Column
A President in Isolation: Why Nigeria Must Step Beyond France
A man in distress nurses no pride. He goes wherever and to whomever necessary in search of help.
Earlier this year, Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky made the long journey to the White House. There, he endured the discomfort of facing a skeptical audience and navigating tense optics in the Oval Office. But his country is at war with the ruthless Russian bear—it was a matter of survival. Zelensky took the bruises for the sake of his people and his presidency.
Similarly, South African President Cyril Ramaphosa defied the odds of a strained relationship with the United States under President Trump. He walked into the lion’s den, candidly stating, “We don’t have a jetliner to give.” He needed to mend a diplomatic fence buckling under the weight of American pressure. Ramaphosa swallowed the bitter pill for his country and for the office he holds.
Even former U.S. President Donald Trump, despite his bluster, flew to the Middle East with a wishlist. He returned with a super-luxury jet courtesy of the wealthy Qataris. Even rich nations, it seems, have urgent needs.
So, what does Nigeria need? And when will Nigeria’s president take the initiative to visit Washington and other world capitals in search of strategic support? Must we wait until the roof collapses before we seek shelter? Why does Nigeria’s presidential travel itinerary always end in Paris? What enduring value lies in aligning almost exclusively with a former colonial power still tethered to the resources of its former African territories?
If I were President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, I would have visited the United States months ago. I would have met with President Trump to express how Nigeria is hemorrhaging talent, losing its brightest minds and most skilled professionals to America. I would appeal for a mutually beneficial arrangement: support Nigeria in making home viable, so fewer of our people are forced to migrate.
Given Trump’s well-known anti-immigration stance—and his business-oriented mindset—a development-based partnership could prove attractive. He might even call it, “the best deal ever.”
I would emphasize the immense value Nigerian professionals bring to the U.S. economy—our doctors, nurses, engineers, and tech innovators. I would remind him of Phillip Emeagwali, whose work helped lay the groundwork for the internet, the very infrastructure that fuels today’s global economy.
I would also point to the tax contributions of Nigerians in the U.S. and underscore the fact that we are assets—not burdens—wherever we go.
While in America, I would convene a high-profile forum with Nigerian professionals in healthcare and tech. I would solicit their ideas on how to strengthen Nigeria’s systems. That meeting would showcase Nigeria’s human capital and raise respect for our contributions to the American success story.
To complement this strategy, I would travel with cultural ambassadors like Davido, Flavour, and Burna Boy—creative powerhouses who have propelled Nigerian music to global acclaim. Their presence would not only be a nod of recognition but also a marketing masterstroke to elevate Nigeria’s cultural diplomacy.
This is how to lead a nation of over 200 million energetic, talented people. This is how to harness excellence—wherever it may reside. Yet today, President Tinubu appears to be operating in a vacuum.
The United States offers vast opportunities for trade, collaboration, and growth. Ignoring such a relationship is not just short-sighted—it is counterproductive. The same logic applies to engaging other global powerhouses like China, India, and Brazil.
A “Renewed Hope” agenda without a practical roadmap for international economic cooperation is like dreaming of a sumptuous pot of soup in your sleep—you wake up hungry, but empty-handed. Only those willing to go to the market and cook will ever taste that dream.
♦ Dominic Ikeogu is a social and political commentator based in Minneapolis, USA.
Young Nigerians have shown a remarkable ability to create waves in the digital space. With a single click, they can expose a politician’s corruption, rally tens of thousands of supporters behind a single hashtag, and keep every political actor on edge from dawn until dusk. However, as the 2027 general elections draw closer, it is time to face an uncomfortable truth: loud online noise isn’t the same as real power in the political sphere. If Nigerian youth wish to get the best possible leadership from their nation’s leaders, they need to take their online activity offline (i.e., to places where actual democracy occurs) and start showing up to cast votes.
There is simply too much evidence to ignore that this needs to occur. Nigeria is a young country demographically. Together, Gen Z and Millennials comprise approximately half of the total population—50.1 percent—according to IntelPoint. Gen Z makes up 25.8 percent and Millennials account for 24.3 percent. When we consider Gen Alpha, the percentage rises to 85.7% of the population under 44. According to ActionAid Nigeria, more than 60% of Nigeria’s population is under 30. According to Afrobarometer, Nigeria has a median age of 18.1 years, and 58% of its population is aged 0-29. Therefore, Nigeria isn’t merely a young country; it is a country dominated by young people.
Based on this information, this dominant demographic should wield considerable political influence. Unfortunately, there often appears to be little correlation between these statistics and political influence. The contrast is striking. While a majority of Nigeria’s population is young, there remains a significant gap between how influential young people are politically and how influential they could be. This lack of influence is not due to a lack of ability among young people; rather, it stems from many young people stopping short of completing what is often called the “civic journey,” which involves moving from awareness to action. They consume politics, engage in political debate on social media, participate in meme politics, and express frustration with politics through social media rants; however, many young people still fail to register to vote (PVCs) or participate in elections in sufficient numbers to affect the outcome.
This disparity is important because youth dissatisfaction is far from abstract. More than 23% of Nigerian youth report being unemployed or seeking employment, according to Afrobarometer. Additionally, more than two-thirds of youth aged 18 to 35 report having some form of postsecondary or secondary-level education. Despite Nigeria ranking among the lowest in providing employment and opportunities for youth, and despite identifying high costs of living, unemployment, crime and security concerns, poverty, poor economic management practices, and insufficient access to electricity as the top five issues requiring immediate attention from government officials, youth dissatisfaction cannot be considered indifferent. Rather, youth dissatisfaction reflects citizens’ grievances and legitimate reasons to be deeply interested in who governs their country.
However, mere interest alone will not suffice. Democracy does not reward passion without participation. A young person can identify every weakness inherent in a political system; however, unless that person participates by casting a vote, they will remain a spectator to their own future. If you are mature enough to understand concepts such as inflation, insecurity, broken campaign promises, unemployment rates, and poorly managed governance systems, you are mature enough to accept responsibility for your role in creating solutions to those problems. That responsibility begins with voting.
In addition to continuing to use social media to raise awareness of voter registration, election knowledge, fact-checking mechanisms used during elections, and peaceful participation methods, social media can also serve as a vehicle for facilitating the transition from social media activism to actual civic engagement. Young Nigerians should leverage their social media presence to encourage voter registration, promote election literacy programs, provide fact-checking services to counter election misinformation, and advocate for nonviolent participation throughout the electoral cycle. They should convert their social media timelines into civic classrooms. Where can I find the information I need about voter registration processes? Where is my assigned polling station located? Where do I receive my Permanent Voter Card? How do I protect myself from spreading misinformation? How do I properly monitor election results? These are not dull topics; they represent essential tools required for surviving democracy.
Youth organizations, creators, and social media entities can also help facilitate offline civic engagement. Use your WhatsApp groups to alert others as registration deadlines approach. Use X Spaces and Instagram Live to focus on discussing relevant issues rather than hurling insults. Use TikTok to simplify the voting process. Use Facebook to motivate family members and first-time voters to participate in elections. Use whatever platforms are available to make civic obligation contagious. Nigeria’s youth have shown they can create viral content. Now they must begin to generate participation on a viral scale.
One of the most damaging myths in Nigerian politics is that “your vote doesn’t matter.” It is a self-fulfilling prophecy that only serves the interests of cynics, crooks, and machines whose success depends solely on low turnout. Yes, Nigeria’s electoral process has flaws. Yes, there have been numerous disappointments. However, the response to a flawed democracy is not abandonment; it is increased participation. By staying home on Election Day, youth essentially give their votes — and therefore control — directly to the very same groups they loathe.
Another mythological excuse for the youth’s failure to vote in Nigeria is the claim that “all politicians are alike.” No — they’re not all the same. While some politicians are inept, others are corrupt, and others exhibit both characteristics, democracy is not about seeking holy men or women; it is about making selections and enforcing accountability. An individual who refuses to make a selection for office because none of the options appear acceptable is ultimately selecting the candidate most likely to emerge victorious by default.
Nigeria’s youth already constitute the country’s largest demographic group. It is time for them to become its strongest democratic force as well. However, that will not be achieved by trending hashtags alone. Instead, it will be achieved when online energy is harnessed and directed toward political organization, civic education, voter registration, increasing voter turnout, and holding elected representatives accountable after elections.
The 2023 election saw remarkable youth participation but lacked follow-up. Therefore, the 2027 election should not produce another generation of disillusioned observers; instead, it should yield a new generation of participatory citizens. Let online flames ignite electoral power. Let debates become ballots. Let criticism evolve into participation. If Nigerian youth can dominate social media, they can also dominate democracy. The future will not be handed to them in a retweet. They must elect it into existence.
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♦ Chris Ulasi is on the Editorial Board of The West African Pilot News. He contributes stories about culture and tradition, elite politics, ethnicity and national integration, civil society, and social movement. He is a university professor, community builder, poet, film producer, recording the emergent Nollywood cultural history through film.
“Jonathan’s calculated and weaponized ambiguity breeds deception and weakens emerging political alliances.” —Dr. Anthony Obi Ogbo
Former Nigerian President Goodluck Jonathan has once again found himself at the center of presidential speculation, floating silently above the country’s political waters while supporters aggressively market him as a possible candidate ahead of another critical election cycle. And once again, Jonathan is doing what he has mastered throughout his political career: saying nothing clearly while allowing political confusion to grow around him.
This pattern is not new. It is the same indecisive political behavior that defined some of the most consequential moments of his rise and fall. Jonathan became president in 2010 following the death of President Umaru Musa Yar’Adua. At the time, many northern political stakeholders within the then-ruling PDP believed there was an informal understanding that Jonathan would complete Yar’Adua’s term but not seek another full term in 2011, thereby preserving the party’s zoning arrangement between North and South. Instead of taking a clear and immediate position, Jonathan spent months dribbling the nation politically. He neither fully denied nor openly confirmed his intentions until the political tension had already escalated nationwide.
By the time he eventually declared his candidacy, the damage had been done. Many northern allies who initially supported him felt betrayed, politically cornered, or deceived. The PDP fractured internally, regional distrust deepened, and Jonathan’s relationship with major northern power blocs deteriorated permanently. Though he won the 2011 election, the cracks created by that indecision followed him into 2015, contributing significantly to the coalition that eventually removed him from power.
Yet Jonathan learned little from that experience. Since losing reelection in 2015, his name has repeatedly surfaced during every major electoral cycle as a potential presidential contender. Each time, his supporters strategically floated his candidacy across media platforms and political circles. Each time, Jonathan refused to decisively shut the door. Silence became his political instrument, whereas ambiguity became his strategy.
Now the country is witnessing the same playbook again. As coalition politics intensify and opposition forces attempt to consolidate around alternative political movements, Jonathan’s name has resurfaced aggressively. Reports and speculations about his presidential ambition continue to dominate political discussions, especially within camps seeking to disrupt the growing momentum surrounding Peter Obi and emerging opposition realignments.
The troubling part is not merely that Jonathan’s supporters are campaigning. The troubling part is that Jonathan fully understands the implications of his silence. He knows that his political stature carries enough weight to destabilize fragile coalition negotiations. He knows his name alone can divide campaign structures, weaken consensus-building, and inject uncertainty into opposition calculations. Yet he refuses to publicly and definitively state where he stands.
That is not statesmanship. That is calculated political ambiguity. Jonathan’s political history is filled with similarly contradictory choices. After losing power in 2015, he received widespread praise for conceding defeat peacefully. He initially framed that decision as a sacrifice made to preserve Nigerian lives and prevent violence. Later, however, different narratives emerged suggesting international pressure, particularly from the United States under President Obama. The shifting explanations weakened what could have remained one of his strongest democratic legacies.
Then came another contradiction. Despite emerging politically from the PDP, Jonathan gradually aligned himself closely with the administration of former President Muhammadu Buhari, serving in diplomatic and goodwill capacities that many PDP loyalists considered politically inappropriate. This unusual closeness fueled longstanding allegations that elements within the APC establishment viewed Jonathan as a useful political instrument capable of destabilizing opposition coalitions from within. Whether those allegations are true or not, Jonathan’s conduct has consistently created room for suspicion.
His political base remains uncertain. His campaign structure is invisible.
Today, his undeclared ambition is already generating confusion among supporters, coalition organizers, and opposition strategists. His political base remains uncertain. His campaign structure is invisible. His intentions are unclear. Yet his loyalists continue mobilizing aggressively in his name while he watches silently from the shadows.
Nigeria is too politically fragile for this kind of elite gamesmanship. At critical national moments, leadership demands clarity, courage, and accountability. Jonathan cannot continue operating as a permanent “maybe” in Nigeria’s political future, thoughtlessly hovering around every election season like an unanswered question designed to manipulate negotiations and weaken emerging alliances.
At this time, Jonathan should sit in or sit out! If he wants to run, he should declare openly, defend his record, and face the democratic process directly. If he does not intend to run, he should immediately and publicly withdraw his name from the political marketplace. Anything short of that increasingly looks less like political strategy and more like calculated deception. Nigeria deserves leaders who make difficult choices openly—not politicians who weaponize silence while others gamble with national uncertainty in their name.
♦ Publisher of the Guardian News, Professor Anthony Obi Ogbo, Ph.D., is on the Editorial Board of the West African Pilot News. He is the author of the Influence of Leadership (2015) and the Maxims of Political Leadership (2019). Contact: anthony@guardiannews.us
Nigeria’s Forgotten Sacrifice and the Tragedy of Xenophobia in South Africa
As George Santayana famously warned, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” The unfolding xenophobic tensions in South Africa reflect more than economic strain; they reveal a deeper crisis of memory and meaning. When history fades, gratitude dissolves, and fear replaces solidarity. The violence directed at fellow Africans is not merely social unrest; it is a philosophical failure to reconcile past sacrifice with present identity, reminding us that nations, like individuals, must remember to remain whole.
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I recall that when I was in college in Nigeria, all Southern African students, present in substantial numbers, were on full federal government scholarships and received an additional income called a bursary. They lived better than many Nigerians; some even drove cars. Many adopted Nigerian names, assimilated seamlessly, and secured opportunities with ease, while Nigerian graduates faced rising unemployment. It was a quiet but powerful demonstration of solidarity, Nigeria investing in the future of a region still shackled by apartheid.
Today, that history feels almost erased.
For years now, waves of xenophobic attacks in South Africa, often targeting Nigerians, and more recently Ghanaians and other African nationals, have revealed a troubling pattern: violence fueled by economic frustration, misinformation, and historical amnesia. Shops are looted, homes burned, and lives disrupted under the recurring claim that “foreigners are taking jobs.” Yet this narrative collapses under even the most basic scrutiny of history.
Nigeria was not a bystander in South Africa’s liberation; it was a central force.
Under the military leadership of Olusegun Obasanjo, Nigeria became the first country in history to boycott the Commonwealth Games in protest against apartheid. That decision was not symbolic; it was costly, bold, and globally consequential. Obasanjo went further, advocating a continental defense posture and proposing what he termed a “Black bomb,” a radical idea reflecting the urgency of protecting African sovereignty against external aggression.
Nigeria’s commitment extended beyond rhetoric. During the Ibrahim Babangida regime, South Africa sought to exert strategic influence in Equatorial Guinea, offering infrastructure support before the discovery of oil. Nigeria recognized the geopolitical implications and decisively intervened, severing ties and offering its own support. The situation escalated to the point where Equatorial Guinea petitioned Nigeria at the United Nations for intervention. Nigeria did not retreat. This was not interference; it was protection. It was foresight. It was leadership.
Nigeria funded liberation movements, provided education, opened its economy, and bore economic sacrifices, including the nationalization of British Petroleum assets, to pressure the apartheid regime. These were not acts of charity; they were acts of conviction rooted in a vision of a free and united Africa.
And yet, decades later, Nigerians are hunted in the very land their country helped liberate.
The tragedy of xenophobia in South Africa is not merely about violence—it is about the collapse of historical consciousness. A generation disconnected from its past becomes vulnerable to manipulation, scapegoating, and misplaced anger. Economic hardship is real, but it does not justify the erasure of truth or the targeting of fellow Africans.
If history were remembered accurately, perhaps the conversation would be different. Perhaps the anger would be redirected toward structural inequalities rather than neighboring nationals. Perhaps the bonds of Pan-African solidarity would still hold.
But memory has faded, and in its absence, resentment has grown. Africa cannot afford selective memory. Nations that forget who stood with them in their darkest hours risk losing their moral compass in moments of crisis. Nigeria’s role in the liberation of South Africa is not a footnote—it is a foundation. To ignore it is to misunderstand both the past and the present.
Equally troubling is the persistent failure of successive South African governments to decisively confront and eradicate xenophobic violence. Such inaction, whether intentional or not, signals a dangerous tolerance, if not tacit endorsement, of these attacks, allowing them to recur with impunity. If brotherhood is to mean anything, it must be anchored in truth and reinforced by responsible leadership. And if Africa is to move forward, it must first remember and act.
♦ Publisher of the Guardian News, Professor Anthony Obi Ogbo, Ph.D., is on the Editorial Board of the West African Pilot News. He is the author of the Influence of Leadership (2015) and the Maxims of Political Leadership (2019). Contact: anthony@guardiannews.us
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