Category: Commentaries

Sir: On Tuesday, October 22, policemen sealed off the glass-fronted corporate headquarters of Nestoil Limited on Victoria Island. Employees watched in disbelief as security operatives, acting on court orders, escorted receivers appointed by FBNQuest Merchant Bank into the building. By midday, access had been restricted, and by evening, the story was everywhere: one of Nigeria’s flagship indigenous oil and gas companies had been placed under receivership over an estimated $1 billion debt.

The takeover, authorised by Justice D. I. Dipeolu of the Federal High Court empowered FBNQuest and its parent company, First Trustees, to seize Nestoil’s assets. The court also directed over 20 banks — including GTBank, Stanbic IBTC, Fidelity, Polaris, and Providus — to freeze the company’s accounts.

For Nigeria’s oil and gas industry, this was more than a legal action. It was a signal.

For decades, indigenous energy firms — companies like Seplat, Oando, Shoreline, Aiteo, and Nestoil — were celebrated as symbols of national aspiration. They emerged in the wake of the 2010 Nigerian Oil and Gas Industry Content Development Act, which mandated greater local participation in upstream operations. Backed by patriotic fervour and political goodwill, they borrowed heavily from Nigerian banks to acquire oil blocks divested by Shell, Chevron, and other international oil companies retreating from onshore Niger Delta operations.

It was a period of exuberance. Crude oil traded above $100 per barrel, the naira was relatively stable, and credit flowed easily. Dollar-denominated loans worth billions were advanced to indigenous firms, often on the assumption that oil prices would stay high and production would ramp up smoothly.

But then came the shocks.

The oil price collapse of 2014, followed by the COVID-19 crash in 2020, exposed the fragility of those projections. Production targets were missed, pipelines were sabotaged, and foreign exchange shortages made debt servicing increasingly difficult. Many firms turned to “evergreening” — rolling over loans, extending tenures, and quietly restructuring terms. Banks, fearing contagion in a fragile economy, preferred accommodation to confrontation.

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That era of quiet indulgence has now ended.

According to a recent SBM Intelligence report, October alone saw a marked surge in court filings by banks seeking enforcement of non-performing loans. For years, lenders had been accused of shielding politically connected debtors from accountability. Now, under pressure from the Central Bank of Nigeria (CBN) and shareholders, banks are tightening their books.

The Nestoil case epitomises this shift. What would once have been a closed-door restructuring has now become a public reckoning. The court’s Mareva injunction — a tool typically used to prevent asset flight — is one of the most aggressive debt enforcement measures in Nigerian corporate history.

The implications go beyond one company. Nigeria’s banks collectively hold billions in exposure to indigenous oil firms. Many of these loans, originally denominated in U.S. dollars at about a dollar to N360, have become far riskier as the naira continues to weaken — it traded near N1,465 on the morning Nestoil’s doors were sealed.

As lenders scramble to clean their balance sheets, more aggressive recovery actions are expected. Already, several oil service firms have reported disruptions to operations due to account freezes or asset seizures.

For Nestoil, the immediate battle is legal and financial. The company insists its operations remain unaffected, even as its corporate offices remain under receivership. But the symbolism is undeniable. A company once held up as proof of Nigeria’s local content success now stands as a cautionary tale.

It marks the end of an era when access to credit could paper over weak fundamentals, and when relationships could override repayment schedules.

The indigenous oil and gas dream is not dead. But it is being forced to grow up.

And in this new financial order, survival will depend not on who you know, but on how well you manage risk and trust.

•Tosin Adeoti, contact@tosinadeoti.com.

Sir: Nigeria is currently navigating a period of profound uncertainty. The nation faces not only economic hardship resulting from recent policy reforms but also escalating political divisions that threaten national cohesion. Widespread discontent has emerged amid rising inflation, insecurity, and perceptions of governmental inaction. The removal of fuel subsidies and the unification of exchange rates in 2023 led to significant increases in transportation costs, food prices, and general living expenses. Although these reforms were intended to stabilize the economy long-term, they have imposed immediate and severe burdens on citizens.

In response, the federal government introduced several palliative measures: direct cash transfers to vulnerable households, temporary wage supplements for public sector workers, support for key economic sectors, and a student loan scheme. While these initiatives acknowledge the hardship faced by Nigerians, critics argue they are insufficient, poorly targeted, and potentially inflationary if not accompanied by broader structural reforms.

Amid these challenges, some individuals have begun advocating for military intervention, citing frustration with governance. A segment of the youth population has used social media and public platforms to express support for a coup. Many lack direct experience of Nigeria’s past under military rule, which was marked by widespread human rights violations, suppression of civil liberties, and systemic abuse of power.

In previous decades, journalism in Nigeria was a source of intellectual development and civic education. Today, however, the media risks becoming a vehicle for propaganda and incitement—echoing the dangerous role played by radio broadcasters during the Rwandan genocide, where inflammatory rhetoric contributed to mass violence.

This concern has been heightened by recent remarks from President Donald Trump, who labelled Nigeria a “country of particular concern” and alleged the “mass slaughter” of Christians. While Christian communities have suffered attacks, international observers and Nigerian authorities have rejected the claim of a targeted genocide. The Nigerian government has stated unequivocally that “there is no genocide, now or ever, in Nigeria.” Analysts and human rights organizations have noted that Muslims in northern Nigeria are frequently the primary victims of violence, particularly from groups such as Boko Haram and ISWAP.

The follow-up to Trump’s declaration—namely, the suggestion of military intervention—is most unfortunate and deeply uncalled for. It is even more disturbing that some Nigerians appear to applaud such a move. Thankfully, even among opposition ranks, there are voices of reason able to read between the lines and reject this dangerous proposition.

Yet it remains a tragedy that others view it as a welcome development. Should such an intervention ever materialize, it would spell doom for Nigeria. Far from preventing genocide, it could exacerbate existing tensions and further polarize the nation. History offers sobering lessons: in every instance where foreign military intervention has occurred under similar pretenses—Libya, Iraq, Afghanistan—the result has been catastrophic. Nations were destabilized, peace was lost, and social cohesion dismantled.

The violence in Nigeria is multifaceted—driven by poverty, land disputes, ethnic rivalries, and criminal activity. Reducing it to a single religious narrative distorts the truth and risks inflaming tensions. Rwanda’s genocide, described by Pope John Paul II as “a failure of humanity,” was fuelled by unchecked hatred and the deliberate manipulation of identity. These tragedies were not spontaneous—they were the result of silence, misinformation, and the weaponization of difference.

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Nigerian scholars such as Jonah Isawa Elaigwu and Bolaji Akinyemi have long warned of the fragile foundations of Nigerian federalism. Elaigwu’s work emphasizes that “federalism is not merely a constitutional arrangement—it is a culture of dialogue, compromise, and inclusion.” When this culture is undermined, national unity is placed at risk.

Social media, once a platform for civic engagement, is increasingly being used to spread misinformation and incite division. Nigerian youth, once celebrated as catalysts for democratic change, are now vulnerable to manipulation and digital vigilantism. As Chinua Achebe observed, “The trouble with Nigeria is simply and squarely a failure of leadership.” Yet leadership is not the sole responsibility of those in office—it is a collective duty shared by all citizens.

Sustainable change requires rational discourse, active civic participation, and peaceful advocacy. It cannot be achieved through violence, misinformation, or nostalgia for authoritarianism. Falsehoods must be confronted, leaders held accountable, and the rule of law upheld.

The way forward demands unity, truth, and a renewed commitment to democratic values. As Nelson Mandela wisely stated, “It is in the character of growth that we should learn from both pleasant and unpleasant experiences.” The choices made today will shape the future of generations to come.

Nigeria stands at a decisive moment. The nation must choose between renewal and regression, between dialogue and division, between democracy and despair. The path to national transformation lies in collective responsibility, principled leadership, and an unwavering commitment to justice and peace.

•Rev. Canon Benedict Koledoye, South Wales, United Kingdom.

Sir: When the United States recently classified Nigeria once again as a “Country of Particular Concern” over alleged religious persecution, many Nigerians reacted with a mixture of surprise, frustration and weary familiarity. It was not the first time Washington has made such a designation, but the tone and timing especially coming alongside firm public statements from President Donald Trump sparked anxiety about Nigeria’s international standing and the wider implications for diplomatic and economic relations.

The label, tied to claims that Christian communities face targeted suppression and insecurity, did not emerge in isolation. Evangelical groups and rights advocates in the U.S. have sustained pressure for years, insisting that Nigeria is witnessing a systematic campaign against Christians. That narrative has gained traction in certain policy circles abroad, even as it remains contested by many Nigerian stakeholders, security experts, and interfaith leaders.

Yet the picture inside Nigeria is more complex than one storyline suggests. There is no denying that Christian communities have suffered devastating attacks in parts of the country, particularly in the Middle Belt and Northeast. Churches have been razed, worshippers killed, and entire communities displaced. But Muslims too, especially across Borno, Yobe, Katsina, Zamfara and Sokoto have been victims of terrorism, banditry and targeted killings. Mosques have been attacked; religious scholars abducted and murdered. Entire villages, predominantly Muslim, have been wiped out by armed groups.

Nigeria’s reality is not a war between two faiths. What the country faces is a combination of terrorism, rural banditry, communal conflicts, climate-induced migration pressures, cattle-route disputes, land use clashes, and the legacy of weak local governance structures. To reduce this layered crisis to a single religious persecution narrative is not only inaccurate, but risks deepening suspicion among communities already struggling with fear and mistrust.

Still, criticism should not be dismissed simply because its framing is imperfect. Nigeria has a duty to protect every citizen, regardless of religion or location. For too long, families across this country whether in Southern Kaduna or Zamfara forests, in Plateau villages or Borno communities have buried loved ones without justice. That national pain must be acknowledged honestly. Security failures, uneven responses, and slow justice mechanisms have fed frustration. Diplomatic contests should not make us blind to domestic responsibilities.

The federal government’s response so far has been measured, rejecting the U.S. designation as misguided, while reaffirming Nigeria’s commitment to religious freedom and interfaith harmony. It is a wise approach. Anger may be emotionally satisfying, but diplomacy requires restraint. Nigeria cannot afford avoidable strategic friction with a global partner whose support remains vital in counterterrorism, trade, and military cooperation.

At the same time, Nigeria must not appear defensive or passive. The moment calls for quiet confidence backed by visible action: stronger prosecution of violent actors, transparent reporting on communal incidents, improved early-warning systems, interfaith dialogue at community level, and a firmer hand against inflammatory rhetoric from religious or political figures. Policy must meet principle.

The United States, for its part, must resist being guided by lobby groups alone. Nigeria’s story cannot be reduced to campaign talking points or foreign ideological battles. A balanced reading of our challenges recognises that both mosques and churches have fallen under attack and that extremists exploit sectarian fear precisely to divide Nigerians.

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There are consequences if this misunderstanding continues. Visa restrictions, partnership strain, and reputational damage are not theoretical risks. They can affect students, investors, families and businesses. Neither Abuja nor Washington stands to gain from an avoidable spiral. Both countries require each other — for regional stability, counterterror operations, trade, and democratic governance.

Nigeria should not shy away from accountability, but neither should it accept a mischaracterisation of its troubles. Our armed forces — made up of Muslims and Christians — have fought and died together in the same trenches. Our communities, despite tensions, continue to intermingle, marry, trade and coexist daily. That reality deserves recognition.

The task now is to protect citizens while protecting the truth. Nigeria must demonstrate seriousness, not insecurity. Quiet reform, steady diplomacy, and firm national messaging will serve the country better than loud confrontation.

In moments like this, maturity matters. The world is watching to see not whether Nigeria has challenges — every nation does — but how Nigeria responds. A confident country fixes its weaknesses without surrendering its dignity. That is the path that protects lives, preserves unity and strengthens the nation’s voice on the global stage.

In the end, what Nigeria needs is not applause abroad but peace at home. And that peace will come not from foreign declarations but from strong institutions, fair justice, and leaders and citizens committed to refusing the dangerous politics of faith and fear.

•Abdulhamid Abdullahi Aliyu,Abuja