Opinion
The ‘fool’ who stopped Wike
The ‘fool’ who stopped Wike
Tunde Odesola
(Published in The PUNCH, on Friday, November 14, 2025)
The bully in me met its match in my primary school classmate, Lukman Oluwuyi, on our way back home one afternoon. In the eyes of a schoolkid, St Paul Anglican School, Idi-Oro, Lagos, was a couple of giant two-storey buildings on an expansive compound which served as an assembly ground in the morning and a football field during break. That was in the 70s when any elder on the street could fetch a cane, flog a wayward child, and march the culprit home to the applause of the entire neighbourhood. In those days, an erring child preferred a quick, anonymous beating to the humiliation of being beaten and escorted home by a Good Samaritan stranger.
Caramel-complexioned and restless, Lukman was a wiry boy with wavy, matted hair that glistened. Were he white, he’d have passed for a brunette; I, in my childish rascality, thought him an Arab. Lukman was ‘my boy’ until one day when a tiff broke out between us. Time has blunted the exact cause of our disagreement, but I remember it was on Ojowere Street, near Alli Lane, Mushin – two streets I learnt have been swallowed by the Lagos railway projects of the Babajide Sanwo-Olu administration.
On the fateful day, Ojowere Street was a long stretch of clay, having just been graded, as my friend and I plodded along in the simmering heat. Clad in a green khaki shirt and shorts, I was heading home to Lawanson Crescent, while Lukman was going to their house off Kayode Street, before the Deity at Crossroads, Èsù Láàlú Onile Orita, decided to meddle in our affairs.
I was democratic in my bullying. “I’ll beat you, Lukman,” I warned. Lukman did not retort; he merely struck a Kung-fu pose, evidence of the Indian and Chinese films he had been watching lately. I was livid, “Is this not Lukman, my bo-i? Lukman!! Lukman, who I’m bigger and stronger than? Lukman, whom I would tell to shut up, and dared not say a word, now turning against me?” I lunged at him, throwing the combinations I had learnt watching the Great Muhammed Alli on TV. But Luku, clever and resilient, found a way below my blows, scooped me halfway up, and slammed the pot of my rump (ikokodi) hard on the new road.
That act of gross rebellion got me madder. I sprang up, chased and quickly caught up with him. Probably out of fear, or not wanting to rub salt in injury, Lukman seemed unwilling to fight, but I was determined to avenge the insult. I knew I was the tiger. Lukman was the lamb. So, still on Ojowere Street, I engaged him in another round of fighting. I was bigger and stronger, but in no time, I found myself under Lukman the second time. Each time he slammed me, he quickly got up, like someone afraid, picked hup is bag, and walked away as if nothing had happened.
In our time, to cement your victory over a vanquished, the victor fed his victim with soil. In my opinion, Lukman’s failure to do that meant he wasn’t victorious yet; ìjà sèsè bèrè ni’.
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“Mi o ni gba, Lukman won’t get away with this sacrilege,” I sprang up and went after him. He struck his Kung-fu pose while I squared up in my boxer’s pose. Gbangan! I found myself on the ground again. I got up, chased and caught up with him for the fourth time, warning, “Lukman, ma na e, I will beat you.” That was the moment an old trader, who sold keys, padlocks, nails and hoes, etc, along the road, shouted, “Ma na e, ma na e, o ti la o mole ni emeta, o je kori sile, yio kan na o pa. Ole!” (You keep shouting ‘I’ll beat you’, yet he has floored you thrice; you’d better head home before he kills you, lazy boy!)
Quietly, I picked up my bag and headed homeward, seething and determined that Lukman would get his comeuppance before we departed that day. But, somehow, we didn’t get to fight again that day as Èsù Òdàrà had left Ojowere for another assignment. I can’t remember if we ever fought again in primary school, though we fought once in secondary school, when I thought he was caressing my sword with his bare palm. Honestly, I didn’t know how I came to think so highly of myself. Could it be the Mushin spirit at work?
After secondary school, we lost touch. Decades passed before I saw him again on October 1, 2016, during the reunion of the Old Students Association of Archbishop Aggey Memorial Secondary School, Mushin. I recounted his victory in primary school and the rematch in secondary school; he had forgotten both, but he laughed like a drunken sweepstake winner. Lukman travelled out to France in search of greener pastures in 2008 and came back to Nigeria for the first time in 2016, attending the reunion during the visit.
A few days after returning to France, Lukman died in a hospital. Shhhhhh! It’s not the wicked people of Aye Akamara that killed Luku. It was mosquitoes. My dear Elukumede died of malaria fever, which he took from Nigeria to France. Malaria is strange to France.
Faction is a literary style that combines fact and fiction. The Lukman story you just read is a fact. What you’re about to read next is an invented myth, a fiction.
Here it goes. Once upon a time, there lived in Eripa, Osun State, a farmer named Arije, whose compound was next to that of Abanikanda, a fisherman. One night, Abanikanda fell asleep while cooking his fish for the next day’s market. Soon, the cooking fire became a ball of billowy red throat of fury.
It was Abanikanda’s daughter who saw the inferno. She screamed, “Fire, fire, neighbours, fire, help!” Arije heard the shout and turned in his bed, curling up behind his wife, saying, “It’s their fire, let them quench it. I’m unavailable. Dem no dey see me.”
The fire raged and crackled. Arije snuggled. “Abanikanda cooks too much fish every day; he brought fire upon himself,” he said.
Leaping in tongues, the fire consumed the grass and roots used in making Abanikanda’s thatched roof, releasing into the air flares, which jumped on Arije’s roof, burning ferociously. Farmer Arije woke up to sorrow and tears, learning an eternal lesson.
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The Lukman and Arije stories illustrate, on the surface, the shameful clash between the Minister of the Federal Capital Territory, Abuja, Nyesom Wike, and one misoriented lieutenant in the Nigerian Navy, A. M. Yerima, a Kaduna indigene, who led a group of misguided, gun-clutching soldiers to secure a parcel of land for a retired Chief of Naval Staff, Vice Admiral Awwal Zubairu Gambo, who left service at the age of 57, and plunged into a life of luxury, which afforded him a multi-billion naira block of several buildings in Abuja.
On a deeper level, the clash highlights the crushing power game in the shithole we call Nigeria, our own dear native land, where though tribes and tongues may differ, in gangsterism we stand. It exposes to the ridicule of the international community, an inefficient, ill-equipped, ragtag and oppressive military which always places self-interest and clan above the Constitution and national interest. It shows a country of power-drunk, corrupt and immoral leadership being hailed by an ignorant public, who, having eaten the Stockholm Syndrome apple, grew to love their oppressors both in the ruling party and the opposition.
For his antecedents, if you called Wike talkative, belligerent, a spoiler, mischievous and arrogant, you are 100% right. But in his clash against the colluding military leadership, Wike was dead right, 200%. The backlash against Wike, however, arose from the poetic justice that saw him steaming in the stew of the victimisation and impunity, which the government he represents serves to the citizenry daily. Wike thus represents the spider caught in its own web. I do not pity him.
At all levels, Nigeria’s problem is systemic failure, a medical term for heart failure, needing urgent surgery, and as such, there’s a need to analyse the Wike-Military saga in proper perspective. We must shear the meat of this matter from the bones, abattoir-fashion.
Before this saga, I had never written a word, sentence or paragraph in favour of Wike. However, beyond the God-don-catch-Wike cacophony renting the press, airwaves and social media, I urge reasonable Nigerians to run a fine-tooth comb through the issue and dismount from the APC-Opposition fence.
To aid deconstruction and discernment, I hereby present two sequences to the story, illustrating reportage from traditional media and online posts.
Sequence 1
From a land-selling outfit, Gambo bought a sprawling swath of land in Abuja. He embarked on erecting many buildings on the land. Officials of the Federal Capital Territory Administration visited the site and alleged that there was no government approval for the land. The visiting officials told the builders to provide proof of ownership, government approval for the land and building approval plan. Thus, they told the owner to stop building.
Sequence 2
Gambo continued to build and refused to present any proof to FCTA. Instead, gun-wielding soldiers were drafted to the site. Officials of the FCTA who visited the site again were turned back, and they went to their office to report their findings. On the 11th day of the 11th month of 2025, at probably the 11th hour, Wike called the Chief of Defence Staff, General Christopher Musa, and the Chief of Naval Staff, Vice Admiral Idi Abass, before embarking on a visit to the site, telling them the situation at hand.
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Before we get to what happened on the site when Wike visited, I’ll ask some questions. What stopped Gambo from presenting the papers of the land and building approval plan to FCTA when asked to do so? Is Gambo not answerable to the constituted authorities’ inquiry because he was a soldier? Is he above the law because he retired as a CNS? Who ordered the drafting of soldiers to the site, because as a retired officer, who no longer has even a troop under his command, Gambo cannot legally order armed soldiers to guard his private estate when Nigeria is suffering from a manpower shortage in the ongoing battle with terrorists and bandits. Why did Musa and Abass not order the Yerima-led soldiers on maiguard duty to allow Wike and FCTA officials to do their inspection job and leave in peace? Why has the band of retired generals come after Wike while they are silent on the infractions of Gambo? Did Gambo get the money to buy such an expanse of land from his meagre military earnings? The answers to most of the questions are impunity and official corruption.
I daresay that aside from the ceaseless arrogance and oppression of the Nigerian military against the masses, I saw in the Abuja saga the fangs of the oppressive Fulani hegemony in the military and politics of Nigeria unbare. I dare to say that no Yoruba or Igbo officer would dare do what Kano-born Gambo and his gambolling soldiers did in Abuja.
As they say, you can’t build something on nothing. Singling Wike’s action out for condemnation without seeing through the tribal guile of a cabal in the Nigerian military, whose mantra had long been ‘born to rule’, is to fall cheaply to their ancient deception of divide and rule.
As for Wike’s multitude of antagonists sitting on the opposition fence, I’ll urge caution and wish they ponder on the lessons behind the action of Farmer Arije from Eripa. I hope this multitude know that in countries with serious military, like the US, China, Germany, France Britain, etc, where soldiers know their responsibilities, officers and men are under the laws of the land, not above it – unlike Nigerian soldiers – burning down Fela’s house, throwing his mother through an upstairs window, killing hundreds of innocent civilians in Odi, harassing MKO Abiola and his wife in the 80s, killing Dele Giwa, Ken Saro-Wiwa, the list is endless. Our monstrous military must be tamed and made to bow to the Constitution.
A ‘repentant’ Boko Haram or secondary school dropout who joins the military today as a recruit believes only his military superiors are those he can obey, not any constituted authority. This was why one low-ranking idiot in army uniform, some years ago, while driving against traffic in Lagos, dared to confront Governor Sanwo-Olu, saying he was a soldier. In 2012, Governor Babatunde Fashola arrested a colonel and a staff sergeant for driving on the restricted BRT Lane in separate vehicles. If not a governor, in some cases, or the President, no law-enforcement official in Nigeria can stop an erring soldier, not the police, not the DSS. Nigerian soldiers fear no law; they only fear the military, Boko Haram, terrorists, IPOB and Trump. Nigeria must stop their impunity for us to have a country.
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I think everyone is talking tongue-in-cheek on this matter, as it now appears, because of the fear of a military coup. In that case, it is not wrong to draw a conclusion that President Bola Tinubu truly needs the prayers of Nigerians.
Each time soldiers’ ‘asemáse’ impunity rears its head in Nigeria, I always remember former police spokesperson, Alozie Ogugbuaja, who, while in service, described the Nigerian military as a bunch of ‘peppersouping’ and ‘beering’ generals who only excel at coup planning and execution. God bless Ogugbuaja.
The excesses of the Nigerian military predate Ogugbuaja’s outburst. It goes even beyond independence and the post-Civil War era when Nigerians, showing courtesy, allowed soldiers to board public transport for free. Soon, soldiers began to deboard passengers from the front seats of public transportation buses, even as they wouldn’t pay a dime to vehicle conductors.
The Lukman Oluwuyi metaphor speaks to the Goliath which the Nigerian military represents, while insurgency, banditry, etc, have become David defeating Goliath. Yerima’s disrespect came before Wike’s because, by arrogantly being in the place he was not supposed to be, he disrespected the Constitution and the Oath he had sworn. Yerima condescendingly expressed shock that a policeman was talking to him, saying, “Look at a policeman talking to me”, as if he, Yerima, gave God the clay with which Adam and Eve were created.
LDRSHIP is the acronym for the seven core values of the U.S. Army. L means Loyalty to the Constitution. D stands for Duty of Fulfilling obligations by completing tasks and accomplishing assigned missions as part of a team. R means treating people with dignity and respect, recognising the value of every individual. S means Put the welfare of the nation, the Army, and your subordinates before your own personal interests. H means Live up to and embody all the Army values in every action. I means Integrity: Do what is right, both legally and morally, ensuring honesty and trustworthiness. P stands for Personal Courage: Face fear, danger, and adversity, whether physical or moral. How many Nigerian soldiers can tick all the boxes of the acronym? I don’t know. But I know how many who are good at peppersouping and beering.
In the US, civilians can walk into stores to buy military camouflage, which they proudly wear in support and solidarity with their soldiers. In Nigeria, soldiers will beat you to a pulp and lock you up if you wear any dress they consider ‘army green’ in colour. They will seize your car if its colour is too green. What an upside-down country!
I’ll leave you with the words of some three wise men. I’ll start with Dwight D. Eisenhower, the 34th President of the United States. He says, “Force can protect in emergency, but only justice, fairness, consideration, and cooperation can finally lead men to peace.” Are Nigerian big-for-number soldiers listening?
Albert Einstein is my second wise man. He says, “Force always attracts men of low morality.” I’ll expatiate by adding ‘unnecessary’ to Einstein’s force.
My third and final wise man is Rumi, a 13th-century Persian poet and Islamic scholar. He bequeaths these eternal words to humanity: “Raise your words, not your voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder.” This advice is for Wike, who needs to improve his public attitude. He should have been gracious at the scene. But the attitude of Yerima was so nauseating, to say the least. I am a commissioned officer, my foot!
Email: tundeodes2003@yahoo.com
Facebook: @Tunde Odesola
X: @Tunde_Odesola
The ‘fool’ who stopped Wike
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Opinion
OPINION: Who Still Needs the NYSC? — By Bola Bolawole
OPINION: Who Still Needs the NYSC? — By Bola Bolawole
The recent abduction of National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) members travelling from Ibadan, Oyo State, to orientation camps in the South-East and South-South has once again raised a difficult question: does Nigeria still need the NYSC in its present form?
The question is not new, but the latest incident has made it more urgent.
On October 1, two buses conveying NYSC members and other passengers from Ibadan to Uyo, Akwa Ibom State, and Bende, Abia State, were attacked by suspected armed men in Imo State. The police subsequently reported that 10 victims had been rescued, while efforts continued to establish the exact number of people still in captivity.
If the abducted young Nigerians travelled from Ibadan, some of them could be from Oyo and neighbouring South-West states, although victims may also have come from other parts of the country. The incident should therefore concern Nigerians collectively.
Governors whose citizens are affected should not leave the matter entirely to the Federal Government. Even where they do not directly control the police or military operations, they can support affected families, communicate with them and provide whatever assistance falls within their powers.
Questions over police handling
There are also serious questions about how information concerning the operation was handled.
The Imo State Commissioner of Police, CP Audu Bosso, disclosed that security operatives had located the kidnappers’ camp but were unable to immediately advance because intelligence indicated that the area had been mined with explosives. He also spoke about the use of drones and preparations for further operations.
That raises an important question about the disclosure of sensitive operational information while a rescue operation is still ongoing.
Security agencies must communicate with the public, but such communication should not inadvertently expose operational strategies, locations or vulnerabilities that could assist criminals.
The media, too, must exercise responsibility. The desire to break news or attract traffic should never override the safety of victims or security personnel.
Why was NYSC established?
The National Youth Service Corps was established by Decree No. 24 of May 22, 1973, following the Nigerian Civil War.
According to the NYSC, the scheme was created to promote national unity and develop common ties among Nigerian youths. Its broader purpose was to encourage young Nigerians to serve communities outside their immediate cultural and geographical environments.
The idea was understandable.
Nigeria had just emerged from a devastating civil war. The wounds were still fresh, distrust among different sections of the country was considerable, and there was an urgent need to rebuild bridges.
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The NYSC was therefore conceived as an instrument of reconciliation, integration and national development.
But more than five decades later, we must ask whether the circumstances that gave birth to the scheme still exist in the same form — and whether the scheme is achieving its original objectives.
Fifty-three years later, what has changed?
The NYSC has undoubtedly produced benefits.
Millions of young Nigerians have lived and worked outside their home states, interacted with people from different ethnic and religious backgrounds and contributed to communities through their primary assignments and community development projects.
For many Nigerians, NYSC remains one of the few institutions where young people from different parts of the country experience Nigeria beyond their immediate environments.
But the challenges have also become enormous.
Over the years, corps members have died in road accidents while travelling to their places of primary assignment or during their service year. More recently, insecurity, terrorism, banditry and kidnapping have introduced an additional and frightening dimension to the risks confronting young Nigerians serving their country.
The latest abduction therefore forces us to ask:
For how long should young graduates be compelled to travel long distances and serve in places where their safety cannot be guaranteed?
And more importantly:
Is the present structure of the NYSC still the best way to promote national unity?
Has the NYSC achieved its central objective?
After more than five decades of the NYSC, Nigeria continues to struggle with ethnic suspicion, regional grievances and demands for greater autonomy or restructuring.
The emergence of groups such as MASSOB and IPOB in the South-East, alongside various self-determination and restructuring movements in other parts of the country, suggests that the challenge of national cohesion has not disappeared.
The South-West, too, has witnessed the emergence of different groups advocating varying forms of restructuring and self-determination.
These developments do not necessarily mean that the NYSC has failed. National integration is far more complicated than a single government programme.
But they should compel policymakers to examine whether the original model remains adequate for today’s Nigeria.
Reform rather than sentiment
The answer may not necessarily be to abolish the NYSC overnight.
There may be a strong case for fundamentally reforming it.
A modern national service programme could place greater emphasis on skills acquisition, technology, entrepreneurship, healthcare, education, disaster response and community development.
The compulsory nationwide posting system could also be reviewed, particularly where security conditions make deployment dangerous.
Nigeria should not continue doing something simply because it has been done for 53 years.
At the same time, we should not discard an institution simply because it has weaknesses. The real question should be: what works, what no longer works, and what should replace it?
Time to rethink government agencies
The NYSC debate should also be part of a broader conversation about the cost and effectiveness of government institutions.
Nigeria has numerous Ministries, Departments and Agencies whose functions sometimes overlap, while some institutions have become largely ineffective.
The Federal Government should therefore revisit recommendations on restructuring and rationalising government agencies, including the Oronsaye reforms.
The objective should not merely be cutting institutions for the sake of cutting them. It should be about creating a leaner, more efficient government that delivers better services to Nigerians.
Who still needs the NYSC?
That is ultimately the question.
The NYSC was born out of the circumstances of post-Civil War Nigeria. Its founders wanted young Nigerians to develop common bonds and a stronger sense of national identity. Those objectives remain desirable.
But the Nigeria of 2026 is not the Nigeria of 1973.
Our security challenges are different. Our population is different. Our economy is different. Our young people face different challenges. Technology has transformed communication and interaction.
The government must therefore have the courage to ask whether the NYSC should continue unchanged, be radically reformed, or eventually replaced with a more effective national service framework.
What we cannot continue to do is expose young Nigerians to avoidable danger simply because a policy was created more than half a century ago.
National unity is important. But so is the safety and dignity of the young Nigerians who are expected to serve the nation.
Bola Bolawole, a former Editor of PUNCH Newspapers, Chairman of its Editorial Board and Deputy Editor-in-Chief, writes columns for Nigerian newspapers.
Source note: The opinion is adapted for Newstrends.ng from Bola Bolawole’s October 7, 2026 article. The NYSC’s official account confirms that the scheme was established by Decree No. 24 of May 22, 1973, principally to promote national unity and common ties among Nigerian youths.
OPINION: Who Still Needs the NYSC? — By Bola Bolawole
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Opinion
Nigeria — My Country of Destiny
Nigeria — My Country of Destiny
A speech delivered by Mrs Bolatito Ajibode, Convener, Independence Day Fiesta, at Landmark Events Centre, to mark Nigeria’s 66th Independence Anniversary
Nigeria is my country of destiny.
It is not a coincidence that I was born here. God had me in mind when He blessed this land.
It is not a coincidence that this prosperous land is populated by people of different cultures; hence, our tongues and tribes differ. We call it PRODIVA — Prosperity in Our Diversity.
The Lord finished the work of creation and should be praised for loading us with the benefits of arable soil, mineral-rich land, solid minerals, oil and gas, and a market of over 200 million people. Many are yearning for these endowments and have come to our land to explore and exploit them.
Our endowments are beckoning on us for exploration. The few who have taken up the challenge, like Dangote, are smiling to the bank by converting our huge deposits of limestone into cement and refining our crude oil into petroleum products. He has taken Nigeria to the global stage, and we are all proud of him as our brother.
We, however, need more Dangotes.
Last year, we had our maiden edition at Muri Okunola Park, where we challenged ourselves to do more by building a side hustle in addition to our 9-to-5 jobs.
We urged ourselves to:
- Start small from where we are and grow.
- Explore the vast resources of this country to create wealth.
I am happy to say that we have positive testimonies from those who have started their side hustles, making extra income and contributing to the total income of Nigeria.
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Having laid a solid foundation last year, our goal this year is to cement it and contribute, individually and collectively, to the per capita income of Nigeria.
The desired growth of Nigeria can only come as we add value to the wealth of the nation in our own little corners.
That is the only variable we can control because the other variable — population — is outside our control.
We are typically excited about our young population and proudly rejoice that Nigeria is projected to become one of the five most populous countries in the world by 2050.
The question we need to ask is: How do we house, feed and clothe this growing population?
Certainly, having a young population is good, but it can also become an easy path to poverty and insecurity if we are not deliberate about growing national wealth and baking a bigger national cake.
Yes, our business environment is tough and unstructured. It raises the entry barrier because many are not ready to weather the storm. Those who are able to stay and thrive in this tough business environment have overcome the challenges, and some of them are here with us today.
A deep appreciation to our keynote speaker, Mrs Chinwe Ezenwa, the Managing Director of Lee Look Bags, who has been in the business of Ankara and Aso-Oke fabric bags for four decades. We look forward to drinking from her fountain of knowledge this morning.
Also in our midst is our brother, Mr Ola Awakan, the Director-General of the Nigerian Tourism Development Authority, who has used literature and poetry to deliver compelling indigenous stories from the heart. He has come with his team all the way from Abuja to honour us.
During the panel session today, we will hear the success stories of our panelists and also interact with them during the networking session.
In line with the theme of the year, we would like us to consider:
- Low-hanging fruits in our business environment;
- Low-technology business ideas;
- Businesses that are authentic and unique to us;
- Commercialising our indigenous values and ideas in food, clothing, arts and drama.
We need to own and dominate this space!
Today, we have in this room great men and women who have taken these indigenous values and ideas to the global stage.
They will share their PRODIVA stories and inspire us.
I believe their insightful stories will also challenge the invited students from Yaba College of Technology, the University of Lagos and Lagos State University.
The idea is to catch them young. 😍
Please note: the Independence Day Fiesta is not about storytelling alone. We are also going to have fun.
We have about four performances, including spoken-word poetry, drama, drumming, music performances and Naija music with good lyrics.
We will also break out for lunch to enjoy various Naija cuisines.
It is my prayer that, at the end of the session, we will all have our takeaways and begin to water the seed of prosperity in our diversity.
Once again, thank you for coming. Please relax and have fun.
Nigeria — My Country of Destiny
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Opinion
Fifty Years After “Africa Has Come of Age”: A Personal Reflection on Nigeria’s Silence at the United Nations
By Disu Kamor, Executive Chairman, Muslim Public Affairs Centre (MPAC)
There are moments when a nation’s silence says more than its speeches. Last week at the United Nations was one of them. For years, I have introduced myself in rooms around the world as a Nigerian, and I have done so with a certain inherited pride. Not pride in our perfection, but pride in our posture. We were the country that once told the world, at great cost to itself, where it stood. We were the country that severed ties, nationalised oil companies, lost contracts and risked isolation because we believed that freedom in Southern Africa and freedom in Palestine were not foreign causes, but our own.
So when the organisation I chair, the Muslim Public Affairs Centre, issued a press release last week asking why Nigeria’s address to the 81st United Nations General Assembly could not find a single sentence for Palestine, I felt it personally, not just institutionally. Because twelve months earlier, at UNGA 80, Nigeria had not whispered. It had spoken, and spoken clearly. It spoke about the devastation in Gaza. It condemned violence and aggression against innocent civilians. It looked the world in the eye and declared, “without stuttering and without doubt,” that a two-state solution remained the path to lasting peace, and that the people of Palestine are not collateral damage but human beings, equal in worth, entitled to the same freedoms we take for granted. MPAC’s release laid out the record: last year’s clarity, this year’s erasure, the Security Cooperation Agreement with Israel signed quietly in August 2025 in between, the Joint Commission, the intelligence deals, and our three demands — join South Africa’s genocide case at the ICJ, make security cooperation conditional on accountability, and next time nations walk out when Netanyahu speaks, let Nigeria walk with them. I stand behind every word.
But this article is not that press release. This is what that silence has weighed on me as a Nigerian who was raised on the memory of a different Nigeria, and who fears we are now spending down a moral inheritance we did not earn, and will struggle to recover once it is gone.
Fifty years ago this January, a young Nigerian Head of State stood before his fellow African leaders in Addis Ababa and said four words that outlived him by half a century. General Murtala Mohammed, addressing an Extraordinary Session of the Organisation of African Unity convened to decide where Africa would stand on Angola’s liberation, rejected a letter from the American government pressuring Nigeria to side with apartheid South Africa. “Africa has come of age,” he told them. Thirty-four days later, he was dead, assassinated in a coup attempt, having spent the last months of his life turning that declaration into policy rather than leaving it as a line for historians to admire.
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This year, the fiftieth anniversary of that declaration, I watched Nigeria’s national statement at the United Nations General Assembly run to twenty-four paragraphs — Security Council reform, climate finance, artificial intelligence, debt architecture, counter-terrorism in the Sahel — without once naming Gaza, or Palestine, or the two-state solution Nigeria itself had insisted on just a year before. I do not think that is a small thing. I think it is a rupture. I grew up understanding Nigeria as a country that put its resources where its convictions were, not merely its rhetoric. This is not nostalgia. It is documented history, and it deserves to be told again because too few Nigerians under fifty have ever been taught it.
Under Murtala and his successor, Olusegun Obasanjo, Nigeria funnelled oil revenue to liberation movements across the continent — the MPLA in Angola, ZANU and ZAPU in Zimbabwe, the ANC and PAC in South Africa, SWAPO in Namibia. Nigeria led the rejection of South Africa’s Bantustan system at the UN General Assembly in 1975 and donated $500,000 to SWAPO, granting it office space in Lagos. When Obasanjo’s government discovered that Nigerian crude, sold through British Petroleum, was indirectly reaching apartheid South Africa’s refineries, Nigeria nationalised BP’s entire Nigerian operation in 1979 rather than let its oil serve a racist regime even by accident. When Margaret Thatcher’s government moved to ease sanctions on Rhodesia, Obasanjo pulled British contracts from Lagos’s Apapa port and threatened to leave the Commonwealth, pressure credited with contributing to Robert Mugabe’s election victory in 1980. Nigeria went on to chair the UN’s Special Committee Against Apartheid until 1994.
And on Palestine specifically, Nigeria did not merely speak. It paid a real, sustained cost. When the Yom Kippur War broke out in 1973, Nigeria, in solidarity with the Organisation of African Unity and the Arab world, severed diplomatic relations with Israel entirely. That severance held for nearly two decades, across multiple changes of government, before ties were restored in 1992. An entire generation of Nigerian diplomats came of age in a country that had decided that Palestinian self-determination was worth nineteen years of severed ties.
That history is what makes this year’s silence so difficult to bear, because what Nigeria was silent about is not abstract. It is a living catastrophe now in its eighth decade. It began with the Nakba in 1948, when some 750,000 Palestinians were expelled from their homes during the creation of the State of Israel. What followed in 1967, after the Six-Day War, was a military occupation of the West Bank, including East Jerusalem, and the Gaza Strip that has never ended. For fifty-eight years, Palestinians in those territories have lived under military law while Israeli settlers in the very same land live under civil law, their settlements expanding, their roads segregated, their movement controlled by checkpoints and walls. In July 2024, the International Court of Justice declared that this occupation itself is unlawful, that it amounts to racial segregation and apartheid, and that it must end.
Within that occupation, violence has never been episodic. Palestinians remember Deir Yassin and Tantura in 1948, Khan Younis and Rafah in 1956, Sabra and Shatila in 1982, when Israeli forces encircled Palestinian refugee camps in Beirut while allied militias slaughtered thousands, the Ibrahimi Mosque in Hebron in 1994, Jenin in 2002, and the successive wars on Gaza in 2008-09, 2012, 2014 and 2021, each leaving thousands dead, overwhelmingly civilian.
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But what has happened in the last three years has no parallel. Since October 2023, Gaza has endured a war that UN agencies and courts now describe in terms of genocide. In less than three years, more than 65,000 Palestinians have been killed, the majority women and children, and more than 120,000 wounded. Almost the entire population of 2.3 million has been forcibly displaced, many ten times over. The United Nations has documented the systematic destruction of hospitals, of every university in Gaza, of schools sheltering displaced families, of mosques, churches, bakeries and water plants. UN experts, Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch and Israeli human rights groups have documented the blocking of food, water, medicine and fuel as a weapon of war. It is this record that led South Africa to bring its case under the Genocide Convention to the International Court of Justice in December 2023.
And for the first time, accusation has moved to indictment. On November 21, 2024, the International Criminal Court issued arrest warrants for Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and former Defence Minister Yoav Gallant for war crimes and crimes against humanity, including using starvation as a method of warfare, murder, persecution and intentionally directing attacks against civilians. The sitting prime minister of a state with which our government signed a Security Cooperation Agreement in August 2025 is now wanted in 125 member states.
I cannot reconcile the Nigeria under Murtala and Obasanjo with the one that could not find a single sentence for Palestine this year while, rather unbothered, it got busy signing discreet pacts and agreements with an apartheid and genocidal state as recently as March 2026. I cannot reconcile it with the fact that when dozens of nations walked out of the General Assembly hall this year as Netanyahu spoke, Nigeria’s delegation remained seated.
And it was not just any walkout. When the footage came out, it was Africa itself that stood up. South Africa, Senegal, Botswana, Uganda, Namibia, Kenya, Ghana, Angola, Niger, Madagascar, Mozambique, Chad, Central African Republic, Liberia, Eritrea, Lesotho, Eswatini, Equatorial Guinea, both Congos — the Republic of the Congo and the Democratic Republic of the Congo — were among the African countries that walked out or refused to sit through that speech. These are not marginal states. They include countries that fought apartheid alongside us, countries we trained, funded and housed. If Africa has come of age, as Murtala said fifty years ago, then Africa showed it last week. Nigeria, the country that once taught the continent how to stand, chose to remain seated.
I do not say this to manufacture hostility toward any state. Murtala’s generation did not act out of hostility either. They acted out of principle, and they paid whatever price principle demanded. What troubles me is the gap between the courage that generation had when the cost was real, and the caution my generation has settled for now that the cost is merely inconvenient. MPAC’s press release said what needed to be said institutionally. But I wanted to say this as one Nigerian to others: I was raised on the memory of a country that told the most powerful nation on earth it would no longer take orders from anyone. Fifty years later, having watched genocide beamed live on our screens, at the world’s most powerful podium, we managed silence instead.
Let me be clear about what this article is not calling for. It is not a call for Nigeria to once again funnel its oil revenue into the Palestinian cause of self-determination, as we did for Southern Africa five decades ago. The world has changed, and Nigeria’s burdens at home are heavy enough. What this article calls for is simpler and more urgent: that Nigeria remembers that its moral standing is diminishing due to its romance with a state that is considered a pariah by the vast majority of the world’s nations, and finds the courage to re-earn it. A nation does not inherit its moral standing and build on it through immoral dealings with a state openly engaged in war crimes and genocide, and then react with silence on the world stage. It re-earns it, decision by decision, generation by generation. Murtala’s generation earned theirs at real cost — with severed ties, nationalised assets, lost contracts and, ultimately, blood. They did not do it for applause. They did it because they understood that justice could not be seasonal. They did it also for the simple reason that, as Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. wrote in his “Letter from Birmingham Jail”, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” I am not yet ready to accept that my generation should spend that inheritance in silence. And I do not believe most Nigerians are either, if they are given the full record and asked to judge for themselves.
Lastly, what is at stake here is bigger than Palestine alone. It is the independence of Nigeria’s foreign policy itself. That policy must never be outsourced, subcontracted, or dictated by any foreign capital, however powerful. It must be independent of foreign control and influence, and must reflect, first and foremost, the interests, the vision and the values of the Nigerian people. It must draw from the long history of our nation’s reputation — not as a follower of convenience, but as a champion of just causes.
What worries many Nigerians today is the growing impression that our foreign policy is no longer guided by that long, principled history, but is now at the mercy of a few individuals who have prioritised personal friendship and the influence of Israel over Nigeria’s reputation and historical values. When private affinities and lobbying networks begin to shape national statements at the United Nations, when security deals are signed quietly while the National Assembly and the public are kept in the dark, we have departed from the Murtala doctrine. Foreign policy ceases to be Nigerian policy; it becomes the project of a few. Murtala understood this danger when he tore up that letter from Washington. Obasanjo understood it when he chose principle over BP. That is the tradition I am now calling on us to honour, not abandon. Nigeria must return to a foreign policy that is truly Nigerian — independent, people-centred, and anchored in justice.
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