Picture a scenario in which Africa’s richest man, Alhaji Aliko Dangote, invested $250 million in 2023 to support the presidential campaign of APC candidate Bola Ahmed Tinubu. Let’s assume Dangote, being the shrewd businessman he is, found a legal way to avoid violating campaign finance limits that cap how much individuals can contribute to political campaigns.

Now imagine that this strategic support played a major role in Tinubu’s victory two years ago, helping him secure the presidency and giving the APC a majority in both chambers of the National Assembly. As a token of appreciation, President Tinubu appoints Dangote to lead a newly created government agency focused on cutting waste and improving public sector efficiency.

In this imagined scenario, Dangote’s new role comes with the tough task of ending long-standing subsidies on petrol and foreign exchange—two policies widely seen as obstacles to Nigeria’s economic growth since independence in 1960. Because these subsidies have become deeply embedded in public expectations over the past four decades, rolling them back sparks outrage and resistance.

Now take it a step further: suppose Dangote, despite his brilliance, begins behaving inappropriately—perhaps mocking civil servants who lost their jobs or appearing in Aso Rock with his toddler riding on his shoulders in a moment of eccentric public display. President Tinubu, noticing these missteps, decides to relieve him of his duties respectfully and even presents him with a symbolic key to the villa as a gesture of goodwill.

But soon after the House of Representatives passes four key tax reform bills—awaiting Senate approval—Dangote lashes out, branding the bills a “disgusting abomination.” Concerned that the new laws could undermine the business advantages his firm had been enjoying, he threatens to use his influence to ensure APC lawmakers are voted out in the next elections.

This outburst provokes President Tinubu, who publicly quips that Dangote might be suffering from a mental health issue. What should have remained a private policy disagreement between allies begins to spill into the public sphere, with the potential to spiral into a full-blown political crisis.

Dear readers, this imagined scenario is not about Nigeria, President Tinubu, or Aliko Dangote—the visionary industrialist behind the Dangote Refinery and Petrochemical complex that’s transforming Nigeria from a raw exporter of crude oil into a net exporter of refined petroleum products.

Rather, this story mirrors the real-life political drama currently unfolding in the United States between President Donald J. Trump—back in office as the 47th president—and Elon Musk, the world’s richest man and owner of Tesla, SpaceX, and other powerful tech ventures.

Their feud highlights the perils of blurring the lines between business and politics. It serves as a cautionary tale for democracies around the world about why these two powerful domains—each critical in its own right—must remain independent to preserve institutional integrity and public trust.

Simply put, the situation described above isn’t unfolding in a struggling third-world nation where democratic principles are still being grasped. Rather, it is playing out in the United States—the wealthiest, most powerful nation in the world, and widely regarded as the global standard-bearer for democracy.

For me, there are several critical takeaways from this evolving saga in America.

First, it reinforces the reality that democracy is still an evolving system of governance, even centuries after its roots in ancient Athens under Cleisthenes in 508 BCE.

Who would have imagined that campaign finance laws in the U.S.—particularly the caps on individual contributions to political candidates—could be so cleverly circumvented? Yet Elon Musk appears to have done just that, reportedly channeling around $250 million into Donald Trump’s 2024 campaign without violating existing laws.

Second, the unfolding events affirm the old adage: “What money cannot do, more money can.” Musk himself boasted that without his financial engineering—leveraging “Super PACs” to funnel as much as $1 million per voter in key swing states—Trump and the Republican Party may not have secured victories in the White House and both chambers of Congress. According to Musk, his financial intervention was instrumental in Trump’s success in the November 5, 2024 election. As he warned at the time, “In November, we fire all Republicans who betrayed Americans.”

This demonstrates that, just like in many fledgling democracies of the developing world, money—not ideology or principles—is often the decisive factor in American elections, with votes going to the highest bidder.

Third, the very public clash between Musk—head of Tesla and SpaceX—and President Trump has peeled back the curtain on the inner workings of the U.S. government. It exposes a long-held double standard: while the West criticizes African nations for implementing public subsidies, it often does the same, albeit in more discreet and sophisticated forms. Through institutions like the World Bank and IMF, wealthy nations pressure developing countries to eliminate subsidies, despite quietly propping up their own industries using similar mechanisms.

This hypocrisy has been starkly revealed by the Trump-Musk fallout. The feud has exposed how Musk’s companies have been supported through generous government contracts and subsidies—an arrangement that mirrors the kind of state-enabled capitalism often criticized in the Global South.

Fourth, the idea that oligarchs are a uniquely Russian or African phenomenon has been shown to be misleading. Musk’s companies, Tesla and SpaceX, are now understood to have benefitted significantly from U.S. government support. In Trump’s own words:

“The easiest way to save money in our Budget—Billions and Billions of Dollars—is to terminate Elon’s Governmental Subsidies and Contracts. I was always surprised that Biden didn’t do it!”

This outburst came in response to Musk labeling Trump’s “Big Beautiful Bill” as a “disgusting abomination.”

So, isn’t it both ironic and hypocritical that powerful Western nations instruct poorer countries to avoid government subsidies, while engaging in the same practices behind the scenes? By financially supporting domestic corporations that build wealth through state contracts, the West is not far removed from the same oligarchic systems it routinely condemns.

In conclusion, the Trump-Musk dispute is not merely a clash of egos. It is a revealing episode—one that lays bare the contradictions and vulnerabilities within the democratic and capitalist systems of even the world’s most advanced nation.

The purpose of this intervention is not to dwell on the sensational fallout between Donald Trump and Elon Musk—an alliance turned sour and now dominating headlines across both mainstream and social media, generating intense political controversy. That story has already been heavily dissected and discussed.

Rather, what concerns me is the unfortunate nature of this public spat, which has erupted barely 63 days into what was initially viewed as a promising political partnership between Trump, the President of the United States and figurehead of global democracy, and Elon Musk, the world’s richest man and a symbol of technological innovation.

Unsurprisingly, their clash has created a tense atmosphere, casting a dark cloud over the U.S. political landscape—an ironic turn for a nation that prides itself on being the model of democratic governance.

It is this deeper implication that compels me to approach the matter from a different angle—one that better illuminates the significance of this episode for those of us in less developed democracies. My goal is to help readers, especially Africans, understand that the global system does not always treat us fairly, despite appearances.

To illustrate this point, and drawing from my background in international public policy, I chose to analyze the Trump-Musk saga through an analogy—comparing it to a hypothetical but relatable scenario in Nigeria. After all, Nigeria’s political system borrows heavily from the U.S. model, and President Bola Tinubu’s current reform-driven leadership has begun reshaping the country’s economic landscape within just two years of his administration.

With that backdrop, it’s worth examining how the situation unfolded.

When sales of Musk’s Tesla electric vehicles began to decline both in the U.S. and globally—particularly across European markets—President Trump took on the role of an unofficial brand ambassador. In what appeared to be a quid pro quo gesture to repay Musk for his campaign support, Trump staged a symbolic event: turning the White House lawn into a Tesla showroom. On live television watched by billions worldwide, he personally bought a red Tesla and urged others to follow his example.

This dramatic endorsement was part of Trump’s attempt to shield Musk from the backlash he faced after heading the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE)—an agency created to cut government costs. Musk’s involvement in laying off public sector workers had angered many Americans, some of whom responded by boycotting and even vandalizing Tesla cars. This public outrage contributed significantly to Tesla’s financial decline.

On one particularly devastating day, Musk reportedly lost $34 billion in market value, and Tesla’s total losses since Musk became directly involved in politics are estimated at over $150 billion. His decision to blend business with politics—becoming an active player in public governance—appears to have backfired, both for his companies and his personal wealth.

Despite his high-profile role and disruptive efforts, Musk’s agency, DOGE, was only able to reduce U.S. government spending by a mere 1%. Likewise, Trump’s relentless attempts to reverse Tesla and SpaceX’s downward trajectory yielded little success. The damage to Musk’s public image as the face of mass layoffs and agency closures proved too great to overcome.

DOGE, as the name implies, was Trump’s initiative to curb federal spending as part of his broader goal to reduce America’s ballooning budget deficit and national debt—now estimated at over $36 trillion. However, this ambition is not new. Past presidents like Ronald Reagan (40th) and Bill Clinton (42nd) also established similar budget reform initiatives.

In the end, the Trump-Musk clash offers far more than tabloid drama. It serves as a cautionary tale about the dangers of blurring the lines between politics and business, and highlights the global double standards that often disadvantage less powerful nations. The same Western systems that lecture developing countries on austerity and public subsidies are themselves deeply intertwined with state-backed corporate interests.

Notably, the efforts by past U.S. administrations to reduce the cost of governance mirror the current situation between Trump and Musk. Under President Ronald Reagan, a similar initiative was launched with the creation of the Grace Commission—officially called the President’s Private Sector Survey on Cost Control. It was led by J. Peter Grace, a prominent CEO of W.R. Grace and Company. The commission aimed to identify ways to make the federal government more efficient and claimed it could save over $424 billion within three years.

Despite the high expectations, the commission’s recommendations were not fully implemented, and critics argue that the actual impact on government efficiency and cost savings was modest at best.

Likewise, during President Bill Clinton’s tenure, his administration introduced a major reform program known as the National Performance Review (NPR), led by Vice President Al Gore. The NPR was a comprehensive effort to restructure the federal government with a focus on improving efficiency, cutting waste, and delivering better services to citizens. Its vision was to build a government that “works better and costs less.” The initiative resulted in 119 key recommendations, including downsizing agencies and eliminating redundant programs. The NPR ultimately claimed to have saved $108 billion and improved government operations while also reducing overhead staffing.

Clearly, Trump and Musk are not the first high-profile figures—one from the political world and the other from business—to attempt reforming the American government’s spending habits. Yet, despite their intentions, their partnership has turned acrimonious. The tension between Trump, intent on “Making America Great Again,” and Musk, determined to inject private-sector efficiency into public service, has spiraled into a toxic feud.

Both men should recognize that even past collaborations between top political and business minds—such as Reagan and Grace, or Clinton and Gore—fell short of achieving the kind of transformational government efficiency they envisioned. Their failure should offer some perspective and encourage both Trump and Musk to de-escalate their conflict and move beyond their mutual frustration over their unmet goals.

Following their fallout, Tesla’s stock has taken a significant hit. As of last Thursday, it’s reported that Tesla has lost up to $150 billion in market value over the last six months. Meanwhile, Musk’s businesses have reportedly benefited from up to $34 billion in U.S. government contracts—support that could be jeopardized if the feud with Trump continues.

This raises an important question now being asked by political observers in the U.S.: Can these two power players—once close allies just six months ago, and now adversaries—repair their relationship?

On what was Musk’s last day in the White House as a government adviser, Trump symbolically handed him the “Keys to the White House.” But any illusion of a cordial parting quickly shattered when Musk publicly condemned Trump’s signature tax and spending plan—the so-called “Big Beautiful Bill”—as a “disgusting abomination.” Musk’s critique struck a nerve, especially since the bill contradicted the aims of the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE), which Musk had headed in a failed attempt to streamline public spending. His aggressive role in implementing job cuts drew widespread criticism, particularly since Musk was unelected and seen as wielding unchecked influence over government workers’ livelihoods.

This political-business breakdown in the U.S. brings to mind a similar episode in Nigeria, which illustrates why mixing business with politics is a risky endeavor. After former Vice President Atiku Abubakar left office (1999–2007), his business interests, particularly in Intels—an oil and gas logistics firm he co-founded—suffered a steep decline. Intels had thrived under favorable government patronage, operating a lucrative private port in Port Harcourt. But after Atiku’s party lost power to the opposition APC in 2015, government contracts dried up.

As the firm’s financial standing deteriorated, Atiku was forced to sell his equity stake in a bid to keep it afloat. Following his divestment, his spokesman issued a statement to the press, confirming the exit 

“Yes, he has divested from Intels and redirected his investments into other sectors of the economy to generate returns and create jobs.”

Reflecting on the ongoing fallout between Donald Trump and Elon Musk, one is reminded of the tragic political journey of Nigerian billionaire-turned-politician, Chief Moshood Kashimawo Abiola (MKO). Although the circumstances differ, there are thematic similarities. Abiola, who amassed his fortune primarily through government telecommunications contracts—much like Musk’s ties to U.S. government contracts in the tech sector—entered the political arena in 1993 by contesting the presidency. Sadly, his political aspirations ended in tragedy, resulting in the loss of both his wealth and ultimately his life.

While Musk hasn’t directly pursued the presidency, his veiled threat to back the Democrats in the upcoming election as retaliation against Republicans for passing Trump’s “Big Beautiful Bill” has raised eyebrows. It suggests the possibility that Musk may be positioning himself to influence the outcome of the 2028 elections in favor of the Democrats—just as he was instrumental in helping Trump and the Republicans secure victory in 2024. If so, Musk could be transitioning from a politically interested entrepreneur into an active political player.

In the present feud between two former allies—President Trump, who may have a fragile ego, and Musk, known for his confrontational approach—the stakes are high. Trump, a seasoned political fighter, is unlikely to back down easily, while Musk’s endurance in the face of sustained political and financial pressure remains to be seen. Whether he can absorb continuous blows to his businesses, including Tesla and SpaceX, could determine if the two men will reconcile or drift permanently apart.

President Trump, now in his final term, arguably has less to lose. However, he still needs the Senate to pass his flagship legislation, the Big Beautiful Bill. Musk’s opposition to the bill is already casting doubt on its swift approval. Encouragingly, Musk seems to be stepping back from his confrontational stance, as evidenced by his decision to delete a provocative post in which he threatened to begin decommissioning SpaceX’s Dragon spacecraft in response to Trump’s comments about canceling government contracts.

Though the U.S. is no Russia, the Trump–Musk standoff evokes parallels with the dramatic falling-out between Russian President Vladimir Putin and Yevgeny Prigozhin, the late mercenary leader of the Wagner Group. Once close allies, their power struggle escalated into an armed confrontation and ended with Prigozhin’s untimely death in a plane explosion.

The conflict also mirrors Putin’s past clashes with influential Russian oligarchs, many of whom were jailed or had their assets seized after falling out with the Kremlin. One such example is Mikhail Khodorkovsky, the former owner of Yukos Oil, who was imprisoned on charges of tax evasion and other offenses. In response, several Russian oligarchs fled the country, investing their wealth in the West—particularly in the U.K., where Roman Abramovich famously bought Chelsea Football Club. He eventually lost the club following Western sanctions on Russia after its 2022 invasion of Ukraine.

Despite these grim parallels, there is still hope for reconciliation between Trump and Musk. Their personal and political futures would both benefit from de-escalating tensions. Continued verbal and written hostilities—no matter how indirect—could prove damaging to both men, especially as mere words can spark consequences that are irreversible in both business and politics.

Drawing from Nigeria’s own political-business landscape, we’ve seen high-profile feuds eventually resolved. A case in point is the past fallout between Africa’s richest man, Aliko Dangote, and Nigeria’s third-richest businessman, Femi Otedola. Though their dispute was acrimonious, the two have since rekindled their friendship and now enjoy a closer relationship than before. That precedent gives reason to believe Trump and Musk—two powerful figures who still need each other—might also find a path to reconciliation.

This optimism is further supported by comments from Musk’s father, Errol Musk, who revealed that Elon suffers from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). If the fallout was, in part, driven by psychological distress and frustration over unmet expectations, healing could begin once emotions settle and rational interests take over.

Yet a broader concern remains: If Musk is eventually barred—by legal, institutional, or moral constraints—from using his vast wealth to influence electoral outcomes in the U.S., what prevents him from trying the same approach in other countries, especially in Europe? If he refrains, will other billionaires emulate his strategy, leveraging wealth to influence political outcomes under the maxim that “what money cannot do, more money can”?

Ultimately, the Trump–Musk saga offers a valuable lesson for democracies everywhere. It underscores the dangers of blurring the lines between business and politics and raises critical questions about the future of political financing, influence, and accountability in democratic systems.

Magnus Onyibe, an entrepreneur, public policy analyst, author, democracy advocate, and development strategist.