- A Defence, a Critique, and a Blueprint for Reform
By Sola Adeyegbe
When a single human being holds the power to wipe away guilt, reduce punishment, or undo the finality of justice, something both magnificent and unsettling occurs. This moment, when law bows before mercy exposes the tension between the laws’s cold logic and humanity’s deep need for compassion. It is this tension that lies at the heart of the debate over the Prerogative of Mercy.
Across the world, most constitutional systems grant the head of state or government this extraordinary authority, the power to pardon, commute, or remit sentences. Though often exercised on the advice of a council or board, in practice the discretion is vast and deeply personal. This then raises a profound question: Should any one person truly have this power?
Essentially, the prerogative of mercy exposes a philosophical fault line. On one side stands the rule of law, demanding that justice be impartial, predictable, and rooted in established process. On the other side stands human compassion, which recognises that no legal system is perfect, that every system occasionally errs, grows too rigid, or fails to reflect the complexity of human lives. Mercy exists as a safety valve, a corrective for error, and a gesture of reconciliation. But when mercy appears arbitrary or politically motivated, it corrodes public confidence in justice itself.
The dilemma is therefore not merely legal; it is moral and political. Should societies continue with systems where mercy depends on the conscience or whims of a single leader, or should they evolve toward structures that institutionalise compassion while upholding transparency and accountability?
Those who defend the existing model point to its flexibility. In moments of urgency, when an innocent person suffers unjustly, or when humanitarian grounds demand swift relief, the ability to act decisively can save lives. Mercy, in this sense, adds a necessary human touch to an otherwise mechanical justice system, acknowledging repentance, ill health, or extraordinary circumstances. In deeply divided societies, well-timed acts of clemency can even aid national healing and reconciliation.
Yet there is a darker side. Concentrating such power in one person invites abuse. It risks favoritism, political manipulation, and the perception that justice is negotiable. When mercy is granted without transparency, it begins to look less like compassion and more like patronage. Moreover, victims and communities often have no voice in decisions that affect their sense of justice and closure. In a democracy, a single individual erasing judicial outcomes without explanation feels not merciful but monarchical.
The answer lies not in abolishing mercy but in reforming it. Mercy should not be personal; it should be institutional. What is needed is a transparent and participatory system of collective clemency guided by clear principles. Every nation can benefit from establishing an Independent Clemency Commission composed of retired judges, civil society representatives, victims’ advocates, and rehabilitation experts. This body would review applications, consult victims, and publish reasoned recommendations. The head of state may retain final approval but should be required to record and publish the reasons for any departure from the Commission’s advice.
Clear criteria should guide such processes: time served, evidence of rehabilitation, humanitarian grounds, or wrongful conviction. Victims or their families should have the right to contribute their perspectives, ensuring that mercy does not silence justice. For sensitive cases, particularly those involving public trust or official misconduct, parliamentary or judicial oversight could provide an added layer of accountability. Transparency is not an enemy of mercy; it is its only safeguard.
Equally vital is the distinction between pardon and exoneration. A pardon forgives guilt; exoneration declares that guilt was undeserved from the start. In societies seeking reconciliation, symbolic acts of acknowledgment and restorative justice may serve truth more deeply than belated gestures of forgiveness.
Would these reforms erase the aura of absolute authority that surrounds clemency? Not entirely. The power to forgive will always carry moral weight. But by embedding it within a transparent, principled institution, mercy ceases to be the privilege of rulers and becomes the right of a just society to temper law with humanity, without sacrificing fairness.
So, should any one person have the power of mercy? Perhaps not, at least not as a personal or unchecked prerogative. Nevertheless, every just society must retain the capacity to soften justice with grace. The moral task before us is to make mercy accountable; to transform it from a gesture of favour into a function of justice. When mercy ceases to be arbitrary and becomes principled, the state honours both compassion and the rule of law.
