Abacha’s Loot and the Struggle Over Who Owns Stolen Wealth

Corruption remains one of the greatest threats to law-based societies across the world. In Nigeria, its impact is painfully visible in broken roads, overcrowded classrooms, and poorly equipped hospitals. These are not mere policy failures but daily reminders of public funds diverted from the people.

At the heart of the debate is a crucial question: who truly owns the proceeds of corruption?

In his book Ownership of Proceeds of Corruption in International Law, anti-corruption and human rights lawyer Kolawole Olaniyan argues that the stolen wealth belongs to the people, not the state. His position challenges the traditional view that governments alone are the victims when corruption occurs.

Africa loses billions of dollars annually to corruption and illicit financial flows. Over time, the cumulative losses have reached staggering levels. Nigeria is believed to have lost hundreds of billions of dollars since independence due to corruption, mismanagement, and capital flight. One of the most notorious examples remains former military ruler Sani Abacha, who allegedly looted between $3 billion and $5 billion in the 1990s. Much of the money was withdrawn directly from the Central Bank of Nigeria under the guise of national security and later hidden abroad. Decades later, Abacha-linked funds are still being recovered from countries including Switzerland, the United Kingdom, and the United States.

Yet recovering stolen funds raises another pressing issue: when the money is returned, who decides how it should be used?

This question resurfaced at the 11th session of the Conference of the States Parties to the United Nations Convention against Corruption (UNCAC) held in Doha in December 2025. Asset recovery, recognised under the convention as a fundamental principle, dominated discussions among governments, international organisations, and civil society groups.

Many civil society advocates argued that asset recovery remains too state-centred. Treating governments as the sole victims ignores the fact that corruption directly harms citizens by depriving them of essential services such as healthcare, education, and livelihoods. They stressed that recovered funds should involve public participation, transparency, and oversight to ensure the money genuinely benefits the people.

Nigeria’s experience reflects this tension. Some repatriated Abacha funds have been allocated to social intervention programmes, including conditional cash transfers supervised by international partners. While this approach is considered more transparent than returning funds directly into government accounts, critics say citizens still have limited input in deciding priorities or monitoring outcomes. This often fuels public skepticism about whether justice has truly been served.

Traditionally, international anti-corruption law treats corruption as a crime against the state. Under this model, recovered funds are returned to governments on the assumption they represent the public interest. However, in countries where institutions have been weakened or captured by powerful elites, this assumption is questionable. Without safeguards, asset recovery could simply recycle corruption instead of correcting its damage.

Olaniyan proposes a shift in thinking. He argues that public resources are held in trust for citizens, and when they are stolen, it is the people who are dispossessed. Therefore, citizens should have ownership rights and a say in how recovered funds are used. This approach reframes corruption as a violation of people’s rights, not merely a breach of state rules.

Such a perspective would require asset recovery processes to prioritise transparency, accountability, and visible public benefit. Recovered funds could be channelled into clearly identified projects such as schools, hospitals, or community development programmes subject to public monitoring.

Nigeria’s situation also highlights the international dimension of grand corruption. Stolen funds often find refuge in foreign banks, shell companies, and real estate markets. This reality underscores the shared responsibility of global financial systems in enabling corruption and the need for stronger international accountability.

Oxford University Press describes Olaniyan’s work as the first comprehensive study examining people’s sovereign and ownership rights over the proceeds of corruption. The book offers legal and theoretical frameworks that could strengthen victims’ access to justice and reshape global asset recovery practices.

For Nigeria and many African nations, the ownership debate is more than academic. It touches on legitimacy, justice, and public trust. When stolen funds are returned but citizens remain excluded from decisions about their use, confidence in governance erodes further.

Recognising that the proceeds of corruption belong to the people may not eliminate corruption overnight. However, it could transform asset recovery from a diplomatic exercise between governments into a process of restorative justice for citizens.

In a country long burdened by corruption at multiple levels, the call to rethink asset recovery as a matter of justice and accountability is both timely and necessary.