Pen and Ink, Cloak and Dagger Are Tools of Trade for Nigeria Journalists : Africa: Reporters and editors--facing press ban, detention, prison--use spy techniques to continue voicing opposition to harsh regime of Gen. Sani Abacha.

During a recent week here, Seye Kehinde slept in three safehouses, used codes and clandestine drops to pass along documents and wore a disguise for a secret meeting with his associates.

Despite his cloak-and-dagger lifestyle, Kehinde is no spy. He is an editor, one of scores of underground journalists in Nigeria who somehow publish independent newspapers and magazines--and risk their lives--in defiance of Gen. Sani Abacha’s military regime.

“It’s very difficult to operate as a journalist in Nigeria,” conceded Kehinde, 30, who has been detained twice by police in the past two years. “You can be picked up for any story.”

Indeed, Kehinde began editing the News, a respected weekly magazine, after the previous editor, Kunle Ajibade, was sentenced to life in prison in June. Ajibade was convicted of sedition and inciting “public disaffection” through stories questioning the government’s account of an alleged coup plot.

“It was very bad,” said Kehinde, who also edits Tempo, a weekly pro-democracy newspaper. “They even arrested the newsstand vendors.”

Nor are they alone. At least three other prominent journalists have been sentenced to life in prison after secret military trials. Others have been attacked, harassed or jailed without charges for days, weeks, months or longer.

The regime shut about 20 newspapers and magazines last year, although most were allowed to reopen last month.

In a speech announcing the removal of the ban on those publications, Abacha said the news media are “free to publish their views” and noted that Nigeria has about 60 daily newspapers and nearly as many magazines. But the government owns or effectively controls most major media, including all radio and television stations.

Eddie Iroh, a prominent former editor, is sympathetic to the regime’s attempts to silence what he calls “irresponsible journalists.”

“They go over the top,” Iroh said. “They look for splashy headlines, not truth. . . . The fragility of our national systems must be taken into account.”

But Iroh added that the truth won’t set them free. “The point is not whether a story is accurate or not,” he said. “The point is national security. In fact, you’re more likely to get in trouble if your story is accurate.”

Abacha’s human rights record, including his assault on what has long been a robust independent press, has sparked an international outcry since nine political activists, including author Ken Saro-Wiwa, were hanged Nov. 10.

Since seizing power two years ago, Abacha has shut state legislatures, banned political parties and prohibited courts from reversing military decrees. The junta has arrested scores of activists, killed several hundred people in street protests and used secret trials and mass executions.

But while the political opposition has virtually collapsed under the harsh repression, the independent press somehow has survived. Indeed, half a dozen or so critical newspapers and magazines have made up the most vibrant and visible counterweight to Abacha’s regime.

“Sometimes we ourselves wonder how we do it,” said Nosa Igiebor, the fugitive editor of Tell magazine, a respected national weekly. “But if we allow ourselves to be intimidated, there will be no voice of opposition to this junta.”

Igiebor, 42, has avoided his office since last April, when police began showing up each morning to arrest him. He escaped, but the regime sentenced another Tell editor, George Mbah, to life in prison, and has jailed a reporter without charges.

“We operate on the move now,” Igiebor said. “We are a mobile office. We change our venue for meetings regularly to prevent security agents from finding us. Sometimes I edit stories in my car.”

Although the government once seized Tell’s entire press run of 50,000, it has not tried to close the magazine. But Igiebor is prepared: Last year, he helped set up another independent magazine, Dateline, as an alternative.

“We have many registered titles,” said Ayodele Akinkuotu, editor of Dateline. “So if they shut down one magazine, we will just publish another.”

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Most pro-democracy papers depend on street sales because advertisers are reluctant to appear in anti-government media. But history, as well as readers, appear to be strongly behind them, and this helps explain why the military hasn’t closed more papers.

Nigeria has a rich tradition of a lively and liberal press and a highly literate reading public. Crusading editors played a key role in the independence struggle from Britain, and some of the country’s most respected leaders began as journalists.

In any case, it would be difficult to close all the printing presses, fax machines and other modern media outlets. As an alternative, the regime has tried to buy off some critics; one prominent journalist said he has been offered money, cars and overseas trips to temper his coverage.

“Once you shake hands with these people, you may as well hold your hands out to be tied,” he said.

A similar dilemma confronts the Guardian, long considered Nigeria’s most authoritative and comprehensive newspaper. Police padlocked the paper in August, 1994, although no official reason was given. The editors were prohibited from challenging the ban in court.

Instead, Abacha invited the publisher and seven top editors and executives to meet with him last July. Femi Kusa, the editor in chief, says Abacha accused the newspaper of fomenting civil war and of publishing false information.

“And third, he didn’t like the criticism of himself and his regime,” Kusa said.

Although Kusa insists “no undertakings were given to compromise the paper,” Abacha agreed during the meeting to end the ban on the paper. Three senior editors quickly resigned, saying the newspaper had apologized to a dictator.

“For me, this kind of compromise means professional death,” said Olatunji Dare, who quit as executive director and chairman of the editorial board.

Kusa said he has no illusions about Abacha. Police came to his house when the newspaper was first closed. “I had to jump [down] two flights and scale a fence to escape,” he said. “Then I checked into a hospital pretending to be a patient.”

Kehinde, editor of Tempo and the News, also battles to keep out of jail. At a roadblock recently, police threatened to arrest him for possession of what they called seditious materials--news photographs--unless he paid them about $200, or nearly double his monthly salary.

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“I gave them all I had, and then I had to go looking for more,” Kehinde recalled. “I wound up spending three or four hours going from friend to friend. All four policemen came with me in the car.”

These days, Kehinde plays it safe. He doesn’t use a phone. And he wears a disguise, usually a mechanic’s overalls, for rare, midnight visits to his office.

“The last time I went, my security men told me I had to leave quickly because the police were outside,” he said. “There’s no point in going there just so they can pick me up.”

Instead, Kehinde meets his staff members in restaurants, at friends’ homes or on park benches. He sends coded messages to his reporters and arranges to pick up their stories in secret locations. He has changed cars and license plates, and most nights he sleeps in different houses.

But Kehinde vows that he and his 60 or so reporters and editors will continue criticizing the regime as long as they can.

“We will continue to publish until the last person has been picked up,” he said. “We have no choice.”

Drogin was recently on assignment in Lagos.