Category: Commentaries

  • Milking AJ’s misfortune

    Milking AJ’s misfortune

    Age-long cultural sensibility dictates that one does not feast on the misfortune of others. That is why a decent society would pull together in concerted support and consolation of any member befallen by tragedy, at least for the period it takes for that affected person to heal. It is the same underlying sentiment informing evil never being spoken of the dead. You might say it is more of an African taboo, but that is what defines our humanness. It detracts from the essence of humanity when people go on a spree to spice the misfortune of others, for whatever motive.

    Former world boxing champion with Nigerian roots, Anthony Joshua, has been treated to unsavory publicity over his recent experience of a car crash in which he lost two close buddies. Joshua had just won a fight against Jake Paul and was in Nigeria for the Yuletide when, on 29th December, a Lexus SUV conveying him and his friends rammed into a stationary truck on Lagos-Ibadan expressway. Joshua’s close associates — Kevin Latif Ayodele, his personal trainer, and Sina Ghami, his strength and conditioning coach — died in the accident, which left the boxer with injuries that landed him in hospital for a couple of days.

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    Freelance reportage of the crash left a big question on humanistic decency. In video clips circulated online, there was scant sensitivity to privacy – neither of the living nor the dead. Besides distressing sight of half-clad Joshua being pulled from the wreckage, pictures of mangled bodies of the dead victims were shared obviously with no thought for how it would impact on loved ones. It was a grim feast of unsightly ruin used to garner traffic.

    Joshua recovered enough to get discharged from hospital on 31st December. Only his condition left fans guessing whether he would remain active in his career. Joshua himself hasn’t spoken to the issue, but opportunists have latched on to misinform by way of an Artificial Intelligence-generated video showing the boxer announcing his retirement from professional boxing. In the clip that went viral on social media, a distraught Joshua appeared to wish he had died in the crash instead of his friends. “They have left this world because of me. Therefore, I have officially decided to step away from boxing,” he purportedly declared, adding: “Because the moment I step into the ring, their faces appear in my mind, and that grief completely crushes me.” The video shared on an online site has had over 220k views with at least 1.2k shares.

    A fact-checking platform, CableCheck, however, identified irregularities in the footage consistent with AI manipulation. It cited several features of the footage showing that independent clips of the boxer were cobbled together with AI-generated voiceover. Its verdict was that the viral video was fake news.

    It’s so sad that Joshua’s distress has become fodder for misinformation. Vultures!

  • Abba’s defection: Between vested rights and vested interests

    Abba’s defection: Between vested rights and vested interests

    Sir: Politics, at its core, is a contest between principles and power, between service and control. The unfolding drama in Kano State today fits squarely into this timeless struggle. At the centre of it is Governor Abba Kabir Yusuf (popularly called Abba) and his long-standing political benefactor, Senator Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso. What many now describe as betrayal is, in truth, a deeper conflict between vested rights and vested interests.

    For over four decades, the political and personal relationship between Abba Yusuf and Kwankwaso was one of loyalty, mentorship, and shared struggle. From their early days as civil engineers at WRECA in the 1980s, through years of public service, political battles, and even family ties, Yusuf stood firmly by Kwankwaso. He followed him into politics, served him diligently as Personal Assistant, Principal Private Secretary, Commissioner for Works, and remained loyal even after Kwankwaso left office. Few political protégés in Nigeria have shown such consistency of allegiance.

    That loyalty was rewarded politically when Yusuf was handpicked as the standard-bearer of the Kwankwasiyya Movement first in 2019, and later successfully in 2023 when he became Governor of Kano State. By every fair assessment, Abba Yusuf earned his place not only through mentorship but also through years of sacrifice, experience, and credibility with the people.

    This is where the issue of vested rights comes in.

    Once elected, a governor derives his authority not from a godfather, but from the people and the constitution. Governance is not an extension of a private political office; it is a public trust. Abba Yusuf’s insistence on exercising independent judgment, running his administration, appointing officials, and shaping policy priorities is not rebellion—it is his right. That right is vested in him by law and by the mandate of Kano citizens.

    On the other side are vested interests—the expectation that political power, once helped into existence, must remain permanently subordinate to its source. This is the familiar logic of godfatherism: “I made you, therefore I must control you.” In this arrangement, loyalty is measured not by performance or service delivery, but by unquestioned obedience.

    Sources close to the unfolding crisis suggest that this expectation of absolute loyalty became the real fault line. As Governor Yusuf began to assert autonomy making independent decisions, pursuing visible projects across the state, and building his own political profile tensions deepened. To some within the Kwankwasiyya inner circle, this growing independence was seen not as maturity, but as a threat.

    This fear appears to have driven resistance to Yusuf’s second-term ambition within the NNPP. Internal litigations, factional crises, and alleged plans to deny him the party ticket or even replace him with his deputy all point to one thing: an attempt to clip the wings of a sitting governor who had come of age politically. At that point, remaining within such a structure ceased to be about ideology and became a question of political survival.

    Governor Yusuf’s reported decision to defect to the APC must therefore be understood in this context. It is less about party labels and more about escaping a cage of control. His consultations with lawmakers, local government chairmen, and federal representatives show a leader responding to political reality, not acting on impulse.

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    History offers clear lessons here. From Rivers to Benue, unresolved godfather–godson conflicts have destabilised governance, divided parties, and punished citizens. Kano appears to be at a similar crossroads.

    Crucially, this episode forces a national conversation about what mentorship in politics should mean. A true godfather does not seek to lead a godson forever. He lifts him, prepares him, and ultimately allows him to grow into a godfather himself. Leadership is not inheritance; it is succession. Any mentor who insists on permanent control reduces governance to personal property and suffocates democratic growth.

    Abba Yusuf’s choice, difficult as it may be, represents the assertion of vested rights over vested interests. It is the declaration that governance must serve the people first, not personal legacies. Whether one agrees with his defection or not, it is clear that this moment is about more than party politics—it is about redefining power, loyalty, and political maturity in Kano State.

    In the end, history is kinder to leaders who choose responsibility over dependency. Kano’s future will not be secured by who controls whom, but by who delivers for the people.

    •Abdullahi Abubakar Lawal,Zaria, Kaduna State.

  • Call for stiffer penalties for drug traffickers

    Call for stiffer penalties for drug traffickers

    Sir: A few days ago, while browsing online, I came across a troubling report about a 37-year-old man, Nwobodo Chidiebere Basil, who had once again been arrested for the same drug-related offence he was punished for some years earlier. The story was unsettling, not just because of the crime itself, but because it highlighted a deeper problem: how lightly some drug offences are treated, even after the damage they cause has become painfully clear.

    Stories like this revive a long-standing public conversation about whether punishments for drug trafficking truly match the gravity of the harm involved. Across the country, many concerned citizens have continued to argue that weak sentences fail to discourage offenders, especially when drug abuse and trafficking are already tearing families apart, destroying young lives, and burdening communities with lasting health and social problems.

    There is a widely held belief that punishment should not only be corrective but also preventive. When penalties are mild and easily bypassed with money, they send the wrong message—that crime can be a calculated risk rather than a serious moral and legal violation. Young people watching from the side-lines may conclude that the rewards outweigh the consequences, and that is a dangerous lesson for any society.

    Consider the effort involved in bringing a drug offender to justice. Law enforcement officers often risk their lives tracking suspects, gathering evidence, and seeing cases through to court. Yet, after all that sacrifice, a conviction may result in a short prison term with an option of a fine that a well-funded offender can easily pay. As a result, the individual walks free, unchanged, while the officer is left wondering whether the struggle was worth it. In such situations, justice feels incomplete—not just to the public, but to those tasked with protecting it.

    Contrast that with a firm, non-negotiable sentence that reflects the seriousness of the offence. A lengthy prison term without the option of a fine sends a powerful signal. It tells potential offenders that drug trafficking is not a business risk but a life-altering mistake. It also reassures honest citizens and dedicated NDLEA officers that the law stands firmly on the side of public safety.

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    The case of Nwobodo Chidiebere Basil is cited because it follows a familiar pattern. After an earlier arrest involving a large quantity of hard drugs concealed for export, he was convicted and paid a fine. Rather than abandon the trade, he reportedly returned to it, adopting new methods and deeper secrecy. That return to crime suggests that the earlier punishment failed to reform or deter him.

    One can only imagine the mind-set of those around such offenders—friends, partners, or associates—who may assume that arrest is merely a temporary inconvenience, easily resolved with money. If consequences were truly severe and unavoidable, that confidence would vanish, and with it, much of the temptation to persist in the trade.

    Ultimately, this is not about vengeance; it is about protection, responsibility, and the value we place on human life. Drug trafficking fuels addiction, violence, broken homes, and lost futures. If the law treats it casually, society pays the price repeatedly. Stronger, more consistent punishments may not solve the problem overnight, but they could mark a decisive step toward discouraging repeat offences and safeguarding the next generation from a path that leads only to ruin.

     •Aernan Lubem, Makurdi, Benue state

  • Bauchi needs governance, not more politics

    Bauchi needs governance, not more politics

    Sir: It is time for Governor Bala Mohammed to shift his full attention back to Bauchi State—its people, its schools, its hospitals, its hope. Recent claims that the anti graft agency, the EFCC, is being used by political opponents to persecute him and his aides are not only unhelpful; they risk pulling the state deeper into needless political drama when real work is waiting.

    The EFCC has publicly rejected those claims as wild and far fetched. The agency says it is independent, non partisan, and focused on fighting economic and financial crimes. It also notes that the governor was facing a money laundering trial before he became governor, and that constitutional immunity paused that case, not any external pressure. These are strong words from the EFCC, reported by national media.

    Beyond the legal back and forth, the message is simple: governance must come first. The EFCC’s statement urges politicians to prioritize public accountability and urges Governor Mohammed to face the business of running Bauchi State while the commission does its job.

    For every citizen in Bauchi, this is not just a matter of politics; it is a matter of daily life. Schools are in need of better facilities and learning materials. Health centres and hospitals deserve continuous attention so that mothers, children, and the elderly can receive care without fear or delay. Roads, markets, and public services demand leadership that is present, steady, and focused.

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    When a governor spends vital energy on claims of persecution, the people who elected him feel the gap. When citizens hear loud accusations from the highest office in the state, it sparks anxiety—about fairness, about governance, about what comes next. But at the root of these anxieties is also hope: hope that the state can run better, hold its leaders accountable, and move forward without being trapped in endless accusations.

    Governor Bala Mohammed should let the truth, whatever it is, be determined by courts and lawful processes. He should allow the EFCC to carry out its duties, as the law requires, without distractions. And most importantly, he should direct his energy toward the pressing needs of Bauchi State: education that prepares the youth, health care that protects lives, infrastructure that supports commerce and movement, and public accountability that earns trust.

    Bauchi’s people deserve a leader whose thoughts, words, and actions are rooted in service—not in fear of political enemies, real or imagined. The governor must seize this moment to demonstrate that his government is about progress, not politics. Only then can the people of Bauchi breathe easier, work harder, and believe that the future of their state is in capable hands.

    •Yasir Shehu Adam (Dan Liman), Bauchi.

  • Imprisoned by ambition: Peter Obi’s reckless misreading of politics and power

    Imprisoned by ambition: Peter Obi’s reckless misreading of politics and power

    If the recent decamping of Peter Obi from the Labour Party to the African Democratic Congress was intended to detonate like a political bombshell, it failed spectacularly. What arrived instead was a dull thud—unremarkable, unsurprising, and terminally familiar. Nothing more. Nothing less. The script had been written long ago, recycled endlessly, and now—ironically—with this latest move, even that script has run out. All smoke. No fire. With his entry into the ADC, the plot does not evolve; it simply ends.

    Mr. Obi used the occasion not for clarity or restraint, but to fling predictable broadsides against a man who dwarfs him in political reach, institutional mastery, and historical consequence—Bola Ahmed Tinubu. This is a President who does not govern by tirade, who does not rely on subterfuge, and who does not court cheap populism as a substitute for policy. Mr. Obi would have been better served by silence than by yet another performance dressed up as conviction.

    What followed was entirely in character. Mr. Obi once again chose provocation over substance—an incendiary display that substitutes indignation for understanding and accusation for evidence. This is not courage; it is habit. It reflects a deeper pathology in Nigeria’s political discourse: performative outrage, permanent campaigning, and the restless hunt for relevance. Mr. Obi has made a career of all three.

    His political trajectory tells the fuller story. From APGA to PDP, from Labour to ADC, Mr. Obi has drifted across parties with the ease of a man unburdened by ideology or loyalty. Political platforms, for him, are conveniences—vehicles to be boarded and abandoned at will. Causes are temporary. Commitments are elastic. There is no enduring belief system anchoring these movements, only ambition in search of the next available ladder.

    READ ALSO; Guru Maharaj Ji predicts Tinubu, APC’s victory in 2027

    This inconsistency was evident even in office. As governor, Mr. Obi perfected a style long on moral posturing and short on durable institutional legacy. He spoke the language of prudence, but left behind little that could withstand rigorous scrutiny. His public persona has always leaned on assertion rather than proof, repetition rather than record. That is not reform; it is rhetorical minimalism masquerading as depth.

    On national issues, the shallowness becomes even more pronounced. Mr. Obi’s commentary on macroeconomic management, federal structure, security, and public finance routinely betrays a thin grasp of complexity. Hard problems are flattened into slogans; structural constraints are moralized into personal failings. This is not analysis—it is sophistry. Noise without knowledge. Certainty without comprehension.

    The 2023 elections exposed these weaknesses brutally. Buoyed by an emotionally charged but politically unserious following, Mr. Obi misread the national climate entirely. He mistook social-media enthusiasm for nationwide structure, online applause for polling-unit presence, and moral grandstanding for electoral arithmetic. Politics, however, is not a vibes-based exercise. It is built on organization, coalition, discipline, and data.

    That absence of seriousness was laid bare in court. In a withering moment, the Supreme Court of Nigeria admonished Mr. Obi for failing to even demonstrate a clear understanding of his own vote tally, while simultaneously disputing the official figures released by Independent National Electoral Commission. To challenge an election without facts, without numbers, without preparation, is not principled opposition; it is political irresponsibility elevated to litigation.

    Underlying all this is an unmistakable deification of self. Mr. Obi’s rush to the presidency was not grounded in democratic credentials of sufficient weight, nor in a coalition patiently built across Nigeria’s diverse political terrain. It was propelled by an inflated sense of personal virtue—the dangerous illusion that moral self-regard alone qualifies one to govern a complex federation. History is unkind to such delusions.

    Nigeria does not need saints auditioning for office. It needs leaders with gravitas, institutional memory, and a disciplined understanding of power—how it is built, negotiated, and responsibly exercised. These qualities are conspicuously absent from Mr. Obi’s record.

    If a New Nigeria is indeed possible, it will not be erected on insinuation, half-knowledge, and rhetorical arson. It will be built on competence, respect for institutions, and the discipline to distinguish facts from theatrics. Sadly, these remain in short supply in Mr. Obi’s latest outing.

    By contrast, President Tinubu offers focused leadership, measurable outcomes, and time-tested performance forged over decades of political engagement and executive responsibility. Governance is proceeding with intent, not noise.

    In that context, the political horizon is no longer murky.

    2027 just got clearer.

    See you all in 2031.

    • Dare is Special Adviser to President Tinubu on Media and Public Communication

  • Why ADC should not be trusted

    Why ADC should not be trusted

    By Allison Abanum

    The African Democratic Congress (ADC) increasingly looks less like a political party with a future and more like a loose gathering of yesterday’s politicians—retired, angry, bitter, expired, and visibly frustrated by their repeated rejection at the polls. It is hard to identify any clear vision, mission, or new idea driving the party. What stands out instead is desperation: a frantic search for power, not to serve Nigerians, but to satisfy long-standing personal ambitions and political greed.

    Take Atiku Abubakar as a central symbol of this exhaustion. Well into his late years and having contested the presidency multiple times, his political playbook appears unchanged. No fresh strategy. No bold new ideas. Just the same recycled promises, repackaged for each election cycle. Nigeria has moved on, but Atiku’s politics seem stuck in the past.

    The ADC’s conduct further exposes its emptiness. With the next general election fast approaching, the party has been reportedly busy begging Peter Obi to join them. This alone signals weakness. A party with confidence in its ideology and leadership would not be scrambling for borrowed credibility so close to an election. It would be building structures, inspiring citizens, and presenting a coherent alternative. ADC is doing none of these.

    Leadership choices also raise serious questions. A party that parades figures well into their seventies as its top leadership cannot convincingly claim to represent renewal or the future. Recycling the same old political faces—many of whom Nigerians already associate with years of stagnation—shows a deep disregard for the country’s youthful population and their aspirations.

    Including controversial figures like Nasir El-Rufai in its leadership mix only adds to the confusion. Rather than signalling strength, it reinforces the image of a party that is ideologically empty, clinging to any familiar name it can find. Appointing someone like Rauf Aregbesola as party secretary further underlines how disconnected ADC appears from public sentiment. It feels less like strategic leadership and more like an insult to Nigerians who are demanding competence, clarity, and accountability.

    READ ALSO; Guru Maharaj Ji predicts Tinubu, APC’s victory in 2027

    In sharp contrast stands the All Progressives Congress (APC). President Bola Ahmed Tinubu is not loved because he is perfect, but because he is decisive. He takes tough, often unpopular decisions—decisions many politicians fear—but necessary ones nonetheless. Tinubu is not managing Nigeria as a career politician obsessed with optics; he is confronting national challenges as a leader focused on long-term stability and reform.

    Leadership is not about telling people what they want to hear. It is about doing what must be done. While ADC looks backwards, APC—under Tinubu—pushes forward, making hard choices to reposition the country, even when the cost is political comfort.

    Nigeria does not need another gathering of angry, expired politicians recycling old ambitions. It needs leadership, courage, and direction. On that score, ADC offers little more than noise, while APC continues to define itself by action.

    Even the acronym ADC – borrowing a leaf from the APC- shows its lack of vision and originality. The old African saying that when one cries, one must see, encompasses the need for Nigerians to see beyond the confused, arm-twisting tactics of ADC and see the rich future the APC is taking the country to.

    The ADC is often portrayed as a platform that thrives more on grievance than on ideas. Rather than presenting clear policies, solutions, or a compelling vision for the country, its public conversation is dominated by negativity—anger at opponents, blame for the past, and endless complaints about who failed Nigeria and who should be removed next. What is striking is that the party appears louder in what it opposes than in what it actually proposes.

    Many of the figures around the ADC were central voices in the campaign to remove Goodluck Jonathan from office. At the time, they painted him as unfit to lead and rallied public sentiment against his administration. Today, however, those same actors are seen seeking Jonathan’s goodwill and support, a move that exposes a deep inconsistency and a politics driven more by convenience than conviction.

    Within the ADC, there is also a glaring credibility vacuum. There is no single figure who commands broad public trust based on integrity, performance, or fresh ideas. The leaders themselves seem aware of this weakness, which explains the desperation to court Peter Obi. Rather than building their own identity, ideology, and grassroots strength, they appear eager to hide under Obi’s popularity—hoping his reputation can serve as a canopy to mask their lack of substance.

    In the end, the ADC comes across not as a movement powered by vision and renewal, but as a gathering of political actors united mainly by bitterness, recycled ambitions, and the fear of irrelevance—talking endlessly about negativity because they have little else to offer.

    The ADC can be described as a group that appears unwilling to wish Nigeria well, a political camp that seems more comfortable with perpetual pessimism than honest national progress. They rarely, if ever, acknowledge reforms or positive steps taken by the current administration. Instead of engaging constructively, they choose selective blindness—ignoring policies, initiatives, and difficult but necessary decisions aimed at stabilizing the country.

    President Tinubu’s courage to take politically risky reforms, his determination to confront long-standing insecurity, and his willingness to make tough calls in the interest of long-term national recovery are met not with fair critique but with outright silence or dismissal. To the ADC, nothing is ever improving, nothing is ever commendable, and no effort is ever worthy of recognition.

    Their politics thrives on doom-saying. Every development is framed as failure, every reform as disaster, and every challenge as proof that Nigeria is beyond repair. Rather than offering alternative ideas, practical solutions, or balanced criticism, they recycle negativity as a strategy. In doing so, they project an image of a party more invested in seeing Nigeria struggle—so they can say “we told you so”—than in seeing the nation succeed.

    Such an approach does not inspire hope, unity, or progress. It reflects a mindset that feeds on despair, not patriotism, and opposition for its own sake, not for the good of Nigeria.

    Let it also be stated plainly: Peter Obi joining the ADC will make absolutely no difference whatsoever. Nigerians are not fools. They know who the ADC people are—career political failures that have moved from party to party, election to election, without ideas, integrity, or credibility. Slapping Peter Obi’s name on their decayed structure will not suddenly give them relevance. You cannot perfume political rot and expect the stench to disappear.

    This is also the time to tell Peter Obi the hard truth his supporters are too emotional to say: he should not contest the 2027 presidential election. Nigerian politics is not Twitter politics. It is about power balance, structure, and regional agreement. The North will never allow another southerner to take over immediately after Tinubu’s four years, because that would mean potentially eight uninterrupted years of southern presidency. That door is firmly shut.

    Running in 2027 under these realities will not make Peter Obi a hero; it will make him a political instrument for confused coalitions and desperate politicians looking for cover. It will only weaken the opposition further and make victory easier for those who actually understand the political terrain. Wisdom is knowing when the battle is unwinnable—and walking away before your political capital is wasted on an already dead arrangement.

    The ADC appears to have no real political structure or strategy for a few clear, interconnected reasons:

    It was not built as a grassroots party

    ADC was never patiently constructed from the ward–local government–state level upward. Strong parties in Nigeria grow structures over time: loyal ward executives, polling-unit agents, youth and women wings, funding pipelines, and dispute-resolution mechanisms. ADC skipped this hard work and instead operates like a meeting point for elite politicians, not a mass party.

     It is personality-driven, not institution-driven

    Rather than ideas and ideology, ADC revolves around who is angry with the ruling party at any given time. When a party depends on personalities instead of institutions, it collapses once those personalities lose relevance or disagree among themselves. That is why ADC keeps looking for a “saviour” instead of producing leaders internally.

    No clear ideology or policy direction

    ADC does not stand for anything concrete—no consistent economic philosophy, no social agenda, no governance blueprint. Without ideology, you cannot design a strategy. All that remains is reactionary politics: attacking whoever is in power and hoping public anger does the rest.

    Electoral opportunism instead of long-term planning

    Serious parties plan the election cycle years. ADC wakes up close to elections and starts shopping for popular candidates instead of grooming them. Begging Peter Obi to join them late in the game exposes the absence of succession planning and political foresight.

    Internal contradictions and credibility problems

    Many of its loudest voices once supported policies and leaders they now condemn. That inconsistency makes it impossible to sell a coherent message to Nigerians. Strategy requires trust; ADC lacks it—even among its own members.

    No discipline or command structureA functional party has hierarchy and discipline. ADC members speak anyhow, attack one another, and contradict party positions publicly. Without internal order, external strategy is impossible.

     Power-seeking, not nation-building

    At its core, ADC behaves like a coalition of politicians desperate to remain relevant, not a movement committed to solving Nigeria’s problems. When power is the goal, but vision is absent, structure and strategy become afterthoughts.

    ADC has no political structure or strategy because it was never designed to be a serious political institution. It is a convenient platform for frustrated politicians, held together by negativity, bitterness and ambition—not by ideas, discipline, or grassroots strength.

     • Allison Abanum writes from Orogun, Ibadan, Oyo State.

  • 2025: Democracy under attack

    2025: Democracy under attack

    By Yasemin Aydın

    The year 2025 will probably not be remembered as a dramatic breaking point for democracy.

    No sudden collapses. No single moment where everything fell apart. And that is exactly what makes it important.

    Institutions continued to function. Elections took place. Courts remained open. From the outside, democratic systems appeared intact. Yet something shifted underneath. Not abruptly, but steadily. Democratic erosion did not accelerate through shock. It deepened through repetition.

    This was not the year new threats appeared. It was the year familiar ones began to reinforce each other.

    Uncertainty as the starting point

    Europe entered 2025 already uneasy. The war in Ukraine not only tested military capacity. It exposed how dependent European security still is on the United States. Support from Washington continued, but it no longer felt automatic. Domestic polarization in the US and shifting global priorities made commitments appear conditional.

    READ ALSO; Why I walked away as Finance Minister – Kemi Adeosun

    In his government address on December 17, German Chancellor Friedrich Merz stated openly that Europe was losing significance in the eyes of the United States and described the moment as an epochal rupture. The language was striking not because it was alarmist, but because it acknowledged what had long been avoided: The transatlantic relationship could no longer be taken for granted. This shift was reinforced by the new US security strategy. Washington signaled a clear departure from its traditional commitment to Europe and from a rules-based international order. The symbolic breaking point for many came earlier that year, when Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy was received in the Oval Office and treated in a manner widely perceived as humiliating. When Donald Trump publicly accused him of “playing with World War Three,” the moment left observers across Europe stunned, not because of diplomatic disagreement, but because of the tone. It marked a visible collapse of mutual respect. As Stephen M. Walt has long argued, deterrence weakens not only when power declines, but when intentions become uncertain. In 2025 that uncertainty was no longer theoretical. It was visible, audible and politically consequential. Uncertainty did not stay in foreign policy. It seeped into public perception.

    When truth stops convincing

    Where uncertainty grows, disinformation finds room to operate. Cyberattacks and digital interference were no longer abstract scenarios discussed in security briefings. They became tangible disruptions. As security experts noted at the time, these operations no longer took place solely along distant front lines but across civilian, digital and psychological spaces. Intelligence agencies across Europe and the transatlantic community confirmed what many had already sensed: Contemporary disinformation is not designed to persuade. It is designed to exhaust. The goal is not to replace one narrative with another but to undermine the idea that a shared reality is even possible.

    This development reinforced a broader realization: The boundaries between war and peace, external threat and internal stability, had blurred. What was at stake was no longer only territorial integrity but societal resilience.

    Hannah Arendt warned that politics becomes dangerous when people lose trust not only in facts but in the possibility of truth itself. In 2025 this warning felt uncomfortably accurate.

    Truth did not vanish. It simply lost its authority.

    People grew tired of defending it.

    Platforms don’t just host debate, they shape it

    This fatigue cannot be separated from the architecture of the digital public sphere. Platforms are no longer neutral spaces where debate happens. They actively shape what is seen, amplified or ignored. Not through bans but through ranking. Through design choices that reward speed, emotional intensity and constant engagement.

    Shoshana Zuboff describes this as a system built to predict and influence behavior, not to foster deliberation. Engagement becomes the measure of relevance, and relevance quietly replaces judgment. European efforts under the Digital Services Act reflect a growing awareness of this imbalance. The question is no longer whether speech is allowed, but who controls visibility in practice.

    Exhaustion as a political condition

    There is also a psychological layer to this story. An attention economy built on dopamine does not encourage reflection. It keeps users in a state of anticipation, always reacting, rarely settling. Gabor Maté has emphasized that addiction is less about pleasure than about escaping discomfort, a mechanism the attention economy exploits at scale. Young people feel this most directly. Attention shortens. Emotional overload becomes normal. Complexity feels heavy. Byung-Chul Han describes contemporary societies as exhausted rather than oppressed: overstimulated, yet increasingly passive. Exhausted societies do not disappear. They simplify. They don’t have any patience for complexity. But democracy is complex.

    Why populism starts to feel reasonable

    This is the moment where populism becomes dangerous: not because it shouts, but because it fits.

    What mattered most in 2025 was not the success of authoritarian actors themselves, but how mainstream politics reacted to them. Under pressure, established parties increasingly adopted populist framing, especially on migration and security, presenting it as pragmatism.

    Political theorist Jan-Werner Müller warns that populism is not neutralized by imitation. It is legitimized by it. Austrian political scientist Natascha Strobl describes this process as the normalization of authoritarianism: not through open rupture, but through shifting thresholds of what is considered acceptable. Authoritarian politics, she argues, does not need to abolish democracy. It only needs to redefine what democracy is expected to tolerate.

    This is why 2025 felt different.

    Exceptional measures no longer shocked.

    Oversight felt inconvenient.

    Complexity appeared inefficient.

    Authoritarian logic did not announce itself. It blended in.

    Not a moral failure, a structural one

    What 2025 revealed was not a collapse of democratic values. Most societies still claim them. It revealed a structural problem.

    Strategic uncertainty weakened confidence.

    Disinformation exploited that weakness.

    Platform design amplified distortion.

    Attention fatigue reduced resistance.

    Simplification filled the gap.

    Each element reinforced the next. Democracy today is not lost at once. It erodes across systems: in how information circulates, how attention is managed and how “normal” quietly shifts.

    There was no single moment in 2025 when democracy failed. There were many moments when it was simply adjusted. And that may be the more dangerous story.

  • Securing the future of our agricultural sector

    Securing the future of our agricultural sector

    • By Michael Adedotun Oke

    Sir: For too long, Nigeria’s agricultural sector has been weighed down by the “gravel” of security challenges. What should be a landscape of growth and food security has, in many regions, become a theatre of uncertainty. Farmers, who are the lifeblood of our nation, are facing more than just the traditional risks of weather and pests; they are navigating a terrain of banditry, theft, and unresolved land disputes.

    This environment of “life fear” has a paralyzing effect. When a farmer is afraid to step onto their field, the essential acts of planting and harvesting—the very foundation of our national survival—are compromised. My recent field observations in Gwagwalada reveal the desperate measures farmers are forced to take in the absence of formal protection, smallholder producers are now using cut wood logs as rudimentary perimeter barriers. While these represent a resourceful stop-gap, such labour-intensive and unsustainable methods highlight a systemic failure to provide basic rural security.

    Furthermore, the neglect of our designated forestry zones has turned vital ecological reserves into “ungoverned spaces.” Evidence of this neglect is visible in where trees are being unsustainably debarked for non-timber forest products (NTFPs) without oversight. These degraded, remote areas have become critical operational bases for armed non-state actors, directly fuelling the insecurity that prevents farmers from accessing their lands. Even our most innovative attempts at localized food security, such as integrated poultry and agroforestry, remain vulnerable when the broader infrastructure is too fragile to ensure safety and sustainable waste management.

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    To move ahead and push toward the “ultimate drops of success,” our approach to agricultural planning must evolve. We cannot treat security as an afterthought to farming; it must be integrated into the very setting of the sector through the following strategic pillars:

    Integrated security corridors: Establishing dedicated security outposts in high-production farming clusters ensure that farmers can work without looking over their shoulders.

    Technology-driven surveillance: Utilizing drones and satellite mapping to monitor remote farmlands allows for rapid response to threats before they escalate into full-scale displacement.

    Community-led intelligence: Planning must include the local farmers themselves. They are the first to see changes in the landscape, and their traditional knowledge is vital for pre-emptive security measures.

    The drive for success in agricultural practice is “keen”—the potential is massive, and the will of the people is strong. However, potential alone does not put food on the table. We need a fundamental shift in our national policy where the safety of the farmer is prioritized alongside the quality of the seed.

    When we remove the gravel of insecurity, we pave the way for a new era of productivity. By destroying the barriers of fear, we allow the sector to push forward, ensuring that our agricultural output doesn’t just trickle, but flows toward the ultimate goal of national self-sufficiency and economic resilience.

    •Michael Adedotun Oke,

    Abuja.

  • Why Marwa is the pride of Adamawa

    Why Marwa is the pride of Adamawa

    Sir: Show me an Adamawa born leader who initiated a project like ‘’Keke Marwa’’ that became a household name across Nigeria. Show me an Adamawa son whose performance and loyalty were so trusted that he was called upon to govern not one, but two states, leaving behind legacies of reform and innovation.

    Show me an Adamawa son who was appointed to head a critical national agency, whose name remains constantly in the news for achievements that reshape Nigeria’s fight against drugs abuse, and who has been trusted by two presidents consecutively for his outstanding service, and I will show you Brig Gen Mohamed Buba Marwa (Rtd) CON, OFR.

    Marwa’s career began in the Nigerian Army, where he rose to the rank of Brigadier General and served in critical roles including Brigade Major of the 23 Armoured Brigade, Aide de Camp to the Chief of Army Staff, and Deputy Defence Adviser at Nigeria’s Embassy in Washington, D.C. His leadership extended into governance, first as military governor of Borno State between 1990 and 1992, and later as governor of Lagos State from 1996 to 1999.

    In Borno, Marwa’s practical development includes roads, improved public facilities, building and rehabilitating schools and introduction of teacher training programs, strengthening hospitals and rural clinics, supporting agriculture through extension services and community projects. He also provided solid funds and scholarships to Adamawa undergraduates students.

    His tenure in Lagos was even more transformative. Beyond the famous “Keke Marwa” tricycles that revolutionized urban transport, he launched Operation 250 Roads, a massive rehabilitation program that improved driving conditions across the state. He remodelled public health facilities, introduced free malaria treatment, and improved refuse management to tackle the chronic sanitation problems in Lagos. He provided educational opportunities through scholarships and school infrastructure upgrades, while his celebrated Operation Sweep drastically reduced crime and restored public confidence in security.

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    As chairman of Nigeria’s Presidential Committee for the Elimination of Drug Abuse (PACEDA), Marwa initiated reforms and strategies, laying the foundation for Nigeria’s modern anti-drug policies. His current role as chairman and chief executive officer of the National Drug Law Enforcement Agency (NDLEA), which he assumed in January 2021 under late President Muhammadu Buhari, has been equally ground-breaking. Under his leadership, the NDLEA recorded Nigeria’s largest ever cocaine seizure in September 2022, when 1,855 kilograms of cocaine valued at over $278 million were intercepted in Lagos, dismantling an international cartel. The agency has consistently broken records in arrests and seizures, intercepting thousands of kilograms of narcotics and dismantling trafficking networks nationwide.

    He has expanded rehabilitation and counselling programs, ensuring thousands of drug users receive treatment and reintegration support. He prioritized officer welfare by addressing stagnation in promotions, improving welfare packages, and initiating the construction of new barracks and a modern headquarters. His reforms include the transition to digital visa clearance systems, establishing new directorates to boost efficiency and many others, while his push for international cooperation has strengthened Nigeria’s ties with agencies such as the U.S. DEA, UK NCA, UNODC and others. At the grassroots level, he launched the War Against Drug Abuse (WADA) initiative, mobilizing schools, religious institutions, community leaders, and stakeholders to spread awareness nationwide.

    President Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s decision to renew Marwa’s tenure, making him one of the few Buhari era appointees retained is a clear testament to his outstanding performance.

    For me, these achievements confirm why  Buba Marwa remains my leading Adamawa son in Nigeria’s leadership today. His journey from a soldier to a reformer reflects the resilience and excellence of our people, and he firmly stands among the topmost leaders in the national landscape, a trailblazer whose legacy will continue to inspire us.

    •Sini Joseph Kwaji,

     Jimeta, Adamawa State.

  • Reflections from inside Northern Nigerian governance

    Reflections from inside Northern Nigerian governance

    • By Naufal Ahmad

    Sir: Northern Nigeria is not short on brilliant people. We have them in our schools, our streets, our WhatsApp groups. But these people are no longer stepping up to lead. Why? Because they’ve seen what happens to those who try.

    When I was younger, I thought leadership was the highest form of service. I still believe that, but now I also know it can be the fastest way to become a target. The good ones get mocked. The careful ones get sabotaged. The dreamers get criminalized.

    Mob culture is killing public spirit. This is what I call the rise of mob culture: a social dynamic where intelligent discourse is hijacked by cynical takedowns. It’s not just the uninformed anymore. Some of our brightest minds are now lending their voices to the chorus of public ridicule, often not realizing that they are tearing down the very same people they once prayed for.

    Let me give you an example.

    In my agency – the Katsina ICT Directorate (KATDICT), we’ve hosted town halls and stakeholder sessions to build in the open. We said: come, hear our plans, challenge us, contribute. And people came, smart people. But instead of engaging the ideas or offering better ones, they came with sneers, sarcasm, and superiority.

    They didn’t show up to improve things; they came to perform their cynicism.

    As a public servant, it’s disheartening. You open the door, not to applause or critique, but to ridicule. And this is the exact reason why many others in public service shut their doors entirely.

    Another layer is cultural. In the North, we carry our traditions with pride, and rightly so. But sometimes, that pride turns into resistance. Anything new is seen as arrogance. If you communicate differently, use technology, or reach the people directly, you’re branded as “too much,” or dismissed as a “media leader.”

    Meanwhile, those doing nothing remain unquestioned. This attitude has blocked so many innovations before they even had the chance to start. It’s a kind of cultural self-sabotage. We are suspicious of our own possibilities.

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    Why are we glorifying the critics who risk nothing?

    There’s a trend I’ve watched with quiet concern: we are beginning to worship fault-finders. People who’ve never led a thing, never built a block, never contested a position, never raised a hand to help, yet they dominate our discourse.

    They are witty, sarcastic, loud. They get retweets. They sound smart. But they are not building anything.

    Meanwhile, the people showing up to work, sweating through bureaucracy, pushing policies, navigating real limitations,  they are dismissed with a tweet or a meme.

    This is not criticism. It is sabotage.

    What Nigeria  and  the North urgently need is a new ethic of engagement. I’m not saying don’t question leaders.  Criticism is necessary,  but only when it is done in the spirit of construction, not destruction.

    What we need is constructive intelligence:

     • People who question, but also propose; People who critique, but also commit, and people who dare to join the mess, not just comment from the side-lines.

    And above all, we need to protect the few trying to build, not throw stones at them simply because they dared to step forward. Don’t eat from the table of cynicism when you could be helping set the table of reform.

    This country is hard. Northern Nigeria is even harder. But some of us are still trying. Let us not be few. Let us be more. Let us build.

    Even if we fail, let it be said that we tried.

    •Naufal Ahmad,

    Director-General, KATDICT,

    Katsina.