The Hidden Harm Behind Youngkong’s Sexualized Street Tactics and Why It’s Time to Stop Laughing

He doesn’t stumble into these moments. He scouts them. He studies the street. He calculates the time and place. And then, with a smirk and a hidden camera, he pounces.

It starts like this:

“Hi, sorry—can you help me with directions?”

The woman pauses. She’s not expecting anything unusual. Maybe she’s in a market. Maybe it’s a sunny day. Maybe she’s simply out doing errands. She stops. She listens. She points him the right way.

But as he turns to leave, her eyes are drawn to something unnerving: a suspicious, exaggerated bulge running down his leg or thigh. It doesn’t look right. It doesn’t feel normal. She tries not to look, but instinct kicks in.

Then comes the scripted line:

“This is my stuff… I was born with it.”

“Can you handle it?”

She flinches. She freezes. She raises her eyebrows. Some respond with nervous laughter. Others gasp. Some flirt back—not because they want to, but because the moment catches them off guard. They ask, directly or indirectly:

“Is that real?”

What she doesn’t know is that she is already part of a viral video.

A hidden camera records her reaction. Every twitch, every smile, every awkward moment is captured and saved for one purpose: entertainment.

From Flirt to Exploitation

This isn’t comedy. It’s a performance built on provocation.

The prankster uses props—a cucumber, a sock, a rolled cloth—to simulate an exaggerated male genital bulge. The goal is simple: elicit shock. Prompt embarrassment. Provoke desire.

But it doesn’t end there. Sometimes he goes further.

He tells the woman he doesn’t have money for transport.

He claims his phone battery is dead.

He says he’s stranded and needs to contact someone.

And women, unaware of the setup, respond with compassion:

Some offer him money for his journey.

Some pull out their phones, letting him call a stranger.

Some say, “You can come with me” or “Let me help you find a place to stay.”

One even says: “I’ll pay for a hotel. Don’t worry.”

Some women, visibly shaken yet intrigued, exhibit involuntary signs of nervous arousal—licking their lips, playing with their hair, fidgeting with their clothes near sensitive areas, touching their necks, or adjusting their posture. These responses aren’t signs of consent or flirtation—they’re physiological and psychological reactions to sudden and confusing sexual cues, especially in public. Each gesture is part of a complex web of instinctive human behavior under social duress and emotional vulnerability.

Others appear emotionally drawn in by his scripted helplessness. When he says he’s stuck without money for transport or needs to call someone but has no battery or airtime, they respond with real concern. They reach for their purses, offer small bills, suggest getting him food, or even offer to walk him to a safe location. One woman says she’ll pay for his hotel. Another insists on buying him a phone card. A third gently hands over her phone and says, “Let me call someone for you.” These are genuine acts of care—manipulated and exploited for content.

What appears on camera as playfulness is actually a manipulated state of empathy, attraction, and anxiety. And the women involved? Most will face consequences long after the joke has ended.

Not Just Flirting—A Form of Public Emotional Exposure

We must call this what it is: digital emotional ambush.

These pranks go beyond harmless teasing. They lead women to expose not just their emotions, but their generosity, vulnerability, and bodily reactions. And all of it is packaged for laughs, likes, and shares.

It’s not just about how she reacts in the moment. It’s about what that reaction costs her afterwards:

At work: Her face circulates. Colleagues whisper. Her professionalism is questioned.

At home: A partner sees it. He replays it. He asks: “Why did you laugh?” “Why did you touch him?”

In her circle: Friends grow distant. Judgments arise.

In her mind: She replays it again and again. The shame multiplies. The guilt settles in. The regret becomes unbearable.

Some women react with anger when he finally reveals:

“It’s just a prank.”

But by then, it’s too late. The footage is secured. The video is edited. And her privacy has already been sold to the internet.

She becomes a meme. A punchline. And tragically, she becomes a case study in how public spaces are becoming psychological traps.

The Deeper Psychological Harm

As a psychologist would confirm, these pranks exploit neuro-emotional reflexes:

Startle-Arousal Confusion: The mind interprets sudden sexual suggestion as ambiguous threat or attraction.

Social Conditioning: Women are trained to be polite, to not make a scene.

Public Performance Pressure: In a crowd, people often suppress discomfort to “save face.”

Freeze or Fawn Response: Under surprise and stress, the brain triggers coping mechanisms—especially in women conditioned to avoid conflict.

Moral Entrapment: When women offer help, they are pulled into a trap of false kindness. Their virtue becomes entertainment.

These are not moral failings. These are manipulated survival instincts. And the damage left behind doesn’t just disappear. It lingers. It festers. It affects trust, self-esteem, and emotional safety.

He Gets the Fame, She Gets the Fallout

Let’s be brutally honest:

He walks away with views, followers, brand deals.

She walks away with reputation loss, relationship strain, emotional fatigue.

This is not a fair exchange. It is a one-sided transaction that trades a woman’s dignity for a man’s dopamine high from digital fame.

And yet, we laugh.

We share.

We comment with flame emojis.

We cheer for the “confidence” of the prankster while ignoring the pain of the woman who was never in on the joke.

She is ridiculed. Not for what she did—but for being human in a moment of deceit.

This Isn’t About Deeply Blaming One Man—But It Is a Demand for Accountability

Let this be understood:

This is not a personal witch-hunt. It is not an attack against Youngkong as an individual.

It is a demand for ethical boundaries, for creators to understand that not everything done for clout is harmless. It is a call to action for platforms, followers, and viewers to wake up and ask:

Who is really being hurt?

Who is laughing, and who is left crying?

It is also a call to lawmakers and digital rights advocates: where are the protections for those who never gave consent to be sexualized and posted to millions?

Final Word: She Is the One Left Holding the Shame

So the next time you scroll past one of these videos, ask yourself:

What if that was your daughter? Your wife? Your mother?

What if that moment cost her peace, her relationship, her family, her job, or her self-esteem?

What if her act of kindness was turned into a global joke?

Because when the prank is over, the camera packs up, and the video goes live—

he walks away with applause.

But she is the one left holding the shame.

And she must carry that shame in silence, while the world scrolls on.

This writer does not know any of the individuals involved; the focus is solely on upholding democracy, truth, and justice.

When Legitimacy Is Ignored, the People Respond with Psychological Rebellion

On Thursday, May 2nd, 2025, something deeper than a protest occurred at the EUI Centre in Port Harcourt, Rivers State. It was not merely a political rejection or a civil show of disapproval. It was a collective rupture—an emotional outburst from women who could no longer watch their dignity be paraded, manipulated, and substituted.

Videos shared widely on X by Port Harcourt Socials captured the moment with striking clarity: rows of seated women suddenly rising, turning their backs on the stage, and walking out of a government-sponsored event under the Renewed Hope Initiative. Their chant echoed like a thunderclap across the venue:

“We want SIM!”

“We want SIM!”

It was not just a slogan. It was a demand. A declaration. A correction. A psychological protest.

“Who is that impostor? Ibas’s wife is addressing Rivers’ women. Who is she? Come on, pack your load, Madam, we don’t want you!”

— Woman protester, EUI Centre, May 2, 2025

“We need Mrs. Oluremi Tinubu to come and address us. She is the one we have been waiting for. We don’t need a stranger. We want Sim right now. Sim should come today, not tomorrow.”

— Another protester, outside the venue

These weren’t rehearsed statements. These were spontaneous indictments of a state being governed like a military outpost, where local identity is replaced by federal command, and community voices are drowned by executive overreach.

Theresa Ibas Was Not Rejected for Who She Is, But for What She Represents

Theresa Ibas is not the villain in this story. She is not the architect of the Rivers crisis. But in the minds of the women gathered at that venue, she became the symbol of political intrusion, the face of a federal hand reaching too far into a state that never called for help.

This is a textbook example of symbolic displacement—a psychological condition where people reject not the individual, but what the individual represents. In this case, the women were not rejecting a woman named Theresa; they were rejecting the erasure of their own democratic memory.

Valerie Fubara, wife of the elected and now suspended Governor Siminalayi Fubara, remains the only First Lady the people recognize. No amount of federal logistics or orchestrated programs can substitute the bond between the people and their chosen representative. The Renewed Hope initiative might claim to empower women, but it failed to understand that women are not empowered by presence—they are empowered by recognition.

What Happened to the Culture of Political Restraint—The Sense of Shame?

This is where the larger question emerges:

What happened to the sense of shame in governance?

In a functioning democracy, shame acts as a regulator. It tells those in power when to pause. When to reflect. When not to proceed. When public sentiment clearly rejects a path, shame becomes the moral stop sign.

Yet here we are—after massive protests by the Nigeria Labour Congress (NLC), condemnations by the Nigerian Bar Association (NBA), and increasing public outcry against the military-style occupation of Rivers State—and the federal government still proceeds to unveil Theresa Ibas like all is well.

It begs the question: Have Nigerian leaders grown so numb to public sentiment that even collective rejection no longer phases them? Or worse, are they so emboldened by impunity that they no longer care?

This isn’t governance. It’s psychological insult.

To drag out the wife of a federally imposed sole administrator—after discarding the elected governor and installing military-like control—is a level of political gaslighting that would be offensive in any society with a shred of democratic memory.

The Feminist Psychology of This Protest: When Women Say No, They Speak for Generations

Let us not reduce this protest to the actions of “angry women.” That would be not only dismissive but dangerous. These women are society’s stabilizers. Mothers. Grandmothers. Educators. Traders. Professionals. They are the ones who carry the emotional and cultural fabric of their communities.

And when they rise in collective anger, something foundational has been violated.

This event in Port Harcourt is a classic case of intergenerational resistance—a psychological act where the trauma of one political betrayal awakens the memory of others. These women were not just reacting to Theresa Ibas. They were reacting to:

The pain of being treated as voiceless.

The rage of watching democracy mocked.

The insult of being handed a new leader without consent.

And they did not just reject the speaker. They reclaimed the space.

This is what makes the walkout so significant: it was not a protest from outside. It was a revolt from within. They walked out not just of the hall—but out of the illusion that they are powerless.

“We Want Sim” Is More Than a Chant—It Is a Cry for Democratic Legitimacy

Let’s be clear: this protest is not just about political preference. “We Want Sim” is not a campaign slogan. It is a psychological cry for belonging. It is a defense of dignity. It is a reminder to the federal government that legitimacy cannot be forged by fiat.

Siminalayi Fubara, whether suspended or not, represents the last vestige of electoral choice. In a state suffocating under federal appointments and backdoor declarations, he is the psychological anchor of political identity.

To remove him without consent, install a Sole Administrator without consultation, and then parade the administrator’s wife before wounded citizens—is a deep, calculated act of erasure. But these women did not let it happen silently.

They spoke. They chanted. They walked.

They said: “We will not be gaslit.”

They said: “You cannot replace us with strangers.”

This Is the Real ‘Renewed Hope’—Resistance

Ironically, while the event was branded under the “Renewed Hope Initiative,” the only hope that was renewed that day was the hope in citizen resistance.

Because hope is not found in choreographed speeches. Hope is not in policy documents passed without consultation. Hope is in the fire that refuses to die, even when democracy is gagged and replaced with military-styled order.

Hope was in the voices of those women.

Hope was in the footsteps echoing as they left the hall.

Hope was in their insistence that Valerie Fubara remains their voice.

Final Reflection: Nigerians Are Watching, The World Is Watching

This event may seem like a localized protest to some, but it is not. It is a mirror of what is happening across Nigeria:

A people being governed without consent.

Women silenced, then expected to smile and clap.

Cultural memory being scrubbed and replaced with government branding.

Democratic betrayal wrapped in the language of national unity.

But the women of Rivers have issued a warning:

“If you cannot govern with our voice, you will not govern with our silence.”

A Final Message to Power: You Can Install a Stranger, But You Cannot Replace a People

The Psychological Cost of Being Treated as Nothing

In psychology, we call this betrayal trauma—a condition where those trusted to protect us become the source of our harm. And betrayal from government, unlike individual betrayal, affects entire communities.

In this case:

Women were told they had no right to decide who speaks for them.

Lawyers were told that their knowledge of the Constitution is irrelevant.

Citizens were told that their votes could be erased overnight—and replaced with uniforms and commands.

This is not just a political wound—it is a psychological crime.

How do you expect women to believe in empowerment when you dictate who empowers them?

How do you expect lawyers to believe in law when you openly reject the law in front of them?

How do you expect a people to feel like citizens, when every symbol of power tells them they are subjects?

From Resistance to Reckoning: The Birth of a New Political Consciousness

The walkout in Port Harcourt and the legal march in Abuja are not isolated acts. They are the birth pangs of a new consciousness.

These events have proven that:

Power can be challenged, even when surrounded by security.

Dignity can be reclaimed, even when taken for granted.

And most importantly, memory can fight back, even when the system tries to erase it.

This is how democratic resistance begins—not with bullets, but with walkouts, chants, and truths.

Lawyers in Black, Marching in Protest: A Nation’s Legal Conscience Takes to the Streets

Lawyers, dressed in their professional attire, stormed the American Embassy, protesting what they described as an “illegal occupation” of Rivers State. They held banners, submitted a formal petition, and demanded one thing:

The immediate reinstatement of Governor Siminalayi Fubara.

“This is not just a political crisis,” one lawyer declared into a microphone outside the embassy. “This is a constitutional assault on democracy.

Another said, “We are here because the courts have failed us. The rule of law is being mocked. The people’s mandate has been silenced. This is now a national embarrassment.”

That legal professionals—sworn officers of the court—would abandon their chambers to protest at the gates of a foreign embassy speaks volumes. It shows that Nigeria’s internal judicial mechanisms have lost credibility. That the rule of law is not just under threat—it is being trampled by those who should protect it.

Mr. President, let this moment be your mirror.

You forced a Sole Administrator on a people who never asked for one. You let his wife step into the place of a woman chosen by the people’s vote. You watched as the women of Rivers stood, rose, and walked out in defiance. You saw lawyers—men and women dressed in black—march to the gates of the American Embassy, rejecting your imposed order.

And still, you said nothing.

That silence? It screams. And it cuts deep.

This isn’t about politics anymore. It’s about dignity. About whether Nigerians still matter. About whether votes are anything more than shredded paper. About whether women are living, thinking citizens—or just silent chairs to be spoken at by strangers sent from Abuja.

This writer does not know any of the individuals involved; the focus is solely on upholding democracy, truth, and justice.

Each time I write glowingly about a public figure, be he or she a celebrity in politics or entertainment, some people start whispering about obsession or sycophancy. The moment I wield the pen to criticize another, they say I am out for revenge or trying to settle scores. But let us set the record straight: neither is true. What I do, and what responsible journalists everywhere do, is guided by professional judgment, public interest, and the moral obligation of the press. We are not here to massage egos or lash out. When we praise, it is for merit; when we criticize, it is for accountability. That is the essence of journalism, not sentiment, not vendetta, and certainly not patronage.

In the theater of news and public commentary, one question that constantly lingers is: why do journalists praise some public personalities, especially political leaders, while relentlessly criticizing others? Why does the media celebrate one governor as a reformer and another as a dictator, or hail one president’s policies as visionary while dismissing another’s as catastrophic?

At first glance, it may seem like bias, partisanship, or the influence of brown envelope journalism. In some cases, it is. But the full answer goes deeper, rooted in communication theory, media roles, social responsibility, and the evolving dynamics between power and the press.

This piece examines the reasons, both idealistic and problematic, why journalists lean toward eulogizing certain leaders and condemning others, and the lessons such editorial choices impart to the society.

To start with, journalism has always been more than the art of reporting facts. It plays the role of a watchdog, a public educator, and a moral barometer. Journalists are often tasked with holding the powerful accountable, giving voice to the voiceless, and setting standards for public conduct.

So, when a celebrity; whether in politics or in entertainment, is praised in the media, it is not just flattery. It often reflects the perceived alignment of that leader’s actions with societal progress or values. For instance, a journalist may praise a state governor who builds roads, pays salaries promptly, or invests in education, because those actions tangibly benefit the public.

Conversely, condemnation arises when a leader’s decisions result in public suffering, ike hoarding palliatives, mismanaging state funds, suppressing press freedom, or being indifferent to rising poverty. In such cases, condemnation becomes a journalistic duty, not a personal vendetta.

From a communication theory perspective, two critical concepts explain the praise-or-condemn dilemma: Agenda-Setting and Framing Theory.

Agenda-setting theory posits that the media does not tell people what to think, but it tells them what to think about. When journalists consistently spotlight a leader’s progressive policies, they are shaping national conversations in that direction. If they continually expose a leader’s incompetence, corruption, or arrogance, they are setting the public’s agenda around accountability.

Framing, on the other hand, is about how a story is told. A journalist’s choice of words, tone, headlines, and structure shapes public perception. A report titled “Governor “A” Launches N10 Billion Industrial Project to Empower Youths” frames the leader as forward-thinking. But a headline like “Governor “B” Splurges N1 Billion on Convoys Amid Hunger Crisis” paints another as wasteful. The facts may both be true, but framing defines perception.

Thus, praise or condemnation is often a function of how journalists frame the leader’s actions and why they choose to highlight them.

Ideally, journalists are guided by public interest. When they praise a political leader or an entertainer, it should be to showcase a model worth replicating. When they criticize, it should be to call attention to leadership failures that need urgent correction. In this role, the journalist is not just a reporter, but a societal referee, promoting excellence and calling out incompetence.

However, we must also acknowledge the ugly truth: not all praise is sincere, and not all condemnation is fair. The Nigerian media space, like many others globally, is not immune to influence-peddling, favoritism, or partisanship.

Against the forgoing backdrop, it is not out of place to opine in this context that some journalists praise leaders or celebrities because they are on their payroll. Some condemn out of spite, political affiliation, or personal grudge. Others write glowing tributes because they were promised contracts, appointments, or envelopes of cash. In such instances, journalism becomes a tool for propaganda or character assassination, not a platform for truth-telling.

This explains why two newspapers can carry two conflicting headlines on the same event. One might scream, “President Launches Historic Economic Reform,” while another claims, “Tinubu’s Policy Pushes More Nigerians into Poverty.” Both stories reflect the slant and agenda of the editors and reporters behind them.

A less discussed psychological factor that also drives this pattern is the “halo and horns effect.” The halo effect is the tendency to overpraise someone based on one positive trait or success. For example, a journalist who admires a leader for free education may overlook that same leader’s penchant for nepotism or media repression.

The horns effect, on the other hand, is the opposite, judging someone harshly based on one negative trait. A governor who mishandled a protest might continue to be written off by the press, even if he later initiates a sound healthcare reform.

These effects show how difficult it is, even for journalists, to remain neutral once a narrative about a leader is already cemented.

At its core, journalism is about shaping values. When journalists praise a governor for developing rural infrastructure, they are encouraging other leaders to emulate him. When they write damning articles about a senator caught in a bribery scandal, they are deterring others from following the same path.

In other words, journalism praises and condemns not merely to inform, but to influence. It sets moral boundaries. It says: “This is the kind of leadership we want” and “This behavior is unacceptable.”

That is why even critical writing should be constructive, not vengeful. And praise should be based on truth, not political loyalty.

Given all of the above, journalists must ask themselves critical questions before writing praise or condemnation: Am I informing the public or flattering power? Is this criticism backed by verified facts or driven by my political bias? Am I praising this leader to inspire better governance or to curry favor? A journalist who fails to answer these honestly is not doing journalism, rather he or she is doing damage.

Just as journalists must interrogate their motives, readers must also learn to read critically. Not every glowing editorial is gospel. Not every scathing article is truth. Readers must look out for signs of bias, verify facts independently, and consume news from multiple credible sources.

In this age of sponsored content and media polarization, blind trust in journalism can be dangerous.

In the final analysis, journalism is not about being a cheerleader or a hater. It is about being a truth-teller. A journalist’s job is not to always be on the side of power, or always against it, but always on the side of the people.

When journalists praise, it must be because the public has benefited. When they condemn, it must be because the people have suffered. Anything short of this is not journalism, it is manipulation.

So, when next you see a journalist hailing one leader and tearing down another, ask: Is this piece upholding truth and public good, or just doing someone’s bidding? The foregoing question is necessary because in a democracy, the pen must remain mightier than the pocket.

The woman advertised, the man bought. Willing buyer, willing seller principle is at play in Nigeria. Look. If you push the bosom of a full breasted woman in the face of a man, his first thought most likely would be to grab the succulent opportunity with both hands, whether he proceeds to the next stage to devour and ravage to his heart’s content depends on a few other factors. But most men will rise to the occasion. Indeed, if they don’t, won’t the woman offering feel insulted? I even think it is not right to devalue a woman like that. 

So why is the opposition harassing President Tinubu and All Progressive Congress (APC)? How is it Tinubu’s fault that Nigeria is drifting towards a one-party state? The opposition party in Nigeria, like a woman, saw a hot-blooded male, looking for a warm body and offered to warm his bed. With a full cleavage in the open, figure hugging dress  barely veiling promises thereunder, the woman twerked and twisted. The man  tapped her shoulder. She winked. He tickled her waist, counting the waist beads furtively. She smiled and rolled her tongue over her lips. He dragged her to sit beside him. She opted to sit on his lap. This is a man who had already had a few glasses of cognac. She continued to rub her leg against his legs under the table. Of course, the man asked for his bill quick and took her to the ….. em….em…. slaughter slab, sorry, a nice suite to check her goods out. Please note that not once did we hear a whimper or protest. Note also that no man showed up to claim this woman as his. No one accused the ‘toaster” that the bread being  harassed or pawed was his. Why then is the man, and not the woman, being accused of abduction and kidnapping because she is now being  vigorously worked on behind closed doors? The man, having landed the prize, has to give a good account of himself. Doesn’t he? 

Giving a good account of itself is all APC is guilty of. The opposition is succulent and willing to give its bosom softly and freely. Seriously, do we actually think APC will spit out the nipples PDP and LP were pushing into its mouth? Save for REAL men of God or the ones whose wives are sitting beside them or watching, how many men do you personally know who will turn down a curvy banging body? 

Delta State alone has 3,221,695 votes according to the INEC register. It most likely will increase by 2027 when more and younger Deltans will come into the voting fold. A woman’s banging body doesn’t come better than this. What Governor Oborevwori is bringing into APC’s inner chambers are firm breasts, voluptuous hips, very fertile womb. Why do you think PDP is reeling in pains and APC rolled out the drums on Monday? This beautiful bride is coming with promise. She is beautiful endowed. She will give APC plenty of children. She’s a major addition. Rivers state with 3,537, 190 votes in her bra is still straddling the fence but with the way PDP has focused on who occupies the office of National Secretary instead of closing ranks to shield Rivers state, APC will soon add her to the harem. One minute she’s wearing a mini skirt, the next, she’s flaunting her breasts and smooth thighs,  what’s a man supposed to do, just smack his lips and take a cold shower? Not a sustainable or fair option. 

Where was the man in the life of this woman that is now being ravished on the back seat of a limousine? Did he take care of the needs of the woman? Did he give her time and the energy of the other room? Where were the owners of the opposition parties when their critical members hit the streets to entice ‘the man’? Where was former Vice President Atiku Abubakar? Or is he no longer a major stakeholder and leader of PDP? My wicked friend said the woman escaped while her husband was in a meeting with his coalition partners. Ah, and he left the door ajar! Who does that? Women, like politicians, are attracted to success and power. What a curvy body does to men’s loins is what power and influence do to a politician’s head. The more influence the Labour Party and PDP lost, the less attractive it becomes to its members who are already looking at 2027. Their own jobs and bottom lines depend on who can secure another four years for them. 

Anybody with the sense God gave a goose knows the endless squabbles in the opposition parties could only lead them to Golgotha, the place of skulls. And what didn’t they fight over? PDP has not agreed on anything since 2022. They couldn’t agree on whether their Chairman, Senator Iyorchia Ayu, was bigger than their threatened electoral victory or not. The party threw the spanners in the works of its own presidential primaries in the middle of the event because the leaders couldn’t put the party first. For good measure, they hung the party’s major financier out to dry. When they couldn’t find any other thing to fight over, they started quarrelling over whose office was loyal to who until they started living on the premises of one court or the other. Nobody was big enough to call anybody to order. It was like the bug that bit Labour Party people assumed COVID-19 virus proportions in PDP. Nobody was listening to anybody. Nobody thought of the party. Soon, members of the opposition parties started living up to the ‘hook-up girl billing’. 

The hedge around them, they broke with their own hands. They have all now wandered out, freely tickling warm blooded APC. 

So, again I ask, how is this APC’s fault? Is it that we cannot see that politicians are incapable of loving anybody but themselves? Is it not obvious that the defection song and dance is all about a few men and the national cake they are stuffing their face with? They are not doing this for God or country.

Soon and very soon, APC will impregnate more stray brides, enlarge its harem and the rest will be history repeating itself all over again, if you get my drift.

Once again, a voice of reason has emerged with hard truths about Nigeria’s economy, this time from no less a person than Dr. Akinwumi Adesina, President of the African Development Bank (AfDB). At the 20th anniversary dinner of Chapel Hill Denham in Lagos on Thursday, May 1, 2025, Adesina did not mince words. He told Nigeria what it needed to hear, not what it wanted to hear. He warned that the country must industrialize rapidly or continue to slide further into economic irrelevance, poverty, and underdevelopment.

But the burning question is: Will the presidency listen, or will it respond in its characteristic dismissive manner of attacking the messenger instead of addressing the message?

The reason why this writer is interested in his speech, and want the government to listen is that Dr. Adesina is no social media commentator or idle critic. His views carry the weight of experience, exposure, and empirical evidence. As a former Minister of Agriculture and now President of the AfDB, he has walked the corridors of power, interacted with global institutions, and steered major development initiatives across Africa. When someone with such a pedigree offers sober reflections on Nigeria’s dire economic reality, the least a serious government should do is listen.

He pointed out that Nigeria’s per capita income is now lower than it was at independence. This is an indictment on over six decades of mismanagement, inconsistency in policy, and misplaced priorities. Rather than seeing this as a personal attack or an attempt to discredit the current administration, the government should treat it as a mirror reflecting decades of collective failure and an opportunity to recalibrate.

It is germane at this juncture to recall that the government, specifically the presidency usually exhibit a pattern of Intolerance for constructive criticism, and in the same vein urge it not to exhibit such pattern of intolerance in this case of Adesina’s. 

Without any iota of exaggeration, the Nigerian presidency, especially through its appointees and media aides, has unfortunately developed a pattern of antagonizing critics, regardless of the merit of their message. Every well-meaning observation is met with a barrage of clap backs, sarcastic statements, character attacks, or outright denial.

Whether it is economists, former public office holders, civil society leaders, or international institutions, the default response seems to be “attack first, reflect later.” Constructive feedback is often interpreted as sabotage or unpatriotic behavior. This mindset is dangerously counterproductive, particularly in a country where open dialogue and accountability should be encouraged in a democracy.

In fact, Dr. Adesina’s speech must not be subjected to this same knee-jerk reaction. He is not a political opponent. He is a development technocrat, an economist, and above all, a patriot who has repeatedly demonstrated his belief in Nigeria’s potential.

There is no denying the fact that Adesina’s words are inherent with truth. This is as he rightly diagnosed Nigeria’s economic malaise: a refusal to industrialize, an overdependence on raw exports, poor infrastructure, and lack of private-sector-driven growth. While countries like South Korea, Malaysia, and Vietnam have transitioned into industrial and manufacturing powerhouses, Nigeria remains stuck in the past, celebrating small wins in digital payments and oil exports while ignoring the pressing need to create jobs, increase productivity, and generate wealth through value addition.

He also referenced the AfDB-led Special Agro-Industrial Processing Zones (SAPZs), a multi-billion-dollar initiative aimed at transforming agriculture from subsistence to agribusiness. These zones are designed to attract investment, create jobs, reduce food imports, and enhance rural economies. What is striking here is not just the vision, but the fact that the bank and its partners have committed $3.4 billion, a rare opportunity that Nigeria must not squander with red tape, corruption, or policy inconsistency.

It is not enough to acknowledge Adesina’s remarks. The federal government must act. Nigeria needs massive investment in power, science, technology, and infrastructure. These are not buzzwords, they are the foundations of any competitive economy in the 21st century. Without them, we are doomed to remain an import-dependent, poverty-stricken nation that fails its citizens and its position as Africa’s supposed giant.

The Tinubu administration must break away from the inherited culture of combative governance and embrace a new style, one that welcomes ideas, encourages collaboration, and is open to criticism. If the presidency cannot take observations from a figure like Adesina, then who else can it listen to?

Governing a nation like Nigeria demands humility. It requires the wisdom to acknowledge shortcomings, even when pointed out publicly. Leaders must realize that critics, especially those who speak from a place of experience and love for country, are allies, not enemies.

Sadly, too many in this administration wear power like armor and see every suggestion as an attack. This attitude has prevented many sound policies from taking root and scared away potential investors, both local and international.

Adesina has laid out a clear, actionable path: industrialization, agro-processing, infrastructure development, and private capital mobilization. These are not new ideas, but they are timely reminders that the window of opportunity is closing fast.

Nigeria is racing towards a projected population of over 400 million people by 2050. If we fail to industrialize and create jobs now, we are simply preparing for mass unemployment, insecurity, and social instability on a frightening scale.

This time, the presidency has a choice: it can respond with its usual condescension and PR gymnastics, or it can engage with Adesina’s ideas and work to implement solutions. The time for defensiveness is over. Nigerians are tired of empty rhetoric, recycled excuses, and reactionary governance.

Dr. Adesina spoke truth to power. He deserves more than a polite nod or, worse, a dismissive retort. His advice is a national resource, and ignoring it would be an act of economic self-sabotage.

As the Yoruba say, “Ogbon ju agbara lo”, wisdom is greater than strength. Now is the time for Nigeria’s leaders to prove that they understand this.

In the annals of Nigeria’s political history, courage has always had a price, and when that courage comes from a woman, the price is often doubled. This truth now stares us in the face as Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan stands firm in her petition against the Senate President, Godswill Akpabio, alleging sexual harassment and abuse of power. What she is enduring is not merely political backlash; it is a coordinated assault aimed at silencing a voice too bold for the liking of Nigeria’s old guard.

In this moment of trial, one voice has risen with clarity, boldness, and unshakable moral conviction, the voice of Dr. Oby Ezekwesili, former Minister of Education, reputed to be one of Nigeria’s most principled voices in public discourse. In a powerful tweet, Ezekwesili reminded Senator Natasha, and indeed all Nigerians, that she is “not alone”. “You. Will. Never. Walk. Alone,” she declared. This was not just solidarity; it was a call to action.

Ezekwesili’s statement is a masterclass in principled leadership. She went beyond the usual performative concern and took a firm stance, openly calling out the Senate President and the cabal of political enablers attempting to drown out Natasha’s demand for justice. Her voice represents what every well-meaning, justice-seeking Nigerian, particularly women, should echo, that no woman who dares to speak out should ever be left to walk through the storm alone.

Unfortunately, this moment has also exposed an uncomfortable truth about the nature of female solidarity in Nigeria, or rather, the lack of it. While Ezekwesili and a few courageous women from bodies like FIDA (Federation of International Women Lawyers) have thrown their weight behind Natasha, some women, especially within political circles, have shamefully aligned with her traducers. Rather than lend their voices to justice, they have chosen to serve as foot soldiers of a rotten system, eager to protect power over principle, and loyalty to men over loyalty to truth.

We must ask: “What is the cost of silence?” What does it mean when women, who should instinctively understand the weight of Natasha’s burden, choose to protect the status quo, either out of fear, political expediency, or sheer envy? What does it say of a society where women climb the ladder of power only to pull it up behind them?

Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan’s battle is not hers alone. It represents the lived experience of countless Nigerian women, in government, in the corporate world, in academia, and in everyday life, who have been subjected to sexual harassment, intimidation, and gas lighting by men in powerful positions. Her decision to speak up against the Senate President is therefore not just personal. It is symbolic. It is a direct challenge to a deeply entrenched culture of impunity.

Oby Ezekwesili’s intervention is thus timely and necessary. She reminds us that fighting injustice, particularly gender-based injustice, should not be optional. It must be instinctive, non-negotiable, and absolute. “No amount of money, not even all the wealth in every Central Bank in the world, can buy my convictions, voice, and stance,” she wrote. These words should shame every Nigerian woman who has looked the other way in the face of this injustice, especially those in power who have chosen cowardice over courage.

Now is the time for all decent women, and men of conscience, to rise. This is more than a political issue; it is a moral and institutional test. If we fail Natasha, we fail every woman who dares to report a powerful predator. If we trivialize her allegation or let it be buried under manufactured lies and distraction tactics, we send a dangerous signal that Nigeria is not ready to protect its women, not even those with a mandate from the people.

Let us not forget that Senator Natasha has consistently faced smear campaigns, character assassination, and attempts to delegitimize her for daring to be outspoken, competent, and fearless in a space where many women are expected to be silent ornaments. The sexual harassment allegation she has raised against Senator Akpabio should trigger not just outrage but institutional action. A fair, transparent, and independent investigation must be carried out. Anything short of that is a disservice not just to Natasha but to the spirit of justice itself.

We have reached a fork in the road, where Nigerian women must decide who they are. Will they be enablers of oppression, just because the oppressor shares their party affiliation or fills their pockets? Or will they be defenders of justice, truth, and sisterhood?

To the silent majority of Nigerian women in politics, in civil service, and in the legal and media spaces, now is your time to speak. History is watching. The next generation of women is watching. Will you be counted among the bold, like Ezekwesili, or among the cowardly chorus of betrayers?

Let us be clear: injustice to one is injustice to all. If Natasha is crushed under the weight of a system that shields the powerful and punishes the brave, then we all lose. But if we rally, raise our voices, and refuse to be cowed, we not only protect her, we protect the future.

Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan, this fight is bigger than you, and yet, you carry it with the grace and grit of a true warrior. In standing for yourself, you are standing for every girl and woman who has ever been told to shut up and endure. You are not alone. And you never will be.

Let justice rise, not as a whisper, but as a thunderous roar from every corner of Nigeria. Enough is enough.

When he was a Justice the Court of Appeal in the Port Harcourt Division, during the tenure of Mohammed Bello as Chief Justice of Nigeria (CJN) 1987-1995. Alloysius Katsina-Alu was the subject of allegations of serious misconduct which ended up before the Advisory Judicial Committee (AJC), the predecessor to the National Judicial Council (NJC). Upon finding the allegations established, the AJC determined that Katsina-Alu would be denied elevation beyond the Court of Appeal. Less than one decade later, he was a Justice of the Supreme Court. In 2009, he assumed the office of CJN.

On 30 April 2025, the NJC, this time under the leadership of a different CJN, announced that it would similarly ban from elevation for a period of five years, Inyang Ekwo, a judge of the Federal High Court in Abuja. Additionally, the Council decided to place him on a “watch list” for five years and to suspend him from judicial functions for one year.

According to the NJC, these measures became necessary because in a 2023 case, Inyang Ekwo “delivered a ruling in a pending application without hearing the parties” and “ignored an application to set aside the proceedings of the Court conducted in the absence of the parties.” These, the Council found, violate Rules 3.1 and 3.3 of the Revised Code of Conduct for Judicial Officers in Nigeria.

For the avoidance of doubt, Rule 3.1 of the Judicial Code of Conduct requires judges to be “true and faithful to the Constitution and the law and [to] uphold the course of justice….” Nigeria’s 1999 Constitution guarantees fair hearing in judicial and legal proceedings as a fundamental right. Accordingly, Rule 3.3 of the Judicial Code of Conduct requires all judges to ensure that they afford to all parties in proceedings before them a “full right to be heard according to law.”

A judge holds office under the constitution. Before assuming office, the judge publicly swears to an oath to uphold that constitution and to do justice to all persons in accordance with it. Put differently, Inyang Ekwo violated the most basic expectations entitlements of litigants before a court and a judge.

Inyang Ekwo became a lawyer in 1991 after graduating with a degree in law from University of Cross River State. After a career spent mostly on the staff of the Corporate Affairs Commission in Abuja, he was translated to the bench of the Federal High Court on 3 January, 2008. His path to this judicial sinecure was smoothed in no small measure by family networks which lock-in closely with the founding military administrator of the South-Eastern State (the legacy state of both Cross River and Akwa Ibom States).

By 2023 when the facts of his latest misconduct arose, Inyang Ekwo had been a judge for over 15 years. Judicial inexperience was not one of his liabilities.

The measures announced by the NJC against Inyang Ekwo this past week were the second in eleven months. On May 16 2024, the same NJC found the same Inyang Ekwo guilty of “abuse of discretionary power of a judge by wrongly granting an ex parte order.” He was therefore “barred from being elevated to a higher Bench for a period of two years.” That decision of the NJC had not spent its first year when they found the same judge guilty of even more egregious violations this time. This suggests that Inyang Ekwo is a compulsive recidivist in judicial misconduct. Even now, there remain other serious complaints against the same judge still under investigation with the NJC and many more pending questions to resolve.

First, it is not clear whether the Council reminded itself of the subsisting punishment when it decided on its dispositions in the latest one.

Second, if the NJC determined last year to preclude Inyang Ekwo from elevation for two years; and this year in another case to do the same thing for five years, are these to run concurrently or consecutively?

Third, it is not exactly clear what placing a judge on an NJC “watch-list” means or why anyone would consider the proposition anything other than absurd.

Fourth, what would it take to persuade the NJC that a person is too crooked for judicial office?

This last question is at the heart of the problem with what the NJC claims to have done in this latest instalment of a pattern of decision-making that enables judicial corruption instead of curbing it.

Inyang Ekwo was one of three judges suspended by the NJC this time. Jane Inyang (no relation of Inyang Ekwo) was appointed a Justice of the Court of Appeal in September 2023 after eight years as a Judge of the Federal High Court. According to the NJC, while a case was still pending before her at the Federal High Court, Jane Inyang “issued inappropriate ex parte orders for the sale of a petrol station and other businesses” in dispute in the case. This was the same kind of misconduct for which the Council issued Inyang Ekwo with a letter of caution in May 2024.

This time, however, the NJC decided to suspend Jane Inyang from judging for one year and without pay. Like Inyang Ekwo, she will also be denied elevation for five years. That means that after five years and with this record, she could find herself as a Justice of the Supreme Court. The fact that a judge with this kind of record was promoted to the Court of Appeal while the complaint against her misconduct was - in all likelihood - pending says all that anyone needs to know about the state of disrepute into which judicial appointments in Nigeria have fallen.

In the case of Aminu Baffa Aliyu, another judge of the Federal High Court to whom the NJC applied similar measures, the Council found that he unlawfully restrained the security services from performing their statutory functions and, even worse, effectively overruled the Supreme Court in order to do so. The NJC decided in addition to suspending him without pay for one year, to preclude him from elevation for three.

In August 2017, when the United Nations Office of Drugs and Crime (UNODC) and the National Bureau of Statistics (NBS) issued a joint report naming the Nigerian judiciary as “the second highest receiver of bribes in the Country” after the Nigeria Police Force (NPF), the NJC bristled, dismissing the conclusion as “not only subjective but speculative.”

The NPF is the oldest institution in the country and also the largest employer. A standard cover-up procedure in the Force is to transfer out of station officers against whom serious allegations of misconduct subsist, granting them a cooling off sabbatical during which they are reported as unaccounted for. A not-too-dis-similar practice occurred in parts of the Catholic Church in the past to cover-up for priests caught in allegations of clerical abuse.

Academics sometimes also take sabbaticals with or without pay to enable them recharge their intellectual batteries or pursue other interests for the advancement of knowledge.

These latest dispositions by the NJC are worse than slaps on the wrist of errant judges. Far from discouraging judicial misconduct, the Council consecrates a ninth Beatitude: blessed are the crooked judges for they shall be entitled to a sabbatical. Put differently, the NJC seeks the beatification of judicial corruption into high virtue for which recidivist judges like Inyang Ekwo or rampant ones like Jane Inyang receive a year-long sabbatical. Judges who prize fidelity to their judicial oaths must wonder why they bother.

This institutionalizes cover-up under cover of judicial ceremony. Two words describe what the NJC now does on judicial discipline: complicit scandal. It is a tendency that deserves close attention and study as a model of how the judiciary accomplishes its own evisceration.

A lawyer and a teacher, Odinkalu can be reached at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

In Nigeria, the term “National Cake” has long been a metaphor for the collective wealth of the country, an imaginary cake that, in principle, should be equitably sliced and served to all citizens, regardless of ethnicity, religion, or social class. But in reality, this proverbial cake has morphed into something else entirely: a lavish banquet for a privileged few and mere crumbs, if anything at all, for the rest. This growing disparity raises a pressing question that stares us in the face every day: Is it really a national cake, or has it been privatized into “their” cake?

This rhetorical shift is not just semantic; it is symptomatic of a deep structural malaise within the Nigerian polity. The national cake has become the preserve of the political elite and their cronies, a high table at which only the connected dine, while the masses hustle for the leftovers, often tossed in the form of palliatives, tokenistic empowerment schemes, or stomach-infrastructure politics.

To this writer, it is a shared inheritance denied every Nigerian that is not opportune or privileged to be in government or have somebody in politics. This is as the logic of a national cake presupposes a shared inheritance.

It is even surprising that despite the fact that Nigeria is abundantly blessed with natural and human resources that cut across oil, gas, arable land, solid minerals, a vibrant youthful population, enough to make any nation prosperous if harnessed justly and transparently, only a few Nigerians are eating the national cake.  The reason for the foregoing view cannot be farfetched as in more than six decades after independence, the commonwealth continues to be cornered by a self-serving elite, whose interpretation of governance is little more than “elite capture” disguised as “public service”.

Budgets are passed yearly with trillions of naira earmarked for capital projects, but year after year, the physical manifestations of these allocations remain invisible. Roads remain death traps, hospitals are glorified consulting clinics, and public schools are in shambles. Yet we are told the cake has been shared. To whom, and for what purpose?

It is no longer even shameful that government officials build sprawling estates, own fleets of luxury cars, send their children abroad for schooling, and access first-rate healthcare in foreign hospitals, all funded directly or indirectly by public resources. These are not benefits of service; they are fruits of exploitation. They are not eating the national cake on our behalf; they are eating it instead of us.

Nigeria’s political structure and reward system have institutionalized a form of legalized looting. Politics is seen as the surest path to wealth, not a call to serve. Elections are often nothing more than expensive rituals of deceit, where the highest bidder buys votes with stolen money, only to recoup it multiple times over once in office.

Appointments and contracts are rarely awarded on merit but on nepotism and patronage. The so-called federal character principle, originally designed to promote inclusiveness, has been bastardized into a tool for distributing slices of the cake among the powerful, not for equity but for appeasement. Ministries, departments, and agencies become silos of looting. Monthly FAAC (Federation Account Allocation Committee) disbursements often end up as salary payments and inflated overheads, while infrastructural decay festers across states and local governments.

Meanwhile, those who dare raise their voices against this rot, journalists, whistleblowers, and civil society activists, are hounded, silenced, or branded enemies of progress. In some cases, they are made scapegoats to distract from the real culprits. This deliberate gas lighting only reinforces the perception that the national cake is no longer a collective resource but a rigged buffet.

One of the clever manipulations that continue to fuel this systemic greed is the myth that everyone will eventually “benefit” from the cake if they stay loyal, play politics right, or wait for their turn. This myth is how the elite class majorly comprising of politicians control the masses and perpetuate the status quo. It is how party loyalists are groomed into sycophants, not advocates for the people. It is how civil servants become complacent. And it is how the youth are lured into cybercrime, fraud, and political thuggery, with the false promise of a share of the cake.

But the truth is glaring: it is not your cake. It has never been. And unless something drastic changes, it never will be. The distribution of wealth in Nigeria is one of the most skewed in the world. According to Oxfam, a handful of Nigerians control as much wealth as the bottom 50% of the population. That is more than 100 million people. The implication is that the so-called national cake has already been sliced, served, and eaten, over and over again, by a tiny cabal. And they are not planning on baking another one for you.

Nothing exemplifies the insult to the masses more than the recent distribution of palliatives in the form of rice, noodles, and N10,000 cash transfers in the wake of economic hardship triggered by subsidy removal and devaluation. These palliatives, publicized with elaborate media fanfare, are meant to pacify the people, not empower them. It is the equivalent of throwing bones to a starving dog while you feast in opulence.

For the sake of clarity, palliatives are not policies; they are placeholders for real governance. They do not address the root causes of poverty, unemployment, and inflation. Instead, they reinforce dependency and encourage short-term gratitude for long-term suffering. The idea of palliatives being rolled out while politicians receive wardrobe allowances and security votes in the billions is the clearest sign that what they are eating is not our cake.

Against the backdrop of the foregoing view, it is germane to opine that if Nigeria must survive as a functional nation-state, the idea of the national cake must be radically redefined. It cannot continue to be about who gets what from the treasury; it must be about how wealth is created, distributed, and sustained for the benefit of all.

Therefore, to create wealth, distribute it and make it sustainable for all Nigerians, there must be institutional reform. We need real consequences for corruption, not plea bargains or political rehabilitation. Institutions like the EFCC, ICPC, and Code of Conduct Bureau must be depoliticized and empowered to work without fear or favor.

Again, there must be public finance transparency. To achieve the foregoing, every naira spent must be accounted for. Tools like the Freedom of Information Act must be actively utilized by journalists and citizens to demand answers.

In a similar vein, there must be active citizenship. This is as Nigerians must discard apathy, given that democracy does not end at the ballot box. Rather, they should understand that civic engagement, peaceful protests, public commentary, and watchdog journalism are all tools for reclaiming ownership of the national cake.

Also in a similar vein, there should be pragmatic and intentional moves toward economic diversification.  Therefore, the cake must be enlarged through value addition, industrialization, and entrepreneurship as a country cannot eat what it does not bake.

Also, there must be constitutional restructuring. We need to revisit the foundations of our union. True federalism, resource control, and decentralization are key to ensuring that no part of Nigeria is parasitic on another, and that wealth is not hoarded in Abuja.

In fact, the harsh truth is that for now, it is their cake, held in the death grip of a few who believe the rest of us are either too poor, too tired, or too scared to challenge them. But history shows that even the most entrenched elites fall when the masses awaken to their power.

The question is not whether there is a national cake. The question is: who is eating it, and who is going hungry?

Until we confront this truth, Nigeria will continue to be a land of potential without progress, riches without equity, and dreams deferred indefinitely. It is time we rise and say: Enough of their cake. We want our share.

The Patriots for the Advancement of Peace and Social Development (PAPSD) has described the calls for a state of emergency in Zamfara as “politically motivated, ill-conceived, unwarranted, unpatriotic and unconstitutional”.

The Executive Director of PAPSD, Dr Sani Shinkafi, in a statement on Saturday in Abuja also described the calls as calculated attempt to destabilise Zamfara.

He said that it was also planned to cause confusion and political upheavals in the state to undermine Gov. Dauda Lawal’s giant strides in transforming Zamfara from an agricultural- base to an industrial state.

He condemned those sponsoring youths to stage protests calling for a state of emergency in Zamfara as declared in Rivers, saying there was no comparison between the two states.

He said that the situation that led to the declaration of a state of emergency in Rivers was not applicable to Zamfara, even as Lawal was focused on fulfilling his campaign promises, with the support of most members of the State House of Assembly and citizens.

Shinkafi noted that Sections 188 and 189 of the 1999 constitution, as amended provided the procedure for the removal of a governor or deputy from office.

He added that Section 305 of the constitution also related to the power of the president to proclaim a state of emergency .

Shinkafi, the Patron, Tinubu-Shettima Presidential Campaign Council 2023, said it was obvious that Zamfara was not in a state of war to require a state of emergency.

“Compared to previous years, security in Zamfara State has significantly improved.

“Sadly, most of the videos and pictures of attacks circulating on social media were past attacks mischievously reposted to overheat the polity and undermine the visionary leadership of Gov. Lawal,” he said.

Shinkafi also noted that like other governors, Lawal had no constitutional power to deploy security agents if there was a security breach in any part of the state.

“The appellation of chief security officers of their states is merely ceremonial.

“It is an aspect of the constitution that should be amended to give powers to governors to deploy security agents to curb insecurity in their states,” he said.

Shinkafi urged President Bola Tinubu and the military high command to quickly address the security breach as previously done.

He commended the military personnel for their efforts and urged the Federal Government to motivate them and provide necessary weapons to defeat the enemies.

He also urged Lawal to summon an emergency security summit in the state involving security chiefs, religious leaders, traditional rulers, local government chairmen and civil society organisations to chart the way forward.

“This will further guarantee public safety and order, and forestall the security breach witnessed recently at Kaura Namoda.

“The PAPSD further urged the Zamfara State House of Assembly to quickly resolve the issues that led to the suspension of nine members to enable them to discharge their constitutional duties to their constituencies.

“As democrats, they should apply a political solution to issues, resolve them and move the state forward,” he said.

(NAN)