Impact

For decades, Nigeria’s future has been framed largely through the lens of religion, with insufficient attention paid to trade and economic development—the true engines of productivity, shared prosperity, and national cohesion.

As the global order undergoes profound change, Nigeria must also rethink its priorities. Economic growth, not religious identity, should be the central driver of national progress. That shift is long overdue.

Nigeria’s population is often described as evenly split between Islam and Christianity, with Muslims concentrated in the North and Christians in the South. While broadly accurate, this narrative oversimplifies a far more complex reality.

There is no monolithic “Muslim North” or “Christian South.” Religious minorities exist across all regions, alongside adherents of African traditional religions. More than 250 languages and dialects are spoken nationwide, underscoring Nigeria’s deep ethnic and cultural diversity.

With a population exceeding 200 million people spread across 923,768 square kilometres of varied terrain, Nigerians have coexisted since 1914, when the British colonial administration amalgamated the Northern and Southern Protectorates. Despite this diversity, the country has endured—an achievement in itself.

Yet, rather than leveraging this diversity as a strength, Nigeria has too often allowed religious and cultural differences to dominate public discourse. The emphasis on division has overshadowed the enormous benefits that could flow from intentional economic cooperation between regions and communities.

Trade, historically, has been one of Nigeria’s most effective unifying forces. Long before modern politics, commercial exchange linked Northern and Southern Nigeria, fostering interdependence, trust, and mutual benefit.

In my book, Becoming President of Nigeria: A Citizen’s Guide (2022), I dedicated a chapter to “Trade as a Unifying Factor for Cooperation Between Northern and Southern Nigeria,” highlighting how economic collaboration once bridged regional and religious divides.

The choice before Nigeria is therefore clear: continue defining the nation’s future by religious identity, or anchor it on trade, economic opportunity, and shared prosperity. History suggests that unity is more likely to be built in the marketplace than in the pulpit.

Viewed from the standpoint of ordinary Nigerians—free of the political colourations often imposed by the elite—most citizens, whether Hausa/Fulani, Yoruba, or Igbo, want to live together in peace. It is therefore deeply troubling that more than 50 years after the civil war, nearly 60 years after independence, and over a century after amalgamation, separatist agitations such as IPOB and MASSOB persist. At the same time, threats by Arewa youth groups against Igbos in the North and rising calls for an Oduduwa Nation in the South-West point to a growing national disaffection.

Paradoxically, it is in the best interest of major economic actors across Nigeria for the country to remain united. A single Nigerian market serves the interests of the Fulani cattle herders under Miyetti Allah, just as it benefits Igbo traders whose commercial footprint spans Lagos, Abuja, Maiduguri, and Kano. The Yoruba, whose artisans and traders operate nationwide—from Port Harcourt to Sokoto—also thrive on the opportunities created by one Nigeria.

Historically, trade was a powerful unifying force. Through commerce, Fulani herders established thriving enclaves in parts of eastern Nigeria, particularly Enugu, where mutually beneficial relationships with host communities flourished.

As a former reporter with the Nigerian Television Authority (NTA), I travelled extensively across the country documenting the ties that bind Nigerians. In Enugu, I once met a Hausa/Fulani man, born and raised there through the cattle trade, who spoke flawless Igbo. Fully assimilated into the local culture, his story symbolised a Nigeria where integration was once natural and commonplace. One is compelled to ask: what went wrong?

It is equally in the interest of the Igbo for Nigeria to remain united, if only for trade. The story of Okonkwo & Sons, an Igbo trading post in Kano that later evolved—through local inflection—into what became known as Kwankwaso, underscores how deeply interwoven Nigeria once was. The settlement later produced Dr. Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso, a two-time governor of Kano State and presidential candidate in 2023.

Before the civil war of 1967–70, Igbos were dominant in commerce across much of Northern Nigeria until the conflict uprooted them. Similarly, Yoruba traders from Ibadan, Ogbomosho, and surrounding towns once moved freely northwards, trading in kola nuts, driving taxis, and practising various crafts. Today, such labour mobility has become increasingly rare.

With Nigerian traders now facing hostility in neighbouring countries, especially Ghana, it is evident that Nigerians need one another more than ever. There is strength in numbers, as demonstrated by large, diverse nations such as China, India, and the United States. Diversity itself is not a curse; Switzerland, with its rotating power-sharing arrangement among ethnic groups, offers a compelling counterexample.

These reflections, drawn from my 2022 book written ahead of the 2023 elections, are worth revisiting as the 2027 polls approach. Familiar political fault lines are once again being exploited. It is against this backdrop that recent warnings by the Minister of Culture, Arts, and the Creative Economy, Hannatu Musawa—that dropping Vice President Kashim Shettima as the APC’s running mate in 2027 could be politically disastrous—should be understood.

The minister’s comments have further heated the polity amid growing rumours that Vice President Kashim Shettima may be dropped ahead of the 2027 elections, as several political actors reportedly angle for the number two position.

The controversy dates back to June 14, 2025, when Mustafa Salihu, the APC’s North-East Deputy Chairman, omitted Shettima’s name during a party meeting. This was long before the United States designated Nigeria a Country of Particular Concern (CPC) on October 31 and later struck suspected terrorist camps in Sokoto State on December 25.

Tensions escalated at a regional endorsement rally in Gombe for President Bola Tinubu’s second-term bid, where Shettima’s name was again excluded as the President’s running mate. The omission sparked a disgraceful fracas, with supporters of the Vice President clashing violently with organisers.

Against this backdrop, the question arises: Is the anxiety over Shettima’s future real or merely speculative? Is this not a familiar pattern in Nigerian politics, where vice presidents become politically vulnerable as incumbents seek re-election?

In an attempt to calm nerves, the APC leadership explained that, as the ticket is joint, there was no need to name a running mate until the re-election bid is formally launched. Ordinarily, this should have settled the matter.

However, Minister Hannatu Musawa’s public warning, widely amplified by the media, reignited the controversy and risked inflaming religious sensitivities, particularly in light of the U.S. designation of Nigeria as a CPC over alleged persecution of Christians.

Given the sensitivity of the issue, it should have been handled internally rather than debated publicly. This raises a critical question: should the minister have raised her concerns quietly with party leadership or the President, instead of further heating the polity?

Public grandstanding rarely resolves complex political crises. Although the party has since issued a reprimand, the damage appears to have been done.

History offers useful lessons. In 1984, General Ibrahim Babangida subjected the question of accepting an IMF loan to public debate, triggering needless national tension. By contrast, President Bola Tinubu’s decision to remove petrol subsidy on May 29, 2023, followed by a managed float of the naira, was executed decisively despite initial opposition.

Leadership, ultimately, demands restraint, strategy, and quiet resolve—not public spectacle.

At the end of the debate, overwhelmed by competing voices, Nigerians rejected the IMF loan and opted instead for the Structural Adjustment Programme (SAP). Yet, once implementation began, General Ibrahim Babangida abandoned the reforms as the resulting hardships proved too severe. Ironically, the same reforms public pressure discouraged in 1984—contributing to Babangida’s exit in 1985—are now being implemented by President Bola Tinubu.

Unlike in 1984, the removal of petrol subsidy and the reform of the naira in 2023 were not subjected to prolonged public debate, though they faced resistance. President Tinubu persisted, and nearly three years on, Nigeria’s economic fundamentals have begun to shift positively.

While it is not yet Uhuru for many Nigerians, it is evident that the economy is stabilising. Prices that once rose uncontrollably have largely stopped accelerating, a fact even critics of the administration concede.

One can only imagine where Nigeria might be today had such reforms been pursued in 1984. Subjecting a highly technical decision like the IMF loan to mass debate allowed emotion to override expertise, rendering the policy dead on arrival.

Remarkably, a policy once rejected as unviable has become a game-changer under decisive leadership. By cutting through the noise, President Tinubu implemented long-delayed but necessary reforms, freeing Nigeria from decades of flawed economic policies under the Renewed Hope Agenda.

The results are beginning to show: foreign reserves have risen above $46 billion, student loans are expanding access to higher education, and international bodies—including the World Bank, IMF, S&P, Fitch, Moody’s, The Economist, and PwC—have offered positive assessments.

The lesson is clear. Policies dismissed as bitter pills may be the very remedies a nation needs. When complex economic decisions are surrendered to public grandstanding, progress is often the casualty.

When the right decisions are repeatedly deferred, they become solutions delayed. Nigeria’s long-postponed socioeconomic reforms are a case in point. For decades, emotionally charged debates paralysed past leaders until President Bola Tinubu finally took the bull by the horns and unshackled the country.

The question now is whether history will repeat itself or whether Nigeria will sustain the pragmatic approach Tinubu has adopted—most notably in removing petrol and foreign exchange subsidies through decisive executive action rather than endless public debate.

Against this backdrop, it is reasonable to expect that President Tinubu will resolve the question of Vice President Kashim Shettima’s place on the 2027 ticket pragmatically, unswayed by the loud political noise currently dominating the airwaves.

Notably, little attention has been paid to the resignation of Dr. Abdullahi Ganduje, a Muslim, as APC National Chairman in June 2025 and his replacement by Professor Nentawe Yilwatda, a Christian. This transition appears to reflect a deliberate balancing strategy by Tinubu—one that has left opposition parties visibly disoriented, confronting a leader deploying 21st-century political tactics while they remain stuck in analogue mode.

Fuelled by Minister Hannatu Musawa’s public intervention, influential commentators such as Dr. Reuben Abati, ex-presidential spokesman, Arise Tv anchor man, Thisday newspaper columnist, and Simon Kolawole, publisher of TheCable.ng, Thisday newspaper columnist has amplified the debate in both print and broadcast media via Abati’s Tuesday column last week and last Sunday column by Kolawole. And those not enamored by the proposition of the trio of Musawa, Abati and Kolawole have fired salvos that are currently not trending in the mainstream but in the underground media. Yet this is a matter that ought to have been settled quietly within party circles, guided by Nigeria’s strategic interests in an increasingly competitive global order.

Once issues of religion are thrown into the public arena, rational judgment often gives way to emotion. As Karl Marx famously observed in his work “A Contribution to the Critique of Hegel’s Philosophy of Right”, religion can become “the opium of the people.” That danger looms large in the current debate over whether the 2027 ticket should be Muslim–Muslim or Muslim–Christian—a rerun of the polarising dynamics that defined the 2023 elections.

However, Tinubu’s track record suggests he will not allow religion to overshadow governance or derail the economic reforms already yielding results. With opposition parties fragmented and weakened, the President has little incentive to risk reopening old wounds that could undermine the credibility of his reform agenda.

Before concluding whether religion should continue to define Nigeria, it is instructive to look elsewhere. In the Gulf states, where faith is deeply embedded, governance has increasingly been guided by pragmatism rather than doctrine. Saudi Arabia, for example, is aggressively diversifying beyond oil and gas and embracing the digital economy. The sight of women freely driving mobility vehicles at the FII conference in Riyadh (a.k.a. Davos in the Desert) last November which is an event I personally attended, symbolises this shift.

The lesson is clear: nations that prioritise economic welfare and social stability over identity politics are better positioned for progress. Nigeria should take note

In the UAE, economic priorities rather than religion drive national success, producing a vibrant environment akin to New York, Paris, and London. These Gulf nations, once defined by strict religious norms, now prioritise sustainable economies while practising faith without fundamentalism.

Globally, political office is fiercely contested—whether in the UK’s parliament, the US presidency, or Arab monarchies. High-stakes rivalry is inevitable because power and influence are at stake. In Nigeria, it is unsurprising that politicians are angling to unseat incumbents, including Vice President Kashim Shettima.

Yet ambition must be tempered. Disrupting the momentum of Tinubu’s reforms could set the country back or inflict lasting damage, especially amid external pressures. Lessons from Trump’s US policies are instructive: trade tools and military leverage are used to punish nations obstructing US interests or tolerating religious intolerance. Nigeria must navigate these realities prudently.

Tinubu’s reforms, particularly the removal of petrol and foreign exchange subsidies, are beginning to yield tangible benefits. Unlike past leaders, he acted decisively rather than bowing to public debate, demonstrating that visionary leadership can overcome entrenched resistance. Adversaries abroad—from South Africa’s trade setbacks due to high tariffs imposed by US for suing lsreal, a US ally to court for alleged Gaza atrocities and joining BRICS; to Cuba and Venezuela’s economic isolation and strangulation for being allies to Russia- a US rival and allegations that the US is not only punishing Canada with high trade tariffs but also aiding separatists in Alberta region of Canada —illustrate the high stakes of strategic missteps in international relations.

Back home in Nigeria history also offers caution. During Obasanjo/Atiku (1999–2007), disputes over the 2003 ticket derailed major programs such as the privatization exercise rendering the energy- electricity and oil/gas privatization project abandoned.
During Yar’Adua’s presidency, Goodluck Jonathan feared being sidelined, by a powerful ex- governor from a key niger delta state. Interestingly the political heavyweight was on voluntary political hibernation, so Jonathan’s fear was unnecessary. Eventually, circumstances elevated him via the Doctrine of Necessity from no 2 to no 1 Aso Rock Villa occupant.
However, Boko Haram’s insurgency exploited the political fault lines arising from resistance from the north. Similarly, Osinbajo had to navigate a delicate role under Buhari to avoid outshining the president, though his competence secured continuity in 2019, thus he didn’t face the challenge of not being on the ballot for re-election.

As the 2027 elections approach, fears over religious imbalance and Shettima’s potential sidelining echo these historical patterns. Minister Hannatu Musawa’s warning has amplified these tensions. Yet, Nigeria now looks to President Tinubu to exercise prudence, ensuring that ambition, religion, and politics do not derail the progress his reforms have begun to deliver.
In any case, has the bruhaha helped or diminished Shettima’s political career, which has been on the ascendancy since he left the banking world in 2007 to serve as a commissioner in Borno state and later a two-term governor before becoming a senator of the Federal Republic of Nigeria and now vice president?
In my calculations being under 60 years old, he has age on his side. In the event he is called upon to make a sacrifice for Nigeria to sail into a safe shore and be promised to be the priority and exclusive presidential candidate of the APC in 2031, if I were him, l will take it even though I am not unaware that political promises are as good as and worth only the value of the papers they are written on.
Whatever way the tide turns, from what I have gleaned about Shettima, he is a team player and can hold his own confidently.
After all, when Tinubu exits power presumably in 2031 all things being equal Nigeria will need a steady pair of hands to consolidate the gains of his administration. Who else would fit that role better than the co-pilot from when the ship set sail?
In any case, I do not doubt that Tinubu, Shettima, and Nigeria will cross that bridge if the ship is forced by stormy waves to head in that direction.

The lesson is clear: nations that prioritise economic welfare and social stability over identity and religious politics prosper. Nigeria’s future depends on leadership that balances ambition with vision, protecting reforms that can lift millions from stagnation while navigating the minefield of domestic and global pressures.

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

Dear Leader,

Here is a topic that has engulfed my mind for some three months now. It is actually inspired by the current reality of a close friend, and I thought to share with you hoping that some of us might relate with it and possibly share your thoughts on the matter.

From my perspective of leadership, it is a lifestyle. I say convincingly always that leadership rises and falls on character. Character is who you are and leading is what you do! Part of the components of character is Integrity which serves as the foundation for leadership, right? And a leader is someone who leads by example. Isn’t this supposed to be the ideal?

However, sometimes our life realities or maybe situations we sometimes find ourselves in doesn’t always fit into this very simple straight jacket perspective of leadership of mine.

As we all know that leadership is often celebrated in terms of vision, strategy, and influence. Yet, beneath the surface, every leader is human—facing personal struggles, temptations, or crises that can silently test their values. The tension arises because integrity isn’t just about what leaders do when people are watching; it’s about the choices they make when no one is looking. It’s about the alignment and the consistency of a leader’s words and actions, adhering to a set of values and principles.

Leadership has always carried a dual burden: the visible responsibility of guiding others and the hidden responsibility of managing oneself. At its core, leadership is not just about strategic direction, impactful outcomes, or public influence—it is about integrity. And yet, integrity is far more complex than the neat definitions offered in textbooks or at workshops.

When we think of integrity, we often imagine consistency, the alignment of private values with public action. But the bitter truth is, real life is rarely that neat. All leaders are human beings with needs, vulnerabilities, and desires. Many leaders face private struggles that society frowns upon, some of us may have adopted private habits, choices, relationships, or lifestyles that kind of bring peace or strength. These choices—most times are unconventional, socially controversial or even unacceptable— but yet, paradoxically, these very struggles brings fulfillment, sharpen productivity, restores balance, even enhance creativity and make them feel more alive and increases their sense of being, yet challenges their values and public perception. Obviously, these acts are not betrayals but forms of personal authenticity, as it is empowering with fulfillment, giving a sense of personal completeness that helps to stay grounded, offering an outlet that restores emotional balance or giving a renewed energy that translates into sharper decision-making and focus. Thus, making such person feel their authenticity, a connection to a side of themselves that feels real, even if hidden. To these leaders, these choices are not lapses of integrity but sources of strength.

However, the paradox arises when the same choices are measured against public standards of morality and trust. This is the unspoken paradox of leadership: the line between personal authenticity and social morality. What happens when the very things that empower a leader privately—providing happiness, stress relief, or creative energy—are frowned upon by society? What happens when personal fulfillment collides with public morality?

Society on the other hand measures leaders not only by results or performance but also by the values they embody. Integrity is interpreted through cultural, religious, and professional lenses. Acts that empower leaders privately may erode trust capital publicly if exposed. Thus, leaders are caught between authenticity and accountability, fulfillment and responsibility, private satisfaction and public scrutiny.

The tension here is dangerous but undeniable. As we all know, that everything that has an advantage comes also with its own challenges and disadvantages, hence identifying the risks if such acts are exposed, it could lead to loss of reputation, internal conflict, or scandals that can tarnish the entire institutions and not only the leader involved. Yes, what feels empowering in private can, in public, unravel years of work and trust. The empowerment leaders feel in private can become their undoing if left unchecked, unmanaged, or hidden without accountability.

In my thinking, the question for me, really is, could there be reasons or justifications for this indulgence, why leaders gravitate towards choices that challenge societal expectations? While I can’t factually say that whatever the reasons or justifications are, is valid, but then I will attempt and guess that sometimes the weight of expectations for leaders to live up to “model” standards of morality, resilience, and self-control. Under constant surveillance, they seek private outlets that allow them to reclaim freedom and humanity. Or sometimes, it is in the search for wholeness which can be linked to identity, hidden values, or unmet emotional needs.

My thinking again, at what point in one’s leadership journey can one say “I don’t care what society thinks, life is personal and I would want to live my life for me as long as performance indicators are positive, my private choices remain my own business, so far they aren’t detrimental to my overall well-being and that of others”.

Truth be told dear leader, I am actually also yet to wrap my head on these thoughts….i am sharing possibly we could together ponder on these real-life circumstances as leaders.

Having said that, one thing I am very certain about and would want us to understand going forward is to redefined integrity, not as perfection but more of integration. Understanding that every leader is first of all a person, in fact, a person in continuous journey of improving, learning, discovering, developing, evolving, growing in their own way and at their own pace. It’s really not about demanding flawless leaders or presenting yourself as one—such a standard is impossible. No one is perfect, to err is human and so no one is above it.

When we view integrity as perfection, we set ourselves up for failure. No one can be flawless, and striving for perfection can lead to unrealistic expectations where we expect ourselves and others to be without fault, judging ourselves harshly for mistakes and the fear of vulnerability, where we as leaders are reluctant to share our imperfections.

Rather, it is about redefining integrity as integration: the alignment of personal authenticity with social responsibility. It’s about being true to ourselves and others, even in imperfection. With this approach, we will embrace authenticity by acknowledging and accepting our strengths and weaknesses, living our values as we strive to align our actions with our principles and building trust as we foster relationships based on honesty and transparency.

Lastly by redefining integrity as integration, we can cultivate a more realistic and compassionate approach to living our values. We can focus on progress, not perfection, and build stronger relationships through authenticity and trust.

Did I think through well? You also, should let me know what you think and of course, lets be real. I would like to read from you, till then.

By Fifelomo Dawodu

This is a response from the head and the heart to an impassioned assertion made by former Governor of Lagos State and triple portfolio Federal Minister, Mr. Babatunde Raji Fashola (S.A.N.) at the recent 65th Independence Lecture of Island Club. He said his socialisation as a teenager was very “unNigerian“. He also said he was socialised on music, dress, food, fashion, and culture that was totally unNigerian, and consumed foreign finished products, shoes, electronics, films were Chinese, Indian, American, and our food was beef burgers and hot dogs!

The learned silk probably had an off day at that event, because he usually would be on point on whatever subject he addresses, but on this occasion, as far as I know, he was inaccurate on many scores. Let me be clear: this intervention is not speaking to all of BRF’s contributions at the Lecture, but specifically a counterpoise to the incorrect narrative about his socialisation as a teenager in Lagos. While I make no claims to specialisation or expertise on the subject, but the socialisation he spoke about is a shared one.

BRF speaks of the socialisation of my generation; my lived experience; he and I were teenagers at the same time. That I know as a fact, because his age is a matter of public record.

It is also important to address the inaccuracies immediately, as it’s a matter of historical record that needs to be set straight. It could be dangerous to let it pass unchallenged because, in a very short while, it could become ‘fact’ more so that BRF said it and on the platform at which it was said. The former Governor would readily agree with that; he understands the danger of not controverting bogus claims. I listened to him once, perhaps as Housing Minister, as he lamented that the data and narrative around the housing deficit in Nigeria were unfounded and contrived, but was reckoned as the official position.

Before delving into the counter-narrative of our socialisation as teenagers in Lagos, precisely between 1976-1981 (for a more robust view, maybe we expand the period to the early ’70s to the mid-1980s), permit me to attempt to do my Sociology of Education lecturer proud by defining socialisation. Socialisation is the process of preparing and equipping the child with the education, information, and resources required to empower them for their future roles in society. To a large extent, socialisation is education, even if education may not be the entirety of socialisation. Socialisation transmits to the young and new members of society the ways, manners, greetings, communications, beliefs, taboos, mores, ethos, habits, food, behaviour, and ceremonies of the society in which they live and grow up.

Let me also track timelines and some landmark events of our teenage years. NYSC (1973), Indigenisation Decree (1977), Festac ’77, Operation Feed the Nation (1976), 2nd Republic Civilian rule (1979), War Against Indiscipline (1984), Takeover of Schools fromMissionaries (1970s) This should give an indication of the vibrancy of the Nigerian society that our socialisation as teenagers would have been fashioned to fit.

The Fashola family, like mine, are Lagos ‘establishment’ and by the time we were teenagers, western-style education had become a culture. However, regardless of the urbane and cosmopolitan disposition of our families, I doubt that beef burgers and hot dogs would have been a regular offering on the family menu. I do recall with nostalgia, Eddie Burger, Kas Chicken somewhere in Itire Road/Ojuelegba, Murphy’s Burger in Adeniran Ogunsanya Shopping Centre. But hardly were those the fare on which we were socialised. White rice and fresh fish stew, eba and ewedu, amala and okro with meat stew, ewa riro, ewa Agunyin, moimoi and garri, ogi and akara, yam and eggs and corned beef stew, dundun and dodo still titillate my palate; those were the foods of our socialisation.

One should recognise and distinguish colonised affectations; the need to manifest elements of the social and cultural capital of western education from our socialisation. One must also admit that many of those who were formally educated had become conflicted and confused. We no longer speak our local dialects, and our children do not know about their place of origin.

However the Afro hairstyle that BRF cited as American , is actually African, as the word Afro patently suggests. African Americans wore their hair in that style as an expression of identity, to show affinity for their roots. Academics and young men in Nigeria wore their hair in that style in solidarity. (I remember though that it was usually an act of rebellion by the teenage boys and young men and a battle with parents about cutting the Afro.) Danshiki tops were worn over the bell-bottom trousers as part of the fad in those days.

As for entertainment, indeed we had foreign influences and the colonised craving for foreign music, film, and fashion. However, we surely cannot discard or discount the influence of indigenous entertainers. Fela Anikulapo, Sunny Okosun, Osibisa, Sunny Ade, Ebenezer Obey, Ayinla Omowura, Yusuf Olatunji, Abibu Oluwa, Kayode Fashola, even Ofege, a band of teenage boys, students of St. Gregory’s College Obalende represent the popular music of the time.” Baba Sala”, Hubert Ogunde moved from stage plays to movies, and the Ade Love, Village Headmaster, Bar Beach Show, The Masquerades, Cock Crow at Dawn; provided local edutainment to our parents and us.

This leads to another area where BRF’s assertion missed the point: confusing the socialised with the socialisation. The teenager does not socialise itself. There are primary and secondary sources of socialisation. The parents and family are primary agents of socialisation, and schools, peer groups, and other social institutions like religious houses and unions are the secondary agents of socialisation. Which of these agents of socialisation did BRF find unNigerian ?But for the very few parents who were overtly westernised ( and were described somewhat derisively as “ alakowe” “oloyinbo” or “alacada”) our parents were not unNigerian.

Some of the secondary agents of socialisation were also very Nigerian. When we were teenagers, Secondary Schools had been taken over from the Missionaries by the Lagos State Government. Methodist Girl’s High School, (MGHS), Queens College (QC), Igbobi College, Methodist Boy’s High School ( MBHS) CMS Grammer School at the time were very much Nigerian Schools. Again the Secondary Schools that BRF attended are matters of public record and one cannot see how he can sustain the claim of UnNigerian socialisation even from that angle.

Another interesting fact of our socialisation at that time was that whether you went to a private primary school, all children of Secondary School age had to attend a State Secondary School; and those who would proceed to higher education locally , had just the option of Federal Universities. ( Nigerian Universities at that time ranked in the top echelon on the global ranking). The social cohesion in that arrangement cannot be quantified.

As regards religion; I do concede that many of the primary agents of socialisation had become unAfrican, by distancing themselves from traditional spirituality and acts of worship. They however found a way to infuse a measure of Nigerian flavour into the practice of their acquired faith; clapping, drumming and dancing and even the confraternities such as ‘Egbe Ogboni Onigbagbo’ found its way to church. The Muslims also imbibed some traditional manners into the practice of Islam.

Another aspect of inaccuracy in BRF’s charge of UnNigerian socialisation is that he made the same error that he was looking to resolve with his intervention at Island Club. He had asked, “What is the Nigerian dream? what would the success of the dream look like ? and what do we as a nation (Nigeria) and as a people (Nigerians) want as the gold standard of leadership?” But he went ahead to make a charge of UnNigerian socialisation of a generation of Nigerian teenagers from the tiny and misty lens of his Suru-Lere on the mainland of Lagos, where he grew up. Having served as a Federal Minister immediately after serving as Governor of Lagos State, he more than most should be better aware of the extent of the diversity of our nation. We all saw how quickly he learned that Nigeria is certainly beyond Lagos for all intent and purposes. As such, he ought to be circumspect yet expansive in his assertions.

Even in the same town or city, socialisation may differ amongst communities. Sometimes, even among members of the same extended family, regardless of many commonalities, sometimes small details such as the parts of town they live in may cause differences in how they are socialised or manifest their socialisation. For example, our cousins that were raised in the heart of Lagos Island may show up as really more ‘Omo-Eko’ than a me; with my Corona Schoolelementary school mannerism ; which could cause me to be dismissed as ‘Omo get inside’ or ‘Aje-butter’ and not necessarily as a compliment. The labelling may be for not being Eco-wise ; not “wakey”.

If ‘Islander’ relations can be socialised differently from their ‘aje -butter’ cousins in Ikoyi and Ikeja GRA, how then can the Learned Silk speak about the unNigerian socialisation of a teenage Fulani girl in Ilorin , or a Kanuri teenager in Maiduguri or a teenage Ilaje boy in Okiti Pupa ? The suggestion of eating Beef burgers as integral to our socialisation , may not even be the reality of teenagers in neighbouring cities of Ibadan . Ijebu-Ode, or even Badagry and Ikorodu.

I deny that our socialisation was UnNigerian and suggest that BRF, at the earliest opportunity, retracts his categorical assertion that teenagers of his generation were raised “totally unNigerian.”

He should urgently moderate that contention. We know how quickly stories spread these days and how ideas can take root, even if in mostly shallow waters; the spin can easily become a colourful mishmash.

Fife319@yahoo.com

Let me begin by extending warm congratulations to my fellow citizens on the 65th anniversary of our cherished nation. Although, it is belated, it is still in order. With that said, it’s only fitting that I now share the inspiration behind the theme and title of this essay, which explores the origins, cultivation, and evolution—or absence—of inclusive leadership in our beloved Nigeria, along with its far-reaching consequences.

As I deliberated over the ideal focus, I found myself torn between two paths: delving into Nigeria’s 65th independence milestone and the persistent factors behind our nation’s stalled progress, or dissecting the pressing crisis in the oil and gas industry—the standoff between workers’ unions and Dangote Refinery management that threatened to upend fuel supply chains and plunge us back into the agonizing queues and scarcities endured by weary Nigerians at petrol stations.

However, with the welcome announcement that the dispute was settled harmoniously last Wednesday, my indecision evaporated, allowing me to confidently center this week’s reflection on Nigeria’s 65 years of sovereignty. Opting to align with fellow commentators in reviewing our country’s trajectory thus far, I encountered a fresh dilemma: should I plunge into a forensic examination of the ailments crippling Nigeria—those persistent barriers that have prevented us from unlocking the vast promise proclaimed at our 1960 independence—or view our homeland through a lens of hope and possibility?

I settled on the latter over the former, inspired by a poignant column in last Thursday’s ThisDay newspaper. Titled “Reflections on Nigeria at 65,” it was penned by my esteemed colleague, acclaimed columnist, and chairman of ThisDay’s editorial board, Segun Adeniyi. What truly swayed me toward a grounded, human-centered perspective on Nigeria’s development was Adeniyi’s companion piece that day, “Amala to the Rescue.”

Drawing from a personal ordeal, Adeniyi recounted his fierce battle with the flu, which shattered his appetite despite relentless efforts to revive it through various remedies. To his astonishment, a humble serving of amala from a local mama put (street food seller) worked wonders, reigniting his gusto for meals. This tale struck a chord with me, as I’ve been grappling with a stubborn flu for the past month—an ordeal that prompted a COVID test and nebulizer sessions after standard antihistamines lagged in quelling the symptoms.

If Amala could heal my friend’s ailment, I mused, why wouldn’t I give it a shot myself? For the uninitiated, amala—a delicacy derived from yam flour—holds pride of place as a staple among the Yoruba people of Nigeria, though it’s steadily won over urbanites from other ethnic groups nationwide.

Adeniyi’s eloquently woven essay, for which he revisited his archives to unearth enduring insights on the intricate web of Nigerian politics, prompted me to reach out with this praise: “A compelling chronicle of Nigeria’s plight. I wonder when—or how—our nation will uncover the secret to electing a leader through democracy’s forge who can adeptly steward our boundless human and natural wealth. Some attribute it to securing an electoral arbiter of flawless integrity; others invoke divine intervention, beseeching heaven for an angelic INEC chairman. Yet, the proverb lingers in my mind: ‘A single tree does not a forest make.’”

Building on that, I added: “Given this, one can’t help but ask: Would we need celestial recruits for resident electoral officers too—stationed at headquarters and across Nigeria’s 36 states—to bolster the INEC chair, who surely can’t be everywhere at once? That’s the crux of our conundrum.” Wrapping up our lighthearted exchange, I teased Segun: “Next time I’m in Abuja, I’ll scout that amala spot. Fingers crossed if it also mends me as magically as it did you.”

Before signing off, I appended: “Kudos, brother. I admire how you’ve artfully fused the saga of Nigeria at 65—an entity meant to stand tall like Alhaji Aliko Dangote, Africa’s richest titan—yet it stumbles like a stunted, impaired figure, a tragic double affliction.” Sensing it unbecoming to omit, I also recalled for ThisDay‘s editorial chief President Tinubu’s October 1 admonition to Nigerians at the Wole Soyinka Centre for Arts and Culture’s grand reopening: “President Bola Tinubu has urged citizens to cease disparaging our land, and I sense Mr. President subscribes to the power of affirmative speech—that uttering good over something summons its goodness. I stand with him on the transformative potential of this mindset. Still, positivity alone isn’t the cure for Nigeria’s stunted evolution. I suspect the President knows as much; he simply seeks our bolstering support in steering the nation through these turbulent times, rather than doomsaying that deems all Nigerian endeavors futile.”

As our cordial dawn dialogue drew to a close, I shared one final musing with Segun: “It evokes the biblical doubters’ query: Can anything good emerge from Nazareth? [Note: The original likely intends ‘Nazareth’ over ‘Israel’ for accuracy.]
Arguably, it mirrors Nigeria and President Tinubu today, for that same scripture reveals how the discarded stone became the foundation’s keystone.” Segun replied with a grin: “Amala from Iya Oyo heals all woes,” trailed by hearty laughing emojis.

To deepen the context of our earlier exchange, consider that President Bola Tinubu secured victory in the 2023 election with approximately 8.8 million votes—far short of the roughly 15.2 million his predecessor, the late Muhammadu Buhari, amassed for his 2019 re-election triumph. Tinubu thus entered office with modest public backing. Yet, midway into his four-year term, his approval has surged—not via fleeting palliatives like direct food aid, but through stabilizing Nigeria’s economy for enduring mass prosperity. This stems from audacious steps, including scrapping the petrol subsidy and unifying the naira’s fractured exchange rates against the dollar and other currencies.

These moves have banished fuel scarcity’s grip, courtesy of private ventures like the Dangote Refinery’s 650,000-barrels-per-day output. Central Bank of Nigeria data further reveals external reserves climbing from an official $33 billion (or as low as $3.7 billion per estimate by JPMorgan to a sturdy $43 billion—sufficient for nearly 12 months of imports. Beyond that, trillions of naira now bolster the federation account, channeling funds to states and local governments for community-level upliftment.

Consequently, civil servants’ salary arrears—once stretching over a year—have been cleared, while subnational entities pour resources into sweeping infrastructure: roads, bridges, clinics, and affordable housing sprouting across grassroots locales.
But living costs remain elevated, however, that is owing to the standard delay before policy dividends ripple into daily realities. Economists, as social scientists, herald strengthening fundamentals—Gross Domestic Product (GDP) expansion at 4.23% in Q2 2025, bolstering Purchasing Power Parity (PPP), and a moderating Consumer Price Index (CPI)—fueling upbeat forecasts. Yet, this technocratic lexicon often lands as arcane babble among everyday folk, stoking ire as they grapple to align personal woes with proclamations of fiscal rebound by government apparatchik.

Take President Tinubu’s Independence Day address: he vowed the economy had “turned the corner,” with the nadir passed. He doubled down at the erstwhile National Arts Theatre’s—now the Wole Soyinka Centre for Arts and Culture—reopening gala.
Through such overtures, Mr. President labors to convey that the austerity sparked by his resolute subsidy axing and rate consolidation—which curbed fund arbitrage and fuel smuggling—posed a transient, vital toll for a sunnier horizon.

In his daytime broadcast and evening cultural rite, he sought to convince the multitudes that reform’s sting has ebbed and dawn beckons. Skepticism lingers, though, among those bearing the brunt: amid soaring expenses, throngs demand tangible proof their burdens are lifting, as Tinubu insists. It echoes the Christian Gospel’s Thomas Didymus also known as Doubting Thomas, pleading for nail-scarred palms of Jesus Christ to affirm His resurrection. Candidly, after decades of dashed pledges, I absolve the wary Nigerian public of their distrust in government pronouncements.

The Federal Ministry of Information—and its state-level counterparts—has fallen short in demystifying ties between GDP, PPP, CPI, and lived struggles. Beyond expediting reform fruits, unpacking these metrics—why delays persist, how myriad forces must align symphonically to alleviate duress—could soften animus toward the regime, rallying the disaffected to become more accommodating. Here, the National Orientation Agency (NOA)—iconic for its “I’m a true Nigerian… I live by the citizen’s code” drive—faces a pivotal mandate.

Case in point: eminent jurist Prof. Itse Sagay and peers have lambasted the Independence Day oration as adrift from societal truths. NOA-guided outreach, tying GDP gains to market vegetable prices, might soothe the anguish of our beleaguered populace.

From this flows a clarion call: to enlist elites and ordinary citizens in Tinubu’s Renewed Hope vision, pivot from pugnacious defense to a cascade of clarifying outreach—a seismic communicative pivot spotlighting triumphs. An emblem not to overlook: the National Theatre, erected in 1976—16 years after Nigeria’s emancipation from Britain—had crumbled into obsolescence from chronic disregard. Yet, around five years back, Nigeria’s banking titans resolved to revive this FESTAC ’77 global stage, lest it linger as a faded artifact.

The Bankers Committee’s magnanimous push—fully realized in late 2024—capped 65th anniversary festivities in Lagos, supplanting rote military drills and pupil processions at Lagos’s Tafawa Balewa Square in the past and Abuja’s Eagle Square, lately. With the cultural landmark revitalized, it earned a rechristening for Africa’s inaugural literary Nobelist, 91-year-old Prof. Wole Soyinka (WS to devotees). Tinubu framed the honor as recompense for their comradeship in battling juntas to reclaim democracy. Regrettably, online provocateurs brand the sage a hypocrite—overlooking Soyinka’s candid concession speech: admitting prior qualms on personal tributes, yet carving an exception, while chronicling his stewardship in the venue’s storied arc before entropy set in. Noble as his candor rang, detractors press on unyieldingly.

Alas, calumniating a world-renowned wordsmith—mirroring a polity blind to elders’ gravitas—marks the grim vogue among millennials and Gen Z. Verily, no sane soul disputes this rechristening as Tinubu’s crowning cultural stroke: Soyinka warrants it, akin to Tafawa Balewa Square saluting ex-Premier Sir Abubakar Tafawa Balewa; Abuja’s airport enshrining Dr. Nnamdi Azikiwe, erstwhile ceremonial head; South Africa’s Mandela Square lionizing the continent’s paramount liberator; or the U.S.’s Madison Square (named for the fourth US president James Madison) and Washington, D.C.’s Lincoln Memorial (for the sixteenth US president – Abraham Lincoln) anchoring civic hearts. Ergo, naught amiss in bestowing a bastion of heritage upon a Nobel bard, jailed pre-1967 for mediating Nigerian-Biafran amity to avert war—despite his valiant bid’s defeat.

Poignantly, my latest tome’s unveiling a couple of years ago, “Leading from the Streets: Media Interventions by a Public Intellectual, 1999–2009”, staged Gen. Yakubu Gowon’s inaugural post-1967–70 war reunion with his onetime prisoner Soyinka—the incarcerator and the incarceree, bridging epochs. Although Soyinka didn’t show up. Gowon in his speech referred to him as his ‘guest’ which is a nice way of making light of his incarceration of Soyinka when he tried to broker peace to avert the unfortunate civil war of 1968-1970.

Undeniably, Wole Soyinka has played a pivotal role in upholding Nigeria’s unity and fortifying its democratic foundations. With that in mind, I implore online detractors to holster their barbs and allow Kongi—the affectionate nickname bestowed upon him after his acclaimed novel Kongi’s Harvest—to savor the tranquility he has rightfully earned.

The uplifting saga of the National Arts Theatre’s refurbishment and revival—which had dimmed into dilapidation before the Central Bank of Nigeria (CBN) and Bankers Committee’s opportune rescue—offers a compelling metaphor for the revitalization of Nigeria which President Tinubu and his allies are crafting.

Viewed through this prism, Nigeria parallels that venerable venue: once beleaguered by structural rot and obsolescence, it awaited the current stewards of Aso Rock Villa, the presidential citadel, who arrived intent on mending the realm via the Renewed Hope blueprint under Tinubu’s helm.

Here, the CBN and Bankers Committee—architects of the theatre’s resurgence through meticulous strategy and unflinching implementation—mirror Tinubu’s coalition of Renewed Hope team propelling the agenda forward, encompassing the executive, legislative, and judicial arms of state.

As these endeavors mature, the administration’s early triumphs—spanning the petrol subsidy’s excision and attendant pump price hikes that stabilized supply, alongside financial sector overhauls (extending beyond merging disparate exchange windows into a unified one, to include recapitalizing internationally licensed banks from N200 billion to N500 billion, fortifying them to propel growth from January 2026)—herald broader gains, augmented by a sweeping tax overhaul.

Parliament’s enactment of four transformative tax bills in June 2025—supplanting antiquated colonial frameworks during Tinubu’s tenure—promises synergistic ripple effects across interconnected domains, fostering economy-wide renewal in the near term, particularly from 2026 onward, should the leadership persevere in implementing its reform agenda.
By contrast, fragmented reforms historically breed pitfalls, such as:

1. Unintended Consequences: Tackling one flaw can spawn or amplify others.
2. Uneven Distribution: Gains may sideline swaths of the populace.
3. Fleeting Fixes: Quick patches often crumble over time.
4. Siloed Advances: Isolated strides stall without cross-sector alignment.
5. Escalating Intricacy: Ad-libbed measures yield labyrinthine bureaucracies.

These lessons affirm that potent reforms demand wholeness, attuned to an economy’s interwoven dynamics—a tenet borne out by global precedents. Thus, pursuing integrated, enduring remedies stands as the hallmark of a robust policy thrust.
This very comprehensiveness defines the pivot Tinubu’s government has embraced; as I forecasted in this space last February that Nigeria’s fiscal tempest would soon abate—a stance that irked those prizing emotion over empiricism.

Complementing the tax bills’ revenue-boosting base-broadening under Taiwo Oyedele’s presidential committee helm, Zacch Adedeji’s Federal Inland Revenue Service (FIRS) shoulders diligent collections, while Yemi Cardoso’s CBN commendably reins in inflation. Add Wale Edun’s—Finance Minister and Economy Coordinating Chief—supervision of N330 billion in monthly N25,000 stipends to the indigent, aiding over 8 million households, and Bayo Ojulari who is commander-in-chief of the NNPC, our oil-and-gas colossus and fiscal linchpin—is also a Yoruba son of north-central Nigeria extraction.

Though detractors brand this powerhouse cadre (drivers of Tinubu’s sweeping changes) the “Amala Reforms” for its ostensibly Yoruba tilt—a jab at the ethnic staple binding its principals—Tinubu’s October 1 Independence Day clarion call, proclaiming hardship’s ebb and economic inflection, which he echoed at the evening theatre rechristening, strikes a chord with me. Hence, I wholeheartedly endorse his vision of imminent respite for our people.

This assurance amplifies with Bayo Ogunlesi’s fresh Lagos parley with Tinubu, as co-CEO of BlackRock—a behemoth boasting $12.5 trillion in assets under management (AUM) as of Q2 2025. Nor is that all: BlackRock’s marquee stakes encompass NVIDIA (5.73% of portfolio), Microsoft (5.49%), Apple (4.47%), Amazon (2.97%), and Meta Platforms.

Such stature renders Ogunlesi’s post-huddle quips a veritable anthem. Reputed for clerking for integrity paragon Justice Thurgood Marshall, he enthused to reporters: “I just had an excellent meeting with Mr. President, where we talked about the fundamental transformation that has happened in the last two years… Nigeria is currently an exciting place to invest in, and we will be making our move soon.” Prodded on specifics, he hinted at energy infusions (mirroring BlackRock’s Texas LNG plays), Cotonou port stakes, and aviation—his forte, epitomized by Gatwick Airport’s acquisition.

Any vestige of skepticism regarding Tinubu’s prowess to invert our trajectory—which, truth be told, I’ve never harbored, as l have been steadfast in my belief he’s the redeemer from the precipice—dissolved utterly upon parsing Ogunlesi’s exchange at the President’s Lagos abode: a watershed moment.

Indeed, approbation from Ogunlesi’s echelon—a disinterested sage with a ledger of bets solely on bedrock economies—transcends even IMF or World Bank plaudits, which naysayers scorn as beholden to multilateral puppeteers.
This moment invites the bridge-building simile to limn our polity and purse’s present plight.

Under Tinubu’s vigil, Nigeria evokes a colossal span mid-rebuild: the foreseeable vexations of barriers and skeletal frames chafe like reform’s interim throes. Yet subsurface, robust pilings plunge earthward, unseen sentinels of solidity, priming the ascent of a resplendent span—towers piercing clouds, carriage seamless—for all to traverse. Little wonder partisan saboteurs mock these tidal shifts as “Amala Reforms,” lampooning the Yoruba lineage of their chief stewards (Tinubu and his squad), where the dish denotes commonality.

While I’ve long crusaded—across four decades of commentary—for governance embracing every tribe, tongue, and faith, akin to ex-Edo Governor and ex-NLC chief Senator Adams Oshiomhole’s mid-oil-row plea for Dangote’s dominance over union vise-grips on imports, throughput, and yield; the cuisine tantalizing Aso Rock’s shots-callers and coterie is immaterial to me, provided we reclaim the opulence that enthralled the globe at FESTAC ‘77’s 1977 extravaganza.

Thus, whether amala/ewedu, akpu/onugbu, tuwo shinkafa/miyan kuka, pounded yam/edible greens/egusi, or starch/banga graces the presidential dining table, it stirs no ire in me. To underscore the assertion above: should such savor propel Nigeria’s resurgence, count me in—and I beseech compatriots to sup with Aso Rock’s paramount, be he whomsoever.

A venerable Chinese adage posits: a cat’s hue—ivory or ebony—availeth naught if it snares the vermin. Essence: efficacy and utility eclipse veneer or dogma. Plainly put, the quarry’s capture trumps the hunter’s hue. This ethos—Nigerians in polity, commerce, or quandary must cultivate—is the forge of stride: realms fixated on fruition, unencumbered by trivia or bias, vault progress in vast arcs. Tinubu’s Renewed Hope odyssey channels precisely this: reclaiming splendor’s trail, spurning acrimony and patrimonial plunder.

Once again, happy Independence Day, Nigerians.

Magnus Onyibe, entrepreneur, public policy analyst, author, democracy champion, development maven, Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy alumnus (Tufts University, Massachusetts, USA), Commonwealth Institute fellow, and erstwhile Delta State commissioner, dispatched this from Lagos.

The United Nations turns 80 this year. Its General Assembly in New York carries the theme: “Better Together: 80 Years and More Peace for Development and Human Rights.” Yet the words sound hollow. Across continents, wars rage and human rights abuses proliferate. Peace—once the UN’s central promise—seems to be slipping away.

Europe, which had enjoyed relative calm since World War II, is now locked in a grinding Russian–Ukrainian war. The Middle East is aflame from Gaza to Yemen. Across Africa, terrorism, insurgency, and internecine wars—from DR Congo, Sudan to Nigeria—are claiming thousands of lives. These realities make the UN’s anniversary theme feel like a paradox.

Founded in 1945 to prevent another global cataclysm, the UN is now watching helplessly as conflicts multiply. Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky captured the mood at UNGA when he warned that the world “must not let Russia make war the new normal.”

The data that l have put together from multiple platforms backs him up. According to the 2025 Global Peace Index, global peacefulness has been deteriorating for two decades. There are now 59 active state-based conflicts, the most since the late 1940s. Conflicts are increasingly internationalized, with 98 countries involved in external wars—up from 59 in 2008.

The economic cost of violence is staggering: $19.97 trillion in 2024 alone, or 11.5% of global GDP, according to the IMF. Middle Eastern and North African nations remain the least peaceful, but even Europe’s stability has been shattered, undermining confidence in the UN’s ability to uphold its founding mission.

This is despite the UN’s vast footprint. Since 1948 it has deployed more than 140 peace missions, including peacekeeping, diplomacy, and political interventions. Yet its record on enforcing disarmament treaties and ensuring humanitarian relief remains mixed.

Recognizing these shortcomings, Secretary-General António Guterres has launched reforms like UN80 and UN 2.0, aiming to make the organization more agile in confronting today’s crises. But the scale and complexity of current conflicts—spanning cyberwarfare, terrorism, climate-driven migration, and rising authoritarianism—make his task herculean.

The lesson is clear: the UN must evolve or risk irrelevance. It was built for a post–World War II order dominated by nation-states. Today’s conflicts are messier, with non-state actors, proxy wars, and disinformation campaigns undermining traditional diplomacy.

As the UN marks its 80th anniversary, it should be a moment of reckoning rather than celebration. The organization must develop faster response mechanisms, rethink its peacekeeping model, and empower regional blocs to act as first responders. Above all, it must address its legitimacy deficit—starting with long-overdue Security Council reform. Africa’s quest for a permanent seat on the Council, long sidelined, needs to be revisited if the UN is to reflect 21st-century realities.

The bloodshed from Ukraine to Gaza to DR Congo and Sudan as well as Nigeria is a grim reminder that peace cannot be taken for granted. Eight decades after its founding, the UN stands at a crossroads: adapt to a rapidly changing world or watch its founding promise of “never again” fade into irrelevance.

Nigeria is often touted as Africa’s natural candidate for a permanent seat on the UN Security Council (UNSC). But front-runner status is not guaranteed. In the murky world of international diplomacy, Nigeria must play its cards far more deftly—or risk losing out to rivals.

Kenya and Ghana are already outflanking us. Kenya has sent police to gang-ravaged Haiti to help restore order—a strategic move that earns goodwill with key UNSC members. President William Ruto underscored this at UNGA80. Ghana, meanwhile, accepted deported nationals under President Trump’s hardline immigration policy. The U.S., an influential UNSC member, rewarded Ghana by restoring five-year multiple-entry visa privileges still withheld from Nigerians.

Nigeria, by contrast, rejected a similar U.S. request, forfeiting leverage. With insecurity at home and an economy needing revival, why didn’t we use this as a bargaining chip to seek US support to solve those debilitating socio-economic challenges and also strengthen our UNSC bid? Rather than being rigid why not be pragmatic? These are the tough questions our foreign-policy establishment must confront.

At UNGA80, the contrast between rhetoric and reality was on full display. U.S. President Donald Trump, never one for diplomatic niceties, (even in the hallowed chamber of the UN,the citadel of diplomacy) blasted the UN’s lethargy and loss of focus, accusing it of drifting from the vision of its founders. He cited the practical bad examples of a dysfunctional escalator in the UN building which he witnessed live and a faulty teleprompter which compelled him to deliver his speech ex tempore. His speech resonated because the UN’s credibility is indeed waning—especially its failure to reflect today’s geopolitical realities.

When Nigeria took the podium, Vice President Kashim Shettima, on behalf of President Bola Tinubu, succinctly pressed the case for reform:

“When the UN was founded, Nigeria was a colony of 20 million people. Today we are a sovereign nation of over 236 million, projected to be the world’s third most populous country, a stabilising force in regional security, and a consistent partner in peacekeeping. Our case for a permanent seat at the Security Council is a demand for fairness, representation, and reform.”

Nigeria’s credentials are strong. Since 1960 it has participated in 51 of 60 UN peacekeeping missions. It backs the Ezulwini Consensus and Sirte Declaration calling for at least two permanent African seats. It concluded that it is unjustifiable that 60% of UNSC resolutions concern Africa, and still no African country sits permanently at the table.

One would argue that the marginalisation echoes the 1884–85 Berlin Conference that carved up Africa amongst Europeans as spoils of World War ll—proof that the continent’s political exclusion endures 140 years later. In my view, it beggars belief that the UN an institution born in the era of typewriters and telegrams remains frozen while the world leaps ahead to artificial intelligence and cryptocurrency.
Why has the UN become inured to archaic ways of doing things or a lack of progress and change?

If the UN is to survive as the cornerstone of global governance, it must evolve. Security Council reform is overdue, and Africa must be part of that change. Nigeria, as the continent’s largest democracy and economy, should lead—but leadership requires strategy.

That means taking bold steps to build alliances, leverage trade-offs, and position Nigeria as indispensable to the world’s security architecture. In other words, Nigerian foreign policy drivers have to become more pragmatic.
Kenya and Ghana are already playing the long game. We cannot afford business as usual.

Eight decades after the UN’s founding, the world has transformed beyond recognition. It’s time the UN—and Nigeria’s diplomacy—caught up.

At 80, the United Nations is looking more like a relic than a force for global stability. Secretary-General António Guterres’ UN80 initiative aims to modernize the institution, but reforms have been slow and resistance has been high.

The core problems are obvious:
• Outdated structure – Built for 51 member states in 1945, the UN now serves 193 and still runs on Cold War rules.
• Chronic funding gaps – The U.S. owes $1.5 billion and other donors are pulling back.
• Security Council inequality – Five permanent members hold veto power while Africa, Latin America, and much of Asia remain sidelined.
• Bureaucratic bloat – Layers of overlapping mandates bog down action.

Meanwhile, an evolving and aggressive rival to the UN, BRICS is rising fast. With 11 members representing 56% of the world’s population—including China, Russia, India, Brazil, Saudi Arabia, the UAE, Iran, and Egypt—BRICS offers a very tempting rival vision of global order.

The timing is dire. Wars rage in Ukraine, Gaza, Sudan, and DR Congo fueling humanitarian disasters. Rather than tamping down conflicts, the UN increasingly looks like a bystander—its sanctions ignored, its resolutions toothless, its credibility fading.

Reform can’t wait. The Security Council must expand to include new economic and military powerhouses that have emerged across the seven (7) continents of the world. Bureaucracy must be streamlined and enforcement mechanisms rebuilt. Otherwise, the UN risks losing trust entirely, pushing more nations toward BRICS if it offers peace and progress which the UN is struggling unsuccessfully to engender and foster.

The world is in turmoil. The UN was created to prevent exactly this moment. Either it reinvents itself now—or it becomes an artifact of the past.

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.

Recently, President Bola Tinubu announced that over 126 million Nigerians had been enrolled in the National Identity Database. He noted that the achievement underscored the Federal Government’s commitment to digital transformation, national security and inclusive governance.

At an event where he was represented by the Secretary to Government George Akume, the president was full of praise for National Identity Management Commission (NIMC), extolling them for recently clearing a backlog of roughly 2.5 million records, and for speeding up enrolment all the while imbuing the process with more transparency. He further highlighted some interesting statistics like for instance, the roughly half million record updates that have been carried via web and mobile self-service apps and the fact that about 800 enrolment devices have been deployed nationwide to expand coverage. Also highlighted were the new territorial offices been established to improve oversight and service delivery.

Reflecting on the theme of the event, “Public Key Infrastructure: Backbone to Digital Public Infrastructure,” the president stressed that a robust identity system is central to building trust in Nigeria’s digital economy. He further pointed out that improved governance and the rollout of effective social security depended on the integration of public service delivery with secure identity management.

The president would go on to cite the success stories that the system had enabled like the reductions in pensions fraud, swift disbursement of student loans and scholarships, the accurate targeting of farmer incentives, and the access to humanitarian support for displaced persons, among other success stories.

The president disclosed that the expansion has extended beyond Nigeria’s borders, noting that more than 200 diaspora centres now serve Nigerians abroad, while dedicated enrolment exercises have registered refugees, internally displaced persons and inmates of correctional facilities. In addition, a disability inclusion policy has trained over 5,000 enrolment agents to better serve persons with disabilities.

The national identity database has a capacity to handle 250 million records. This is to ensure that no Nigerian cannot be catered for by the enrolment exercise. NIMC has also integrated with 125 partner agencies to create a unified ecosystem that saves costs and improves service delivery. Some of the key MDAs that have been integrated with include: Nigeria Immigration Service for passports, the Federal Inland Revenue Service for tax records, the National Population Commission for birth registration, the National Health Insurance Authority for healthcare enrolment, Universal Basic Education for school records and the Nigerian Communications Commission for NIN-SIM Linkage (the NIN-SIM linkage has helped to reduce fraud and increase national security).

In a statement by the special adviser, media and publicity to the Secretary to the Government of the Federation, Yomi Odunuga, the president emphasized that the National Identity Number (NIN) provides seamless access to government services, drives financial inclusion, strengthens national planning and enhances security. He said the NIN has become vital for eliminating ghost beneficiaries, streamlining social programmes and ensuring subsidies reach those who truly need them.

He added that the NIN now facilitates banking, telecommunications, healthcare and education services while enabling citizens to participate fully in the digital economy. He stressed that integration of the NIN across sectors will reduce fraud, boost revenue collection and position Nigeria competitively in global technology-driven development.

The president concluded by reaffirming that the identity system is not just bureaucratic busywork but a key pillar of inclusive growth and national security.

Most countries around the world did not have digital identity management systems prior to the year 2000. Most systems were paper-based and were often fragmented, slow and vulnerable to fraud.

Between 2000 and 2010, countries generally started digitizing their civil registries and identity databases. A notable pioneer was Estonia whose e-ID program launched in 2002, became a model of digital governance. Another notable was India, whose Aadhaar program, launched in 2009, assigned unique digital IDs to over a billion citizens.

Between 2010 and 2020, over 100 countries had adopted digital ID systems, integrating them with banking, healthcare, and social services. Some countries’ systems like Singapore’s SingPass, Sweden’s BankID, and Canada’s Verified.Me became models of secure, user-friendly systems.

The Covid-19 pandemic saw Digital ID systems being used to deliver relief payments, verify vaccination status, and enable remote access to services. Countries like South Korea, Germany, and Japan expanded digital ID use for public health and economic recovery.

As a result of increasing concerns surrounding data privacy, governments in the last few years began addressing concerns around surveillance, data protection, and inclusion. This has led to emphasis shifting to privacy-by-design, user consent, and interoperability across platforms.

Nigeria’s journey with digital identity management seems to have been the fairly typical country experience. Prior to 1999, Identity systems in the country were fragmented and paper-based, leading to a great deal of duplication and inefficiency.

The return of democracy saw early attempts at reform. The government began exploring digital identity systems to support governance and service delivery, though initial efforts were limited in scope and lacked coordination.

The year 2007 saw the establishment of the Nigeria Identity Management Commission (NIMC). NIMC was given the mandate to develop, and manage Nigeria’s national identity database and issue the National Identification Number (NIN).

In 2014, NIMC introduced a biometric-based electronic ID card linked to the NIN. As of early 2025, NIMC has issued biometric-based electronic ID cards to approximately 115 million Nigerians. The latest version is a multi-purpose biometric ID card that supports digital payments, social interventions (health insurance, student loans, agricultural support), and of course, identity verification. The rollout of the new card aligns with Nigeria’s Renewed Hope Agenda and aims to integrate identity with financial and social services.