By Idowu Ephraim Faleye
As the nation prepares once again to mark the anniversary of June 12, the memories of Nigeria’s long and painful march to democracy rise to the surface. The stories of courage, sacrifice, and the defiance of tyranny will echo across television stations, newspaper pages, and political podiums. Names like Chief Moshood Kashimawo Olawale (MKO) Abiola, the winner of the annulled 1993 presidential election, and his brave wife Kudirat Abiola, will be called out with deserved reverence. The country will remember General Shehu Musa Yar’Adua, who died in detention, and Pa Alfred Rewane, who was murdered in his own home. These names have become familiar symbols of the democracy we enjoy today. Their faces have been etched into our national consciousness. Their sacrifices are well known.
However, as we honor these fallen giants of our democratic history, we must ask ourselves a sobering question. What about those whose names are barely mentioned? What about the ones who also risked everything—some their careers, others their lives, and some even their future freedom—but who are hardly ever remembered? What about the unsung heroes of the June 12 struggle?
One such man is Colonel Abubakar Dangiwa Umar (Rtd.). A man of rare courage. A man who stood on the side of truth at a time when most people in uniform were either silent or complicit. He was not a politician. He was not a civilian activist. He was a serving military officer who dared to speak out against the injustice of the annulment of the June 12, 1993 presidential election. That election, won by MKO Abiola, was regarded far and wide as the freest and fairest in Nigeria’s history. It was a defining moment that could have transformed our country, but instead, it was stolen in broad daylight by the very institution that was meant to protect the people’s will.
Colonel Umar did not keep quiet. As a Military Governor of Kaduna State and a respected voice in the military, he used his position to challenge the decision of the ruling military Council. He criticized the annulment openly and called for the restoration of Abiola’s mandate. In doing so, he challenged not just General Ibrahim Babangida, who orchestrated the annulment, but also General Sani Abacha, who later took over and unleashed a reign of terror on pro-democracy forces. Colonel Umar knew what it meant to stand alone in the military. He knew the risks—dismissal, detention, or even death. But he chose to speak truth to power. And for that, he paid dearly. His military career was cut short. But his name should never be forgotten. He is one of the unsung heroes of June 12.
There is another group of Nigerians whose story is even more haunting. Their names are rarely mentioned during national commemorations. Yet, their actions were perhaps among the most daring in the history of the struggle. They were not seasoned activists. They were young men. Just four of them. Members of a group called the Association for the Advancement of Democracy in Nigeria (AADN). On October 25, 1993, just months after the annulment of the June 12 election, they hijacked a Nigerian Airways Airbus A310 in a desperate attempt to force the world to pay attention to the injustice that had been done to the Nigerian people.
The leader of the group was Benson Odugbo Eluma. The others were Richard Ogunderu, Kabir Adenuga, and Kenechukwu Nwosu. Their plan was audacious. Some would say reckless. But it was driven by patriotic frustration. They boarded a domestic Lagos–Abuja flight with over 150 passengers on board, including top government officials. Mid-flight, they took control of the plane and diverted it first to Niamey, Niger Republic, and then to Frankfurt, Germany. They renamed the aircraft “Free Nigeria” and distributed pamphlets onboard, demanding the restoration of MKO Abiola’s stolen mandate and a return to civilian rule.
They were arrested in Frankfurt, tried, and sentenced to long prison terms in Germany. In those cold prison cells, their youthful dreams were buried. Their families suffered. Their future was damaged. And when they eventually left prison, they returned to a nation that had moved on, one that barely remembered their names, let alone their sacrifice. Among them, only Richard Ogunderu has since come forward to tell his side of the story. The others faded into anonymity, with no honor, no recognition, and no rehabilitation.
The hijacking, no doubt, was condemned by many at the time. And rightly so—no democratic society can condone violence or the threat to civilian lives. But if we look deeper, we will see that their action was not born out of personal gain or criminal intent. It was a desperate cry for justice in a country that had silenced all other voices. These young men believed that if they could draw the world’s attention, perhaps the Nigerian military would be forced to do the right thing. They risked their lives, and they gave up their freedom for a cause they believed in. Whether we agree with their method or not, we cannot deny their courage. They, too, are heroes of the June 12 struggle. Unsung, but heroes all the same.
Sadly, the silence that surrounds these names is deafening. Every year, the country rolls out ceremonies to honor the memory of democracy’s martyrs. We remember Chief Anthony Enahoro, Chief Abraham Adesanya, Commodore Dan Suleiman, Chief Arthur Nwankwo, Chief Chukwuemeka Ezeife, Admiral Ndubuisi Kanu, Chief Frank Kokori, Chief Bola Ige, and Chief Adekunle Ajasin. We recall with pride the roles played by Chief Edwin Clark, Chief Ayo Adebanjo, Chief Ganiyu Dawodu, Chief Ayo Fasanmi, Chief Gani Fawehinmi, Chief Olabiyi Durojaiye, Dr. Beko Ransome-Kuti, and Chima Ubani. All of them have now passed on, their contributions woven into the fabric of our history. Their pictures often appear in newspapers. Their names are mentioned in government speeches.
But Colonel Dangiwa Umar? The AADN boys? Not a whisper. Not a mention. This is not just an oversight. It is an injustice. If we truly value the democracy we now enjoy—if we understand the weight of what was lost and what was fought for—then we must remember all who contributed. Not just the popular names. Not just those who were part of political organizations or whose profiles were high. But also those who acted alone. Those whose courage cost them everything. Those who are still alive today and walk among us quietly, without recognition or reward. Or those who, like the hijackers, returned from foreign prison cells to find that their country had forgotten them.
This is why the time has come for Nigeria, under President Bola Tinubu—a man who himself was a target of the military and a major figure in the June 12 resistance—to set the record straight. He has the moral and historical obligation to make sure that no hero of June 12 is left behind. He must remember them all. He must tell their stories. He must honor their bravery.
And more than that, he must act. Colonel Abubakar Dangiwa Umar deserves national recognition. His role in challenging the military dictatorship must be acknowledged with an award befitting his uncommon bravery. The AADN boys—Benson Eluma, Richard Ogunderu, Kabir Adenuga, and Kenechukwu Nwosu—must be rehabilitated. Their actions must be officially recognized for what they were: Patriots, though desperate, stand against military tyranny. They must be compensated, not just financially, but with dignity. Their names must be restored to the honor roll of our democratic struggle.
We cannot allow history to forget them. We cannot continue to celebrate some and ignore others. The story of June 12 is not complete without them. Their sacrifice was just as real. Their pain, just as deep. Their courage, just as inspiring. And if we let their names die in silence, we are telling future generations that only some kinds of heroism matter.
As June 12 approaches, let us reflect not just on the well-known faces that grace our history books, but also on the forgotten ones whose bravery has been buried under the weight of time. Let us speak their names. Let us tell their stories. Let us honor them—because they, too, gave us this democracy.
And to the families of these unsung heroes, to the men who still carry the scars of their sacrifice in silence, and to the ones whose dreams were cut short in the name of justice, we say: you are not forgotten. Your story matters. Your struggle was not in vain. One day, this nation will remember you—not with silence, but with honor. And on that day, your courage will shine as brightly as any other name in the golden book of Nigeria’s freedom.
Idowu Ephraim Faleye writes from Ado-Ekiti +2348132100608