Muhammadu Buhari vs Yelu Abaoji

Yelu Abaoji vs Muhammadu Buhari ### The Emperor and the General On a windswept plain in what is now Inner Mongolia, sometime around the year 900, a young Khitan chieftain named Yelu Abaoji stood before a council of tribal elders. He had just been elected their khagan, but the ceremony was not a celebration of unity so much as a fragile truce. Across the centuries and half a world away, in a dusty barrack in Nigeria in December 1983, another soldier, Muhammadu Buhari, listened to the crackle of a radio as his men seized control of a government he deemed corrupt. Both men believed they could impose order on chaos. One would build an empire that lasted two centuries. The other would be overthrown within two years, only to return decades later, a ghost of his former ambition. Why did their paths diverge so sharply? The answer lies not just in their talents, but in the worlds they inherited. ### Origins Yelu Abaoji was born into a world of shifting alliances and tribal warfare. The Khitan people were nomads of the Mongolian steppe, their power fragmented among eight clans. Abaoji’s father was a chieftain, but the boy grew up knowing that survival depended on cunning, not just strength. By the time he was a young man, the Tang dynasty in China was collapsing, leaving a power vacuum that the Khitan could exploit. Abaoji learned to read Chinese, studied its bureaucratic systems, and understood that the future belonged to those who could marry steppe ferocity with settled sophistication. Muhammadu Buhari was born in 1942 in Daura, a city in northern Nigeria, into a Fulani family with a tradition of Islamic scholarship and military service. His world was one of colonial aftermath. Nigeria had been carved out by the British, a patchwork of rival ethnic groups—Hausa, Yoruba, Igbo—forced into a single state. Buhari grew up in a society where the military was often seen as the only institution capable of holding the nation together. His early career was a study in discipline: he attended military academies in Nigeria, India, and the United Kingdom, learning the mechanics of command in a nation already fractured by a civil war. The difference in their starting points is crucial: Abaoji faced a world where he could create a new order from scratch; Buhari inherited a system designed by others, and his task was to fix it. ### Rise to Power Abaoji’s rise was a masterclass in political patience. He did not seize the khaganate by force alone; he maneuvered. In 907, when the Khitan tribes elected him khagan, it was a ceremonial gesture. But Abaoji transformed the title into a tool of centralization. He systematically eliminated rival chieftains, absorbed their followers, and built a standing army loyal to him, not to the tribes. In 916, he proclaimed himself emperor, adopting the Chinese title of Tian Huang (Heavenly Emperor). He was not just a tribal leader; he was a dynastic founder. Buhari’s rise was swifter and more violent. On December 31, 1983, while Nigerians slept off New Year’s celebrations, Buhari’s soldiers seized radio stations and government buildings. The coup was bloodless, and Buhari justified it by blaming the civilian government of Shehu Shagari for economic mismanagement and corruption. Unlike Abaoji, who built legitimacy over years, Buhari relied on the gun. His authority was immediate but brittle—a fact that would haunt him. ### Leadership & Governance As emperor, Abaoji was a revolutionary. He understood that a nomadic empire could not survive on plunder alone. He established a dual administrative system: the Khitan tribes would be governed by traditional customs, while the conquered Chinese territories would be ruled by Confucian bureaucrats. In 920, he ordered the creation of a Khitan script, a writing system based on Chinese characters but adapted to the Khitan language. This was not mere vanity; it was state-building. He also built walled cities, promoted agriculture, and encouraged trade along the Silk Road. His leadership was a blend of iron fist and velvet glove—he executed rivals but also rewarded loyalty with land and titles. Buhari, by contrast, governed through discipline. His signature policy was the War Against Indiscipline (WAI), launched in 1984. It was a campaign of social engineering: public servants were forced to stand in straight lines; traffic offenders were publicly flogged; "indiscipline" became a crime. On paper, it sounded noble—a crackdown on laziness and corruption. In practice, it was authoritarian and alienating. Buhari jailed journalists, banned strikes, and ruled by decree. Where Abaoji built institutions, Buhari built prisons. His economic policies—price controls and austerity—plunged Nigeria deeper into recession. Within two years, his own Chief of Army Staff, Ibrahim Babangida, overthrew him in a palace coup, citing Buhari’s "rigidity." The contrast is stark: Abaoji’s reforms were designed to outlast him; Buhari’s were designed to control the moment. ### Triumph & Tragedy Abaoji’s greatest triumph was the conquest of the Korean kingdom of Bohai in 926. It was a campaign of stunning efficiency: he marched his army through frozen terrain, besieged the capital, and absorbed the kingdom into the Liao empire. The conquest doubled his territory and secured his northern flank. But the triumph was also his tragedy. On the return journey, Abaoji fell ill and died. His death triggered a succession crisis, but the dynasty he built survived. The Liao would rule northern China for over 200 years. Buhari’s greatest triumph came decades later, in 2015, when he was elected president of Nigeria in a democratic election. It was a stunning comeback: the former military dictator, now a civilian democrat, defeated an incumbent president, Goodluck Jonathan. This was the first time in Nigerian history that an opposition candidate had won a presidential election. Buhari’s victory was hailed as a triumph for African democracy. But his tragedy was that he could not govern as he had campaigned. His anti-corruption campaign, launched in 2015, was initially popular, but it soon became mired in accusations of selective justice—targeting political opponents while protecting allies. The economy stagnated, and Buhari’s health declined. By the end of his second term in 2023, his approval ratings had plummeted. ### Character & Destiny Abaoji was a pragmatist who thought in centuries. He adopted Chinese culture not because he loved it, but because it worked. He was ruthless when necessary—he had his own son executed for plotting rebellion—but he was also a visionary. He once said, "The empire is not a piece of cloth that can be patched; it must be woven whole." He understood that power required legitimacy, and legitimacy required institutions. Buhari was a moralist who thought in absolutes. He was known for his personal integrity—he lived modestly and was rarely accused of personal corruption—but his rigidity was his downfall. As a military ruler, he could not tolerate dissent. As a democratic president, he could not compromise. His famous quote, "I belong to everybody, and I belong to nobody," reflected his desire to be above faction, but it also revealed a detachment from political reality. He was a man of principles, but principles without flexibility are a recipe for failure in a democracy. ### Legacy Abaoji is remembered as the founder of the Liao dynasty, a man who created a hybrid state that blended Chinese and steppe traditions. His script is studied by historians; his conquests reshaped the map of East Asia. In China, he is a footnote; among the Khitan, he is a legend. Buhari’s legacy is more contested. To his supporters, he is a man who fought corruption and restored Nigeria’s dignity. To his critics, he is a failed autocrat who returned to power only to prove that he could not adapt. His War Against Indiscipline is now a historical curiosity; his anti-corruption campaign is seen as incomplete. He will be remembered as a transition figure—a bridge between military rule and democracy, but a bridge that wobbled. ### Conclusion The difference between Abaoji and Buhari is not one of intelligence or will, but of context. Abaoji built a new world because the old one had collapsed. Buhari tried to fix a broken world, but the tools he had—the coup, the decree, the moral crusade—were inadequate for the task. One was a founder; the other was a fixer. And in the end, founders are remembered longer than fixers. Yet both men remind us that leadership is not just about power; it is about the world you are given and the world you leave behind.