A dark cloud hanging over Nigeria

Distinguished guests, ladies and gentlemen.

Some months ago, a colleague walked into my office and noticed the back issues of Nigerian newspapers and magazines, together with printed copies of articles downloaded from the internet, which our librarian had assembled on my table. Curious, he asked what I intended to do with all those documents.

I told him that we were examining President Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s first two years in office, particularly the extent to which his administration had fulfilled its promise of Renewed Hope for the Nigerian people.

He looked at me with a mixture of concern and apprehension.

“Siddique,” he said, “you people are treading on dangerous terrain. It is a rough landscape, full of thorns. The President, his hangers-on and the governors are desperate. They could do anything to harm you people.”

At the time, I regarded his warning as an expression of understandable anxiety about the state of our politics. But subsequent events have given his words a disturbing significance.

On Monday evening, an old student of mine, having seen our invitation to this book presentation, sent me a voice message expressing his apprehension and praying that Almighty Allah would protect us. His concern was deeply touching. It was also a sobering reminder of the atmosphere in which intellectual inquiry and public criticism are increasingly conducted in our country.

Another wrote: “I will attend with bulletproof vestment. A government that is against dissent can do anything.”

A professor replied to him: “Make sure that you also have an iron helmet, in case of flying ammunition.”

These remarks may have been intended partly in jest, but the anxiety behind them is unmistakable.

Why should the presentation of a book examining the performance of a democratically elected government provoke such apprehension? Why should scholars and public intellectuals have to worry about their personal safety or the consequences of expressing their considered opinions about those who govern them? These are not trivial questions. They go to the heart of the democratic condition of our country.

The Erosion of Democratic Freedoms

Across several states, particularly in Northern Nigeria, intolerance of dissenting views has become disturbingly commonplace. Opposition leaders and political groups encounter obstacles when seeking public venues for meetings and political gatherings. Sometimes, access to public facilities is denied outright. On other occasions, administrative barriers and other forms of obstruction are deployed to frustrate their activities.

Access to government-owned media is another challenge. Opposition figures often find it exceedingly difficult to secure a fair opportunity to communicate their programmes and policies to the public. In some places, even the use of billboards to advertise political activities becomes a source of contention. Yet these practices, taken together, reveal a troubling pattern: the shrinking of democratic space and the growing intolerance of alternative political voices. And yet, we are supposed to be living in a democracy.

Democracy is not merely the holding of elections every four years. It is not simply the right of the ruling party to govern after winning an election. Democracy also requires the protection of fundamental freedoms, respect for opposition parties, freedom of expression, access to public institutions and the assurance that citizens can question those in power without fear of intimidation or reprisal.

When a ruling party begins to treat criticism as hostility, disagreement as disloyalty, and intellectual inquiry as a threat to its political survival, democracy is reduced to an electoral ritual. Its institutions may remain standing, but its spirit begins to wither.

When the Powers That Be Become Afraid of a Book

In our own case, the fears expressed by my colleague and former student acquired a more concrete dimension when our booking for the use of a hall at Arewa House, the Centre for Historical Documentation and Research of Ahmadu Bello University, was cancelled.

Arewa House is an institution associated with the preservation of historical records, intellectual inquiry and the documentation of Nigeria’s political experience. We had approached it as a legitimate venue for the public presentation of a book examining the performance of the President and his administration.

The cancellation of our booking raised a fundamental concern: had the publication of a critical examination of the government become an offence serious enough to warrant the denial of a venue for its public presentation?

Anticipating this possibility, we made efforts to secure an alternative venue in Kaduna. However, we were informed by every hotel we approached that they had been warned not to accommodate our event. We have not independently established the source of these warnings, but if these reports are accurate, they point to something deeply troubling: an attempt to deny citizens their right to assemble, exchange ideas and critically examine the conduct of those entrusted with public office.

Faced with these obstacles, we had no choice but to relocate the presentation of this book to Abuja.

Consider the implications of this experience. A group of citizens wishes to present a book examining the performance of a democratically elected government. The original venue is cancelled, and efforts to secure an alternative venue in the same city reportedly encounter similar obstacles. The event must then be moved to another city.

What exactly is so threatening about a book that its presentation should encounter such difficulties? What does it say about the state of our democracy when citizens must struggle to find a venue simply to discuss the performance of their government?

We cannot ignore the implications. When a book is treated as a political threat simply because it questions the performance of those in power, the issue goes beyond the authors and their publication. It becomes a question of the freedom to think, to write, to debate and to participate in the intellectual life of society.

A book does not need to be agreeable to the government to deserve a hearing. Nor does a government acquire the right to silence criticism merely because it considers that criticism unfair, uncomfortable or politically damaging. The proper response to a critical publication is to challenge its arguments, dispute its evidence where necessary, and offer a more convincing interpretation of the facts. It is not to create obstacles to its public presentation.

The circumstances surrounding our experience therefore raise concerns that extend far beyond this particular event. They touch upon the autonomy of academic institutions, the independence of cultural and research centres, and the responsibility of public institutions and private establishments to respect the space for lawful intellectual engagement.

Should an Intellectual Take Flight?

This brings me to a question that has occupied my mind since these events unfolded:

When confronted with creeping tyranny, should an intellectual take flight?

What, after all, is the value of education if it does not impose upon us a moral obligation to society? What is the purpose of scholarship if scholars are unwilling to speak when truth is uncomfortable and power becomes intolerant of criticism?

Is the responsibility of an intellectual exhausted by the acquisition of degrees, the publication of academic papers and the accumulation of professional honours? Or does education impose a deeper obligation: to examine the realities of our society, expose injustice, challenge falsehoods and contribute to the defence of the public good?

These are questions we must confront honestly.

Intellectuals are not infallible. Our conclusions can be challenged, our evidence questioned and our interpretations corrected. But the possibility of error is not a justification for silence. Indeed, the pursuit of truth requires an environment in which arguments can be contested openly and evidence examined without intimidation.

The greatest danger to a society is not that its intellectuals sometimes get things wrong. It is that fear eventually persuades them that it is safer not to speak at all.

History offers many examples of societies in which authoritarianism took root gradually. It rarely begins with the complete abolition of democratic institutions. More often, it advances through the steady weakening of safeguards, the intimidation of opponents, the manipulation of public institutions and the growing conviction among citizens that resistance is too costly.

Tyranny does not always announce itself with the sound of marching soldiers. Sometimes, it advances quietly, through cancelled bookings, denied permits, obstructed meetings, silenced voices and the self-censorship of people who have come to believe that speaking the truth is simply not worth the risk.

Does tyranny not take root when those who ought to stand up and be counted retreat into silence out of fear?

This is not an argument for recklessness or for the disregard of personal safety. It is an argument for courage, responsibility and a clear understanding of the obligations that come with education and public service. There are moments in the life of a nation when silence, however convenient, carries consequences that extend beyond the individual.

The Dark Cloud Hanging Over Nigeria

Ladies and gentlemen, the title of this speech, A Dark Cloud Hanging Over Nigeria, reflects my deep concern about the direction in which our country is moving.

Nigeria faces enormous challenges: insecurity, widespread poverty, rising living costs, unemployment, declining public confidence and deepening social divisions. These problems demand a government capable of listening, learning, correcting its mistakes and building confidence across the country.

The promise of Renewed Hope was supposed to offer Nigerians a vision of a better future. But a government must ultimately be judged not by the attractiveness of its slogans, but by the realities of the lives of the people it governs.

Have the policies of the administration improved the material conditions of ordinary Nigerians? Have they strengthened national unity? Have they made citizens more secure? Have they restored confidence in public institutions? And have they created an environment in which citizens can freely express their opinions, including opinions that are critical of the government?

These are the questions our book seeks to examine.

Our purpose is not to claim that every policy of the administration is without merit, nor to suggest that Nigeria’s problems began with the present government. Our task is to examine the record, evaluate the evidence, interrogate official claims and assess the distance between political promises and lived realities. A government that is confident in its record should welcome such scrutiny. Critical examination is not an assault on democracy. It is one of the means by which democracy sustains itself.

Renewing the Covenant: What Exactly Is Tinubu Offering Nigerians?

It is against this background of economic hardship, insecurity and declining public confidence that President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, while inaugurating his campaign council on Wednesday, October 14, 2026, declared his readiness to renew his covenant with Nigerians ahead of the official launch of his second-term campaign, scheduled to take place in Kaduna on October 24, 2026.

The President’s declaration raises a fundamental question: what, precisely, is the content of this proposed renewed covenant with the Nigerian people?

Is it a covenant to continue along the same path, with the same unresolved problems and the same burdens being borne by ordinary Nigerians? Is it a commitment to continue asking citizens to endure hardship in anticipation of benefits that remain uncertain for many households? Or does the President intend to offer a fundamentally different programme of governance, one that recognises the limitations of existing policies and sets out measurable commitments to improving the lives of Nigerians?

A covenant is more than a campaign slogan. It implies obligations, expectations and accountability. In a democracy, a government seeking a renewed mandate must be prepared to account for the mandate it has already received. It must explain what it has achieved, acknowledge where it has fallen short and show how it intends to address the problems that remain.

Since assuming office in May 2023, the Tinubu administration has introduced far-reaching economic reforms, including the removal of the petrol subsidy and changes to the foreign-exchange regime. The government has defended these measures as necessary to correct longstanding economic distortions, improve public finances and establish a more sustainable foundation for economic growth.

There are arguments in favour of reforming subsidies, improving revenue collection and addressing distortions in the foreign-exchange market. But the justification for economic reform cannot rest exclusively on its theoretical merits or on improvements in selected macroeconomic indicators. The ultimate test is whether reform translates into better living conditions, greater economic security, decent employment and more equitable opportunities for citizens.

For millions of Nigerians, the immediate experience has been the struggle to afford food, transport, electricity, housing and other basic necessities. Workers have seen their purchasing power eroded, while small businesses struggle with high operating costs and an uncertain economic environment. Farmers face insecurity, expensive inputs and inadequate infrastructure. Families are compelled to make painful choices between necessities that should ordinarily be within their reach.

The question, therefore, is not simply whether the government has introduced reforms. It is whether those reforms have delivered sufficient and fairly distributed benefits to justify the sacrifices imposed on the population, and whether the administration has done enough to protect the most vulnerable from their consequences.

Insecurity presents an even more urgent test of the proposed covenant. What reassurance can a government offer citizens who cannot be certain of returning safely from their farms, journeys, schools or places of work? What covenant can be meaningfully renewed with communities repeatedly exposed to attacks, kidnapping, displacement and the destruction of their livelihoods?

The primary responsibility of government is to protect lives and property. Security is not merely a statistic in an official report or a subject for political speeches. It is the ability of citizens to live without constant fear, cultivate their farms, operate their businesses, educate their children and travel safely. When these basic conditions are absent, promises of economic transformation and national development lose much of their meaning.

There are equally important questions about poverty, unemployment, regional equity and the distribution of public resources and opportunities. Nigeria is a diverse federation whose stability depends, in part, on the confidence of its constituent communities that the national government belongs to all Nigerians and serves the common good.

Public appointments, infrastructure investment and the distribution of economic opportunities must inspire confidence through fairness, transparency and respect for the federal character principle. Where citizens perceive exclusion or a disproportionate concentration of power and resources, the bonds of national solidarity are weakened.

The burden of public debt presents another test. Borrowing is not inherently undesirable. When properly managed, it can finance productive infrastructure, expand economic capacity and improve the welfare of citizens. But when public borrowing increases, without a sufficiently clear demonstration of commensurate developmental returns, legitimate questions arise about national priorities, public expenditure and accountability.

Nigerians have a right to know what their government is borrowing, what those resources are financing, what has been delivered and how the resulting obligations will be met. They are entitled to ask whether borrowed funds are expanding productive capacity, creating employment and improving public services, or whether debt servicing is increasingly restricting the resources available for essential development.

The issue is not debt in itself, but debt without demonstrable development.

These are not peripheral concerns that can be set aside during a campaign. They are central to the question of whether the administration’s record justifies a renewed mandate.

What new and verifiable commitments will the President’s proposed covenant contain? Will the government establish clear targets for reducing insecurity, poverty and unemployment? Will it present a credible programme for improving purchasing power and making food and essential services more affordable? Will it strengthen accountability in public expenditure, ensure more equitable development across the federation and demonstrate that public borrowing is producing lasting economic and social benefits?

Will it also commit itself to protecting democratic freedoms, respecting opposition parties and ensuring that public institutions remain open to citizens regardless of their political opinions?

Or should Nigerians understand this proposed renewal as an appeal for another term to continue substantially the same policies, with the same unresolved problems and an assurance that conditions will eventually improve?

These are legitimate questions that the President and his party must answer. They are not expressions of hostility towards the government. They are the questions citizens ought to ask of any administration seeking a renewed mandate.

A second-term campaign should provide an opportunity for a sober assessment of the first term: its achievements, its failures, the unintended consequences of its policies and the lessons that should inform the next phase of governance. It should be an occasion for presenting specific, measurable and realistic commitments, not merely for repeating familiar promises.

The President must do more than ask Nigerians to renew their confidence. He must explain why that confidence is warranted and identify the concrete changes citizens can expect. A covenant cannot be renewed meaningfully without an honest account of the obligations already undertaken.

The central issue is not whether President Tinubu is ready to renew his covenant with Nigerians. It is what that covenant contains, what it requires of the government and what Nigerians can reasonably expect in return.

Will it be a covenant to restore security, alleviate poverty, improve living standards, strengthen national unity and ensure that public resources serve the public interest? Or will it amount to a request for another term without sufficiently clear answers to the difficulties that have defined the first?

That is the question the forthcoming campaign should answer. And it cannot be answered by rhetoric alone. It requires evidence, accountability, a credible programme of action and a willingness to confront the painful realities of the country.

The dark cloud hanging over Nigeria is therefore not simply the consequence of economic hardship or insecurity. It is also the danger that, amid these crises, the space for questioning authority may progressively contract. A society can endure difficult economic conditions and still preserve its democratic institutions. But when hardship is accompanied by fear, intolerance and the suppression of dissent, the foundations of national progress become even more precarious.

We must not allow the pursuit of political power to become an excuse for undermining the freedoms that give political authority its democratic legitimacy.

Our Responsibility to Nigeria

Let me conclude by returning to the question with which I began.

Should an intellectual take flight when confronted with the dangers of speaking truth to power?

My answer is that we must not surrender our responsibility to society simply because the exercise of that responsibility has become uncomfortable or risky. We must remain committed to evidence, fairness, intellectual honesty and peaceful democratic engagement. We must be prepared to defend the right of others to disagree with us, just as we insist on our own right to question those in authority.

We must also remember that the defence of democracy is not the exclusive responsibility of intellectuals. It belongs to journalists, academics, writers, professional associations, religious leaders, civil society organisations, political parties and ordinary citizens. Democratic freedoms survive when society collectively refuses to regard their erosion as normal.

Our book is an invitation to such collective reflection. It is an invitation to examine the performance of government without fear, to interrogate the claims of political leaders without prejudice, and to insist that public office remains a responsibility to the people rather than a privilege above scrutiny.

We do not claim a monopoly on truth. We ask only that our arguments be judged on their evidence, that our conclusions be examined on their merits, and that the public be allowed to hear and assess what we have written.

If our analysis is wrong, let it be refuted with facts. If our conclusions are mistaken, let them be challenged with better arguments. But let no one imagine that a society becomes stronger by preventing uncomfortable questions from being asked.

The same principle applies to the President’s proposed renewed covenant with Nigerians. Let the government place its record before the public, explain its policies, acknowledge its shortcomings and demonstrate what it intends to do differently. Let citizens assess those commitments freely and without intimidation. That is how democratic accountability should work.

The future of Nigeria depends, in no small measure, on whether we can preserve a country in which ideas are contested through argument rather than suppressed through intimidation, and in which public institutions serve the people rather than the political convenience of those who control them.

A nation does not become great by silencing its critics. It becomes great by possessing the confidence to listen to them. As we present this book, we do so with a firm belief that Nigeria belongs to all its citizens, not merely to those who occupy positions of power. Its future must be shaped by open debate, democratic accountability, intellectual courage and respect for the dignity and freedom of every Nigerian.

May Almighty Allah protect our country, strengthen all those who work for justice and democratic freedom, and guide our leaders towards wisdom, humility and a genuine commitment to the welfare of the Nigerian people.

Thank you.

Speech at the public presentation of the book Tinubu: From Renewed Hope to Despair: A Critical Examination of President Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s Government

Professor Mohammed is the Executive Director of CEDDERT, Zaria