Magnus Onyibe

President Bola Tinubu has reignited a lightning rod of controversy by reopening the debate on state police—one of the most critical policy issues in Nigeria’s public discourse. Intriguingly, despite being on the front burner since the return of democracy in 1999, the idea of state police has never been adopted or implemented.

A clear indication of how persistent this demand has been lies in the fact that former military head of state, General Olusegun Obasanjo, who became Nigeria’s civilian president in 1999, was the first to moot the idea of state police. Yet, the initiative never materialized. Will President Tinubu’s attempt also suffer the same fate, fizzling out like Obasanjo’s aborted effort?

Tinubu, however, is known for his relentlessness in pursuing reforms. Having successfully ended both petrol and naira subsidies despite fierce opposition, he may well succeed with his push to decentralize Nigeria’s policing system. The frequency with which state police have been debated by lawmakers, policymakers, and citizens is rivaled only by the calls for constitutional amendment.

For context, the removal of petrol and naira subsidies has been a contentious issue since the mid-1980s. Under General Ibrahim Babangida, the IMF recommended the Structural Adjustment Programme (SAP), which included subsidy removal. But following nationwide protests, Babangida backed down and subsidies persisted. Subsequent presidents—Obasanjo, Yar’Adua, Jonathan, and Buhari—all attempted reforms but failed. Tinubu, however, ended the subsidy regime on May 29, 2023, declaring on inauguration day: “Subsidy is gone.”

Despite resistance from many Nigerians, Tinubu held his ground. That decision has since spurred massive private sector investment in the oil and gas sector, evident in the 650,000 barrels-per-day Dangote refinery and several modular refineries now operating. It also ended the era of agonizing fuel queues.

More importantly, subsidy removal has tripled federal allocations to state governments, empowering them to pursue grassroots development. States like Delta and Edo have already embarked on large-scale infrastructure projects, including major roads and flyovers.

Like subsidies, state police have been debated endlessly—arguably more than the Petroleum Industry Bill, which took nearly two decades to pass into law as the Petroleum Industry Act (PIA). Given Tinubu’s record of breaking long-standing policy jinxes, Nigeria may indeed be on the cusp of adopting state policing under his Renewed Hope Agenda.

This is why it was both fascinating and surprising when, just before departing for his annual leave in Europe last Friday, Tinubu metaphorically dropped a “bombshell.” He challenged state governors directly by placing the debate on their laps: should Nigeria adopt a state policing system or not?

Tinubu made this remark while addressing North-East governors, led by Borno State Governor Babagana Zulum, during their visit to Aso Rock.

It should be recalled that while all 36 governors initially endorsed the idea of state police, only 20 eventually submitted reports outlining concrete steps toward establishing such a structure. Nonetheless, momentum appears to be building: a bill to establish a decentralized policing framework has already passed its first reading in the National Assembly.

Perhaps, just as the three tax reform laws that initially got stuck in the legislative pipeline due to resistance from lawmakers were later unstuck through the careful management of sensitive regional, ethnocultural, and religious concerns—resolved by setting up a joint committee between the legislative and executive branches—Nigeria’s century-old tax laws impeding effective and efficient taxation have now been replaced with dynamic ones in tune with 21st-century realities.

Based on that experience, one can be optimistic that the decentralization of the police system may become another box ticked on the checklist of progress and development that Tinubu’s administration is increasingly becoming known for.

The only snag in Tinubu’s governance accomplishments of which he has lately praised himself by stating that Nigeria is no longer borrowing funds locally and that the nation’s revenue target was met in August (four months ahead of December), to the chagrin of his opponents—is that due to the long gestation period associated with reforms of this magnitude, the impact on ordinary citizens is yet to be felt positively in their daily lives. Yet, drawing from global experience, reforms of this scale take time to yield dividends. However, by keeping his foot firmly on the reform pedal, the Tinubu administration is likely to achieve the desired transformation, already manifesting slowly but surely.

Admittedly, such optimism may sound like gibberish to skeptics who demand immediate results. Yet, undeniably, inflation is beginning to dip while Nigeria’s economic fundamentals—such as foreign exchange reserves at the CBN—have risen significantly, now standing at over $41 billion under Tinubu’s watch.

Currently, there is much talk about Nigeria becoming a trillion-dollar economy—a legitimate aspiration. But the goal may remain elusive if insecurity continues to define the Nigerian landscape. That is why the type of policing Nigeria adopts under the current circumstances should not be politicized. The fact that policing has been politicized since the return to multiparty democracy in 1999 is, therefore, deeply disappointing.

Nevertheless, by tossing the decision of whether to decentralize or retain the colonial structure of the Nigerian police to state governors—a move that reaffirms his reputation as a political maverick—Tinubu seems to have set the stage for a new dawn in policing.

I do not know if other observers of Nigeria’s sociopolitical and economic space have noticed, but I have observed that Tinubu appears to be digging into the archives of Nigeria’s lingering headaches dating back four, if not five, decades to tackle specific national challenges. Take for example petrol and naira subsidies, the recent tax reforms, and local government autonomy reforms. Although the Supreme Court has ruled on LGA autonomy, implementation is still pending, while the tax reforms will take effect in January next year.

Because Tinubu has managed to push through these reforms, one could argue—contrary to critics who dismiss his reforms as haphazard—that there is evidence of a methodical plan to reset Nigeria economically, socially, and politically under his Renewed Hope Agenda.

Undoubtedly, insecurity remains Nigeria’s greatest social crisis. It is particularly urgent to slay this hydra-headed monster, given its multi-dimensional effects: triggering food insecurity, unemployment, hunger, and poverty. The impact is so horrendous and encompassing that it is perplexing that state governments, police authorities, and politicians have resisted decentralization since it was first mooted under Obasanjo’s administration.

Following President Tinubu’s charge to governors last Friday to take a position on state police, I revisited my archives and retrieved an article I wrote in 2002. That is 23 years ago—titled “Deregulating the National Security System” published on 15/12/2002.

Before citing six other interventions I have made in the past two decades on insecurity and the need for decentralization, it is worth highlighting recent Boko Haram atrocities in Borno and Katsina states. These) tragic incidents may have influenced Tinubu’s renewed push for governors to harmonize their positions on policing, reminiscent of how governors were compelled to agree on a minimum wage figure during negotiations between the federal government and the NLC.

Recent Boko Haram Attacks:
1. Borno State:
• On September 6, 2025, Boko Haram attacked Darul Jamal village in Bama LGA, killing at least 63 people, including 5 soldiers.
• On August 22, 2025, terrorists ambushed a group escorting farmers in Konduga LGA, killing four people, including a soldier and a mobile police officer.
2. Katsina State:
• On August 20, 2025, gunmen attacked a mosque in Unguwan Mantau village, killing at least 50 worshippers and abducting around 60 others. The attack was believed to be retaliation after locals killed some bandits.

For a country not officially at war, these fatality rates are alarming. To be fair to Tinubu’s administration, Boko Haram has terrorized Nigeria for over 20 years, displacing millions and killing tens of thousands. The group first gained international notoriety by bombing the UN offices in Abuja, August 26, 2011, and later in 2014, by kidnapping over 270 Chibok schoolgirls.

Although the police are constitutionally mandated to maintain law and order, the scale of terrorism has forced the military to step in. Still, as many of us have long argued, Nigeria’s centralized police structure is inadequate for a country growing as rapidly as ours. Nigeria’s population has ballooned from roughly 40 million at independence in 1960 to around 240 million today—a 415% increase. Yet, police recruitment has not kept pace. The Nigerian Police Force currently has only about 300,000–400,000 personnel, far below the estimated 1 million officers required.

Clearly, Nigeria needs a more decentralized and agile police force. This justifies Tinubu’s latest move, effectively throwing the ball into the governors’ court. They must now decide whether to decentralize policing and assume responsibility as chief security officers of their states, or to maintain the status quo where state police commands answer only to the Inspector General of Police in Abuja.

Since 2002, I have consistently underscored the importance of effective policing as a precondition for Nigeria’s social, political, and economic development. My advocacy predates Tinubu’s administration and cannot be dismissed as blind loyalty.

For instance, I wrote:
• “Deregulating National Security System” (15/11/2002)
• “Is Nigeria’s Security Architecture Degenerating into a Mess?” (6/12/2017)
• “Is Nigeria Police Courting Another Youth Resistance Like EndSARS?” (10/1/2024)
• “Police as X-Factor in Nigeria’s Fight Against Insecurity” (27/2/2024)
• “Are Those Opposed to State Police Putting Our Lives at Risk?” (15/10/2024)

This consistency, persistence, and relentlessness in making a case for decentralization of the policing system in Nigeria is a reflection of how critical l believe it is to pulling our beloved country back from the brink and a demonstration of the confidence l have that our leaders are listening to our advocacy.

My good friend, Dr. Reuben Abati, a prolific columnist for Thisday newspaper and a respected anchor man for Arise News television station had noted during a 2023 interview on Arise News while reviewing my book “Leading From the Streets: Media Interventions by a Public Intellectual (1999-2019),” that Nigeria’s leaders do not listen to advice from columnists and commentary from broadcasters.l disagreed with him, then and l still do so now. That is simply because evidence abounds that our leaders worry over what may be reported in the media when they are formulating and implementing their policies.

In any case, it was Harry S. Truman, the 33rd President of the United States, who posited:

“I would rather have a government that can lie to the people and the people can read about it in the paper than a government that can control the papers.”

This quote highlights Truman’s perspective on the importance of a free press in holding government accountable, as opposed to a government-controlled media. The sentiment aligns with the idea of valuing a free press as a crucial pillar of democracy. It also suggests that the media shapes policies.

In my considered opinion, listening to the media, which is a pipeline to society for a two-way traffic between leaders and the masses should be the gold standard for dynamic leaders in the democratic world. It also buttresses the point that l have been making that the presidency in Nigeria should have an ombudsman. Not only to curate its output to society via the media and also get feedback, but also to manage the expectations of Nigerians and coordinate policy formulation and the buy-in of the Nigerian masses into the government’s agenda.

Obviously, as important as the change from centralized policing and state/community policing is to ending the human carnage arising from the horrendous state of insecurity in Nigeria, some critical stakeholders are opposed to it for political, emotional, and cultural reasons.

This category of people ranges from the lGP and top echelon of police hierarchy that do not want their sphere of influence to be reduced, the governors who may not want to expose their Security Votes currently opaque to public scrutiny, and politicians who may be nursing ulterior motives for the police under the control of states that may be unwholesome to society. Some of the sentiments against state/community police are driven by
how overbearing- Islamic police in Kano and the Ebube-Agu vigilante group in Anambra state for instance have been to innocent members of society. I fully understand how things can go awry when irresponsible individuals are vested with police power.

But be that as it may, the benefits of state police outweigh the demerits. Hence my counsel is that as the conventional wisdom goes: we can not throw away the babe and the bathwater.
I therefore urge those opposed to the push for a change from the centralized policing system to state/community policing to keep an open mind.

In the wisdom of Glennon Doyle, an American author, speaker, and activist known for her insightful writings on personal growth, spirituality, and living authentically.

“Nothing can be gained without losing. Even heaven demands death. You want to rise, something has to fall.
Every transformation demands a trade.
You can’t rise without release.
Can’t expand without breaking something open.
Can’t step into the next level while clinging to the last version of you.”

In the quote above, Glendon Doyle elegantly makes the case that growth is grief.
In other words, to become something new, one must let go of everything that made the old version possible.

If Nigerian governors return to President Tinubu with a collective resolve to introduce state or community policing—which already exists in practice under the guise of vigilante groups in various states—Nigeria would have taken another giant step forward towards becoming a trillion-dollar economy sooner than later. That is because a secure environment is a sine- qua- non for Foreign Direct Investment, (FDI)inflow into any economy.
But if leaders at the subnational level remain divided and refrain from strongly supporting a decentralized police force, then it would not be for lack of advocacy from members of the commentariat.

Such a reform could change Nigeria’s narrative—from being described as a killing field to being recognized as an ideal destination for human habitation and business growth.

If that happens before the curtain falls on 2025, it will mark another remarkable feather on Tinubu’s political cap.

Magnus Onyibe, an entrepreneur, public policy analyst, author, democracy advocate, development strategist, and alumnus of the Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy, Tufts University, Massachusetts, USA, is a Commonwealth Institute scholar and a former commissioner in the Delta State government. He sent this piece from Lagos.

The recent revelation by Hon. Abike Dabiri-Erewa, Chairperson of the Nigerians in Diaspora Commission (NiDCOM), that more than 7,000 Nigerians are currently stranded in Libya, inspired this intervention. Her statement revived painful memories that moved me, eight years ago in March 2017, to publish an article lamenting the surge of illegal migration by our young men and women in search of greener pastures abroad. That desperate pursuit often ended tragically, as countless Nigerians lost their lives attempting to cross the Sahara Desert on foot via Libya into Europe or navigating the Mediterranean Sea in rickety wooden boats into the Lampedusa islands, Italy.

These harrowing journeys evoke chilling reminders of how our forefathers were once shipped across oceans in tightly packed vessels during the Transatlantic slave trade, or dragged in chains across deserts in the Trans-Saharan trade. Sadly, despite the solutions I proposed in that earlier piece, nothing has changed. Eight years later, the Sahara and the Mediterranean remain vast graveyards for our youth, their lives wasted in pursuit of uncertain dreams.

It is important at this point to admit that the long title of this essay is deliberate. It underscores the central point—that the sheer scale at which Nigerian lives are squandered through illegal migration, where our youth lose not only their identities as undocumented migrants but also fall prey to human traffickers, must be brought to the fore. Some of these traffickers even go as far as harvesting organs from their victims. These stark realities need to be highlighted to guide our youth away from such dangerous paths.

The purpose of this essay, therefore is to paint a complete picture of the consequences of being undocumented—whether stranded in foreign lands or en route to them—so our young people can draw the right lessons. Before revisiting a significant portion of my 2017 article titled “Human Trafficking: How Nollywood, Traditional Rulers, and Businesses Can Come to the Rescue,” it is important to provide an update on global efforts to curb undocumented migration.

One striking example is the plan once championed by former UK Prime Minister Rishi Sunak, who sought an agreement with Rwanda to “offload” undocumented migrants from Britain. The irony is glaring: a country that centuries ago forcefully uprooted Africans from their homelands and shipped them across the globe under imperial rule, now seeks to expel their descendants, preventing them from setting foot in the UK and even attempting to deport them to another African country.

Of course, every nation reserves the sovereign right to decide who it admits or rejects. What raises deep moral concerns is the inhumane manner in which such policies are sometimes pursued. The UK’s failed attempt to deport migrants to Rwanda echoes history—specifically the relocation of freed slaves from Britain to Sierra Leone in 1787, under the initiative of abolitionist Granville Sharp. Sierra Leone eventually became a British Crown Colony in 1808 and gained independence in 1961.

Similarly, the United States once adopted a comparable policy. In 1822, freed Black slaves were sent to Liberia, which declared independence in 1847. Like Sierra Leone, it symbolized both liberation and exile—a reminder that even efforts framed as humanitarian often carried undertones of rejection.

Now, although the new UK Prime Minister, Keir Starmer, has scrapped the Rwanda plan, the parallels remain. The historical echoes—from Sierra Leone to Liberia—show how the legacies of forced displacement continue to shape the fate of Africans and their descendants today.

It is also interesting and abhorrent how Americans with Nigerian heritage are celebrated when they accomplish feats in sports, academia, entrepreneurship, and even in politics. But if they are involved in crime they are disowned by being described as Nigerian immigrants.

It conforms with the popular notion- success has many fathers but failure is an orphan. It must be stated that, such an attitude is unfair because it is morally wrong to selectively claim Americans of Nigerian origin only when it is convenient and serves their best interest and tag them with a Nigerian identity when they commit an offense against the US.

To be clear, the situation of tarnishing the image of Nigerians abroad in the US applies in all the other climes where Nigerians are in the diaspora. That needs to change. The concept of citizen diplomacy is the solution that Nigerians in the diaspora must adopt to separate the bad eggs from the good ones.

Trump’s Deportation Strategy, Global Parallels, and Lessons for Nigeria

Just as the United Kingdom once attempted to deport undocumented migrants to Rwanda, the Trump administration in the United States has been pursuing similar agreements with multiple countries in South America and Africa. A striking example is the case of Aggrego Garcia, an undocumented immigrant who, after being deported to El Salvador and returning, was given through the courts the unusual choice of being deported either to nearby Costa Rica or as far away as Uganda in Africa.

This approach mirrors the UK’s deal with Rwanda and recalls the historical precedents of Sierra Leone and Liberia—nations founded centuries ago when freed slaves were deported from Britain and the United States respectively.

As a public policy analyst—not an activist—I find it necessary to draw attention to the ideas I presented eight years ago in my earlier referenced publication. These recommendations, if adapted, could guide Nigerian and African policymakers today, especially as the US has adopted strategies that aim to deglamorize illegal migration. One example is the Florida-based “Alligator Alcatraz” detention center, a facility for undocumented immigrants awaiting deportation. Known for its harsh conditions and surrounded by dangerous reptiles like alligators and snakes, the center’s very reputation is meant to serve as a deterrent to those considering illegal entry.

The logic is clear: by showcasing the grim realities that await undocumented migrants, authorities hope to discourage would-be migrants before they embark on the journey. And, according to reports, the strategy appears to be working.

Recent studies, including one by Pew Research, indicate that illegal immigration to the US has dropped sharply. In the first half of 2025 alone, the foreign-born population declined by 1.4 million—the first such fall in fifty years. This drop is attributed to stricter border controls, mass deportations, and voluntary returns. Key figures highlight the scale: the foreign-born population shrank from 53.3 million to 51.9 million, with the unauthorized immigrant population falling by about 1 million.

On the surface, this decline may seem like a policy success. But it carries risks. The immigrant share of the US labor force has dropped from 20% to 19%, translating to over 750,000 fewer workers, many of whom traditionally filled roles in farming and artisan labor. Economists warn that labor shortages could weaken industries heavily dependent on immigrant workers. History itself reinforces this point: America’s economic rise was built in no small part on immigrant labor, going back to the forced labor of African slaves brought through the transatlantic slave trade to work in wheat farms, etc.

Thus, while the Trump administration hails these policies as achievements—boasting of reduced illegal crossings, safer streets, and more jobs for Americans—many experts caution that the economic consequences could be severe, affecting both immigrants and US citizens alike.
Fingers are crossed on whether President Trump’s sweeping anti-illegal immigrants approach serves the US economy better or otherwise. But generally, sweeping actions against illegal immigrants are part of Trump’s campaign promises most of which he has been fulfilling.

For Nigeria, there are lessons. The US has implemented one of the very ideas I suggested years ago: deglamorizing migration by exposing its harsh realities that the streets of Europe or the US are not paved with gold as depicted in Western movies. But our leaders have yet to take seriously other recommendations, such as leveraging Nollywood to depict the dangers of illegal migration, or mobilizing traditional rulers- who are closest to the grassroots- to enlighten rural communities.

Thankfully, the ongoing review of the 1999 constitution of Nigeria promises to assign our traditional rulers a more critical role in the governance of our country. Persuading our youth not to flee to a foreign land because of the grave danger they may face is a job well cut out for our traditional rulers in their impending new role.

The Oba of Benin, for example, once led an effective campaign against human trafficking at the height of the crisis about a decade ago in his kingdom, which had become an epicenter of sex trafficking trade.

As a prelude to my conclusion, I urge readers to revisit my March 2017 essay to see that the tragedy of human trafficking in Africa is not insurmountable. With innovative leadership and targeted collaboration between African governments and destination countries, this scourge can be tackled.

Human Trafficking: How Nollywood, Traditional Rulers, and Businesses Can Help

When Nigerians hear about youths stranded in Libya, many shake their heads in despair. Recently, NiDCOM revealed that over 7,000 Nigerians remain trapped there. This is not new. For years, desperate young men and women have risked their lives crossing the Sahara Desert and the Mediterranean Sea, turning both into mass graves. Despite repeated warnings, the tide of illegal migration shows little sign of abating.

The reasons are familiar—bad governance, poverty, conflict, and unemployment. But one driver receives less attention: the power of films. For decades, Hollywood has projected the West as a land where streets are paved with gold. These portrayals fuel unrealistic expectations among impressionable African youths, many of whom believe life abroad guarantees instant prosperity.

This is where Nollywood comes in. Our film industry may not yet rival Hollywood in scale, but it holds extraordinary influence over African audiences. If Nollywood tells more honest stories about life in Europe—portraying the struggles of unemployment in Italy or economic stagnation in Greece—it can counterbalance the fantasy of Europe as paradise. Visionary filmmakers like Kunle Afolayan, Mo Abudu, Zeb Ejiro, and Jeta Amata can help shift mindsets, showing that opportunities at home, though imperfect, may be safer and more rewarding than chasing illusions abroad.

The strategy is not far-fetched. The UN once used cinema to promote birth control across Africa with measurable success. Television and film remain among the most powerful tools for shaping attitudes and behavior. Nollywood can be enlisted to dramatize the risks of trafficking, the heartbreak of families torn apart, and the grim realities migrants face in detention camps.

But cinema alone cannot win this battle. Another force sustaining trafficking is the cultural weight of juju oaths. As CNN’s Nima Elbagir documented, traffickers often force victims to swear rituals binding them to secrecy and compliance. Fear of these oaths has silenced many victims, especially in Edo and Delta States, the epicenters of trafficking.

Thankfully, the Oba of Benin, HRM Ewuare II, acted decisively. He summoned priests across his kingdom and ordered them to annul the potency of such oaths, declaring trafficking a taboo. This royal intervention has given victims courage to speak up, while emboldening communities to confront traffickers without fear of spiritual reprisal. It shows how traditional rulers can wield cultural authority to dismantle criminal enterprises.

Still, the deepest root of trafficking is economic desperation. Young people leave because they lack jobs. Here, the private sector must step up. History offers a striking example: decades ago, when large numbers of Chinese were migrating illegally to British-ruled Hong Kong, Mao Zedong encouraged Hong Kong entrepreneurs to build factories along China’s coastline. Those industries absorbed idle youth, curbing the incentive to migrate.

Africa needs a similar model. Our billionaires must invest in large-scale job creation, not just philanthropy. Aliko Dangote has done commendably through his industrial ventures, and the Tony Elumelu Foundation, TEF which is nurturing youth entrepreneurs across the continent-equiping them with skills and giving them seed money. But as Bill Gates rightly noted, Nigeria’s wealthy elite have not done nearly enough. Their combined influence could transform the lives of millions if channeled into sustainable enterprises.

The global billionaire class must also play its part. Titans like Jeff Bezos, Mark Zuckerberg, and Warren Buffett dominate markets in which trafficked victims are unwilling consumers. They, too, have a moral responsibility to invest in Africa’s growth. Building supply chains, factories, and tech hubs here would not only reduce the push factors of migration but also secure new markets for their businesses.

The lesson is simple: poverty breeds desperation, and desperation fuels trafficking. By creating jobs, businesses—local and global—can save lives while also protecting long-term stability. As Bob Geldof’s Band Aid anthem once put it during Africa’s famine: “There is a choice we’re making; we’re saving our own lives.” That truth still resonates.

Meanwhile, Nigeria’s institutions cannot afford to sit idly by. Despite NiDCOM’s creation, thousands of Nigerians remain trapped in Libya, Sudan, etc. The government must act with greater urgency—working through ministries of foreign affairs, interior, Culture, and Digital economy and information alongside NiDCOM—to implement strategies that reduce the allure of illegal migration. Nollywood must be mobilized to counter dangerous myths. Traditional rulers must continue confronting trafficking networks with their unique wisdom. And the business community must invest in job creation on a scale that matches the size of the challenge.

The Africa Continental Free Trade Area,(AFCFTA) uniting 54 nations into a single market and regulatory regime aimed at boosting trade on the continent makes investing in Africa easy, seamless, and a good business case as opposed to charity.
The incumbent administration is known for its agility and responsiveness. As such it is expected to rise to the occasion.

Human trafficking is one of the darkest stains on our time. Yet it is not beyond remedy. With a united approach—storytelling that reshapes perception, cultural leadership that breaks spiritual bondage, and economic investment that restores dignity—Nigeria and Africa can begin to turn the tide.

The tragedy of young lives wasted in deserts, seas, and detention centers must not continue. It is time to act, and to act decisively. On that note, apart from the executive branch, l urge the national assembly to rise to the occasion by passing legislation that will save our youth population from being wasted as the unfortunate and horrific incident of the slave-trade blighted our country and indeed the continent of Africa centuries ago by decimating our young and verile men/women population when they were forcefully removed from the continent to Europe and the Americas by transatlantic slave traders.

Magnus Onyibe, an entrepreneur, public policy analyst, author, democracy advocate, development strategist, and alumnus of the Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy, Tufts University, Massachusetts, USA, is a Commonwealth Institute scholar and a former commissioner in the Delta State government. He sent this piece from Lagos.

Much has already been said and written about the life, public service career, passing, and burial of Nigeria’s former president, Muhammadu Buhari, GCFR. So rather than revisit the familiar aspects of his legacy, I have chosen to reflect on some of the less-discussed, subtle events and characteristics that shaped him in life and continue to define his memory in death.

During his presidential campaign between 2013 and 2015, Nigerians were bombarded with stories highlighting both the flaws and virtues of candidate Buhari. His critics within the then-ruling People’s Democratic Party (PDP) brought to light many of his past missteps and controversial traits, while his backers in the All Progressives Congress (APC) painted him as a principled, incorruptible patriot. This tug-of-war of narratives culminated in his victory over then-incumbent President Goodluck Jonathan in 2015, followed by his reelection in 2019.

Given how extensively his leadership style, governance record, and worldview have been dissected, this reflection intentionally avoids rehashing those well-trodden subjects. As Buhari was laid to rest in his hometown of Daura, Katsina State on Tuesday, July 15, following his death on Sunday, July 13 in a London hospital at the age of 82, a Shakespearean line came to mind:
“…the good is oft interred with their bones…”

This line, from Julius Caesar and spoken by Mark Antony, captures a recurring truth — that people often remember the wrongs committed by the deceased far more than their good deeds. And in the case of President Buhari, this sentiment has come alive in the wake of his passing, particularly among Nigeria’s youth, whose reactions on both traditional and social media have been overwhelmingly critical.

Their resentment is rooted in what they saw as an antagonistic relationship with Buhari’s government. Instead of mourning with praise, many young Nigerians have reacted with a torrent of negative comments — some bordering on celebration of his death.

This bitterness stems partly from Buhari’s 2016 remarks during a UK visit, in which he described Nigerian youth as lazy — a comment that left a lasting wound. More significantly, his handling of the 2020 #EndSARS protests, during which security forces under his watch brutally suppressed unarmed demonstrators, cemented the perception of his administration as repressive and unfeeling.

Earlier in his leadership career, the introduction of Decree 4, used to silence the press and imprison journalists, Nduka lrabor and Tunde Thompson, both of whom were newspaper editors further alienated him from a critical segment of society — the media.

Even the political elite, a group Buhari later belonged to, did not escape his harsh measures after he truncated democracy via a military coup d’état staged in 1983 to install himself as a military dictator. During his tenure as military head of state from 1983 to 1985, after he toppled the democratically elected government of President Shehu Shagari and Vice President Alex Ekwueme, he positioned himself as a strict enforcer with little regard for democratic norms but ruling with draconian laws.

It is trite to state that as an autocratic ruler, Muhammadu Buhari’s regime was marked by repression and authoritarianism. Many politicians he overthrew in his 1983 coup were sentenced to lengthy prison terms, with some dying in custody or suffering severe health consequences such as blindness. His iron-fisted rule lasted 20 months before he was ousted in another military coup by his fellow officers.

Despite his brutality evidenced by his harsh actions, Buhari made a surprising political comeback three decades later, returning to power through democratic elections in 2015. This remarkable political resurrection underscores Nigerians’ deep capacity for forgiveness.

An example of this forgiving nature is seen in Pa Bisi Akande, former Osun State governor and one of those unjustly imprisoned during Buhari’s military regime. Decades later, Akande became interim chairman of the All Progressives Congress (APC), the very political party that facilitated Buhari’s reentry into leadership as a democratically elected president.

Yet, while many older Nigerians — including some of his former political victims — have chosen to speak respectfully of Buhari after his passing, Nigeria’s youth have shown little restraint. Their criticism has been harsh and, at times, celebratory of his death. The contrast is stark: elders have taken a more measured approach, allowing time to dull the pain of the past, while younger Nigerians remain defiant and outspoken.

Their anger is rooted in events like Buhari’s 2016 remark in the UK labeling Nigerian youths as “lazy,” and his administration’s violent crackdown on peaceful #EndSARS protesters in 2020. Buhari’s history of stifling press freedom — notably through Decree 4 — also alienated the media and many civil society actors. Unlike the elders who seem to have moved on, the youth have not forgotten — or forgiven.

This generational divide in the perception of Buhari reflects a deeper shift in societal values. Traditionally, African cultures discourage speaking ill of the dead — a norm grounded in ancestral respect, communal harmony, spiritual beliefs, and the reverence for elders. Yet today’s youth seem to be moving away from this custom, choosing instead to air their grievances openly, even after a leader’s death.

I find this cultural erosion troubling.
Hence one of the most significant takeaways from Buhari’s life, leadership, and passing is this cultural shift — a warning sign that we are losing essential values that once held our society together.

As I reflected on the mixed reactions to Buhari’s death, I was reminded again of Mark Antony’s famous line from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar (often mistakenly attributed to Macbeth):

“The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones.”

This quote speaks volumes. It highlights how society tends to remember a person’s flaws long after they’re gone, while their virtues are quickly forgotten. Buhari’s legacy seems to follow this pattern — with many quick to recall his wrongdoings while overlooking his contributions.

In African tradition, avoiding criticism of the dead serves several purposes. It honors the deceased as ancestors who are believed to continue influencing the living. It maintains social peace, reinforces cultural values, and aligns with deeply held spiritual beliefs about the afterlife.

Interestingly, this practice is not unique to Africa. In many Asian societies, including Chinese and Japanese cultures, speaking ill of the dead is frowned upon. Indigenous cultures around the world also share this view, and even some Western societies — though less rigid — maintain a similar decorum, especially during official tributes or funerals.

However, in the West, especially among Caucasian societies, this restraint is not always observed. A striking example is the reaction to the death of former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher in 2013. Her passing sparked not only political debate but also outright public celebrations by those who opposed her policies — especially among working-class communities devastated by her economic reforms.

Street parties in areas like Brixton and Glasgow made headlines, while miners and their unions — still angry over her handling of the 1984–85 miners’ strike — expressed open contempt. Even politicians like Tony Benn offered pointed critiques of Thatcher’s legacy, accusing her of deepening social inequality.

This type of reaction — reminiscent of what we’re witnessing with Buhari’s passing — shows how deeply divisive leaders leave behind polarized legacies. In Nigeria, the public response has been similarly split along generational lines: the youth, many of whom bore the brunt of Buhari’s policies, are his harshest critics, while the older generation, including political figures and former allies, have been far more reserved or even respectful in their eulogies.

Take, for instance, the subtle tributes by former President Olusegun Obasanjo (OBJ) and Labour Party presidential candidate Peter Obi. Both men, in what appeared to be carefully worded statements, said Buhari “did his best.” This ambiguous phrasing mirrors the diplomatic tone often used when paying respects to controversial figures — a nod to civility without fully endorsing the legacy.

In sum, Buhari, like Thatcher, will remain a deeply debated figure in history. And just as Thatcher’s impact continues to stir reflection in the UK, Buhari’s rule — both as a dictator and a democrat — will likely dominate Nigerian discourse for years to come. The generational divide in how he is remembered — youth versus elders — may be the clearest reflection of how his leadership was received, and perhaps, of the cultural transformation underway in Nigeria itself.

Despite the scorn and resentment many young Nigerians still hold toward President Buhari—even after his passing—the turnout at his burial in Daura was massive and intense. As is often the case with public ceremonies in Nigeria, especially high-profile funerals, the event was marked by disorganization and chaos, much like the burial of the late President Umaru Yar’Adua in Katsina State back in 2010.

It is regrettable that, despite President Tinubu constituting a 25-member committee to plan Buhari’s state burial, the coordination was far from impressive—certainly not chaotic, but underwhelming. In contrast, events organized by professionals in the private sector typically run much more smoothly. This raises a critical question: why don’t government agencies responsible for such high-profile events enlist experienced private sector planners to achieve the polished standards we often admire in other parts of the world?

Fortunately, no casualties were reported during Buhari’s funeral. And to President Tinubu’s credit, he played a highly visible and active role in the entire process. From dispatching Vice President Kashim Shettima and Chief of Staff Femi Gbajabiamila to London to accompany Buhari’s body back home, to participating in the final interment, Tinubu demonstrated statesmanship and upheld the dignity of the presidency, both in life and in death.

As Arise News anchor Vimbai Murithini-Ekpeyong rightly noted, Buhari’s remains were returned to Nigeria with dignity—in the passenger cabin of the aircraft, not in the cargo hold, as was the unfortunate case with the late Zimbabwean President Robert Mugabe’s remains. That small but significant detail conveyed respect and was, for many, a powerful symbolic gesture.

While recognizing that Nigeria doesn’t operate at the same level of development as Western countries, it’s still instructive to compare the logistics of Buhari’s funeral with those of former U.S. President Jimmy Carter (2024) and British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher (2013). Both Western funerals were well-coordinated and dignified, offering far better optics than the disorder seen in Daura on Tuesday, July 15.

As the saying goes, learning never stops. To improve the planning and execution of VIP funerals in Nigeria, especially those involving former presidents, the following globally accepted strategies are worth adopting:

1. Pre-Event Planning
   • Clear Communication: Share schedules, expectations, and protocols with attendees in advance.
   • Comprehensive Crowd Management Plan: Outline staffing, emergency procedures, and crowd services.
2. Effective Crowd Control
   • Barriers and Signage: Guide people and prevent overcrowding using physical boundaries and clear signs.
   • Security Deployment: Ensure adequate presence of security personnel for order and emergency handling.
   • Designated Viewing Zones: Create structured areas for attendees to reduce pressure on key zones.
3. Use of Technology
   • Surveillance Systems: Install cameras for crowd monitoring and early issue detection.
   • Public Address Systems: Use loudspeakers to keep crowds informed and coordinated.
4. Community Involvement
   • Public Sensitization: Promote decorum and respectful behavior through awareness campaigns.
   • Engage Local Leaders: Work with community influencers to foster calm and cooperation.
5. Emergency Preparedness
   • Incident Response Plans: Establish clear protocols for medical or security emergencies.
   • Medical Presence: Provide on-site medical teams; reports suggest a woman fainted during the Daura ceremony.

Of course, one major difference must be acknowledged: unlike Western funerals that benefit from extended planning periods, Nigeria’s past presidents—Umar Yar’Adua (2010), Shehu Shagari (2018), and Muhammadu Buhari (2025)—were all buried promptly following Islamic rites, which require burial within 24 hours. This time constraint naturally limits preparation.

Still, adopting the above strategies can make future high-profile funerals more organized and dignified, even within tight timelines.

That said, there is a strong case for institutionalizing the burial process of top government officials. Another takeaway for me is why clear, legally defined Standard Operating Procedure (SOP) should govern state funerals—much like how outgoing governors secure pensions by signing entitlements into law before leaving office. This would ensure that the burial of a president, vice president, Senate president, or House speaker is not left to the discretion of the sitting president.

Such a framework would help prevent the kind of neglect allegedly experienced by former President Shehu Shagari, whose grandson, Nura Muhammed Mahe, claimed he did not receive a befitting state burial under President Buhari’s administration in 2018.

Codifying state funeral procedures would offer consistency, dignity, and fairness, regardless of who is in power. I believe living former presidents like Olusegun Obasanjo and Goodluck Jonathan should champion this cause. Whether it should also apply to former military heads of state is open for debate—but the need for reform is clear. For emphasis’s sake, this, for me, is one of the most important takeaways from Buhari’s burial.

Given the extensive commentary on the life, leadership, and eventual burial of former President Muhammadu Buhari, one cannot help but recall the words of Barack Obama during his 2016 visit to Africa, particularly in Ghana, where he famously stated: “Africa needs strong institutions, not strong men.” It’s as though Obama had Buhari in mind.

Buhari embodied the classic image of a “strongman.” Although he was popularly known as Mai Gaskiya (the honest one), he symbolized the pitfalls of personality-driven leadership in a continent yearning for institutional strength. Had he invested in building robust, technology-driven anti-corruption institutions—as some of us had advised in numerous articles —rather than waging a selective and discretionary anti-graft war that plunged the economy into recession, Buhari’s legacy might have been markedly different. Perhaps, alongside Mai Gaskiya, his tombstone might have read: The Man Who Fought and Defeated Corruption.

Given the contradiction that corruption was inadvertently given a new lease of life during his reign, his trademark slogan “If we don’t kill corruption, it will kill us”, can be said to have manifested in breach as the mantra has turned out to be a sort of oxymoron.

However, public discourse following his death paints a different picture—one of a powerful man who weakened, rather than strengthened, Nigeria’s institutions. Analysts attribute this to tendencies such as nepotism, religious favoritism, and a limited national outlook.

A glaring example of this was the disregard for the Federal Character principle, which is embedded in the Nigerian Constitution to ensure equitable representation. Critics have long pointed out that Buhari’s appointments in the security sector were heavily skewed toward the North and predominantly Muslim. As columnist Dakuku Peterside noted, during Buhari’s first term, 35 out of 47 top security and intelligence appointments were from the North, with 31 of them being Muslims.

The Federal Character Commission was established to prevent precisely this kind of imbalance, but under Buhari’s leadership, its purpose was undermined. Ironically, the same Buhari hailed for his integrity allowed herders to roam freely with AK-47 rifles—an egregious violation of the Nigerian constitution, which permits only the armed forces to carry such weapons.

Critics argue that this tolerance/ exception granted to the rules for armed herders—while ordinary citizens require licenses for even hunting guns—exacerbated insecurity, especially in rural farming communities. The result was a lopsided power dynamic where armed herders terrorized unarmed farmers, leading to widespread violence, displacement, and the proliferation of internally Displaced People, IDP camps.

This imbalance in the use of force continues to fuel brutal attacks in states like Plateau, Benue, and Nasarawa. It’s a legacy that President Tinubu must confront and correct if the nation is to move forward by doing what needs to be done to shed the ugly toga of insecurity.

The broader consequence of Buhari’s governance style—marked by disregard for rule of law and institutional norms—has left deep scars. His policies caused untold hardship, and the collapse of critical institutions under his watch created a governance vacuum that will take time to mend.

One can only imagine the chaos if the constitutional requirement for winning a presidential election with at least two-thirds of votes across Nigeria had been ignored in Buhari’s favor in 2003, based solely on his popularity in the North and his myth of having 12m votes in the three times he contested and failed to win the presidential elections. Perhaps we might not have had a country as we do today. That hypothetical scenario reflects the same regional bias he enacted in office—allowing armed herders to dominate and terrorize unarmed farming communities.

This legacy of imbalance of allowing armed herdsmen to inflict violence on unarmed farmers has significantly stained what might have otherwise been a commendable administration. The irony of it all is that the Internally Displaced People, IDP camps spread across the northern region contain both Christians and Muslims alike. That is why attempts to make the insecurity crisis in the northern flank of the nation look like religious conflict have been futile.

Even with Tinubu’s efforts to stabilize the economy and restore order, the damage done to our nation via insecurity will take

many years to fully repair. But he still has time to fix the broken system and given his record of taking on tough tasks and prevailing, like the monster of petrol subsidy which he has succeeded in defeating, insecurity may equally be defeated sooner rather than later if it is tackled with a similar fervor that the economic imbalances bedeviling and hobbling our country have

‘l.knbqebeen addressed.

In the final analysis, we can not forget that in African tradition, speaking ill of the dead is frowned upon. So, those who continue to harshly criticize Buhari after his death are arguably in violation of cultural norms that promote respect for the deceased. As the saying goes, to err is human, to forgive is divine.

Buhari himself was aware that his leadership had left many aggrieved. After leaving office, he publicly sought forgiveness from Nigerians. Following his death, his wife, Aisha Buhari, reiterated this appeal—defending her late husband, who she acknowledged was tough but politically naive. Throughout his time in power, she tried to shield him from the backlash his decisions would inevitably provoke, some of which are now surfacing.

Given the combined pleas of both Buhari and his wife, it’s only fair to call on the aggrieved, particularly the youth, to allow his soul to rest in peace.

Magnus Onyibe is an entrepreneur, public policy analyst, author, democracy advocate, and development strategist. He is an alumnus of the Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy at Tufts University, Massachusetts, USA, a Commonwealth Institute scholar, and a former commissioner in the Delta State Government. He wrote from Lagos.