I wanted to leave the religion.

 Were you subjected to psychiatric evaluation?

By June 2014, my father arranged with a doctor to have me committed to a mental hospital. They genuinely believed I had to be mad if I didn’t want to remain in the religion. They thought only a mad person would wish death upon themselves by choosing to leave the religion. They couldn’t understand that I simply wanted to be free.

This is why I was posting. I was speaking out against religious injustice. I know how it consumes societies. Countries and cultures are lost to a dogma that isn’t native to their land. The religion came to us a thousand years ago, maybe less, and now you can’t even exist outside of it.

My posts were perfectly okay, and they were never insults. I don’t insult adherents of the religion. I preach tolerance, speak out against the injustices certain religion brings to society, and defend my right to live, despite having stopped practising the religion I was born into.

What should one do? If you stay quiet, they think you’re afraid. If you keep talking and posting, you counter these threats. However, some people decided to select a few of my posts and make it personal.

Did you anticipate the comment would land you in prison?

I never anticipated that my comment on Facebook would land me in prison, although if you are against the religion, you should expect threats. I expected, perhaps, to be killed, but I never expected that my government would send me to jail for exercising my right to free speech. Because I left a religion, they wanted me dead.

Was there any action taken against those who made public posts threatening to kill me? None! But the government wasted resources to abduct me from where I was safer to where I was least safe. They wasted resources for five years and made arrangements for me to be killed. It was never a legal arrest. What they had hoped was that I would end up dead.

That was why they took me to Kano, knowing full well that my people would react to seeing someone like me, thereby creating a security situation that would deteriorate. I would end up dead, and they would write a report claiming there was a breach of security that led to my death.

The only aftermath would be to pay compensation to my family. A governor did exactly that in the case of Miss Bridget—she ended up dead, her husband was paid compensation, and the killers were set free. This shall be revisited someday, hopefully by a secular Nigerian system, which I will henceforth advocate.

I sincerely did not anticipate that I would end up in prison, especially not by the hands of my government. Section 10 of the Nigerian Constitution prohibits the adoption of any religion. The Kano State government and other Sharia-compliant governors have adopted a religion, and the Supreme Court has not acted against it.  You cannot hide under a religion, invite terror, and hope to enjoy the government’s largesse.

Why did you plead guilty in court?

I pleaded guilty because the Nigeria I thought would protect me was arranging to murder me. I was abducted for two years. You have no one, barred from meeting your lawyers—what would you do? I knew what they were planning. They wanted a security breach. Any date announced in the media for my trial would invite the trouble they accused me of causing.

They would, directly or indirectly, invite chaos to the court. The courtroom could be burnt or attacked, and everyone would be unsafe. What would you do? Your life is your responsibility. My life, as I knew it, was my responsibility. There was nothing to fight for in an illegal abduction.

So, the best thing was to safely move out of trouble. I pleaded guilty so that the custody they thought they had of me would dissipate, and I would belong to the FG as a convict and could sort myself out. This is exactly what I did. I advised myself to do it, even against the advice of my lawyers.

You were moved from Kano prison to Kuje Prison in Abuja. What do you think informed the decision for such a sudden transfer?

It was my strategy that got me out of Kano prison. I pleaded guilty and applied for a transfer out of the state so that I would be free of the Sharia environment, ensuring that whatever happened, I would stay alive. There is no way you can survive in a situation where you’re accused of apostasy.

What was your experience like during your time in jail?

My jail experience was challenging. It started from the police detention facility to Kano prison with over 2,000 inmates. It is the most challenging situation one could ever find himself in, being locked up with people of different mentalities who, given any opportunity, could kill someone for a religion or whatever they believe in. The experience was terrible. I am just lucky to be alive. It was sheer luck.

Nigeria according to the constitution is a secular country but we have had cases of people being killed for the same blasphemy you were jailed for in recent times. What do you make of it?

Nigeria doesn’t respect its citizens. Nigeria is a concoction of imagination. Half of the country wants to dominate and subdue the other half. We don’t have a country—the country doesn’t protect anyone. We are supposed to be protected, but we are not. The country is a contraption that should never allow this kind of injustice to happen, especially since, after the killings, you won’t see any justice being served.

Have you seen anyone arrested for threatening to kill me? Or for killing Miss Deborah? Or for kidnapping the Chibok girls, among others? You will always see that it is the victims who are selected for punishment and further humiliation.

This is why I will call for a referendum so we can determine whether the country is worth fighting for and living in. We can’t remain like this. Before this decade is out, I want to see a referendum with a new constitution.

How do you view the concept of freedom of speech in Nigeria, especially in a society with strong religious sentiments?

Half of the population in Nigeria does not understand what freedom truly means. This is why the police often act based on their emotional projection rather than a sense of duty. This is why they are unable to see beyond their dogmatic beliefs. It seems that many Nigerians neither understand nor respect the laws of the land. The constitution holds little significance to them, and, sadly, life itself appears to hold even less value. What matters most to them is adhering to the dogma they have been blackmailed into living under. To the point that people in leadership positions are upholding this endangering dogma.

Look at the situation in our country: even speaking the truth has become a dangerous act. For example, the former Vice President, Atiku Abubakar, once condemned the killing of a young woman in Sokoto. However, due to backlash, he withdrew his statement and denied any involvement. It is disheartening that this happened, but this is the reality of the country we live in. Everyone should have the freedom to live and express themselves without fear or repercussions, and the government must protect these rights.

Take, for instance, the agitation for Biafra. It is their legitimate right to demand representation and protection. If a country does not protect everyone equally but prioritises the feelings and sentiments of only one section of society, it ceases to represent all its citizens. In such a case, it is better to find your way. Their methods may be wrong, but their feelings are legitimate.

Do you regret making the Facebook post that started this ordeal?

Never. I don’t regret living as an atheist, a secularist and a humanist. I’ll live here, and die here.I’ll travel abroad for medical checks and for school and return.

You see, one doesn’t regret choosing to live the life one wants to live. I knew it was dangerous but I chose to live this life. No matter the cost, I plan to live life fully. I can’t be intimidated or threatened; I will live fully and free. If I die, I die. This is a resolve I have taken myself, so there is no regret.

What is next for you after regaining freedom?

I’ll travel abroad and recuperate. I’ll go for medical checks and school. But it’s only a brief sojourn. It could be three or five years. At most, a decade. But I’ll not seek asylum neither will I lose my Nigerian citizenship unless if there’s no country to come back to.

What do you hope others will learn from your experience?

That your life is your responsibility, and that even though you’re going through a lot in life, there will always be good people advocating your freedom and your well being. We’re all in this ride of life together, and we have only one lifetime. We must live it in freedom and in kindness to others, as well as to the animals with which we share the environment and the planet.

Can you describe the current method of food rationing in Kuje and Kano prisons?

Kuje Prison is better because there is access to food, visits, and a hospital. Being in the nation’s capital, you would expect all this.

I think inmates in Nigerian prisons are at the bottom of the Nigerian food chain. When I was there from June 25th 2020, at Goron Dutse Prison, what I saw being served as food ain’t food;it was just a concoction and mosaic of stones and grains and grass, in hot water, not even my dogs would find that edible.

And so, within a few weeks, I lost over 10kg and a further 10kg over the next few months. Then I became ill. I grew hypertensive and I later realised, in retrospect, that I developed cardiomegaly amongst many other ailments. A plaque built up in my heart and I rapidly deteriorated.

This is a VIP inmate, sort of, living in the best quarters of the prison, then imagine what other inmates, especially those awaiting trial, who are innocent or presumed innocent. (A few)people I met there died, the young, the old, the middle aged, and the vulnerable. I even saw inmates as young as those born in 2006.

I, along with the chief imam, chief pastor, and the authorities, led a reorganisation of the underaged, and we got them to a safer, secluded cell, thanks to the prison authorities, and so, they were safer from abuse and sexual molestation.

As a humanist, how were you able to relate with other inmates?

Funny enough, the police forced me to reconvert to my former religion because my name is Mubarak. They dumped me in custody and said it was either they convert me, or I die. I saw two thousand Muslims. For survival, when they offered the religion again, I accepted. They made me pray and fast with others. I knew I was not a Muslim, but I was forced to do it for several months until I found a way to reach a lawyer from the National Human Rights Commission. I told him I was being forced to be a Muslim.

The lawyer told me that the two religions recognised there were Christianity and Islam and that, since my name was Mubarak, I naturally belonged to Islam. Otherwise, it would be an offence and lead to a confrontation with the authorities if I didn’t practice either of these religions. That didn’t sit well with me because how could I stick to a religion on whose account I was in prison? I just managed to survive there and stopped praying the moment I found an opportunity.

With how I diplomatically handled myself among the inmates, I was respected and inspired many of them. In the end, I helped establish a classroom, a primary and secondary school, with just two simple wooden structures. It used to be a storeroom for cement, but we converted it into classrooms, and we got teaching materials. I got the bandits, almajiris, and all the idlers brought in for petty theft—stealing chickens or socks—to join. They had a chance. After finishing their meals, they would come and sit under the tree to read ABC.

I am also in the process of getting them a computer through a friend. All of this happened during my stay in Kano. When I got to Abuja, I discovered that people there were advanced and were earning degrees. A lot still needs to be done in the Northern part of the country. I did my best, and I’ll continue to do so. I am considering sending my brother to Kano prison to deliver something to the inmates to enable them to access education.

How do you react when others pray?

In my own house, I have prayer mats, hijabs, and other materials a Muslim needs to pray with, so that whenever we have guests who practice the religion, we offer them the best we can. Currently, I am attending a Muslim wedding. People think that I hate Muslims. My mother, sisters, and siblings are Muslims. I can’t fathom hating Muslims. Not liking the religion doesn’t translate to hating Muslims. I just don’t like how the religion is being handled.