Dr. Leo Igwe’s Journey to Free Mubarak Bala
Author(s): Scott Douglas Jacobsen
Publication (Outlet/Website): The Good Men Project
Publication Date (yyyy/mm/dd): 2025/05/18
Dr. Leo Igwe, a Nigerian human rights advocate and humanist, recounted the international efforts to secure the release of Mubarak Bala, a prominent ex-Muslim and humanist arrested for alleged “blasphemy”. Igwe detailed the challenges in advocating for Bala’s release, including navigating Nigeria’s complex legal system, mobilizing international organizations such as Humanists International, Amnesty International, and the UN, and countering misinformation campaigns. Despite resistance from Kano police and authorities, Igwe’s legal and advocacy teams employed a strategic approach, leveraging diplomatic pressure and media coverage. Initially sentenced to 25 years, Bala’s term was reduced to five years on appeal, a significant achievement given Nigeria’s Sharia-influenced legal landscape. The case also exposed cracks and fragilities within the atheist/humanist community, with opportunists attempting to exploit the situation for personal gain, spreading misinformation, and launching smear campaigns against Igwe and his colleagues. Igwe emphasized the importance of institutional support, credible networks, and verification mechanisms in future advocacy efforts. In conclusion, Igwe expressed gratitude to global humanists, legal teams, and international partners who remained steadfast in the campaign, ensuring that Mubarak Bala was not forgotten and ultimately freed.
Scott Douglas Jacobsen: Once more, we’re here with Dr. Leo Igwe. He is calling from Ibadan, Nigeria, while I am calling from a small town about two and a half hours east of downtown Vancouver, in the far West of Canada. It is cold here, so I am sitting by the fireplace. Let’s continue—no introduction is necessary. How do you approach informing the international community about cases like Mubarak Bala and others?
Dr. Leo Igwe: We are a small organization here, even though there are many non-religious and religiously indifferent people. The case of Mubarak Bala was quite unusual because it was beyond our capacity to handle.
A few days before his arrest, I was notified that he was receiving threats from various individuals who were offended by his Facebook posts. I called him, and we discussed the situation. He told me he would try to neutralize the threats, and I suggested he report the matter to the police. However, he said doing so would worsen things because the police would side with those threatening him.
That was the last conversation we had on the matter. Two or three days later, I received a call informing me that the police had taken him into custody and that we needed to do everything we could to secure his release or at least ensure his safety. Honestly, I was completely confused and distressed.
I immediately began making desperate calls to the police in Kaduna, where he was living. I remember speaking with the police commissioner, who said it was not their case. He explained that the Kano police had issued a directive for his arrest and that they would transfer him there.
We were deeply concerned that transferring him to Kano might mean we would never see him again. I attempted to reach the station where he was being held and managed to speak with him for a few seconds before the phone was taken from him. That was the last time we talked for months.
After his transfer, we called the police in Kano, but they claimed they had no information. When we contacted the police in Kaduna, they said they had already handed him over to the Kano authorities. This was how they kept misleading us, passing responsibility from one place to another.
At that point, I realized the situation was beyond my control. I decided to inform the international community. I sent a message to Humanists International and reached out to all my contacts—atheists, freethinkers, and human rights advocates. I explained the situation and urged them to take action.
I felt that if they could disappear him and get away with it, it would be a devastating blow to our efforts to grow the humanist community. I did everything I could to ensure he would not be harmed. We were gravely concerned that he would be disappeared, as has happened to many others in similar circumstances. Often, when someone is arrested for “blasphemy”, they vanish, and nothing is ever heard of them again.
I was distraught, not only for his safety but also for the future of our movement. Without delay, I contacted my lawyer, a humanist who has worked closely with us. I told him, “We are in serious trouble. “What happened next?
It was during the lockdown, and there were severe restrictions on movement. Everyone was indoors, and people could barely move around within their communities. There was no interstate movement—you could not travel from one state to another.
So, we had to gather contacts and lawyers from different states—Kaduna, Kano, and Abuja. We worked to get these contacts to help us pressure the authorities. Luckily, within a few days, we could put together what we called a legal team.
Yes, but I knew this was not a legal issue. “blasphemy” cases are more political than legal. That was why I also contacted NGOs and other organizations. I wrote to Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch.
I contacted various embassies, particularly those of the EU, the United States, and the United Kingdom, and messaged them. However, I received an extraordinary response and support from Humanists International.
And I must tell you this—not because I am a board member, but because I have over 20 years of experience working and navigating this risky terrain.
So, what I said was that Humanists International responded immediately, publicized the events, and rallied around us. The immediate question was, “What do you need?”
We told them that we needed to have a legal team in place and use our platform to advocate and make noise because that was precisely what the people who arrested him did not want. They wanted him silenced, and anything about him silenced so they could determine his fate.
What they did not and would not have wanted was for anyone to talk about him, make noise, or raise awareness about the case. With Humanists International’s support, we could do precisely that. The case went global, and many organizations, including the UN and international NGOs, got involved. Embassies also took action—they called and checked in with us daily to track progress.
Jacobsen: So, you’re contacting the UN and Human Rights Watch and sending letters and emails to Amnesty International. You’re also using resources such as a humanist lawyer you have worked with before, someone who understands both you and the situation’s complexities.
What strategies worked? What strategies did not? To someone reading this without context, it might seem like you were shotgunning any possible support system. But there was a method to it, even though, in emergency mode, you were essentially scrambling.
Igwe: Yes. The idea of spreading the news worldwide and involving the international community worked—it helped put pressure on the authorities.
But we did not succeed in everything. First, we wanted to prevent him from being taken to Kano, and we failed. When we got the police involved and willing to act, he had already been transferred to Kano.
We also tried to ensure that the Kano police were responsive in telling us where he was being held. Still, we were met with silence and dismissal of our inquiries.
Our efforts to prevent his disappearance immediately failed because the police and the government in Kano did not respond to our requests.
They did not attend to us. They largely ignored us, and I want to emphasize that they ignored the world for a long time.
Even with all the pressure from the EU, the U.S. embassies, and other diplomatic efforts, they held him for six months before officially acknowledging that he was in their custody. So, it was not as though we rallied all these agencies, and they immediately secured his release. No, it took us over four years for him to finally be free.
Many of the pressures we applied were either met with resistance or ignored. However, we persisted, leveraging international agencies, the UN office, and the UN Special Rapporteur on Freedom of Religion, who was supportive. It was through them that we learned, months later, that he was still alive. We discovered he was being kept in a private cell in Kano.
Even the EU embassies played a role in confirming that he was alive. They signalled to us that he had not been killed but was still being detained. It took considerable time before some of our efforts started yielding results, primarily in confirming his safety. Eventually, the authorities responded to demands that he be released or brought to trial, as required by law.
Jacobsen: How did the global response influence advocacy efforts? You touched on that a bit. I’m particularly interested in cases where there was a complete deadlock—where no progress could be made. Were there instances where people were listening and trying to help, but it was too late, or they were blocked due to a lack of resources or because they had more pressing cases to handle? Also, regarding individuals, I am aware that the prominent and highly respected literary intellectual Wole Soyinka commented on this case. What role did such figures play?
Igwe: Yes.
In the beginning, we mobilized everything we could. We sent letters to organizations, individuals, and prominent Nigerian politicians. We contacted former presidents, urging them to pressure the government for his release.
Wole Soyinka and other respected figures got involved. These efforts aimed to rally prominent, outspoken, and respected individuals to pressure the authorities in Kano and the federal government to release him or ensure his safety. But it took an immense amount of time.
This did not happen automatically. It shows how strong the establishment behind his arrest was and how unwilling they were to relent or yield to international pressure.
We faced significant challenges from the start. One key difficulty was overcoming the authorities’ resistance, as they were determined to suppress any external intervention.
In addition, I did not even know Mubarak Bala well. We live in the same country, but I was studying overseas then. I returned in 2017. While I was abroad, I heard about his decision to come out as an ex-Muslim, and we met on only one or two occasions. So, I knew him as an ex-Muslim, and that was it.
Some people forget that even within the secular and humanist community, we may not always know each other well. Finding the right people to work with when he was arrested became another challenge. There is a concept in some Islamic communities called Taqiyya, which refers to religious dissimulation or concealment. Some individuals were suspected of pretending to be atheists to infiltrate secular networks and pass information to religious authorities.
There was concern that some of those engaging in Taqiyya had infiltrated Mubarak’s network, gathered information, and reported him to the authorities. This added another layer of difficulty because, at that time, we were under lockdown due to the pandemic. We had to rely solely on phone calls, emails, and Facebook messages to coordinate efforts. Still, we had no real way of verifying who was trustworthy.
Given that we were trying to save a life and ensure that Mubarak suffered no harm, we were willing to work with anyone who could help. However, knowing whom to trust was extremely difficult in a case as sensitive as “blasphemy”.
Jacobsen: What were the key steps in bringing together the legal team with the advocacy team so that the advocacy team could inform the legal team about the critical points of the case, and then the legal team could develop a case in defence of Mubarak?
Igwe: Yes. This was another critical task we faced at the time.
Assembling the legal and advocacy teams happened organically—slowly and steadily—because we had to act with extreme caution. First and foremost, we had to find lawyers we could trust. This is something that many people later criticized. Some claimed, “Oh, you hired your friends.” But in this situation, you cannot hire people that you know little about. You cannot put out a job announcement asking, Who would like to take up a “blasphemy” case? In Nigeria, “blasphemy” is a highly sensitive issue, and many lawyers refuse to touch it out of fear.
So, we had to find lawyers we could rely on. I contacted the lawyers within our humanist network—people already working with us. We connected with James Ibor, a lawyer already engaged in human rights work. We tasked him with finding other trustworthy lawyers to build a solid legal team. It was a snowball approach, where one trusted contact led to another.
The same principle applied to the advocacy team. We had to work with organizations and agencies we knew genuinely supported our cause. Otherwise, there was always the risk of sharing information with someone who would leak it to those on the other side. Trust was crucial in bringing together the legal and advocacy teams. That trust was also why, even when strange developments emerged later, we could keep the case together and remain unified in our mission to secure Mubarak’s release.
Of course, as the case gained more publicity, more people wanted to get involved. At a certain point, numerous organizations wanted to take credit for what had become a high-profile case. That created additional challenges because, as soon as the case became widely known on social media, different groups started making statements about it.
Then something else happened. Lawyers I had never met started reaching out, saying, “We have experience in cases like this. We want to take over Mubarak’s defence.” My response was, Take over which case? I did not know these lawyers—I had never met them, I did not know their credibility, and I had no idea whether people had sent some of them on the other side to derail our efforts.
I was firm in rejecting their involvement. Some of them retaliated by going online and blackmailing me, attacking my choices, and claiming that Mubarak had not been released because I had hired “incompetent” lawyers. Instead of recognizing that we were up against a deeply entrenched and fanatical jihadist system, they tried to shift the blame onto us.
These individuals were not genuinely interested in the case; they saw it as an opportunity to attach themselves to a celebrity case. They wanted to ride the wave of attention it was getting. I say this because there have been other “blasphemy” cases in Nigeria, such as Deborah Samuel and Elijah the Barber, and these same lawyers showed no interest in those cases. Yet, suddenly, they wanted to take over Mubarak’s defence from the legal counsel leading the team.
The same thing happened with the advocacy efforts. Many organizations suddenly wanted to be involved.
During that period, someone started an organization called the Religious Freedom Foundation. Another person launched a humanist organization out of nowhere. I had never met him before, but he claimed they were also interested in the campaign. Suddenly, people were getting involved in the push to release Mubarak, and I asked, “Where have you all been all this time?”
That was when things started taking a different turn. Some of these groups began spreading accusations, saying that we were raising money but using it for ourselves instead of helping Mubarak, who was in jail. This led to a smear campaign that hurt deeply. Some people even tried to discredit Humanists International (HI). One online contact went so far as to say they would take HI to court.
Jacobsen: Yes, that is so stupid. It feels like something that might even work.
Igwe: They were making random, careless statements about HI and how the case was handled. But the most frustrating part was that they were unwilling to call out the jihadist sentiments and religious extremism that were central to the case.
Instead of focusing on the real issue—the religious fundamentalism that led to Mubarak’s arrest—they started attacking those of us defending him. We suddenly became the target of accusations because we had established a strong legal defence and raised the case profile.
They acted as if the money we raised should have been handed directly to Mubarak as if we could walk into his prison cell and put cash in his pocket. However, advocacy requires lobbying, travel, and meetings with key stakeholders. That is how we built momentum.
Humanists International ran a fantastic campaign. If you look at their work today, their efforts on “blasphemy” cases are unprecedented. The way we handled Mubarak’s case set a new standard. I also used the opportunity to raise awareness and send a strong message: Do not do this again.
Despite our efforts, some still tried to undermine us.
They assumed that we did not have the resources to mount a strong legal defence or carry out effective advocacy. But we surprised them.
As soon as they realized the scale of our efforts, the blackmail began. They said, “Oh, we didn’t understand—you have the money to hire one lawyer and an entire legal team. You have the funds to escalate the case to the UN. You have the resources and the influence.” Once they recognized this, opportunists appeared from nowhere, trying to insert themselves into the case.
I told them, “Look, there are other “blasphemy” cases. There are other people in need—why don’t you take up one of those cases?” But they weren’t interested. They wanted to attach themselves to our case, which had gained international attention. Despite these pressures, Humanists International held its ground. Slowly and steadily, we managed to fend off these distractions and eventually secured Mubarak’s release.
However, I also want to highlight an important point—some of the people who led smear campaigns against Humanists International and myself were the same people who had privately approached me, pretending to offer help. One of them was a lawyer based in the UK. He contacted me and said, “Look, I’m in the UK. I can go to the office of Humanists UK and tell them whatever I want. I can make them take action to secure Mubarak’s release.”
I responded, “Who are you?” He introduced himself, and I told him, “If you want to help, work with the existing legal team.” But he refused. He kept going back and forth, never actually committing to anything productive. Instead, he went online and started spreading propaganda, fueling a smear campaign.
What frustrated me the most was seeing a few atheists/humanists in the UK buy into this propaganda. These were people who had my contact information. I was available 24 hours a day—I was accessible during those moments, even now. They could have reached out to me or contacted HI office, but instead, they chose to spread false narratives.
It became clear that their goal was not to help but to discredit me, smear my work, and undermine everything we did. That is when I lost patience.
When I realized that there were people in the UK who called themselves humanists or atheists yet bought into this propaganda, I was deeply disappointed. These were people who had my email. I was available 24 hours a day—I had been accessible throughout those critical moments, and even now, they could still reach me.
They could have contacted the HI office as well, but instead, they chose to spread misinformation. It seemed as though they were looking for an opportunity to discredit my work—to smear me, slander me, and undermine everything I was doing. That was where I felt the most disappointment. These people knew little or nothing about the situation and did not understand the complexities we were dealing with. Yet, they went online and wrote petitions against me.
That truly hurt me. I felt deeply let down. But, of course, Humanists International handled the situation professionally, and it did not stop us from continuing our work.
Let me also add that one of the individuals involved in this smear campaign was a woman who, after we had generated a great deal of international support for Mubarak’s case, suddenly claimed that she, too, had been accused of “blasphemy”. She said she needed to relocate overseas.
Now, I understand that immigration issues are sensitive in Europe. However, we must also balance those considerations with our realities. She reached out to various groups in Europe and the U.S., trying to secure help. She attempted to further her agenda by leveraging Mubarak’s and Deborah Samuel’s cases. This was a complex case for us to assess. We asked her to provide evidence of the accusation, but she could not substantiate her claim. She stated that the police were looking for her. I asked, “Which police department?” In Nigeria, officers are assigned to specific stations, which follow a structure.
Then, at one point, she sent out an alarmist message, claiming that the police had surrounded her house. Concerned, we tried to call her, but she did not pick up. Later, she sent us a budget, saying she needed financial assistance to relocate from Borno State—where Boko Haram militants were active—to the capital, Abuja.
She initially requested $2,000 and then increased her demand to $4,000. I asked, “$4,000 for what?” She claimed she needed police protection and clearance as part of the budget. That immediately struck me as suspicious.
I told her, “The police are supposedly looking for you. They want to arrest you. You say you are accused of “blasphemy”, yet now you plan to use part of this budget to secure police protection and clearance to travel from Borno to Abuja?” It was utterly contradictory and made no sense to me.
At that point, I dismissed her case. It became clear that some people were opportunists trying to take advantage of the situation. While we were struggling to secure the release of someone who had been locked up and disappeared, there were others—completely free—who were attempting to exploit the case for their gain.
She went online. When she realized I disapproved of her claim. She launched a smear campaign against Humanists International and me. Shockingly, a few ‘humanists and atheists’ joined her in attacking us.
And these were people who were either my Facebook friends, people who knew me, had met me, or could have easily reached out to me. Yet, they never contacted me. Instead, they joined the smear campaign without understanding what was happening.
We always try to manage these situations, but this experience showed me that anyone can become embroiled in such attacks. In cases like this, when dealing with such a sensitive issue, if you know someone well and belong to the community, you reach out. Some people did that. They sent me a message asking, “Hey, what is happening?”
In response, I would forward them the correspondence I had with the woman claiming she was accused of “blasphemy”. That alone would settle the issue. When some of these people confronted her directly, she changed her stance. She said, “This is a sensitive case involving classified information.”
I told her. It was not classified. You went online to attack Humanists International and to attack me personally. You approached us seeking relocation and funding, yet you could not substantiate your case. What exactly is that?
We will always face challenges in our quest to grow and carry out high-profile advocacy campaigns. That is why we must have mechanisms to handle such issues and prevent opportunists from distracting us or derailing our efforts.
Jacobsen: Yes, exactly. That is what this is.
People should understand—I have interviewed many humanists over the years, and to be honest, it may surprise some, but there are not that many scammers. A few people might loosely claim the title and try to grift. Still, they are usually not actively involved in the community.
Most of the time, they operate as standalone individuals rather than being embedded within humanist networks. Regarding actual scammers who were successful, I can only recall one case off the top of my head. That person was quickly exposed, condemned, and effectively disappeared from humanist activism, media, and discussion.
What you describe sounds like a reflection of broader societal trends creeping into the humanist movement. Opportunism is typical in general culture, but within international humanism, it is rare to find real scammers—let alone successful ones. At least, that is what I have observed when speaking with humanists worldwide.
All right, let’s move on to the next question.
What is the process of filing petitions with the police and courts in Nigeria? Does it differ between Kaduna, Kano, Abuja, or Ibadan, or is it mostly the same throughout the country?
Igwe: The process is generally the same for cases like “blasphemy”. However, in sensitive situations like this, we must always be cautious. “Where do you file the petition? Who files it?”
The safety of those filing these cases is a significant concern, so we had to carefully decide where to file petitions with the police or bring cases to court. We chose Abuja, the capital because Islamist and jihadist influence is much weaker there than in Kano. Moving the case away from Kano was a strategic decision.
Of course, some people criticized this approach. However, our reasoning was clear—if we were to challenge them, we would not do it where they held significant power and influence. Instead, we took the case to a jurisdiction where federal and international institutions could provide support. That is why, in cases like this, it is always advisable to file legal actions in places where extremist groups have less control.
Therefore, one of the cases we filed was in Abuja instead of Kano.
Jacobsen: Were there difficulties in shifting the case from Kano to Abuja?
Igwe: Yes.
Filing a case in Abuja was not difficult. However, getting Kano authorities to honour the judgment was a different challenge. A court in Abuja could issue a ruling, but enforcing that judgment required additional effort.
This is where we leveraged diplomatic pressure. We engaged with diplomats and the UN to push for the enforcement of the ruling, which stated that he should either be tried in court or released. That was a key outcome of the Abuja judgment.
Another major challenge came after his conviction—securing his transfer from Kano to Abuja Prison. That required making a strong case because, in many ways, transferring him to Abuja was like letting him go halfway.
While in Kano, the authorities had total control over him. They could treat him however they wanted in court, without external interference. However, once he was transferred to Abuja, his situation changed significantly. He gained access to a phone, WhatsApp, and communication tools that had been ultimately denied to him in Kano.
It was a long process, but we worked to bring in the National Human Rights Commission and other friendly agencies to assist us in ensuring a smooth and secure transfer from Kano Prison to Abuja Prison.
His transfer to Abuja was the first real sign that his release was possible. Once we successfully moved him out of Kano, we felt that there was a real chance of securing his freedom.
So, while the process was extremely challenging, we relied on diplomatic channels and international support to make it happen.
Jacobsen: I mean, we’ve seen different types of disappearances—both real and faux disappearances, depending on the case. In some cases, there is no disappearance at all.
For example, take the case of Gaspár Bekes. His professional and personal life has been impacted, but as far as I know, he does not require security. That represents one category of humanist persecution, where the individual faces difficulties but remains relatively safe.
Then, moving from Western Europe to an Indian case, we have Narendra Nayak, who requires security (removed at the moment). However, his situation has not involved faux disappearance—his life is at risk, but he has remained visible.
Then there are cases like Gulalai Ismail, where an individual goes into hiding for security reasons. In her case, her entire family faced persecution—her father, Mohammad Ismail, her sister Saba, and Gulalai herself. Initially, nobody knew her whereabouts. Only a few people knew what had happened; months later, she surfaced in New York. She was eventually featured in The New York Times multiple times.
This represents a “faux disappearance,” meaning that the individual is hidden for security reasons rather than being forcibly disappeared by the state. Eventually, they reappear in a safe location.
Then, there are cases of real disappearances, where individuals vanish not for safety but due to direct persecution by state or social forces—like Mubarak Bala.
Let’s look at this as a sliding scale. We start with cases like Gaspár Bekes, which have a professional and social impact but no physical danger. Then we move to cases like Narendra Nayak, which have a security risk but no disappearance. Then, we move to cases like Gulalai Ismail, which has a strategic disappearance for safety. Finally, in the end, we have Mubarak Bala, where the persecution was severe enough to result in years of imprisonment.
Now, let me get to my question.
What measures were taken to confirm whether Mubarak was alive after he disappeared? I’m curious about this. Many people were. You were directly involved and working more actively than I was. What was being done to find out his status?
Igwe: That is an interesting question.
Like I said earlier, we did everything we could. And when I say everything, I mean that every single day, I would wake up and ask:
“Have we spoken to Mr. X?”
“Have we contacted Professor Y?”
“Have we sent an email to Z?”
We called embassies, contacted diplomats, and knocked on every possible door, asking, “Hey, what do you do? Can you help us confirm whether Mubarak is still alive?”
This man had disappeared.
We even ran advertisements in national newspapers asking for information on his whereabouts. We did everything we could to determine whether he was alive or dead.
We pursued multiple approaches. First, there was the legal approach—we took the case to court and filed a demand that the government produce him, try him, or release him. There is a technical legal term for this. Still, our court case required the authorities to confirm his whereabouts and either put him on trial or set him free.
Then, there was the advocacy approach. We wrote letters to the Governor of Kano, the President of Nigeria, and all major human rights organizations. We engaged with the UN, which issued public statements and applied diplomatic pressure on the authorities.
As I mentioned before, the UN first confirmed his existence. For months, we had been receiving no signal whatsoever that he was still alive, so we intensified our efforts. The UN used its networks to verify his status, and they confirmed that he was still being held in custody.
Our international pressure worked. After a few months, the UN confirmed that he was alive.
Jacobsen: That is a huge win.
What about the uncertainty during that period? The scrambling for weeks, even months, affected how you approached the legal strategy.
His sentence was originally 25 years, but it was reduced to five years on appeal. That is extraordinarily significant—not only for his personal life but also as a legal precedent for cases like his.
Everything about this case was illegitimate and outrageous. Still, the fact that you could appeal and reduce the sentence so dramatically is remarkable. How did you adapt your legal strategy as more information became available and his safety was secured?
Igwe: Well, in cases like this, no matter what you do, people will judge you.
Because of time differences between teams and organizations, we held constant meetings, even at midnight or 1:00 AM.
One of our biggest challenges was that some people wanted us to focus on eliminating Nigeria’s “blasphemy” laws. While that was a noble goal, it was not the most strategic approach.
Instead, we asked ourselves: What is our immediate goal? The answer was clear—get him out of prison and to safety.
There were several ways to achieve that:
- A presidential pardon
- An acquittal through the courts
- A successful appeal to reduce his sentence
Ultimately, the appeal strategy worked, reducing his 25-year sentence to five years. But our immediate goal was not to abolish “blasphemy” laws altogether but to release Mubarak.
That is why we had to bring another legal team to focus on broader “blasphemy” cases. We hope that those cases can eventually be used to challenge the constitutionality of “blasphemy” provisions. However, that is a long-term battle.
This is also part of the reason why one individual accused of “blasphemy” is still in jail today—because some legal teams prioritized challenging the law itself rather than focusing on securing the individual’s release. And let me tell you, getting rid of “blasphemy” laws in Nigeria is not something that will happen today or tomorrow.
From the beginning, we tried to avoid distractions and groups with conflicting approaches that could slow us down. Of course, there were also criticisms that our lawyer was incompetent. Still, we ignored the noise and focused on our goal.
That clarity helped us manage the uncertainty and stay on track.
When the initial sentence was handed down, we carefully analyzed the loopholes in the judgment. The legal debate centred on whether the sentences should run concurrently or cumulatively—something our lawyers could explain better. But it was through these loopholes that we built our appeal.
At the same time, we increased diplomatic pressure. We engaged with the U.S. Commission on International Religious Freedom (USCIRF) to push the Nigerian government to clarify that Mubarak’s case seriously failed to protect freedom of religion or belief.
By clearly defining our objectives, applying international pressure, and refusing to be distracted by blackmail, slander, and infighting, we secured Mubarak’s reduced sentence and eventual release.
Jacobsen: How was the trial in Kano? What challenges did you face during the proceedings?
Igwe: The trial itself was highly problematic.
First, access to Mubarak was restricted. Our lawyers were routinely blocked from visiting him. When they did manage to see, they were told they needed additional permissions—sometimes from Abuja, sometimes from local officials. There was always an excuse to limit their time with him.
When Mubarak tried to communicate with them by phone, they would only allow calls lasting two minutes or less. These restrictions weakened his legal defence and prevented his lawyers from preparing an adequate case.
Then, during the trial, Mubarak pleaded guilty despite his lawyer’s advice.
His lawyer strongly advised him not to. The legal team believed they could not have convicted him if the case had been tried on merit. But Mubarak pleaded guilty, acting on his reasoning, which led to the harsh sentencing.
Afterward, some people blamed the lawyer for the guilty plea, which was unfair—it was Mubarak’s decision. The BBC even covered the trial, and the video clearly showed that he pleaded guilty against legal advice.
Once that happened, we regrouped and immediately started preparing an appeal, eventually reducing his sentence.
Jacobsen: What does this case reveal about the state of Nigeria’s legal system, especially across different jurisdictions?
Igwe: Well, Nigeria’s legal system does not operate like the legal systems in Canada, the U.S., or the UK.
In Nigeria, laws vary significantly depending on which part of the country you are in. In the north, where Muslims are the majority, the legal system is heavily influenced by religious establishments.
State laws do not hold the same weight there. They are often subordinate to Sharia law. Whenever there is a conflict between state and Sharia law, authorities defer to the Sharia-leaning interpretation.
One of the fundamental challenges we face is that there is no single rule of law for all Nigerians. Instead, we have multiple legal frameworks that allow religious and political establishments—both Islamic and Christian—to exploit legal loopholes and undermine the idea of one law for all.
In theory, Nigeria claims to uphold the rule of law. But in practice, we have a “rule of laws,” where different legal standards apply based on religion, location, and political power.
This is precisely why individuals like Mubarak Bala cannot fully exercise their rights or receive a fair trial when charged in court.
Jacobsen: Let’s say you’re a Muslim in Kano facing trial for violating Islamic law. How would that legal system treat you compared to an ex-Muslim accused of the same offence?
Would the treatment be equal, or would it be different?
Igwe: If you are a Muslim, the authorities will want to try you under Sharia law.
However, if you are an ex-Muslim, things are much worse. Nobody looks kindly on ex-Muslims in Northern Nigeria. Being an ex-Muslim makes you hated, ostracized, and, in many cases, a target for punishment or even elimination.
If given the opportunity, some extremists believe you should be killed simply for leaving Islam.
For that reason, they do not even want ex-Muslims to be tried under state law—because state law would be more lenient in its sentencing. Instead, they push for Sharia courts to handle these cases, ensuring harsher punishments for the accused.
Even for non-Muslims, the legal system is biased. People have told me in Northern Nigeria that if a Christian or non-Muslim is tried in a state court, they often receive longer sentences than Muslims for the same offence.
In other words, you suffer more punishment simply because you are not Muslim.
This makes the legal landscape in Northern Nigeria a perilous place for religious minorities, especially ex-Muslims, atheists, and secular activists.
Jacobsen: Beyond that, I want to emphasize that Mubarak’s original “crime” was cyber-based.
This adds another layer of complexity because cyber offences do not always fit neatly within traditional legal frameworks. Unlike physical crimes, cyber-based cases transcend national and geopolitical boundaries.
Mubarak’s case was not about “blasphemy”—it also reflected the growing conflict between digital free speech and religious censorship in authoritarian societies.
So, Mubarak’s “crime” was posting one sentence on Facebook (now Meta)—a harsh, critical statement making fun of Mohammed. For that, he was sentenced to 25 years in prison.
Let me reiterate how draconian that is. He was kidnapped from his home in Kaduna by plainclothes officers without a warrant, dragged to Kano, and then charged under a quasi-cyber “blasphemy” law. Eventually, through intense legal efforts, his sentence was reduced to five years—which, in that context, was considered a win.
This case demonstrates the extremity of Nigeria’s legal landscape, especially when religious forces are involved. Anyone who has travelled outside their country can recognize the vast differences in legal frameworks, and Mubarak’s case is one of the most extreme examples of religious persecution through legal mechanisms.
Now, to your point about smear campaigns, in North America, podcasts are popular. YouTube channels functioning as audio-visual podcasts often discuss narcissism, relationships, interpersonal dynamics, and professional conflicts. Many of these channels frame smear campaigns as something resulting from narcissistic injury—when a narcissist feels slighted and retaliates with false accusations and character attacks.
Most of these discussions, however, are not from experts—people with strong opinions speaking confidently on social media. When they discuss smear campaigns, they usually mean personal vendettas fueled by emotional grievances.
But in your case, I think you are using a “smear campaign” in a more specific and political way—as a tool for social and political undermining rather than personal retaliation.
How do you counter systematic misinformation and smear campaigns in your context, especially from select sources with an agenda?
Igwe: Well, there is a limit to what anyone can do today regarding social media misinformation.
People can spend endless hours on Facebook, Twitter, or other platforms spreading falsehoods and distorting reality. And the truth is, we can only do so much to counter that.
We considered two different strategic approaches:
- Could you ignore it? Some people advised that responding would only escalate the problem and make the accuser feel important.
- Engage with it. Others argued that misinformation could discredit years of work, and ignoring it would allow false narratives to spread unchecked.
Meanwhile, we kept receiving emails and messages from supporters warning us: “They are smearing you! They are spreading false information! They are undermining all the work you’ve done over the years!”
Honestly, if you ask me, smear campaigns are deeply frustrating, and they can be hurtful—mainly when they stem from ignorance.
Igwe: Sometimes, people who engage in smear campaigns are dealing with trauma. When I recognize this, I find avoiding them is best.
However, if you are in a public role—serving on a board or leading an organization—you cannot always ignore them. Smear campaigns can damage the reputation of organizations you are associated with or even create distrust among your colleagues.
I was struggling with these challenges. When I saw some of these false accusations, I knew exactly who was behind them and why they were being made. My natural response was to ignore them.
But, of course, it was not that simple. I kept receiving calls, Facebook messages, emails, and even lawyers and family members were being contacted. People were asking, “What is going on? Why are they saying these things about you? You need to respond!” The pressure to react was constant.
I responded at times, and at other times, I thought it best to ignore it. Managing these situations was extremely difficult. But I will say that we did our best—myself, Humanists International, and everyone else involved.
Our primary strategy was to let the controversy fizzle out, precisely what happened.
Of course, even now, when I attend local meetings, people still ask, “What happened? I remember hearing all sorts of things about you.” And then I find myself having to retell the entire story repeatedly—even though it adds no real value to my life.
This is the reality of being a public figure. When you are visible and outspoken, there will always be moments when people spread negative or false claims about you. That is inevitable.
Sometimes, these attacks come from surprising places—from people who were once your Facebook friends or even members of the humanist community. I have learned to expect them.
Still, we are human, and we sometimes need to respond. Occasionally, I issued statements, asking people to ignore the false accusations. I also wrote articles to clarify the situation, including one on humanism and asylum-seeking, which examined how some individuals exploit legitimate human rights issues for personal gain.
Ultimately, the best approach is to provide clarification when necessary—but otherwise, ignore it.
Jacobsen: That is a healthy response. I completely agree.
Every humanist I know has gone through this in their small town or internationally. It is simply part of being a minority in a global movement.
Igwe: Yes.
As I said earlier, the crisis, challenges, and smear campaigns helped me better understand how fragile the humanist community can be.
It also showed me how easily people can get drawn into misinformation.
We had to hold emergency meetings—one after another— to address these issues. And I thought to myself, “Wow, so two or three individuals spreading misinformation on social media can throw an entire organization into panic mode?”
This is why humanists must work through institutions rather than acting on impulse. Institutions have professionals who are trained to verify facts before taking action.
Take, for example, a humanist in the UK who reads something online. Instead of contacting the relevant institutions to verify the information, they immediately write a petition and send it to an organization.
Meanwhile, they never reached out to those institutions first. They never said, “Hey, I read this—what is going on?”
Had they done so, the institution would have investigated and provided an informed position. Instead, they went online, researched in isolation, spoke only to people from one side of the issue, and then joined a campaign to discredit someone.
And what happened?
The petition reached the institutional level, was adequately investigated, and was dismissed as baseless. This kind of behaviour damages credibility and undermines the integrity of movements.
My advice is specifically for humanists in the U.S., the UK, and the West. Some of them still hold narrow-minded views of Africans. When they hear the word “Nigerian,” some immediately associate it with 419 scams and fraud—as if that defines an entire country.
People need to understand that fraud exists everywhere.
Fraudsters exist in Canada, the U.S., Europe, Asia, and beyond. Americans know this about their own country. The reality is that the world is the way it is today because of fraud—whether covertly or overtly executed by people of all races, backgrounds, and nationalities.
Yet, when it comes to Africa, some people immediately fall back on stereotypes. They assume that an African person is automatically uneducated, unintelligent, or “low-brow.” And worse, some of these same people try to “guide” Africans, even when they are entirely ignorant and prejudiced.
I have seen this firsthand. Many of our colleagues in the West—humanists included—treat Africans with condescension. They may not say it outright, but their attitudes make it evident that they see Africans as primitive, backward, or in need of paternalistic oversight.
I have witnessed this repeatedly after more than twenty years of working within the humanist movement.
Let them understand that things are changing.
As I sit here, I see that my mother is an American citizen. My siblings live in different parts of the world. We know what is going on globally. We are not the Africans of the anthropology era of 200, 400, or 500 years ago.
Yet, many still see us as “noble savages.” They may not say it outright, but when they talk about Africans, they do so with deep contempt and disrespect. And let me be clear—this approach will not work for us in the 21st century.
We use the same Internet and have the same access to information. Yet, their prejudices show in how they handle African cases and in how they interact with African activists and intellectuals.
Let me tell you something else—if only white people had handled Mubarak’s case, none of these controversies would likely not have arisen. Despite his initial objections, even Mubarak would have likely accepted the process without issue.
The truth is that many people harbour racist attitudes, but they refuse to call it racism. At the same time, many Africans and Nigerians have internalized their sense of inferiority. They panic whenever someone from the U.S. or Europe makes a statement—even when that person is wrong. And let me be clear—many times, they are wrong.
Humanists worldwide must understand that we should abandon outdated mindsets when relating to one another and treat each other respectfully. I pointed out that if the lawyers handling this case were British or Americans, even if one was incompetent or unaware of the legal trends, no one would launch a smear campaign against them. Even if people from the U.S. or the UK were involved in such a campaign, they wouldn’t, simply because he is British—he’s a white man.
However, there is an inherent tendency to look down on people when they are not white and are handling significant responsibilities. Their competence and intelligence are immediately questioned. And look, people are questioning my ability to manage a situation I understand better than they do. Scott, there’s a limit. This situation is unfolding, and who will suffer the most? I am the one at the center of it. And I’m telling people, “This is how I want to handle it.” Yet, someone in the UK or the U.S. claims that I don’t know what I’m doing, that I hired an incompetent lawyer—what an insult! What an insult!
That’s why I said humanists should work through institutions. If there are concerns, contact Humanists International: “Could you look into this? These are the reports I’m receiving.” From there, the situation can be assessed more accurately. But instead, people turn to social media, gathering fragmented information from unreliable sources. Many are traumatized, disappointed, desperate, or pursuing their agendas. They resort to smear campaigns and slander when they don’t get what they want.
Spreading misinformation and amplifying falsehoods is irresponsible. I was disappointed by this, and we must be mindful of it. Moving forward, we will grow and not remain a marginal organization.
If we are ready to grow, we should be prepared to manage this. We should have mechanisms in place and recognize that many people will come to the UK claiming to be humanists—not because they genuinely are, but because they seek residency. They declare, “I’m a humanist,” and we grant them asylum. Then they use that status, and there’s no practical way to verify their claim. We need a mechanism to address this because one of the prevailing arguments is, “Don’t challenge these asylum seekers because of immigration politics.”
By taking that stance, we inadvertently enable fraud. We allow people to fabricate claims of persecution and exploit resources. And if a white British person vouches for someone, even when evidence suggests otherwise, that claim is rarely questioned. The position taken by a British person in a case like this is often considered unquestionable, even when they know little or nothing about the legal situation on the ground.
We create these crises, but moving forward, we must emphasize the importance of mutual respect and partnership. Instead of making assumptions, call me and ask, “What does this person need? What is the actual situation?” We should also implement verification mechanisms and rely on their results rather than being swayed by sentimentality or the idea that Western perspectives must always prevail simply because they originate from the West.
That approach will alienate many genuine and committed people, and if we allow it to happen, we will remain a marginal, fringe organization.
Jacobsen: How did you engage with local communities—without patronizing them—to gain their support, whether religious or non-religious, in advocating for Mubarak Bala? You worked to reduce his sentence from 25 years to five, ultimately securing his release while keeping things low-key to ensure his safety.
Igwe: One of the things I always emphasize is that today, it’s Mubarak. Tomorrow, it could be you. It could be your relatives. Yes, you could become a victim. That is the reality I try to communicate, and it resonates with people.
“blasphemy” accusations are like a sword hanging over people—it can fall on anyone at any time. We must convey this message to prevent it from happening again. The same applies to witchcraft accusations. As I speak to you now, I could easily fall victim to witchcraft hysteria and be killed. This is not hypothetical.
In my community, a person was brutally murdered by ritualists. Their body was mutilated, and parts were taken for ritual sacrifice. I always remind people that this is not some distant, abstract threat. It can happen to anyone, anytime.
In such situations, what can we do? We must rally together. As the saying goes, “For whom the bell tolls”—tomorrow, it could toll for you. I try to help people understand that we are shaping the future for ourselves.
To grow, we must commit to a non-violent, civil approach in responding to statements, social media posts, and positions taken by others. Reacting impulsively or with hostility will not serve our cause. Instead, we must remain strategic, principled, and united.
Violence is never an appropriate response to someone’s expression, whether in speech, writing, or social media posts, even if we strongly disagree with them. We use mechanisms to broaden our support base and rally people together. We want them to understand that this is not about an individual but a collective cause.
I never saw Mubarak’s case as just about him personally. I viewed it as a symbol, an opportunity—so to speak—to advocate for a fundamental principle I have championed for years: people must be free to believe or not believe as they choose. Society risks fostering fanaticism and extremism if people cannot freely choose their beliefs.
People in any society must be free to think, believe, and express themselves. That is the only way to prevent a slide into fundamentalism. I have always emphasized that coming together to save this young man’s life is not just about him—it is about securing a better future for us and the generations to come.
Jacobsen: Many movements emerge, and specific individuals become prominent. But for every well-known leader, there are countless others whose names will never be remembered—people who work tirelessly behind the scenes and are forgotten by history.
In North America, we can name figures like Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X. In Ghana’s post-colonial context, we remember Kwame Nkrumah. These extraordinary figures emerged from particular cultural and historical circumstances that shaped them and, in turn, were shaped by them.
How do you ensure that frontline activists—those who risk their lives not for fame but for justice—are given proper recognition and respect? These individuals often remain anonymous, even as they do critical work in the legal system, community organizing, or online advocacy. How do you balance the focus on well-known figures with ensuring that the many hidden contributors receive the acknowledgment and support they deserve?
Igwe: Yes, thank you for that. Coordination is key, information is key, and regular updates are essential. For example, At midnight in Nigeria, Americans are still going about their evenings, and Australians are just starting their day. The time zones alone constantly need communication and coordination across regions.
Ensuring that all contributors—lawyers, community activists, and digital advocates—are engaged and recognized requires an ongoing effort to share updates, facilitate collaboration, and reinforce the importance of their roles. It is not just about the well-known figures but the collective effort that makes change possible.
It took a toll. Managing people from different parts of the world, with significant time differences from Nigeria, was exhausting. It also required great energy because I had to update people individually. It’s not like there was a single email list where one message could reach everyone at once.
Instead, each person received updates separately; sometimes, I had to repeat the same information again and again. If I didn’t respond quickly, some people felt ignored or even acted as if I owed them something—almost as if they had “employed”me, in a sense. Managing and coordinating all of this was incredibly tough.
But in such moments, you must ask yourself: What is the goal? We were all in this together to get Mubarak out. When I kept that bigger picture in mind, I realized that the sacrifices—providing updates, clarifying misinformation, and navigating difficult conversations—were small compared.
Managing misinformation was also a critical part of this effort. At one point, we discovered that a woman seeking asylum had conspired with some members of Mubarak’s family to spread false information that he had been killed. If you check some of our blogs, you’ll see that there was a time when people were asking whether Mubarak had been murdered. The rumour circulated that his body had been deposited in a mortuary, with alleged eyewitnesses claiming they had seen it.
But what happened? We later confirmed that it was false. The person behind the rumour was one of those seeking asylum, allegedly claiming she was accused of “blasphemy”. This exemplifies how individuals with self-serving motives and ulterior interests can undermine an entire movement.
This was a constant concern. Then, to make matters worse, some diplomats called to console me—only to later realize that the information they relied on was fake. One particular woman, an alarmist, deliberately spread misinformation, creating panic and fueling fear around the situation.
When authorities hold someone, verifying information before spreading it is crucial. People should have informed me before circulating unverified claims. We did everything possible to confirm Mubarak’s safety, yet false rumours made that task even harder.
So, what am I saying? It was tough to manage accurate information and counter the spread of falsehoods. This kind of misinformation doesn’t just threaten the campaign’s credibility—it also threatens your credibility as an individual. A lot was at stake and had to be carefully managed.
Jacobsen: What advice would you give international actors to avoid the pitfalls of “buyer beware” in advocacy? Everyone jokes about the Nigerian prince who claims to be your long-lost relative with a fortune waiting in a bank in Ibadan. And “brother” is a common word in those messages—it sounds formal, yet informal.
You get emails like:
“Dear brother, I request your help dispensing my $5 million inheritance from our late uncle, King So-and-So, who has passed away. Please help.”
For some reason, every time, these emails end up in my spam folder—at least in my old email account. It’s so strange, Leo. I should reconnect with my Nigerian royal roots. Who would have thought I had a Nigerian family? I always thought I was Dutch and Norwegian heritage!
In Canada, you get many spam calls from phone companies and scammers trying to sell you things. And, of course, they always say, “Let me know if you need any refinements or follow-ups during the process.” That’s my phone, for some reason.
But on a more serious note—when people are sifting through legitimate and illegitimate cases of those in need, how do they separate real cases from fraudulent ones? Take your case with Mubarak Bala or involve people like Gulalai Ismail, Narendra Nayak, or Gaspar Bekes. Suppose you go to Humanists International’s website. In that case, they have a list of around 40 names—people who are in serious trouble for no legitimate reason, just because of the state, their community, or other forces targeting them.
So, what are your recommendations for distinguishing genuine requests for help from fraudulent ones?
Igwe: We must invest in building strong, credible networks globally—otherwise, we will not be effective. Take it or leave it. If we don’t, we will continue facing the same challenges we’ve encountered before.
During Mubarak’s case, things were incredibly fluid and fragile. We were all vulnerable. At one point, I even questioned why I was doing this work. If someone can go on the Internet, gather information about me and my work, and then write a petition based on that, what am I even here for?
Why am I part of Humanists International if some humanists/atheists won’t trust me enough to ask me directly what is happening? Instead, they act first, and only later do they start calling and seeking clarification.
We need a robust, well-organized network. We must invest in it, or else we will be misled, misinformed, and prone to serious mistakes.
At one point, honestly, I broke down. Crooks and opportunists can manipulate us, making us believe we are dealing with something urgent and legitimate when, in reality, it is deception. We must establish proper mechanisms to verify cases before taking action.
Distractions can deter us from what matters. We must invest in strong, reliable networks to avoid that distraction. Otherwise, it will cost us dearly, and we won’t be able to build a viable global organization.
Forget it—we need competent people in different parts of the world. We must develop ways to engage with them, gather credible information, and be guided by reliable sources.
That does not mean that everything I say should be accepted blindly. No. But when issues arise, we need verification mechanisms in place. For instance, when we vote on member organizations, I sometimes object to certain groups being recognized as humanist organizations based on their actions. Sometimes, I win that argument; sometimes, I lose. But what do I do? Let’s wait and see how these organizations, which you believe to be humanist, actually conduct themselves.
I am emphasizing this: if we are satisfied with what we assume we know, then why do we even have a global network? Why do we have representatives from different parts of the world? The purpose of these networks is to help us avoid mistakes and prevent us from being misled by random individuals with questionable motives.
You might receive an email from a Nigerian prince or princess. But what should you do? Like any responsible organization, you contact relevant authorities—governments and embassies—and ask them to investigate. That is why embassies exist, and we have representatives in different regions.
Yet, despite having representatives in various places, some still rely on random, unverified sources for information. That does not reflect well on our decision-making process. It is frustrating and, frankly, demoralizing.
Let me add something else—much misinformation about Nigeria and Africa has been established as “common knowledge” in the West. I researched witchcraft accusations, and I found that most of the available literature was written by Western anthropologists who largely misrepresented the phenomenon.
This misrepresentation has made it difficult for the world to grasp the problem’s urgency or approach it with the necessary perspective shift. So, misinformation works both ways.
Many people have only a superficial understanding of Nigeria and Africa. For example, in 1999, at a humanist conference in India, someone asked me, “How is Mandela?” I was stunned.
I just stood there, unsure how to respond. I must have looked foolish before him, but I was shocked that he was asking me—a Nigerian—about Mandela. I never met Mandela, who was a six-hour flight from where I lived. Yet people assume that because I’m from Africa, I must have personal knowledge of him.
You encounter people like that all the time. But when a white person expresses ignorance or prejudice, it is often overlooked or downplayed. However, when it happens to me or someone from my background, it fits into a stereotype and gets highlighted.
What am I trying to say? Misinformation works both ways. However, we can address this by respecting each other and recognizing our competent representatives in different regions. We should listen to them, rely on their insights about their parts of the world, and use that information to guide our decisions—not our prejudices, not what we find on the Internet, and not even everything we read in academic research.
Many researchers come to Africa, stay in hotels, and never genuinely immerse themselves in the realities of the places they claim to study. Yet, they go on to become “authorities” in Africa. What they produce is often not authority—it is falsehood and misrepresentation.
So what am I saying? We need to move beyond outdated attitudes and prejudices. We live in an interconnected world where information is readily available. We must take advantage of that and ensure we engage with the truth rather than relying on stereotypes.
That is how we make real progress. We can relegate the Nigerian prince and princess email scams to the fringe while focusing on meaningful work that truly impacts the world.
Our philosophy is global. We are humanists, not Westernists, British, Canadian, or Americanists.
For goodness’ sake, we are humanists.
Jacobsen: We need a universal, effective mechanism to uphold and deliver a universal philosophical life stance. As people grow and learn more about the philosophy, the principles remain straightforward. The nuances come as they gain experience with different cultures and individuals at other times.
But the core principles hold firm. In all the cases I mentioned earlier, while the circumstances vary, the underlying struggles are the same. The same fundamental problems exist across societies—some countries have largely solved them because they’ve had more time, resources, or better governance. Others are still grappling with a full spectrum of these challenges.
Regardless, the concerns remain universal. As you said, we are humanists. These are shared human struggles.
That’s why conversations like this are essential. They present these issues in an accessible, conversational format that is easy to engage in.
Even though this interview focuses on Mubarak Bala, we’ve referenced numerous international cases, showing how interconnected these struggles are.
I’ve asked many questions. Do you want to add anything else?
Igwe: Yes, in conclusion, I want to thank everyone who has helped us in this case.
As I’ve said before, this situation was unprecedented. We were not prepared for it. It happened suddenly, and many people rallied to support us.
I want to thank humanists worldwide, especially those from Australia and New Zealand. I want to thank Iain and Gaylene Middleton, who were incredibly supportive and emailed daily to check on our progress and well-being.
I also want to thank humanists from the U.S. and the UK who saw through all the nonsense and smear campaigns and stood firmly behind us as we grappled with one of the most challenging and mentally exhausting campaigns I have ever undertaken.
Of course, I want to express my gratitude to our humanist members in Nigeria. Many of them saw through the misinformation, stood by me, encouraged me, called to check in, and supported our efforts in every possible way.
I also want to thank the legal team. I am proud to call James my friend. He brought together a dedicated legal team that helped us navigate this complex and challenging situation.
I want to thank all those who worked tirelessly in the background. I may not know all their names, but I know that many people played critical roles behind the scenes to ensure that we succeeded—that Mubarak was freed and is now a free man.
I am also profoundly grateful to the Humanists International board members. When this happened, I wasn’t on the board but eventually became a member. Even before that, they supported me and sent words of encouragement during the campaign’s most challenging moments. To them, I remain eternally grateful.
I will continue to find ways to give back—to support our movement and to ensure that we continue to grow both as a community and as a global force for good.
And yes, Scott, I also want to thank you for your time and providing a platform to share this message. We should continue to have spaces like this to amplify our voices, not just as a community but as a global movement.
Jacobsen: Thank you very much, and I hope you have a good rest of the day. I’m heading to bed now.
Igwe: Yes, and you too. Have a good night’s rest.
Jacobsen: I appreciate it.
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