Condolences to the Uwais Family

I express my condolences to the Uwais Family on the passing of their Patriarch, Honourable Justice Mohammed Lawal Uwais, GCON, the 7th Indigenous Chief Justice of Federal Republic of Nigeria (CJN). May Allah, in His infinite mercy, grant him the highest level of Jannah. Ameen.

Today’s This Day Lawyer publication, is a tribute and testament to CJN Uwais, the longest serving Supreme Court Justice and second longest serving CJN in Nigeria’s history, how he conducted himself and discharged his duties admirably as CJN. 

For me, when such a death occurs, I see it as a time for deep reflection on my own life, as it should be for all of us. I start to ask myself questions such as, what positive impact have I made on anyone’s life or on society generally? Will I have enough, to bag me a verdict of ‘Not Guilty’ in ‘Kootu Òlòrun’ (Heavenly/God’s Court)? The death of his Lordship is a reminder that life, no matter how long, holding a position, for no matter what length of time, is temporary; and death is a debt that we all owe God. And, that, even if Section 6(6)(c) of the 1999 Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria (as amended)(the Constitution) which ousts the jurisdiction of the courts with regard to Chapter II of the Constitution, that is, the Fundamental Objectives and Directive Principles of State Policy, so that Government and its Officials escape ‘worldly’ accountability to the people, aside from the fact that none of us will escape accountability to God for our actions, what will people say about us when we die? Will the report be good, like that of CJN Uwais? 

‘Kootu Òlòrun’

I fear for many within the three arms of Government today, that their report and judgement may not be favourable. And, in ‘Kootu Òlòrun’, Justice, which is something that is so precious to the Almighty, will be handed down accordingly! There is no technical justice there! In Akpan v Bob (2010) LPELR-376(SC) per Ibrahim Tanko Muhammad, JSC (later CJN), the Supreme Court held inter alia that “…technical is no justice at all….”; I concur. 

However, it appears that courts do not always follow this precedent. Take for example, the recent Supreme Court decision in the Gwandu Emirate Case – can we say that substantive justice was truly served  in a 20 year old case in which all the proceedings were set aside by the Supreme Court (in a 3:2 decision), because deposed Emir, Alhaji Mustapha Jokolo allegedly didn’t serve a pre-action notice on the Kebbi State Governor/Government (KSG) before legal proceedings were instituted? While I have not had the benefit of reading the full judgement in this case, I read several news items reporting the matter, including one that quoted excerpts of the judgement. 

Pre-Action Notice

In Ntiero v N.P.A. 2008 N.W.L.R. Part 1094 Page 129 at 142 per Ibrahim Tanko Muhammad, JSC (later CJN); per Samuel Akinola Akintan, JSC the Supreme Court held that a Pre-Action Notice “should be in form of a letter usually written by a Plaintiff or his Solicitor to the prospective Defendant giving him notice of intention to institute legal proceedings against him for specified reliefs”. In Abuja Municipal Area Council v C.N. Okoli Transport Co. Ltd (2009) LPELR-3579(CA) the Court of Appeal held that “The rationale behind the jurisprudence of a pre-action notice, is to enable the Defendant know in advance the anticipated action, and a possible amicable settlement of the matter between the parties, without recourse to adjudication by the Court. The purpose of giving notice to a party, is that it is not also taken by surprise, but so that it should have adequate time to prepare to deal with the claim in its defence”. 

One of the reasons for the pre-action notice, is for the Defendant to be made aware of the imminent institution of legal proceedings, particularly to stop abuse and fraud, for instance, where some Plaintiffs have been known to file cases surreptitiously and obtain judgements against Defendants without their knowledge. The importance of such a notice or the need for it, varies from one circumstance to the other, even if it is a condition precedent, and in some cases, there may be no real need for it, as it may be superfluous (like saying reverse back!).  

Considering the fact that it was the KSG that deposed Alhaji Jokolo, and they were ably represented in the matter, no one can say the Defendants weren’t aware of the case. The question should have been, whether non-compliance with the pre-action protocol impacted the KSG negatively and/or whether it’s absence could not have been treated as a procedural irregularity, and not one that was fatal to the proceedings. 

Even if the Kebbi State Chiefs (Appointment and Deposition) Law, required a pre-action notice protocol to be followed where there’s such a dispute, before the institution of legal proceedings, that is, the fulfilment of a condition precedent before litigation, does non-compliance with a pre-action notice protocol necessarily result in the proceedings in a matter being set aside/nullified? The answer is, not always. 

I submit that the issue of non-compliance with serving a pre-action notice, should be settled on a case by case basis, and not in a blanket fashion, particularly because circumstances may differ from case to case, and additionally, there are exceptions to the rule of service of pre-action notices, that is, in the case of fundamental rights enforcement, and when the Defendant waives the right to a pre-action notice and doesn’t include the non-service of same as an issue in the pleadings. See the case of Obasa & Ors v Fadeyi (2020) LPELR-51758(CA) per Mistura Omodere Bolaji-Yusuff, JCA. 

Matters Arising 

Like I mentioned before, since I’m yet to read the Gwandu Emirate case’s judgement, I do not know whether the Kebbi State Government raised the issue of non-compliance to the pre-action notice protocol in their pleadings; but, the truth of the matter is that, the fact that the Defendant defends the suit is enough to imply that he/she is aware of the case and has waived the right to the pre-action notice; because, with or without the pre-action notice, the reasons for its issuance can be fulfilled without it, and it’s essence also fulfilled in its absence, as in the Gwandu Emirate case, that is: 1) knowledge of the case – the Kebbi State Government was aware of the case and participated in it fully; 2) possible amicable settlement – nothing stops parties to an action from adjourning the process of litigation, to allow for settlement. The court usually grants adjournments for report of settlement, and if a settlement is reached in the course of the proceedings, Terms of Settlement are filed, and entered as the judgement of the court in the matter. 

My point? In this particular instance, non-service of a pre-action notice does not appear to be more than a mere procedural irregularity, and is nothing fundamental that goes to the root of the case. The non-service of the pre-action notice in the Gwandu Emirate case doesn’t appear to be something so crucial, that it was adjudged to be fatal. See Abuja Municipal Area Council v C.N. Okoli Transport Co. Ltd (Supra).

Additionally, in Alhaji Jokolo’s case, it appears that there were issues of fundamental rights involved, as it was canvassed that he was not given the right to fair hearing before he was deposed, contrary to Section 36(1) of the Constitution. See Muhammed & Ors v ABU Zaria & Anor (2012) LPELR-22366(CA) on the right to fair hearing. 

In Akahall & Sons Limited v NDIC (2017) LPELR-41984(SC) per Kumai Bayang Aka’ahs, JSC, the Supreme Court in drawing a distinction between substantive irregularity and procedural irregularity cited the case of Mobil Producing (Nig.) Unlimited v LASEPA 2002 18 N.W.L.R. Part 798 per Ayoola, JSC where it held inter alia thus: “Much stress has been placed on the argument that non-compliance with provisions such as Section 29(2) of the Act (Federal Environmental Protection Agency Act) leads to a question of jurisdiction which can be raised at any time, and which if resolved against the Appellant, renders the entire proceedings a nullity. This rather mechanical approach to the issue, which tends to ignore the distinction between jurisdictional incompetence which is evident on the face of the proceedings, and one which is dependent on ascertainment of facts, leads to error……”.

In the locus classicus, Madukolu & Ors v Nkemdilim (1962) LPELR-24023(SC) per Vahe Robert Bairamian, JSC, the Supreme Court listed the conditions that must be satisfied before a court can exercise its jurisdiction, the last being that the case must be initiated by due process of law and upon the fulfilment of any conditions precedent to the exercise of jurisdiction. By failing to serve the pre-action notice on the Kebbi State Governor, the Apex Court majority decision held that Alhaji Jokolo didn’t initiate his suit via the due process of law, and this had robbed the court of jurisdiction. In short, such an important case which offered a golden opportunity to establish judicial precedent on the deposition of traditional rulers was not decided on its merits, but on procedure and technicalities. I must concur with his Lordship, Ayoola, JSC in Mobil Producing (Nig.) Unlimited v LASEPA (Supra), that this approach by the majority judgement appears to be mechanical. And, perhaps, since the non-service of the pre-action notice didn’t appear to affect the meat of the matter, it should have been treated as a procedural irregularity that wasn’t fatal to the case, so that substantive justice could be done. 

I respectfully disagree with the majority decision, as it appears to visit what may have been a mistake on the part of Counsel in not serving the pre-action notice on the Kebbi Governor, on Alhaji Jokolo, thereby denying him of the opportunity of having the actual subject-matter of his case determined by the Apex Court. In Iroegbu & Anor v Okwordu & Anor (1990) LPELR-1539(SC) per Philip Nnaemeka-Agu, JSC, the Supreme Court held inter alia that “It should be regarded as settled by a long line of decided cases, that the courts do not normally punish a litigant for the mistakes of his Counsel”. In Alston S.A. & Anor v Saraki (2000) LPELR-436(SC) per Adolphus Godwin Karibi-Whyte, JSC, the Supreme Court held that “The Courts have always followed the established principle that the fundamental object of adjudication is to decide the rights of the parties, and not to impose sanctions merely for mistakes they make in the conduct of their cases, by deciding otherwise than in accordance with their rights”. I submit that, after 20 years, the majority decision of the Apex Court didn’t decide the Gwandu Emirate case on its merits, and in accordance with the rights of the parties. 

Conclusion 

In the interest of justice, for especially for so long, it is my humble opinion that, particularly in a situation that ordinarily, on the face of the statement of claim, the court of first instance is clothed with the requisite jurisdiction to hear and determine a matter, where the Apex Court is able to treat a mistake that doesn’t affect the substance of a case as a mere procedural irregularity and determine the appeal on its merits, it should. In Andrew v Oshoakpemhe & Ors (2018) LPELR-53228(CA) per Biobele Abraham Georgewill, the Court of Appeal held thus: “These days, the Courts should or ought to concern themselves less with mere technicality and concern themselves more with matters of real substance and substantial issues in contention between the parties, in order to render substantial justice to them. Long gone are the heydays of technicality riding roughshod over substantial justice! The Courts have since charted a new path, aimed at consolidating substantial justice between the parties and would sparingly accord mere technicality, just for its own sake, any pride of place except in very well deserving cases”. I concur. 

In my humble opinion, the Gwandu Emirate Appeal, should have been determined on its merits by the Apex Court, as it would not have been unjust to the KSG to do so. Having been unilaterally deposed as Emir of Gwandu by the KSG, Alhaji Mustapha Jokolo was again denied fair hearing at the Apex Court based on a procedural irregularity – double denial. I believe that this another instance of technical justice being handed down by the majority, over and above substantive justice. Also see the Kebbi State Law, on Statute of Limitations to institute legal proceedings touching on Chieftaincy Matters.

Even though pre-action protocols have been introduced by the various courts in their Civil Procedure Rules as a condition precedent to the institution of legal proceedings, I still believe that the absence of it doesn’t have to be a deal breaker in all cases! Certainly, when a Plaintiff tries to pull a fast one on a Defendant by securing a questionable judgement in his/her absence, the issue of the non-service of a pre-action notice must necessarily be fatal and grounds to nullify such unusual proceedings. 

But, when a Defendant fully participates in the case, why should the non-service of a pre-action notice be fatal, when everything a pre-action notice sets out to achieve, still remains fully achievable without it? The existence of this fact in some cases, automatically downgrades the absence of a pre-action notice from a fatal accident to a scratch on the vehicle. We must use some of these mechanisms fairly, as this is the essence of justice, and not in a blanket manner that could lead to the denial of justice for no legitimate or sound reason.

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.

“When lions battle, jackals flee.” Isaac Newton wrote that to his bitter rival, Gottfried Leibniz. It was a barbed remark on their feud over who between them first invented calculus. The more you read of the mutual respect those two had for each other, the more you wonder why they ended their respective careers in very bitter, reckless animosity; the more you also ponder over the cost of that fight and whether it was worth the troubles.

President Bola Ahmed Tinubu and Governor Babajide Sanwo-Olu of Lagos are two big men who are not equals. One is the boss, the other the boss’s boy. They are not equals, so, there cannot be a rivalry between them over feats and achievements. But they fight; and it is right here in the open. I’ve heard people demanding to know what they are fighting over. We do not know. Let no one talk about Lagos speakership. The sack of Mudasiru Obasa, which was as abortive as Dimka’s coup of 1976, was just what it was – a symptom; it was a reaction to something; there was an underline cause. What was it?
Sanwo-Olu and his boss are no Isaac Newton and Gottfried Leibniz and so their fight couldn’t be over who takes the priority on a matter designed to help humanity. If there is a delectable Queen Cleopatria somewhere, I would have drawn a parallel between what is unfolding in Lagos and what unfolded between Rome’s Octavian (Augustus Caesar) and Mark Anthony. But there is no seductress in the mix, I will, therefore, not deliver to age what it is no longer capable of tweaking.

So, what did Sanwo-Olu do? Or what did he not do? Both sides are not talking. All we’ve seen was an ungracious rejection of a friendly gesture; the snub of a handshake by the more powerful potentate. We’ve also seen a convenient skip of the junior power where he ought to speak.

Some people are happy, clinking glasses over the power buffetings in Lagos. They drink to the health of the feud; they wish it greater vigour; they wish its fire is unquenchable. These are people who do not like Lagos and its politics at all and who have been their victims. They see the fight as the elixir that would cleanse the land of all its sins and cure it of its sicknesses. They talk of power and its excesses. They point at Akinwumi Ambode, the man who was brought low so that Sanwo-Olu could ride high. They remember Babatunde Fashola who escaped breathlessly simply because he was like Coca-Cola, more popular and successful than the parent company. They point at a Governor Bola Tinubu of Lagos who serially used three deputy governors in a tenure of eight years. If I were the president, I would also look at this unedifying statistics and repack my big and small intestines.

A leader should be very careful on the way he treats his people, particularly, the companions who look up to him. There was an Orangun of Ila who bulldozed his way to power with charms, and then elevated the humiliation of his principal chiefs to an art. An Ila historian wrote that the king’s “humiliating treatment (of the chiefs) reached intolerable proportions when he frowned at seeing the Iwarefa (the kingmakers) in decent attires. When a chief made a new garment, he was obliged to excise the breast and patch it with a rag.” But every reign, no matter how glorious or inglorious, must come to an end. How did it end for that oba? He didn’t die on the throne. His character gave him a fate which made him farmer outside power. Ó fi’gbá ìtóòrò mu’mi nínú oko (he drank water with ìtóòrò melon calabash on the farm). I suggest you read ‘The Orangun Dynasty’, a very rich 1996 book on the history of the Igbomina stock of the Yoruba, authored by Ila Orangun’s very first university graduate, Prince Isaac Adebayo; check pages 40 and 41.

A leader is a masquerade; he must not tear his own veil. When a leader makes and unmakes subordinates, he rends his own cover. “Ènìyàn l’aso mi” is a Yoruba expression which, in English means “people are my clothes; they are my covering.” As a Yoruba proverb, it emphasizes the importance of people in people’s lives. Whatever clothes the masquerade wears is that ‘thing’ that makes the wearer an Egungun. He must protect it because it is his store of power. But my people say power is like medicine; it intoxicates. A researcher adds that “ultimately, the accumulation of power becomes dangerous even to its owners.” Is that why someone saw “a link between mask and menace”?

So, when we interrogate the use of power by the one we have come to call Lagos, we should always remind him that the costume is the sacred adornment which people see, respect and venerate in the masquerade. For a leader, his principal boys and girls are his costume, they are his cover. He needs them when harmattan comes with its fury. And harmattan will come whenever the masquerade repairs back to the grove when the festival is over, and it will be over.

Even lions, kings of the jungle, rely on strong bonds within their prides for survival and well-being. There is an old Irving King song on this: “The more we get together/The merrier we’ll be.” That song emphasizes human interconnectedness; the support embedded in community.

Jackals are opportunists, and they are many in this Lagos fight. Newton’s feuding-lion imagery is an evocation of the themes of strength, of hierarchy, and of consequence. It defines the strained relationship of one big expert with the other big man. The other part of his proverb ‘bombs’ the miserable jackals, minions who lurk around the battlefield, who thrive in chaos and on scraps from the feuding powers.

American novelist, Herman Melville, says a thousand fibers connect us with our fellow men. We should not live our lives as if we exist only for ourselves. Public ‘spanking’ of a governor for unknown and unsaid sins is petty. A president should have snubbed rebuff as his option of engagement. If I were him, If a ‘boy’ offended me, I would just ‘face front’ and concentrate on delivering the Chinaware I carry unbroken. If your load is a pot of palm oil, avoid stone throwers.

But the president is not pacifist me. He enjoys fighting wars after wars. He is like Sango who desperately desired a fight but found no one to fight. Sango looked round and pounced on the wall and wrestled with it. There was also an Aare Ona Kakanfo who itched for a battle and could get none. He stoked a rebellion at home against himself and by himself violently put it down. Because of this and many more like it, the man was nicknamed Aburúmáku (the wicked one who refuses to die).

Are there no elders again where the feuding feudal lords come from? Borrowing lines from Ulli Beier, I would say that now that men appear to have failed to stop this war, women should be called upon to come and kill the fire. Our mothers are like Osun, “the wisdom of the forest; the wisdom of the river. Where the doctor failed, she cures with fresh water. Where medicine is impotent, she cures with cool water.”

The first lady should therefore step out, open her Bible (KJV) to Mark 4:39 and read to her husband: “And he arose, and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, be still. And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.”

If she does that, I will be encouraged to give the president two lines from William Shakespeare: “Come, wife, let’s in, and learn to govern better;/ For yet may England curse my wretched reign” (2 Henry VI, IV, ix, 4).

If our president’s reign won’t be cursed for wretchedness, he should prioritise the people’s welfare over serial petty fights with his boys. Nigerians are panting at home and reeling in pains at work; on the road, they groan. They are not entertained at all by presidential beer parlour brawls like Musician Ayinla Omowura’s last fight. You don’t become king and still keep trysts with crickets. No.

One of the first jokes I picked when I moved to Ibadan 30 years ago is that failure of patronage is the only reason a drummer would go to Oke Ado. The Ibadan surmised that the Ijebu who lived almost exclusively at Oke Ado part of Ibadan never ever got moved to spend a dime on bards.

Those who minted that joke should come back from the dead and see what we see now with the Ijebu. When the day breaks tomorrow, I will go to Oja’ba in Ibadan and ask folks there why their ancestors with relish said that the Ijebu did not appreciate good music and would not put their money on it. The Ijebu I see today do what the Ibadan said they would not do. In a magnificent way, they mass in their capital annually and stage a spectacular festival of culture and splendour. They call it Ojude Oba (the King’s Forecourt). It is an annual festival of sumptuous songs and dance, a parade of success and cultural opulence. They held another edition yesterday, and it is already contagious. Other Yoruba towns appear to be getting bitten by the Ijebu bug. We watch as they evolve.

The Ijebu are a very scrupulous people. It is in their oríkì that their fathers had six tubers of yam: they ate two, sold two and offered two to their gods. You can ponder that again: with moderate six survival items, they did justice to their present; justice to their future through trade and investment; justice to the divine who held the rope of life. Anyone who approaches life methodically like this is not likely to fail in any enterprise. In nuanced ways, the oríkì suggests that those who managed the six tubers did not eat with ten fingers. Their descendants still do not do it today: they party hard but they also work hard and trade intelligently; they worship God with utmost devotion.

I watched a short video clip of the Ojude Oba event at 8am Sunday (yesterday). I grinned seeing everywhere in immaculate lush green, meticulous. Sponsors of the event, Mike Adenuga’s Globacom, has done it for a record twenty years. And both company and owner say they won’t stop doing so forever. Patriotism is love of country. So, what is love of home? “In love of home”, says Charles Dickens, “the love of country has its rise.” That is what Adenuga and his Globacom commit themselves to with Ojude Oba till eternity. With Globacom’s heavy lifting, Ojude Oba has become the biggest cultural festival in Nigeria today. They say they are taking it even further than where it is. Something there to copy by every big, rich man and woman from other towns. The ones who feel too big to lift their homestead to glow will likely live ‘homeless.’ We all should know, as William J. Bennett did, that “home is a shelter from storms – all sorts of storms.”

I did not read history, but I am a lover of history and a believer in what it teaches. I keep seeing in the past the road that led to today, and a possible pathway to the future. T. O. Ogunkoya, author of ‘The Early History of Ijebu’ published in December 1956 offers some glimpses into the elements that make up the Ijebu gene:
“Nobody knows the date of the first migration to Ijebu or the course that it took. Tradition states that it was led by a man named Olu-Iwa accompanied by two warrior companions, Ajebu and Olode. Olu-Iwa settled at Iwade, for Ijebu-Ode itself did not, as yet, exist. Ajebu was instructed to mark out with fire the boundary of the new land. He went westward to the lagoon and marked out the boundaries to the North, South and East as well. To Olode was given the task of marking out and planning the future city, a task which took him more than three years. So well did Ajebu and Olode do their work that the new town was named after them as ‘Ajebu-Olode’, now corrupted and called Ijebu-Ode.”

The writer of that history said “there was ample evidence in favour of this tradition. He wrote that “In Ijebu-Ode today there stands in a prominent place in Olode Street a tomb dedicated to him and bearing the inscription ‘The resting place of Olode.’ In Imepe Street there can be seen a tomb dedicated to the memory of Ajebu. It may be taken for granted that these two men are historical figures whose names have been perpetuated in the name of the city.

Ogunkoya wrote that there is another theory of the origin of the name. He said “Portuguese maps of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries showed cuidade de Jabu or ‘the city of Ijebu.’ Now it is argued that the Ijebu, in common with people of similar ancestry, used the word Ode as a generic name for a town. So the Itschekri people had Ode Itschekri (Warri). The Ondo had Ode Ondo and the Ilaje Ode Ilaje. In Wadai (Sudan) there was an Ode Ijebu, suggesting the transference of the name of the ancient home to the new. In support of this view it is to be noted that until very recently all the village people in the province referred to the city simply as Ode. As they themselves are Ijebus they merely point to their capital town without associating their name with it.”

Note the meticulous mapping of the boundary and the planning of the city. Note that the exercise reportedly took whole three years! Note the communal appreciation of the pioneers who got the job done. Put all those side by side what other chapters of their history say of their survival as a people. They pay attention to details. They valourize themselves as masters of money. They say they’d been spending shillings before the white man arrived (Omo a n’áwó silè k’Óyìnbó tó dé/ Òyìnbó dé tán owó òún pò si). I plan to ask my Ijebu friends what that means. I will tell you whatever they tell me.