By Tajudeen Kareem
In the dark corridors of Nigeria’s most secretive security agency, a
quiet revolution is unfolding. Where once the Department of State
Services, DSS, operated in shadows with little accountability, a new
leadership philosophy is emerging—one that places human dignity
alongside national security.
The transformation began with a simple but profound gesture: an
apology. When Director General Oluwatosin Ajayi ordered the release of
Abdulyakini Salisu last Saturday, along with a N10 million
compensation package, he wasn’t merely correcting a mistake. He was
signalling a fundamental shift in how Nigeria’s premier intelligence
agency views its relationship with the citizens it serves.
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Salisu’s story reads like a cautionary tale of security overreach. A
businessman who operated a stone quarry along the Zuba-Kaduna
expressway, he found himself swept into the DSS dragnet in 2022, a
victim of mistaken identity in a kidnapping investigation. For two
years, he languished in detention while his business crumbled and his
family wondered if they would ever see him again.
“We are fallible because we are humans,” Ajayi told his officers,
words that would have been unthinkable from previous DSS leadership.
“But whenever we realize our mistakes, we shall be man enough to own
up, apologize, and where possible, pay compensation.”
This philosophy has translated into unprecedented action. In the past
two months alone, the DSS has released 12 suspects and paid out
millions in compensation. The most dramatic case involved 11
individuals arrested in December, last year, at Ilesa, Osun State on
terrorism charges, originally suspected of being Boko Haram operatives
learning to manufacture explosives. All were released on Saturday with
substantial financial compensation after investigations revealed the
arrests were unfounded.
The financial commitment is staggering by Nigerian standards. Beyond
Salisu’s N10 million and the Jos businessman who received N20 million
for being mistakenly shot in 2016, the agency has given financial
compensation to the Osun detainees. These aren’t token gestures—they
represent a serious acknowledgment of harm caused and resources
redirected from operations to restitution.
Most telling is the case of Mohammed Ciroma, a 400-level Computer
Science student at Modibbo Adama University, Yola, who was among those
wrongfully detained. Not only was he released and compensated, but the
DSS has committed to funding his complete education through a full
scholarship. It’s a gesture that transforms a victim into a
beneficiary, turning institutional failure into individual
opportunity.
The reforms extend beyond financial compensation to systemic changes.
Ajayi has established a review committee to examine all cases
inherited from previous leadership, created a 48-hour response
protocol for investigating reported injustices, and ordered his public
relations department to monitor media reports about potential abuses
regardless of source.
“The DG wouldn’t mind the source of any information bordering on the
plight of persons who were unjustly detained,” disclosed a senior DSS
officer who spoke anonymously. When Sahara Reporters published
Salisu’s story, Ajayi immediately ordered an investigation rather than
dismissing it as hostile media coverage.
The operational philosophy has shifted as well. DSS operatives no
longer publicly display weapons, reflecting Ajayi’s belief that
effective security work should be covert rather than theatrical.
Officers involved in wrongful arrests now face disciplinary action—a
level of internal accountability previously absent.
This transformation aligns with President Bola Tinubu’s directive that
no citizen should suffer human rights abuse under his administration.
But Ajayi’s approach goes beyond political compliance to embrace a
fundamental reconceptualization of security work. Where previous DSS
leadership might have viewed accountability as weakness, Ajayi frames
it as professional responsibility.
The contrast with past practices is stark. Nigeria’s security agencies
have long operated with virtual impunity, treating citizens as
potential threats rather than people to protect. Human rights
organizations have documented arbitrary detention, torture, and
extrajudicial killing for decades, with little consequence for
perpetrators.
What makes Ajayi’s reforms particularly significant is their proactive
nature. Rather than responding only to court orders or public
pressure, the DSS is voluntarily identifying and correcting past
mistakes. The agency isn’t claiming innocence—it’s accepting
responsibility and making amends.
Critics might argue that compensation cannot undo years of wrongful
detention or restore destroyed livelihoods. They’re right. But in a
country where security agencies rarely acknowledge error, much less
compensate for it, these gestures represent a seismic shift in
institutional culture.
The ultimate test will be sustainability. Can these reforms survive
the test of time? Will the compensation culture persist when public
attention wanes? Most importantly, will the preventive measures—better
intelligence gathering, improved oversight, enhanced training—reduce
future mistakes?
For now, Abdulyakini Salisu is free, his bank account heavier by N10
million, with access to medical care at DSS facilities. Mohammed
Ciroma can complete his education with government funding.
These individual stories of redemption hint at something larger: the
possibility that Nigeria’s security apparatus can evolve from predator
to protector, from threat to shield. In the secretive world of
intelligence, such transparency feels revolutionary.
Whether this paradigm shift becomes permanent depends on institutional
commitment, public vigilance, and leadership continuity. But for the
first time in decades, Nigeria’s secret police are practicing
accountability rather than just preaching it.
*Kareem is a public policy analyst in Abuja.
