The Nation Newspaper

Category: Festus Eriye

  • Godfathers, godsons and Kano politics

    Godfathers, godsons and Kano politics

    With all the drama he could muster, an embittered Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso recently declared January 23, 2026, the day his erstwhile protégé, Kano State Governor, Abba Yusuf, did the unthinkable by resigning from the New Nigerian Peoples Party (NNPP) to join the All Progressives Congress (APC), ‘World Day of Betrayal!’

    Not many could have predicted that such a day would come given the close ties between the two men. Yusuf started out as the one-time Kano governor’s Personal Assistant. Kwankwaso would go on to appoint him Commissioner of the important Ministry of Works.

    Such was the bond of loyalty between them that back in 2014, Yusuf who was then an APC member gladly relinquished his senatorial ticket for his mentor to go to the National Assembly and remain politically relevant. A man who was capable of such selflessness now suddenly finds himself being profiled as treacherous.

    But the connections weren’t just official or political, they were also familial. Like many, I had in the past recycled the incorrect information about Yusuf being married to Kwankwaso’s daughter. This isn’t true. The incumbent governor has two wives and one of them is from his erstwhile godfather’s extended family – but is not his biological daughter.

    Perhaps what makes the parting so galling for some is Yusuf’s choice of new friends – many of them his former boss’ associates now turned bitter foes. He spent much of the last two years in a vicious war of words with his predecessor, Abdullahi Ganduje. In fact, one of his first acts in office as governor was the demolition of structures and monuments worth billions of naira built by the former administration.

    On Monday, the fellow he so bitterly reviled was the one raising his hands in endorsement before a cheering throng at the Kano Government House when Yusuf formally registered as APC member. Such is politics; no permanent friend or foe, only permanent interests.

    Over the last two years, close associates of the governor had been nudging him to break free from the suffocating control of his long time boss and ‘be his own man.’ He definitely reached the point where he found such calls irresistible.

    Despite the best efforts to portray the fracture in the Kwankwasiyya family as the ultimate betrayal, such splits are not unheard of in Kano politics. This is a state where power is rarely transferred without a fight. From the First Republic till date, politics here has been shaped by recurring battles between godfathers and godsons they helped to office.

    Time and again, powerful patrons have anointed successors, only to turn into their bitterest enemies once those successors acquired power, autonomy, and their own following.

    Yusuf broke with Kwankwaso but before him Ganduje also went down the same path as he tried to prise himself from the controlling grip of his former boss. Kwankwaso having handed power to Ganduje in 2015, was confident that loyalty would endure. Instead, his successor asserted independence with ruthless efficiency. What followed was an all-out political war that polarised Kano and split families, communities, and institutions.

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    By the time the dust settled, Ganduje had not only defeated his godfather politically but had also redefined the state’s power structure. Yet the irony is unmistakable: he soon began to play the godfather role, exerting influence over party structures and political appointments, only to face resistance from emerging forces and shifting alliances.

    This pattern is neither accidental nor new. It is rooted in Kano’s long tradition of mass politics, its highly mobilised electorate, and influence of its larger-than-life personalities who see power not merely as public trust but as personal property.

    The story started in the First Republic with the rivalry between Mallam Aminu Kano and his former allies. He was not a godfather in the crude, transactional sense common today, but an ideological mobiliser who built a mass movement around the talakawa. Yet even then, Kano politics showed early signs of what would later become a defining feature: intense internal schisms that sooner than later ripped apart any pretence to loyalty.

    By the Second Republic, the godfather–godson template had become clearer. Then Governor Abubakar Rimi split from Aminu Kano in 1981 due to ideological, generational, and strategy disagreements within the People’s Redemption Party (PRP). The younger, more eloquent and charismatic man, leading the radical “Santsi” faction, clashed with Kano’s “Tabo” wing over his technocratic cabinet.

    Rimi’s attempt to diminish the influence of Emir of Kano, Ado Bayero, by creating four new emirates in 1981, caused a severe rift with Kano, who felt the actions were disrespectful to tradition.

    That radical step mirrored what Ganduje did in the twilight of his governorship when he tried to cut Emir Sanusi Lamido Sanusi to size by creating four new emirates.

    Kwankwaso, himself, emerged as governor under the banner of the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP), helped by an alliance of heavyweights in the state. Once in office, he moved swiftly to dismantle the influence of those who helped him rise. What followed was a bruising intra-elite war that reshaped Kano politics for years.

    He would later become the textbook godfather he once rebelled against under his Kwankwasiyya movement. But like most godfather projects, it eventually ran into the same familiar problem: succession.

    What makes Kano different from many other states is not the existence of godfathers – they exist everywhere in Nigeria – but the consistency and intensity of godson rebellion. In this state, godsons rarely remain subordinate for long. Once they taste power and build grassroots legitimacy, they push back.

    Kano’s voters, unlike those in many other states, have repeatedly shown a willingness to punish perceived political arrogance – whether from godfathers or godsons. When Rimi’s differences with Aminu Kano became irreconcilable, he resigned as governor and defected to the then Nigerian People’s Party (NPP) to contest the 1983 election. He was handily beaten by the PRP candidate, Alhaji Sabo Barkin Zuwo.

    With the politics of the state in such a flux at the moment, it’s hard to say who the voters will back following the intriguing realignment of forces that has taken place. What is evident is that Yusuf has gutted his erstwhile NNPP home, taking with him a huge chunk of the structure from top to bottom.

    What is being created is potentially quite formidable given that he’s joining forces with a largely united APC machine that had strengthen itself over the last one year with defectors from across the political spectrum in the state.

    For his part, Kwankwaso faces a painful rebuilding process with many of his most influential and resourceful foot soldiers now in the rival camp. His options are painfully limited given that he would be going to any table of negotiations with a very weak hand.

    He cannot really turn to the African Democratic Congress (ADC) which is looking more and more by the day like the Atiku Democratic Congress. Even the much speculated link up with Peter Obi in an as-yet-to-be identified platform looks more like a fairy tale that may never become reality.

    In 2023, with his machine intact and motivated, Kwankwaso and his NNPP pulled a massive 953,179 votes at the presidential election. Then candidate Bola Tinubu and APC came second with 513,846; Atiku Abubakar and PDP managed 118,445 votes, while Obi’s Labour Party only garnered a measly 30,089 votes.

    It’s hard to see how with barely 12 months to the next general elections, the wounded former governor is able muster anywhere near one million votes in Kano either for himself or for any other ticket he may decide to support. What is clear is that the 2027 election in the state, driven by either voter anger or indifference, may well produce a lopsided outcome in favour of one side as fallout of recent developments. 

  • 2027 Presidency: Early scenarios (2)

    2027 Presidency: Early scenarios (2)

    I don’t know when the whispers started that President Bola Tinubu was contemplating dropping Kashim Shettima as his running mate for the second term. As far as relationships between Numbers One and Two go in Nigeria, theirs has been relatively drama free. So, what could prompt the president to dump a man who had kept his nose scrupulously clean?

    It was a measure of the seriousness with which some were taking the tales that a rally held by the Northeast Zone All Progressives Congress (APC) sometime last year dissolved into chaos after a motion to endorse to Tinubu for a second term was moved without a mention of Shettima. 

    An explanation that the party was primarily concerned with the top of the ticket and that the choice of running mate was the prerogative of APC’s flag bearer, left many cold.

    At some point the president must have picked up on the controversy rumbling ominously in the background within his party and in the larger polity. That perhaps explains the fulsome praise he showered on his deputy on the occasion of his birthday last September.

    Among other things, he said: “I deeply appreciate your vibrancy, loyalty, partnership, and support as my deputy. In choosing you then as a partner, I selected competence and other qualities that Nigeria could depend on.”

    “Every day, as Vice President, you have justified that choice by strengthening our work, bringing fresh perspectives, and upholding our commitment to Nigerians. Your dedication reassures me that I did not make a mistake in choosing you as my deputy.”

    In that one message he felicitated a close associate on his special day and also sent a clear political message to those who thought Shettima’s position was threatened. Clearly, not everyone got the message because in the last few weeks a number of reports in the mainstream media have sought to revive what was thought to be a dead horse.

    One of those suggested that some unnamed ‘forces’ in the United States were pushing for a return to religious balancing in the ruling party’s ticket that would see a Northern Christian being picked to replace Shettima as running mate. Among those touted to be in consideration are the Catholic Bishop of Sokoto Diocese, Rev. Mathew Kukah, former Speaker of the House of Representatives, Yakubu Dogara and Minister of Defence, Christopher Musa.

    That was one end of the tales by moonlight. At the other extreme were speculations that rather than return to religious balancing, the president was minded to retain the same Muslim-Muslim formula, but effect a change in personalities with one-time Defence Minister and former Kano State Governor, Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso, said to be preferred.

    This ruthless step would be justified by the fact that, supposedly, Kwankwaso brings to the table political heft that would guarantee Tinubu’s victory in the electorally pivotal Kano. The unconvinced argue that without the former governor’s support, APC didn’t do too badly in the state in 2023.

    Matters haven’t been helped by Kwankwaso’s blunt declaration that he wasn’t averse to abandoning his Nigerian National Peoples Party (NNPP) and joining any of its larger rivals, provided he was made presidential candidate or running mate. So, there was room for give and take where there was sufficient desperation.

    To the first scenario which suggests that Tinubu at this point in his political journey has a desperate need to appease advocates of faith balancing, let it be said that in our overheated political environment, speculation often acquires a life of its own. But subjected to cold logic, the idea that he would, or should jettison, Shettima collapses under its own weight.

    For one thing, the influential pressure groups like the Christian Association of Nigeria (CAN), Pentecostal Fellowship of Nigeria (PFN) and notable clerics that made religion front and centre of the 2023 haven’t been agitating for a return to the status quo. Instead, they have largely been mollified by what they’ve seen of Tinubu in government. Some of his most powerful appointees are Christians as are the heads of key arms of the military and security establishment.

    More importantly, the president made a strategic choice three years ago to pair with someone from the majority faith up North, himself being from the minority religion down South. There’s no evidence that his thinking has changed in any way to warrant shackling himself to an array of political paperweights just to please the gods of correctness.

    More importantly, Northern Christian voters do not constitute a single, transferable bloc waiting to be activated by name recognition. Their voting behaviour is fragmented – shaped by ethnicity, local dynamics, party structures, and performance, not merely by faith affinity. Nigeria’s electoral history offers little evidence that elevating a Northern Christian to the vice-presidency automatically unlocks a decisive reservoir of votes.

    Running mates are not ornamental. They are strategic calculations and products of electoral arithmetic. Tinubu’s choice of Shettima in 2023 was not accidental or sentimental. It was a carefully calibrated decision rooted in the realities of power, geography, party cohesion, and electoral survival. Those realities have not vanished. If anything, they have hardened.

    Start with the Northeast. It is often lazily dismissed as electorally marginal compared to the Northwest, but that is a misreading of Nigerian politics. In any election the Northeast can be decisive. Shettima brought not just votes in 2023, but legitimacy. He faced a herculean task given that the Peoples Democratic Party’s (PDP) candidate, Atiku Abubakar, also hailed from the same zone.

    As a former governor, senator, and political actor with deep roots across the region’s elite networks, he gave Tinubu’s ticket credibility acceptability and the electorate an attractive alternative to whatever Atiku had to sell.

    Dropping Shettima would send a profoundly unsettling signal to the Northeast: that its loyalty is expendable. In a country where political grievances are easily stored and endlessly recycled, that would be an act of recklessness. Tinubu who’s a strategic politician understands this instinctively.

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    Then there is the internal arithmetic of APC. The party is already a broad and often uneasy coalition, held together less by ideology than by power-sharing expectations. Removing a sitting vice-president without an overwhelming, existential justification would reopen old wounds and manufacture new enemies.

    The Northeast bloc within APC – governors past and present, legislators, financiers, and party organisers – would not quietly accept such a demotion. The backlash might not always be loud, but it would be effective: withdrawn enthusiasm, fractured mobilisation, and selective indifference on Election Day. No incumbent president seeking re-election courts that kind of avoidable instability.

    Let’s not forget that for all the success of the incumbent in the Northwest in 2023, in the many places he placed second to Atiku who unashamedly ran a campaign that appealed to ethnic and regional sentiments.

    Beyond electoral calculus lies Tinubu’s governing temperament. He does not reward noise but loyalty and utility. By all available evidence, Shettima has been a disciplined and dependable deputy – visible when required, restrained when silence was wiser. Those who mistake this restraint for weakness fundamentally misunderstand the president’s political DNA. From Lagos to Abuja, he has consistently preferred deputies who stabilise power rather than compete for it.

    There is also a stubborn truth Nigerian politics sometimes pretends does not matter: loyalty still counts at the very top. Tinubu is not known for casually discarding allies, especially those who stood with him through difficult moments. Shettima did not merely share a ticket; he defended unpopular choices, absorbed blows, and helped steady the campaign during one of the most polarising elections in Nigeria’s recent history. That kind of political capital is not easily replaced – and certainly not for cosmetic balance.

    Speculation will persist till voting day in 2027. But stripped of sentiment and examined through realistic lens, much of the permutations would be exposed for what they are – idle scenario building. Dropping Shettima may excite commentators and satisfy theoretical arguments, but in the real world it makes no political sense at all.

  • 2027 Presidency: Early scenarios (1)

    2027 Presidency: Early scenarios (1)

    Over the last one year Nigeria’s Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) has been waging a losing battle against early politicking for an election that was then two years away. With the polls now just over 12 months away, activities are building up to a frenzy, despite official campaigning not being scheduled to start until November.

    The umpire may not have given its thumbs up for the contest to be joined still it’s not too early to outline scenarios that may define the polls. Nigerian elections are rarely decided in the final stretch; rather they are shaped years in advance by hard bargaining, economic pressures, and slow alignment of political interests. By that token, the 2027 contest is already taking form.

    At the centre of all plausible scenarios stands President Bola Tinubu. Barring any dramatic development, he will be the All Progressives Congress (APC) candidate. Incumbents hardly ever step aside. Even a doddering President Joe Biden, who at some point didn’t know if he was coming or going, insisted on running until a calamitous debate performance forced his Democratic Party to shoo him aside.

    Tinubu, perhaps the most consummate political strategist of his generation, will most certainly be on the ticket barring the unknown. The real question is not whether he will run, but the conditions under which he will seek a second term, and the quality of opposition he confronts.

    Some have framed the 2027 presidential election as a rematch as it throws up the same personalities who faced-off in the bitter 2023 contest: Tinubu, Atiku Abubakar and Peter Obi. While the contestants may be the same, the circumstances couldn’t be any more different.

    Three years ago, the incumbent was an outsider aspirant whom power brokers in the ruling APC were less than enthusiastic about. Such was the resistance that on the eve of the primary, then party chairman, Adamu Abdullahi, attempted to sell the dummy that President Muhammadu Buhari had anointed Senate President, Ahmed Lawan, as flag bearer. It would take rear-guard action by Northern governors to frustrate the scheme.

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    Today, the unwanted stone sits as head of state with all the advantages of incumbency. Back then Atiku ran as candidate of a divided Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) five of whose governors, rallying behind Nyesom Wike, decided to work for Tinubu’s victory. In the run-up to 2027, the former Vice President has dumped his former platform, choosing to make his bed in the African Democratic Congress (ADC) whose very structures are still in the making.

    Sensing that the PDP’s ticket was being kept warm for Atiku, Obi fled early to the Labour Party (LP) where he transformed into a cult hero of sorts. Despite a modest record as governor of Anambra State from 2006 to 2014, he was suddenly transformed into this would-be saviour who had an answer to all of Nigeria’s problems.

    A frustrated urban youth demographic bought massively into the hype. The candidate was then gifted the Muslim-Muslim ticket controversy by APC. This product of Tinubu’s cold calculation that having a Southern religious minority pair up with an individual from the Northern religious minority was a recipe for electoral disaster, almost backfired.

    Obi played it for all it was worth – campaigning in churches, having photo-ops with popular clerics and encouraging Christians down South to ‘take back their country.’ It worked a treat, generating a surge from the angry youth to those who believed that the APC ticket was a vehicle for the imminent Islamisation of the country.

    Not even Tinubu’s repeated pleas that he hadn’t even been able to successfully Islamise his home – his wife is a pastor and some of children Christian – made any difference. The upshot was unprecedented electoral breakthroughs for Obi in the North-Central zone and in wide swathes of the South. In his native Southeast, ethnic and religious solidarity produced landslides across five states. 

    In the last three years, so much has changed and many things sold to the gullible as gospel truth have been exposed as crude lies manufactured by fake news merchants. Back in 2023, social media was awash with videos that presented Tinubu as infirm. But after he won and was sworn in, the sickly old man attack line vanished. Today, one of the most recycled attack lines of his critics is that he travels too much.

    Fake news is alive and well and would be deployed in the coming elections by dark forces. But they would be confronted by a populace that has been bitten once, and now scrutinise ‘breaking news’ more suspiciously.

    Over the last three years Nigerians have been led by two individuals from the same faith. The Islamisation bugbear used to deceive many voters, turning many churches into campaign arenas, has not materialised. As a factor in the coming polls, this is deader than the dodo.

    Many have pointed out that three years ago, Tinubu as an outside political force was able to defeat APC apparatchik and powerful office holders who didn’t want him as flag bearer. Today, he wields all the powers of the presidency and can embark on incumbency consolidation.

    All over the world it is acknowledged that incumbency is a powerful advantage in electoral contests. In Nigeria, incumbents often win because alternatives fail to cohere and the system rewards continuity over disruption. It is not to say that office holders don’t lose, but they are more likely to win. Three years ago, of 11 governors who sought re-election, nine returned to office.

    After the 2023 poll, APC had 21 governors. A steady stream of defectors has now seen that number reach 30 heading to the next election. Some opposition figures have tried to encourage their supporters with lame comments about the next election not being about defectors “but about Nigerians and the ruling party.”

    Others have declared dismissively that governors have only one vote.  But even those who make such comments know that incumbency isn’t about the individual’s single vote but about the influence and resources his position attracts.

    To understand politicians and their mind games, notice how those who sneered at the defection of governors, have been quick to celebrate when a handful of federal lawmakers joined their camp recently.

    The ruling party’s incumbency advantage becomes more formidable with the opposition behaving like a collection of rival camps rather than a serious governing alternative.

    Despite agreeing that the only hope they have against the APC machine is unity of purpose, that hoped-for oneness remains a fantasy. Every election cycle, they convince themselves that moral outrage, demographic weight, or social media momentum will overcome structural realities. Obi even once famously dismissed such arrangements as “structures of criminality.”

    But to pursue his ambitions he’s today part of a coalition against Tinubu, involving PDP refugees, remnants of LP, and defectors from APC and elsewhere. What was once sold as an all-conquering opposition platform that would reprise what APC did in 2015 is increasingly looking shaky as the battle for party’s ticket shapes up. What happens if OBI fails to get the ADC ticket? Would he jump ship, again? Would he take the next best thing and run as the under card? The nation is watching to see if this time common interest trumps individual ambition. Nigerian opposition leaders are often united only by their opposition to power, not by trust in one another.

    The youth vote which was a disruptive force three years ago, faces a reality check this time. This segment of our population is vast, vocal, and frustrated – but it is also fragmented, fatigued, and structurally disadvantaged. This isn’t a monolithic bloc that works with common purpose. Rather, they are just as divided as other demographics by faith, sentiment, geography and ethnicity.

    Their enthusiasm in 2023 quickly collided with the hard walls of party machinery, voter turnout dynamics, and state power. By 2027, youth voters are more likely to be selectively courted than organically mobilised. Without firm links to governors, party structures, and local power brokers, youth energy will remain morally resonant but electorally limited.

    Ultimately, 2027 may not be a contest driven by ideological choice. It may not even be an assessment of the administration’s performance in terms of success of policies or infrastructure built. It may be shaped instead by misinformation, voter fatigue, ethnicity and elite consensus on matters like zoning. It could also come down to personalities and likeability.

    The race is not yet fully formed. But its contours are already visible. And unless something fundamental changes, Nigerians may once again be asked not who can reinvent the country – but who can manage its contradictions for another four years.

  • Why 2026 is more consequential politically than 2027

    Why 2026 is more consequential politically than 2027

    Nigeria’s most popular seers and clerics have, somehow, missed out on some of the most dramatic developments we’ve seen in the polity for ages.

    Who would have predicted that Kano State Governor, Abba Yusuf, who seemed quite content with being resident in the pocket of his godfather, Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso, would do the unthinkable – ditch his New Nigerian Peoples Party (NNPP) for the ruling All Progressives Congress (APC)?

    What’s unfolding in this Northern state is a big deal. To prevail in Nigeria’s presidential politics, winners must take at least two of, if not all three of the nation’s largest vote baskets – Lagos, Kano and Rivers States.

    It is not for nothing that President Bola Tinubu has cultivated a pre and post-election strategic alliance with current Federal Capital Territory (FCT) Minister, Nyesom Wike, who has demonstrated repeatedly that he holds Rivers firmly in his grasp.

    It is for those same reasons that the president assiduously courted his long-time political associate Kwankwaso for backing ahead of the 2027 battle. As it turned out the deal fell through because the one-time Kano governor asked for too much.

    In the heat of the Yusuf defection saga, Kwankwaso stated he was open to abandoning his NNPP for any other party that was willing to offer him the presidential or vice presidential tickets. Those conditions would have required Tinubu to drop his deputy, Kashim Shettima.

    This would have been a tricky political manoeuvre fraught with many risks. At best, Kwankwaso could deliver Kano, but it remains doubtful if it would be by the margins witnessed in 2015 when APC received 1,903,999 votes to PDP’s middling 215,779 votes.

    Whatever benefits the former Kano governor would have brought on board, it’s a move that would have damaged Tinubu in the Northeast as he would be perceived as having used and dumped a man who has been loyal to him beyond the call of the duty. There certainly was no need to start that fire.

    In any event, the APC in Kano has been chipping away progressively at the NNPP’s support base in the last three years. Over the last six months it was becoming evident that the party at the centre in Abuja stood a very good chance of winning the state.

    There’s no question that those dynamics, particularly as they concerned Governor Yusuf’s second term prospects, played a big role in pushing him to cross the carpet. Still, not too many would have dared predict he would leave his erstwhile benefactor who also happens to be his father-in-law in the lurch.

    In Rivers, the truce brokered between Wike and his successor, Siminalayi Fubara, quickly unravelled with the governor apparently unwilling to follow through on some of the components of the deal that resulted in the lifting of the state of emergency. Again, not too many expected this given his dovish utterances on returning to office in September.

    But words are one thing, actions a different story all together. It is significant that months after his return Fubara has not constituted a full cabinet. Strategic offices remain unoccupied while a supplementary budget that was supposed to be presented for House of Assembly scrutiny never saw the light day.

    All these were clear signs of disagreement behind the scenes that would be confirmed by the warlike utterances by House of Assembly Speaker, Martins Amaewhule, when asked to comment on claims by the governor about what he had done to reach out to the legislators. His assertion that Fubara ‘lied’ was evidence that the old conflict had been reignited.

    It’s not even one week into 2026 and the war of words between the Rivers camps has grabbed national attention once again. It promises to stay that way for much of the year whether Fubara gets the APC ticket or not.

    In Nigerian politics, elections are dramatic, but the year before them is decisive. That is when power is negotiated, alliances are reconfigured, and outcomes are quietly shaped long before voters are invited to confirm what has been settled behind the scenes.

    By that standard, 2026 is set to be one of the most turbulent and consequential years in Nigeria’s recent political history.

    Pre-election years follow a familiar script, but they are never routine. What makes this year especially intriguing is the state of the main opposition PDP. It is paralysed by legal challenges which look like they won’t be resolved in time for the party to play any significant role in next year’s polls.

    That’s partly the reason its most savvy governors quickly emptied into the ruling APC. Before matters came to a head, elements of the opposition had giddily suggested a coming together of all their forces in a coalition to unseat the incumbent. This would be a reminiscence of what then opposition accomplished when they fused together and ousted the Goodluck Jonathan administration.

    Unfortunately, the would-be coalitionists quickly discovered that they didn’t have a lock on the franchise. Rather than attract the hordes they expected from a government that was supposedly on the ropes, the opposite has happened. Today, the ruling party is on the cusp of numbering 30 governors within its ranks – just two shy of the 32 recorded by PDP at the height of its powers.

    This one-way traffic has raised the spectre of a one-party system. Opposition parties allege the incumbent is coercing their governors to join APC. Whether these new relationships are gunshot marriages or simply born out of convenience and interests remains to be seen.

    Available evidence doesn’t, however, support the coercion theory. More than anything, ambitious people who perceive that the legal troubles of their party could deny them a credible platform for re-election have simply opted for the next best thing.

    For the opposition, its moment of truth has come early. It is received wisdom that the best chance they have at any point in time is when they pool their resources. APC confirmed that in 2015. Atiku and company have been singing that same chorus to screeching point. Unfortunately, what was supposed to be an unstoppable coalition is fast turning into an uninspiring damp squib.

    The African Democratic Congress (ADC) rather being a coming together of different political structures like APC circa 2013/2014, is just one platform to which everyone with an axe to grind with Tinubu is gravitating. Unfortunately, many of the entrants aren’t bringing much to the table.

    Perhaps, more than his colleagues, Obi who joined last week arrived with a couple of senators and House of Representatives members. Significantly, the only Labour Party (LP) governor, Alex Ott of Abia State pointedly refused to move.

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    Now, there’s talk of Kwankwaso holding talks with ADC or even partnering with Obi to battle Atiku for the party’s ticket. But the former Kano governor isn’t the political prize he once was. His godson, Abba Yusuf, has virtually stripped him of the NNPP structure. All the 44 local government chairmen are loyal to the governor as are the majority of state assembly and House of Representatives members.

    Politicians are not dumb. They flock towards the party they sense has momentum. There’s certainly a reason why they are not beating the bush path to ADC’s door.

    Nigerian opposition politics has often thrived on grievance without offering coherence. So far, what they have offered is invective, not alternatives. In 2026, that weakness will be exposed. Public discontent alone will not suffice. Without a credible national message, the parties risk drifting into 2027 reactive and without energy.

    Economic conditions will add volatility to the political atmosphere. While elections are rarely decided by macroeconomic indicators, hardship sharpens political instincts. Luckily for the incumbent government, inflation is trending downwards. If this pattern continues the gap between official optimism and popular experience would shrink further. That’s not good news for the opposition.

    Security will be another defining fault line. Persistent insecurity will not only shape public mood but also electoral logistics. In some parts of the country, the question will not be which party is favoured, but whether elections can be credibly conducted at all. This scenario played out in parts of the Northeast in 2015.

    Equally important will be the strain placed on institutions. Pre-election Nigeria has a habit of weaponising misinformation, inflaming identity and testing the limits of institutional independence. Electoral bodies, the judiciary and security agencies will come under sustained pressure well before ballots are printed. The tone set in 2026 will either strengthen confidence in these institutions or further erode it.

    The significance of 2026 lies in the simple truth that elections are won long before election day. The bargains struck, institutions stressed or stabilised, and norms upheld or violated this year will shape the outcome and credibility of the 2027 polls.

  • Aliko Dangote goes to war

    Aliko Dangote goes to war

    Africa’s richest man, Aliko Dangote, often comes across as mild-mannered and personable. But you don’t become a billionaire and stay ahead of the chasing pack by being sentimental. On the contrary, most businessmen in his class are ruthless in taking decisions to protect their interests. It is not for nothing that through the years he’s battled to stave off accusations of being monopolistic in disposition.

    But say what you like about the man, you cannot deny that he’s a visionary given to outlandish dreams. One of such is the 650,000 barrels per day refinery which was first announced in 2013 but didn’t start production until September 2024. The facility was originally supposed to be completed between 2018 and 2020, but the COVID-19 pandemic and other logistical challenges ensured this goal wasn’t met.

    Although, one man’s outsize dream the facility has become intertwined with Nigeria’s economic future. A nation rich in oil and gas has for decades suffered from non-existent local refining capacity – leaving it at the mercy of an army of importers of all manner of petroleum products. Conspiracy theorists even say that the demobilisation of the nation’s four refineries is a function of consistent sabotage on the part of those whose interests are helped by sustaining the regime of importation.

    Different estimates put the amount Nigeria has spent on turnaround maintenance of the government-owned refineries in Port Harcourt, Warri and Kaduna – from 2000 to 2024 – at between $18 billion and $25 billion. Despite sinking this fortune into what are increasingly looking like expensive junkyards, there’s no hope in sight that production would start on a consistent basis in any of them soon.

    So, when an enterprising individual pulled off what a whole nation and successive administrations couldn’t deliver he was celebrated as a hero. Dangote has harped on the fact that his facility has the capacity to meet the petrol needs on the entire West African sub-region. In other words, there was no need for further importation.

    His position was seen in certain quarters as self-serving. After all, a man who had poured $20 billion into a project would be desperate to recoup his investment and pay off loans.

    Before the coming of his behemoth, there were players in that space who also invested heavily in tank farms, trucks and other assets. The coming of this massive refinery was bound to disrupt their businesses as it is also doing to markets across the world from which Nigerian and other African importers hitherto sourced products. Surely, they would be less than enthused about something that was bound to put them out of business sooner than later.

    What would follow the take-off of Dangote Refinery was an early dispute with the regulator, Nigerian Midstream and Downstream Petroleum Regulatory Authority (NMDPRA, on the refinery’s preparedness and product quality. Mediatory meetings temporarily pushed this row to the back burner.

    The battle would soon turn to the fact that the authorities still left the gates wide open for all manner of importers despite the presence of the infant facility that could supposedly meet local consumption.

    Conscious not to be seen as enthroning a monopoly, and also worried as to whether Dangote could actually cover Nigeria’s local requirements despite his claims, the government never imposed any ban on importation.

    Perhaps to show that it was truly in favour of empowering local refiners, the administration briefly toyed with the idea of a 15% levy on imported petroleum products. The idea was quickly shelved in mid-November, leaving the status quo in place. Whether this was done to please importers or just to ensure that a competitive edge remained in the market is anybody’s guess.

    Clearly, the situation wasn’t pleasing to all players – Dangote being one of them. Things boiled over on Sunday with the billionaire businessman levelling a series of grave allegations against NMDPRA and its chief executive officer, Farouk Ahmed.

    He accused the agency of undermining his refinery, sabotaging the economy and urged the government to probe its activities.

    He claimed NMDPRA’s leadership was colluding with international traders and oil importers to frustrate local refining through the continued issuance of import licences for petroleum products.

    Stating that Ahmed had been living above his means, he pointedly alleged that the public office holder had spent $5 million training four of his children in posh schools in Switzerland. Dangote said the bills being picked by the NMDPRA boss raised serious questions about potential conflicts of interest and the integrity of regulatory oversight in the downstream petroleum sector. It was akin to detonating an improvised explosive device (IED).

    Just yesterday, he followed up with a full page advert in major newspapers which he personally signed, doubling down on the corruption allegations against Ahmed. In a further escalation, a petition has now been filed with the Independent Corrupt Practices and Other Related Offences Commission (ICPC) calling for the investigation, arrest and prosecution of the NMDPRA boss for living above his means.

    These are very serious allegations made by no ordinary whistle-blower. The shockwaves have swept through the oil industry and government circles. Already, the House of Representatives has plunged headlong into the matter, vowing an investigation.

    Curiously, while Dangote has been hurling devastating missiles in his direction, the silence from Ahmed and the NMDPRA has been uncomfortably loud. These are very grave allegations against a senior government regulator by the country’s preeminent business figure. The dispute is playing out before local and international audiences. That’s why silence isn’t an option. Those being accused should either rebut the charges with facts or confront the implications of what’s been said.

    Not too long ago, the erstwhile Minister of Innovation, Science and Technology, Uche Nnaji, found himself in the eye of a storm over claims he lied about graduating from the University of Nigeria, Nsukka. For days the scandal raged. The minister tried unconvincingly to respond to the allegation but was forced to step aside when the matter became an embarrassing distraction for the administration.

    The dispute between Dangote, the NMDPRA and its boss isn’t going away soon given that the accuser has plumped for the nuclear option. His allegation that regulatory actions are being deployed in ways that undermine his refinery while protecting entrenched interests in fuel importation is not a casual complaint about red tape. It is an accusation of regulatory distortion – one that questions the integrity of institutions created under the Petroleum Industry Act (PIA).

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    The danger of government silence in moments like this cannot be overstated. In countries with strong institutions, allegations against regulators trigger one of two responses: a public defence backed by evidence, or a transparent inquiry.

    Silence won’t stop the raging debate. Instead, it hands it over to the loudest and most powerful voices. The nation’s reputation is also not helped by such unresolved accusations.

    Dangote’s allegations, whether true or false, shape perception simply by being made. Silence allows those perceptions to calcify. If he is right and no investigation follows, it confirms the suspicions Nigerians hold about regulatory capture and protection of rent-seeking interests.

    This episode also tests the credibility of the PIA itself. It was sold as a clean break from opaque oil governance – a framework designed to professionalise regulation and insulate it from informal power. Allowing one of its flagship institutions to be publicly splattered with mud without response undermines that promise more effectively than any hostile foreign report could.

    Nigeria’s real problem is not conflict between powerful actors. It is the state’s regular reluctance to arbitrate such conflicts openly. Too often, elite disputes are sorted out quietly through political “settlements” that produce temporary calm while leaving institutions weaker and public trust eroded. That path may defuse tension, but it poisons reform.

    This is why the temptation to frame the current fight solely as Dangote versus Ahmed must be resisted. The issue goes beyond personality; it is process. Does Nigeria have regulators who can enforce rules transparently? Is government willing to defend its institutions publicly – or discipline them when necessary?

    Demanding a response is not asking for capitulation. Dangote does not deserve special treatment because of his wealth or size and usefulness of his refinery to the country. But neither does any regulator deserve immunity from scrutiny. Accountability cuts both ways, and credibility is earned through openness.

    Dangote has spoken. Serious allegations are now in the public domain. The government must decide whether it believes in the institutional order it has built. It must move swiftly to get to the root of this oily wrestling match between two Sumo wrestlers.

  • Banditry: Sheikh Gumi strikes again!

    Banditry: Sheikh Gumi strikes again!

    In September 2021, I argued in this column that noted Islamic cleric, Sheikh Ahmad Gumi’s proposal that the state negotiates with bandits as panacea for peace in parts of the North, was downright dangerous.

    If I understand correctly, these gunmen are not going to disarm and ride off into the sunset, but would remain a permanent feature of our landscape – albeit under terms agreed by all sides. Nigeria is a special country, but I am yet to find any sane society committed to law and order that would countenance such an idea.

    Four years on, as the country battles to rein in these amoral killers spreading across the landscape like a rash, Gumi is at it, again, preaching his doctrine of deadly cohabitation.

    Speaking in an interview with the BBC yesterday, he maintained that negotiating with bandits is a necessary approach because the military cannot defeat these bands of unconventional gunmen.

    A virtual fountain of controversial theories, Gumi further argues that the kidnapping of schoolchildren is a “lesser evil” compared to killing soldiers – insisting that Nigeria must negotiate to prevent greater bloodshed and end terrorism.

    In my piece titled “Sheikh Gumi and the politics of dialogue”, I stated that his proposals were illogical and impracticable. That article is reproduced here today as a riposte to what the influential cleric is hawking.

    ***Sheikh Gumi and the politics of dialogue

    (First published September 8, 2021)

    Two words often used to describe Kaduna-based Islamic cleric, Sheikh Ahmad Gumi, are respected and controversial. The adjectives – especially the latter – are well-earned.

    He’s had a lot to say about the violence ravaging the Northwest. His positions often verge on the outrageous and illogical. Sometimes, he’s just one breath away from sounding like an advocate for the bandits.

    His latest intervention denounces the military offensive against criminal elements terrorising Zamfara and surrounding states. He argues it’s akin to pouring petrol on the flames.

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    In a statement titled ‘Zamfara: The Flaring of Crisis,’ he said in part: “Let us face the reality, these herdsmen are going nowhere, and they are already in battle gear, and we know our military very well, so before things get messy, we need cold brains to handle this delicate situation. It’s common sense that if you allow your neighbours to be your enemy you are already conquered. Because they can easily be used against you by other forces.

    “Military actions in the past have worsened the situation stimulating herdsmen resistance. Any more action will push them closer to religious fanaticism. It gives them protection from discrediting them as thieves and also reinforces their mobilization of gullible young unemployed youth as we saw with BH (Boko Haram).”

    He suggested that unless an amnesty programme like that given militants in the Niger Delta is instituted, bandits are “going nowhere.” Sadly, the immediate victims of those “going nowhere” are Gumi’s fellow northerners.

    His amnesty envy is another way of saying “give us our own hand-outs or the killing and the maiming will continue.” It’s prescribing the same medication for different ailments just because the symptoms are similar. It’s an approach that’s not only ignorant but dishonest.

    The uprising in the Niger Delta was the result of decades of environmental degradation of the land and creeks – denying the people of their livelihood; worsening poverty in a region whose oil is the mainstay of the economy.

    The militants targeted economic assets of the Federal Government and foreign oil companies. They were not engaged in indiscriminate killings, or abduction of women and school children for ransom. They didn’t invade rural communities, burning scores of homes for no just cause.

    When the attacks on oil facilities were almost grounding the economy, government quickly worked out interventions to address the region’s issues. In addition to the Niger Delta Development Commission (NDDC) created by the Olusegun Obasanjo administration, a ministry and amnesty programme were unveiled by the successor Yar’Adua government.

    The amnesty was to wean the fighters from illegal bunkering and other criminal acts. It was only a part of a larger package that reached out to other ordinary citizens.

    But let’s not forget that the Nigerian military and security agencies fought the militants for several years because they took up arms against the state and its interests.

    Any solution to what’s happening in the Northwest must honestly address its roots. Why have these people resorted to violence? There’s widespread consensus that lack of economic opportunities flowing from failure to develop the region is to blame.

    Bandits in Zamfara are in the forests because crime pays huge dividends. Ransoms are in the multimillions. Illegal mining is lucrative, while cattle rustling is another route to quick riches.

    The Boko Haram insurgency, on the other hand, was driven by the radical religious teachings of the late Mohammed Yusuf summarised in the proposition ‘Western education is evil.’ They didn’t become fundamentalist because government dealt harshly with the sect; they were that way from the get-go.

    But Gumi now argues that the bandits, who are just thieves with AK-47s, could be driven to embrace religious extremism by the military offensive. That’s laughable; it’s manufacturing a raison d’etre on the go, one that fits the moment.

    He says dialogue is the only way out because the military don’t have a monopoly on violence. Ridiculous! There are many other violent criminals confronting security agencies across the country. Why not apply the same solution to them so we can experience total peace in our time? Why make a special arrangement for bandits?

    Have we lost all sense of what constitutes a crime, good and bad? How should the state react when errant citizens violently attack others, dispossessing them of their properties or denying them liberty?

    There’s a time for everything and the time for negotiations will come. But to suggest there should be no military intervention even when killings and abductions are occurring daily; when bandits have built capacity to bring down an Air Force jet and strike within the Nigerian Defence Academy (NDA), is truly shocking!

    With certain enemies dialogue isn’t an option because they aren’t amenable to reason. Bandits are neither honourable nor reasonable. The only option is to defeat them by force of arms, while intervening socially and economically in their operational environment to deny them a recruitment pool.

    Perhaps Gumi needs to have a quiet chat with Zamfara State Governor, Bello Matawalle, who came to office with the dialogue singsong. Where has it gotten him? Not long ago he was moaning about how his efforts haven’t yielded fruit and the situation was deteriorating.

    There’s also Katsina State Governor, Aminu Masari, another one-time advocate of dialogue who famously posed for photos with an AK-47-totting bandit, but has since forsworn the option. He has acknowledged with exasperation that the word of a criminal is worthless.

    In all the time Gumi has been preaching to bandits how many have repented and renounced violence? The conversion rate could help convince cynics that his way is best.

    Unfortunately, even after his well-publicised interventions in major abductions in Zamfara and Niger States, the gunmen blew a lot of hot air but still collected their ransom. Dialogue stopped nothing because kidnapping has become a meal ticket in the region.

    The ongoing military action may not be a perfect solution but it puts pressure on the gunmen and deflates their momentum. There’s an urgent need to beat back the threat they represent and create a level of stability that allows for other governmental action.

    If the military don’t substantially degrade their capabilities they would come to any dialogue with a strong hand and guns pointed at our collective heads.

    Bandits are bullies hiding behind big guns to perpetrate atrocities. Psychologists will tell you appeasement empowers the bully, while confrontation stops him dead in his track. Resisting the evil in the Northwest is long overdue. Gumi can preach the rest of his sermon to the marines!

  • Nnamdi Kanu as political football

    Nnamdi Kanu as political football

    Abia State Governor, Alex Otti, has been a busy man lately. Yesterday, he huddled with President Bola Tinubu in the recesses of Aso Villa. Three days ago he visited jailed Independent Peoples of Biafra (IPOB) leader, Nnamdi Kanu, at the Sokoto Correctional Centre where he’s serving a life term for terrorism.

    All the toing and froing is ostensibly to facilitate the release from prison of a man who was sentenced barely two weeks ago. The governor grandly assured him his plight would be resolved administratively and the convict set free.

    Otti isn’t the only prominent Southeastern political leader to make such promises. Shortly before the Abuja High Court presided over by Justice James Omotosho was to deliver judgment, 44 members of the House of Representatives largely from the Southeast released a statement urging Tinubu to invoke his constitutional powers and spring Kanu from detention.

    They asked him to convene a roundtable to find a lasting political solution to the trial of the secessionist leader which had lasted ten years.

    Given that the president has no powers under the constitution to halt to an ongoing judicial process, the lawmakers’ statement was clearly targeted at something other than justice. Inevitably, judgment was handed down in a trial which had seen Kanu jump bail and flee the country at some point.

    Much has been made of his extraordinary rendition from Kenya without speaking about his flight from justice. In the end he was convicted on seven terrorism charges.  The verdict rested on evidence from broadcasts inciting violence, recorded instructions encouraging attacks on security personnel and civilians, threats against foreign missions, and incitement to manufacture weapons.

    At that moment, one might have expected the debate to pivot toward rehabilitation, peace-building, and reintegration. Instead, what keeps popping up are open calls for Kanu’s release, as though political calculations can erase a terrorism conviction resulting from mountains of evidence and testimonies of witnesses who lived through the tragic chapter in the Southeast.

    Some said his imprisonment amounted to jailing an entire ethnic as though his agenda and methods had universal approval throughout Igboland. This is nothing more than cynical opportunism – a ploy to turn tragedy into political currency. It bears pointing out that for every noisy call for easy solutions, there was also the pregnant silence of uncountable powerful voices.

    The trial was neither cursory nor symbolic. It spanned a decade: initial arrest in 2015, bail and subsequent flight, re-arrest in 2021 via extradition from Kenya, multiple hearings, defence and prosecution, and a full judgment.

    In the final days in court, the IPOB leader sacked his lawyers and repeatedly shunned appeals by the judge to defend himself. Rather than do so he chose theatre: parading through court each time screaming “Show me the law. You don’t know the law!”

    With the benefit of hindsight it was clear that Kanu and the sentimental brigade had no defence for his actions, nor rebuttal for what was presented in court as evidence. The only way left for them was to politicise the trial – a dodge that failed spectacularly in the end.

    So why then – only days after the verdict – are some Igbo leaders saying “all hope is not lost,” promising a “political process” to secure Kanu’s release? Clearly, for them, Kanu was never primarily a man or a movement – he was a bargaining chip.

    What the “political solution” rhetoric does is keep them relevant. In a region grappling with insecurity, disillusionment, and weak political structures, invoking Kanu’s name draws attention – especially among younger, aggrieved Igbo and the diaspora.

    It allows them to profit from emotion. Sympathy, outrage, anger are powerful mobilisers. For politicians and some “elders,” they translate into leverage: whether for electoral campaigns, appointments, contracts, or diaspora fundraising.

    But the same people now demanding “justice” never stood up when violence raged, property was destroyed, livelihoods disrupted, or citizens killed in the wake of IPOB/ESN sit-at-home orders. Their insistence on a “political solution” is a refusal to confront Kanu’s culpability and a denial of the deeper structural failures of the region.

    When militants or criminal gangs ravage communities elsewhere in Nigeria, these same elites demand swift law enforcement. But who will deliver justice for the likes of the late Dr. Chike Akunyili, presidential aide Ahmed Gulak, Okechukwu Okoye – a member of the Anambra State House of Assembly kidnapped and later beheaded in May 2022.

    Who will atone for Harira Jibril and her children: a pregnant woman of Hausa descent and her four young children ambushed and murdered in Anambra State in May 2022. What about Justice Stanley Nnaji – a former judge of the Enugu State High Court shot and killed in May 2021?

    A witness for the Department of State Services (DSS) testified in court that between 170 and 200 security agents, including police officers, soldiers, and personnel from other agencies died due to incitement to violence by Kanu and his soldiers.

    Orji Uzor Kalu, who represents Abia North constituency at the Senate, recently lamented that secessionist agitations tied to the activities IPOB and Kanu, led to the death of over 30,000 people and destruction of businesses across the Southeast. Don’t the lives of these mostly Igbo victims matter? Who accounts for the devastation of their livelihood?

    What is profoundly shocking is the indecent haste of so-called leaders and influencers who cannot even allow for a period of reflection before shoving their political solution down everyone’s throats. It is now evident that they would gladly shut their eyes to IPOB atrocities to appease Kanu.

    Just as they are pressuring Tinubu, they made similar demand for Kanu’s release to former President Muhammadu Buhari. He replied that they had asked for a hard thing seeing as the matter was before the courts, but he would consider their request. It was a diplomatic way of saying “no!”

    A political solution so soon after a criminal conviction is a mismatch. What would be the occasion for it? That sort of intervention only happens under certain conditions. For one thing, there’s no groundswell of pressure for it either from the Southeast or rest of Nigeria.

    People can’t pretend not to notice Igboland didn’t go up in flames because Kanu was jailed. Where was the outpouring of anger on the streets if truly there was a connection with the goals and methods of IPOB? Instead what we’ve seen is people carrying on with their lives.

    The president isn’t under any pressure to free the convict and there’s no political gain for him to do so. One celebrity bar man warned that he would receive less than 10,000 votes in the Southeast in 2027 if he failed to release Kanu. But Buhari and Tinubu have proven there’s a pathway to the presidency without winning the zone. So, there’s no incentive for the president to needlessly pick up a hot potato when the judiciary has given him a convenient way out.

    There’s no pressure on the rest of the country because Kanu and IPOB focused their violence on their own people and home territory. They didn’t bomb the Southwest, South-South or North. They couldn’t export their every Monday economic paralysis to other regions. So what’s the incentive for other zones to split hairs over his legal troubles when they have no bearing on their lives?

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    Kanu spent much of heydays denigrating other sections of the country. Unfortunately, for him any so-called political solution would require national consensus and the buy-in of a country he repeatedly referred to as a zoo.

    When socio-economic adversity hits Igboland, his apologists are quick to cry marginalisation and demand redress. But when his broadcast fuels terror and disruption, they call for “mercy,” “dialogue,” and “political solution.” This selective deployment of indignation reveals a deeper hypocrisy. For many of these figures, the rule-of-law applies only when it serves their interest.

    What was evident in court was that Kanu isn’t remorseful for his actions and those of his followers. Even if the so-called “political solution” somehow secured Kanu’s freedom, it would deliver neither justice nor stability. It would simply reward a man and an organisation convicted of terror, by lifting him back onto a platform of martyrdom.

    What the region needs is not a convenient political bypass, but healing – some sort of truth commission. The elite should be talking of an inquiry into the tragedy that tore communities apart and led to the loss of thousands of lives. The region also needs a genuine political strategy – infrastructure investment, economic inclusion, good governance, security reform, and credible dialogue rooted in statecraft, not theatrics.

  • Wike meets the new Nigerian mentality

    Wike meets the new Nigerian mentality

    For many, Federal Capital Territory (FCT) Minister, Nyesom Wike, is a hated figure. He is despised for many reasons: his gruff voice, aggressive and sometimes boorish ways; his politics – forging an ‘unforgiveable alliance’ with President Bola Tinubu and fending off the independence bid of his godson, Rivers State Governor, Siminalayi Fubara.

    There are those who can’t stand him simply because he disrupted the pattern of appointees from a section of the country occupying the coveted FCT seat. Even worse, he came to office determined to put an end to business as usual in the federal capital. And, he’s been going about his assignment like a human bulldozer – the original demolition man!

    The minister, perhaps, hasn’t helped his cause by carrying on as though he was still the all-powerful governor of Rivers State – holding forth in hour-long media chats, slinging arrows at every political foe in sight.

    So, when yesterday the ‘Landlord of Abuja’ – as the president teasingly refers to him – was prevented by a lowly lieutenant from accessing a disputed plot of land in the capital, social media was set alight. Many rejoiced that their bête noire finally received his comeuppance.

    Photos of the fresh-faced officer and the unedifying dialogue between the two men were gleefully shared. Some of the pictures of the soldier had the legend ‘Hero’. Unfortunately, while the powerful figure you hate might have been embarrassed publicly, there was really nothing heroic about what the soldier did.

    It’s was a stark reminder of how impunity still haunts Nigeria’s democracy. It is disturbing that after 26 years of non-stop civilian rule, elements within the military still feel there’s one law for them and another for the rest of the ‘bloody civilian’ populace. It’s clear we’ve not totally exorcised the demons that attended 33 years of junta rule.

    It’s the reason why some misguided and uninformed people who probably never lived under military dictatorship flirt with the idea in moments of their political frustration. But experience from West Africa and around the globe tells us countries are better when solders stick to their constitutional roles and don’t meddle with governance.

    Perhaps, someone with a different temperament would have handled yesterday’s situation with more restraint, and some have chosen to focus on the minister’s reaction to provocation, ignoring the more troubling questions raised by the incident.

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    This wasn’t just another petty turf war, or occasion for the swashbuckling minister to throw his weight around. Wike was on official inspection when naval personnel barred him from accessing the land. The minister was acting within his lawful authority. The ensuing standoff was as absurd as it was revealing: soldiers preventing a federal minister from performing his duties on federal land.

    That military men could openly obstruct a government minister – an agent of the same federal government – is more than insolence; it is a grave institutional sickness. It shows how far we still are from establishing the supremacy of civil authority over armed might.

    In a properly functioning democracy, this episode would be unthinkable. The military is meant to defend the state, not challenge it. But in Nigeria, the shadow of barracks rule still looms large.

    The Abuja incident is not an isolated aberration. Across the country, similar scenes of official lawlessness have become routine: soldiers assaulting police officers, policemen defying court orders, agencies clashing over jurisdiction.

    What makes this confrontation even more disturbing is that it occurred in the FCT – the one territory constitutionally under the President’s direct control. If a federal minister cannot enforce lawful directives in the capital without being challenged by uniformed men, what hope is there for civil authority in the states or local government areas?

    To be clear, Wike – for all his combative reputation – represents lawful authority in this instance. The attempt to block him is not merely an affront to his person, but to the very principle of civil supremacy. If soldiers can decide who may act on behalf of government, then governance itself becomes hostage to arbitrary power.

    The President, as Commander-in-Chief, must draw a line in the sand. The military cannot continue to act as an autonomous fiefdom immune from civilian oversight. A clear message must be sent – that soldiers who obstruct lawful government business will face consequences, no matter whose ‘land’ they claim to defend.

    Speaking to the press after the incident, Wike said he had spoken with the Chief of Defence Staff, General Olufemi Oluyede and the Chief of Naval, Staff, Vice Admiral Idi Abbas, who assured him the matter, would be resolved. That isn’t good enough. Yesterday’s drama played out before a global audience. It wasn’t good advertisement for law and order in the country.

    For starters, a proper and transparent investigation should be carried out to establish the true status of the land in question. For years land racketeering in the FCT was out of control.

    The soldiers insisted they were obeying orders. Whose orders? Did a serving officer issue those instructions? Is it true the orders they were those of a retired naval chief? It would be comic if officers no longer in service are still issuing commands to those still in uniform. That would a gross abuse of authority and uniform that needs not only to be investigated but punished.

    At stake here is more than one disputed plot in Abuja. It’s about whether Nigeria remains a country governed by law or one ruled by force. The clash between Wike and the Navy is a metaphor for a state losing its grip on order – where impunity, not discipline, defines the exercise of power.

    If civil authority cannot prevail in the heart of the Federal Capital, what does that say about the rule of law elsewhere? Until we break the habit of excusing lawlessness when it serves our selfish interests, democracy will remain fragile.

    Much of the rejoicing on social media was just perverse satisfaction at seeing a hated figure embarrassed. Many are not concerned about right or wrong. We all want a country where things work, yet are quick to applaud impunity for sentimental and emotional reasons.

    Many Nigerians would give an arm and a leg for visas to the ends of the earth. They don’t realise that those destinations are attractive because their governments insist on law and order. You cannot be dreaming of a capital city like Paris, London or Washington, while celebrating soldiers who prevent town planning officials from doing their duty.

    Nigerians must not forget that no matter how much we revile those presently in government they cannot serve beyond their tenure. Rather than allowing bile to blind us to good and bad, we should always look forward to the constitutional windows provided in election seasons to bring in those we prefer.

    We shouldn’t transfer hate for person to hate for country. It’s unprofitable and unwise. Your home will always be your home. We’ve seen much of this new mentality playing out in the recent threat by the U.S. President Donald Trump to launch a military action against Nigeria on account of alleged genocide against Christians.

    Many back the threat not because they care about Christianity or killings. They naively think that such an expedition would result in regime change. They don’t think about the day after. They don’t remember the times under President Muhammadu Buhari when the same America would not allow the government deploy the jets they sold us to attack terrorists – except under very stringent, almost impossible, conditions.

    Today, another U.S. president is recklessly threatening to come in ‘guns a-blazing’ and many who hate their country are cheering him on as though American air strikes are the cure all for all of Nigeria’s troubles.

    The Abuja incident isn’t the first time such a clash would occur. Be we should view it as the latest wake-up call. The armed forces must be reminded that their loyalty is to the constitution, not to institutional ego. Soldiers obey, while civilians govern. And civilian leaders, too, must learn to defend the rule of law consistently – not be intimidated. Impunity is like acid: once it spills, it corrodes everything in its path.

  • Trump’s threats and Nigerian hysteria

    Trump’s threats and Nigerian hysteria

    Donald Trump never misses a chance to play saviour in someone else’s tragedy. Of all the troubled spots on earth, he’s now lighted on Nigeria intent on playing super hero. I dare say that for all their challenges, Christians in this country can’t say they have the worst deal on the planet.

    That’s why many suspect that his threat of U.S. military action over alleged “Christian genocide” isn’t about saving lives. It’s more to do with politics, power – and a wilful ignorance about our complex realities.

    Over the weekend Trump redesignated Nigeria a ‘Country of Particular Concern (CPC).’ Less than twenty fours later he declared he was considering taking military action.

    To demonstrate his seriousness the Department of War was asked to draw up an intervention plan.

    Paradoxically, this same president, as election candidate, made out he was against American military adventurism around the globe.

    It’s not the first time Nigeria would be stuck with the CPC tag. Back in 2020, the same Trump placed the country in this column – with sanctions that were supposed to attend that categorisation.

    The fact that his action didn’t generate much of a ripple meant it didn’t have any serious effect on the Muhammadu Buhari administration, or on the generality of the people.

    What is different now is the threat of military action against a country which historically, on the African continent, has been one of America’s most steadfast allies and partners. The threat landed with all the elegance of a Russian Scud missile. Little wonder the hysterical reactions in many quarters.

    Much of the anxiety flows from the erratic nature of the American president. But that same unpredictability should have made people read Trump’s statement more closely to see whether this was just another episode of bluster and bluff.

    Earlier this year, he accused South Africa of carrying out ‘genocide’ against white farmers. To save them from that ‘terrible fate’ he doled out visas to many and relocated them to the United States. As many would point out, while that country might have a high murder rate, most of the victims are Blacks.

    Trump would have none of it. When South African President Cyril Ramaphosa visited the White House to thrash things out, he was ambushed with an awkward film show and made to watch discredited videos purporting to show genocide against whites. The visiting leader calmly dismissed all the accusations. The ‘white genocide’ story quickly expired.

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    Between January and May this year, Trump repeatedly threatened to use military force to annex Greenland. This semi-autonomous territory of Denmark is the world’s largest island. Despite its massive 2.16 million square kilometres landmass, it has a minuscule 56,836 population. Trump had been lusting after the land which he said was good for military security. When the plucky islanders told him in no uncertain terms they were not for sale, he backed off.

    This was the same Trump who earlier this year was threatening to make Canada America’s 51st state. His high pressure courtship was firmly rebuffed by Prime Minister Mark Carney who told him his country wasn’t for sale.

    Against this backdrop it’s hard to understand the air of crisis ever since Trump spoke. Some interpreted his words to mean a land invasion was imminent. Others imagined air strikes from Abuja to the Sambisa Forest. Much of this is just fanciful nonsense given that the American’s president talked about taking out terrorists.

    Asked by reporters if he envisioned troops on the ground or air strikes in Nigeria, Trump said: “Could be. I mean, other things. I envisage a lot of things. They’re killing record numbers of Christians in Nigeria … They’re killing the Christians and killing them in very large numbers. We’re not going to allow that to happen.” In typical Trump-speak this is a lot of maybes and maybe nots.

    For Nigerians, this outburst is insulting. It’s one thing to express concern about insecurity in Africa’s most populous country. It’s quite another to issue threats based on a dangerously distorted narrative.

    Religious tension has existed in Nigeria for decades. Boko Haram came into the mix in the early 2,000s attacking churches and mosques, killing Christians and Muslims. The killings in the North-Central have more to do with land-grabbing, a vicious cycle of reprisals, and criminality of all sorts. Anambra State Governor, Chukwuma Soludo, has pointed out that in the Southeast people with Christian names are killing others who profess the same faith. Do these Christian lives matter to the American defender of Christianity? Will his bombing campaign target these killers too?

    Trump’s comments are not only unwelcome meddling in the affairs of a sovereign nation that has long been an American ally, they are also reckless, uninformed, and reek of election-year opportunism. The craven play to his evangelical and right wing base is all too evident.

    It should also be pointed out that no major country in Europe, Asia or the America’s has levelled this grave accusation against Nigeria? It can’t be that they don’t have their own intelligence about goings on in this country.

    The presumption is galling. How, in the face of all international conventions and laws, does a country – no matter how powerful – take it upon itself to march into another country, uninvited, supposedly to right wrongs there! Over the decades it’s been said that America was the world’s policeman. But no one ever told us who appointed the U. S. to that role.

    If Trump has a solution to killings, how come he’s not been able to end gun violence which claims an average of 46,000 Americans each year and 125 people daily?

    Invasions and airstrikes, on their own, never solved any problem. Israel, with all its military capabilities and American support, bombed tiny Gaza for two years and didn’t succeed in locating the hostages. Only a formal ceasefire brought them home.

    Yes, Christians in Nigeria have suffered terribly from violence – so have Muslims, traditional worshippers, and anyone unfortunate enough to live where the state has lost control. Boko Haram, ISWAP, and bandits have killed thousands, sparing no one because of religious stripe.

    But to call it genocide against Christians is a misapplication of words.  Genocide is a grave legal term implying state-sponsored intent to wipe out a people. No credible evidence suggests that the government is engaged in, or tolerates, such a campaign.

    If Trump’s concern were truly humanitarian, he would have threatened Myanmar over its persecution of the Rohingya or demanded action against Israel’s excesses in Gaza. But Nigeria – emerging economy, Black, and far away – makes for an easier stage on which to flex moral muscle without consequence.

    The Nigerian government did the right thing by rejecting Trump’s narrative outright while restating its openness to legitimate counter-terrorism cooperation.

    Tinubu’s response was calm but firm: there is no war on Christians in Nigeria, and no foreign power has the right to dictate or intervene militarily.

    Still, the incident should be a wake-up call for government. The administration isn’t without achievement in the war against terror. In August, the U. S. and U. K. commended the government and its security agencies for the arrest of two senior leaders of Jama’atu Ansarul Muslimina fi-Biladis Sudan, also known as Ansaru. It needs more wins like this.

    Trump’s threat, however empty, highlights a hard truth: when a state cannot convincingly protect its own people, others will presume the right to speak – or act – on their behalf.

    In that sense, Nigeria’s sovereignty is not just a legal principle; it is something to be earned daily through concrete action and credibility. That there are influential people in Washington D. C. ready to believe that Nigeria is committing genocide is worrying. Every uninvestigated killing in Plateau, every mass abduction in Zamfara, every displaced family in Benue, tells a story of a country struggling to protect its citizens.

    In the absence of clear data, transparency, and justice, the loudest voices however ill-informed – fill the void. If we don’t define our own story, others will do it for us, often to our detriment.

    If Nigeria wants to avoid being the next ‘intervention project,’ it must learn this simple lesson: fix your house, or someone else will claim the right to rearrange the furniture.

  • Nigeria’s kidnapping scourge: Who bells the cat?

    Nigeria’s kidnapping scourge: Who bells the cat?

    For the second time in seven years I have had the unpleasant experience of seeing someone close snatched off one of Nigeria’s highways by faceless gunmen. In both instances, the only difference was identity of the victims; the sense of helplessness hasn’t changed with time.

    In 2018, we were advised by a very senior security official to negotiate with the kidnappers to preserve life – with the promise that after release the abductors would be apprehended. In the latest episode, the families involved, who had clearly lost confidence in institutions of state being able to deliver their loved ones, preferred to negotiate with the cold voice at the other end of a phone call.

    Hardly a week passes without some harrowing new tale of people taken into captivity against their will by criminals for a lucrative return. Their methods are unchanged: terrorise hapless families with ominous threats if demands are not met. Ransom claims remain ambitious – always in the tens of millions of naira.

    Many of these stories occasionally find their way into social and mainstream media; myriads go unreported with those at the receiving end of the trauma preferring to lick their wounds away from public glare. 

    In one recent case, a young woman named Aisha Wahab who was seized in Auchi, Edo State, spent weeks in captivity. Her plight drew attention after she was seen on social media appealing to friends and family for N20 million to secure her liberty.

    She was kidnapped at Igbira Camp in Auchi by gunmen who took her into the forest. Her abductors threatened to kill her if the ransom wasn’t paid by Friday, October 24, 2025. She has since been freed after public-spirited persons raised the amount.

    Some other victims were slightly luckier in that they only had to undergo the horrors of captivity, without their families being stripped financially. A few days ago, the Nigeria Army freed 23 persons who had been abducted in parts of Kwara State. Ifelodun, Edu, and Patigi Local Government Areas of the state as well as parts of Kogi, have witnessed an upsurge in kidnapping.

    Once confined to the Niger Delta militancy era and later to the bandit-plagued Northwest, kidnapping for ransom has now spread across all six geopolitical zones. Highways, schools, and even homes are no longer safe. What is troubling is not just the frequency of these abductions, but the growing sense that the state has lost control of parts of its territory – the so-called ungoverned spaces.

    The numbers tell a grim story. By most estimates, thousands have been kidnapped in the past few years, with billions of naira paid in ransom. The victims are not confined to the wealthy – drivers, artisans, farmers, traders, and students have all fallen prey. It is now a crime that feeds on the vulnerabilities of the poor as well as the powerful.

    Despite numerous security summits and policy pronouncements, the government’s response remains reactive and fragmented. Some states have passed laws providing the death penalty for those found guilty of kidnapping. Others have been demolishing houses linked with kidnappers. Clearly, these measures haven’t been much of a deterrent.

    Security agencies often appear overstretched, under-equipped, and poorly coordinated. Arrests are sporadic, convictions few and far between. What Nigerians mostly see is a pattern: outrage after an attack, high-level meetings, promises of reform, and then silence until the next abduction.

    This apparent helplessness is rooted in deeper structural problems. Decades of underinvestment in policing, a weak intelligence network, the politicisation of security appointments, and the absence of local policing have created a vacuum. The problem is compounded by recent economic challenges which have which the criminally-minded have taken advantage of.

    As this criminal activity grows, the country faces a test of state capacity and political will. But Nigeria wouldn’t be the first to be terrorised by this scourge. Many others have confronted similar challenges and in some cases, overcame them.

    Colombia, for instance, was once dubbed the ‘kidnapping capital of the world,’ in the 1990s when guerrilla groups and criminal gangs made abductions a daily occurrence. The government responded with tough law enforcement, intelligence-driven operations, and sweeping reforms to professionalise the police.

    Equally critical was political will – a clear, sustained commitment over many years made the state, not private ransom payments, the centre of response. Over time, the frequency of abductions dropped sharply as the government tightened control and restored public confidence.

    In Mexico which also struggled with the problem, the authorities focused on improving coordination between federal and local police, strengthening anti-kidnapping units, and establishing hotlines and rapid-response systems that made it easier for citizens to report abductions early. Although the country still battles organised crime, its approach has significantly reduced incidents.

    The Philippines offers another useful model. Faced with a spike in abductions in the early 2000s, it created a special Anti-Kidnapping Group within the national police, empowered with intelligence resources and operational autonomy. The unit was backed by consistent political support and public trust, which allowed it to carry out targeted operations and dismantle several high-profile rings. The country significantly reduced kidnap-for-ransom cases over time.

    Nigeria can learn from these experiences. The key ingredients are not mysterious: a professional and intelligence-driven police force; strong inter-agency coordination; credible prosecution and community involvement in intelligence gathering.

    At the heart of our problem is a policing system that no longer fits the scale or complexity of today’s security challenges. The centralised structure makes it ill-suited for the kind of local intelligence and rapid response that effective anti-kidnapping efforts require.

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    If the country is to make progress, there must be a serious conversation about policing reform – one that moves beyond political slogans and fears of misuse by state governments. Properly designed state or regional police forces, subject to clear oversight and accountability, could help fill the vast security gaps that now exist. States already spend large sums supporting federal police operations; it makes sense to give them the tools and authority to do more than play a supporting role. But up till now the debate has been stymied by fear those who ultimately control these forces would abuse them.

    Technology also has a role to play. In countries that have reduced kidnapping, technology-driven surveillance, data analysis, and digital reporting platforms have been central to success.

    President Bola Tinubu’s administration has an opportunity to redefine the state’s security outlook. While economic reforms dominate the headlines, the safety of Nigerians remains the foundation upon which all else rests. A government that cannot guarantee security risks having its economic and political achievements undervalued.

    If the government is serious about ending this cycle, it must drive policing reform to its logical conclusion – empowering states to take ownership of internal security through well-trained, accountable local forces. Intelligence must underpin operations, not politics. Security funding must be transparent, and successes must be measured not by press releases, but by safer roads, freed hostages, and communities that no longer live in fear.

    Only then will Nigerians begin to believe that the state is truly reclaiming its authority from the grip of criminality. Until that happens, the country will continue to live under the shadow of a menace that has turned ordinary citizens into hostages in their own land.