When President Bola Ahmed Tinubu reshuffled his security chiefs amid swirling rumours of a coup, the move instantly ignited public imagination. To some, it was vindication, proof of a leader’s foresight and strategic acumen. To others, it was an indictment, a silent confession that all was not well within the corridors of power. As Nigeria’s political theatre often reminds us, perception frequently rivals truth in shaping history’s verdict.
This reflection is not an attempt to authenticate or debunk the coup whispers. Rather, it seeks to unravel the psychology of power, the anatomy of perception, and the perennial dance between trust and survival that defines governance in a deeply plural society like Nigeria. Whether Tinubu’s decision sprang from solid intelligence, political instinct, or simple prudence, it mirrors the complexities of leadership in a nation where even silence can be interpreted as a signal.
Discontent in Nigeria has often been fertilized by a familiar seed: the cry of marginalization, the haunting suspicion of favoritism and nepotism. These have, in turn, nurtured agitations for zoning and rotational leadership, a political mechanism meant to share the spoils of power across regions. Yet, as Plato warned centuries ago, “The measure of a man is what he does with power.” The noble ideal that a leader should be just and neutral sounds poetic in theory, but collides with the raw realism of human nature, where sentiment, loyalty, and emotion often eclipse objectivity.
The belief that power carries personal dividends has created fierce competition among Nigeria’s ethnic nationalities. In the nation’s unending struggle for recognition, each group seeks not just participation but dominance, to have “their own” in positions that matter. Thus, favoritism becomes both shield and sword: a tool of self-protection and an emblem of pride.
Yet, the moral condemnation of nepotism often overlooks its psychological and sociological enablers. Human beings, as Max Weber noted in his exploration of bureaucracy and authority, naturally gravitate toward those they know and trust. In societies fractured by ethnic, religious, and regional lines, trust becomes an endangered commodity. Leaders, therefore, cling to familiarity as a mechanism of survival. This is less a defect of character than an instinct of preservation, the ancient reflex to draw allies close when the walls appear to tremble.
Critics have accused the Tinubu administration of nepotism and regional imbalance in appointments. But the assumption that any leader could transcend the gravitational pull of sentiment seems naïve. The truth is, nepotism thrives not merely because of moral weakness, but because of cultural norms and political necessity. Ask any citizen if, given power, they would help their friends or relatives, and most would say yes — not out of corruption, but compassion. Society itself celebrates such gestures. We glorify stories of leaders who rewarded loyal friends, remembered old benefactors, or helped the poor from their hometowns. The moral script changes only when we are not the beneficiaries.
Nasir El-Rufai, former governor of Kaduna State, once quipped that those who have power will naturally help their friends, and if others had the same opportunity, they too would do the same. His words, though controversial, reflect a pragmatic truth about governance: leaders consolidate power by surrounding themselves with the familiar. As Niccolò Machiavelli observed in The Prince, “It is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot be both,” but it is always safer to be surrounded by those whose loyalty is personal, not transactional.
History affirms this logic. During his tenure, former President Muhammadu Buhari appointed a significant number of his security chiefs and key ministers from the North, a move that drew criticism but ensured a trusted circle. Tinubu, in turn, seems to have replicated this pattern within the South-West. To condemn one and exonerate the other is to ignore the cyclical nature of Nigerian power politics. Each presidency reconfigures the security map to reflect its trust boundaries, not necessarily its ethnic bias.
The recent whispers of a coup on Nigeria’s Independence Day, October 1st, may have merely accelerated Tinubu’s recalibration of the nation’s security architecture. In volatile times, loyalty becomes as strategic as intelligence. The philosopher Thomas Hobbes, in Leviathan, argued that self-preservation is the first law of nature. If so, then every act of power consolidation, however morally ambiguous, is also an act of self-defense.
To dismiss nepotism as mere corruption is, therefore, to misunderstand its deeper context in statecraft. It is both a symptom of distrust and a strategy for stability. Leaders who perceive threats, whether real or imagined, will always seek refuge among the loyal, even if loyalty is defined by blood, faith, or friendship. The real task before the Nigerian state is not to expect saints in power but to create institutions strong enough to check the excesses of human frailty.
Tinubu’s case, then, sits on the edge of paradox — what looks like nepotism to some may well be political prudence to others. In an era of identity politics, rising discontent, and renewed coup rhetoric across Africa, securing trust becomes an existential necessity. Whether history will remember Tinubu’s reshuffle as vindication or indictment will depend less on who he appointed and more on what those appointments achieve for national stability. After all, in the final analysis, governance, like life, is often judged not by the purity of intentions but by the preservation of the state.
Bagudu can be reached at bagudumohammed15197@gmail.com or on 0703 494 3575.
