By Lemmy Ughegbe, PhD
On June 12, 2025, Nigeria marked Democracy Day with the usual fanfare of speeches and symbolism. At the centre of it all was President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, who stood before the nation and offered what many saw as a reaffirmation of democratic values.
In his speech, he declared: “Democracy requires a fair degree of tolerance for harsh words and stinging insults. Call me names, call me whatever you will, and I will still call upon democracy to defend your right to do so.”
It was a noble sentiment—one that echoed the ideals of free expression and participatory governance.
He went further to say: “Some of the best advice a politician gets sometimes comes from his most ferocious opponents. We dare not seek silence because the imposed silence of repressed voices breeds chaos and ill will, not the harmonics of democracy in the long term.”
But the Nigeria many live in today does not reflect this tolerant, democratic vision. If anything, the country is drifting steadily in the opposite direction.
While the President spoke like a man committed to democracy, the behaviour of his aides, allies, and some state institutions suggests otherwise. The contradiction is not just ideological; it is systemic.
One of the most glaring examples is Bayo Onanuga, Tinubu’s Special Adviser on Information and Strategy. A journalist of repute in the past, Onanuga has since adopted an increasingly aggressive tone toward criticism or dissent.
He has derided critics of the government, often in personal and hostile terms, branding opposition voices as “bitter,” “ungrateful,” or “divisive.” His now-infamous tweet urging Igbos in Lagos to “stay away” from the 2027 elections drew widespread condemnation for its ethnic undertones and anti-democratic implications. Yet, Onanuga remains one of the administration’s most visible spokespersons.
When the National Broadcasting Commission banned Eedris Abdulkareem’s song, “Tell Your Papa”, over its criticism of Tinubu’s administration, it was a telling moment. The lyrics—which spoke about hardship and the disconnect between leaders and citizens—were hardly incendiary, but the ban sent a message: critique the President, and you’ll be silenced.
Journalists have not been spared either. Earlier this year, Daniel Ojukwu, a reporter with the Foundation for Investigative Journalism, was detained by law enforcement without being formally charged.
Before that, Segun Olatunji, editor of FirstNews, was abducted in a military-style fashion and held incommunicado for publishing a critical story about a high-ranking government official. Even where legal charges are not pursued, the pattern of harassment and intimidation is enough to breed fear among journalists.
These arrests—and the deafening silence from the presidency—send a powerful signal: criticism will be punished, not debated.
This is not about Bayo Onanuga alone. Across various arms of the administration, aides, spokespeople, and party loyalists routinely deride, attack, and threaten critics. From civil society to journalists, dissenting voices are increasingly branded unpatriotic and accused of “spreading hate” or “emboldening enemies.”
Minister of Aviation Festus Keyamo, in response to economic concerns, dismissed critics as “enemies of progress” without addressing the content of their arguments. Femi Fani-Kayode, a top APC chieftain, frequently describes government critics as “traitors” and “saboteurs,” further heating the national discourse.
Even party officials such as the APC’s youth leader and media handlers have aggressively trolled opposition voices online, especially those advocating for reforms or greater transparency.
Equally concerning is the administration’s quiet strategy of neutralising dissent not through threats but through embrace. Prominent critics, such as Daniel Bwala and Segun Sowunmi, who were once vocal opponents of Tinubu’s presidency, have suddenly changed their tune after meetings with the President.
While it is the prerogative of individuals to evolve in their political thinking, the frequency and swiftness with which known critics switch allegiance raise serious questions. What transpired behind those closed doors? Are ideological convictions being sold for political appointments or material comfort?
At the same time, opposition governors and lawmakers who prove too critical of the presidency often face scrutiny from federal agencies, such as the EFCC, ICPC, or DSS. Though not always overt, the pressure is palpable and effective. The result is a political climate where neutrality is unsafe, and criticism is a risk many are unwilling to take.
This tendency toward opportunism and compromise reflects poorly on the critics as well; many of them abandon their principles at the first offer of proximity to power. Yet, the administration’s welcoming of such defectors without demanding accountability or ideological consistency only encourages the cycle.
In this dim atmosphere, one figure in Tinubu’s government shines as an outlier—Minister of Information Mohammed Idris. Unlike many of his peers, Idris consistently maintains a tone of civility and thoughtfulness in public discourse.
When faced with criticism of the government, he does not resort to name-calling or gaslighting. Instead, he explains the government’s position clearly, patiently, and respectfully, often citing data and offering context.
His approach reflects a more profound communication philosophy: “My role is not to make enemies for the government. It is to make friends for the government. And under a democracy, free speech is an essential ingredient. Free speech is democracy, which we must all exercise with utmost responsibility to God and country.”
This is not mere talk. In media interviews and policy statements, Idris has demonstrated a commitment to openness. His understanding of the need for public trust has made him not just a spokesperson but a bridge-builder.
Through his style, he not only wins friends for the government but also secures empathy and understanding from the people. And in a time of great economic and social strain as now, such communication is invaluable.
After all, a well-informed populace is more likely to be patient than resentful. President Tinubu’s June 12 remarks are powerful—but only if backed by policy and conduct.
His words can serve as a moral compass, but only if they are not mere lip service. If the President truly believes in defending free speech—even from his “most ferocious opponents”—then he must prove it through action: discipline aides who peddle hate or intimidate dissenters or, at least, condemn them; protect journalists and activists from arbitrary arrests and censorship; encourage open debate, even on controversial topics; and resist the temptation to co-opt critics for the sake of political optics.
Ultimately, the test of a democratic leader is not how they treat their fans but how they treat their critics. When critics speak and are heard—when dissent is not just tolerated but protected—democracy thrives.
Otherwise, we are left with what we already fear: a government that wears the mask of democracy but speaks the language of autocracy. If June 12 is to mean anything, it must be more than a ceremony. It must be a standard by which we measure power—and hold it to account.
Lemmy Ughegbe, PhD, ANIPR, writes from Abuja
Email: lemmyughegbeofficial@gmail.com
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