On The Frontline With Boma
The recent reports of a foiled coup against President Bola Ahmed Tinubu have once again thrust Nigeria into the uneasy glare of political tension. News of the arrest of sixteen senior military officers, coupled with the Defence Headquarters’ swift denial, has set the nation abuzz. The conflicting narratives have left citizens wondering what exactly is happening behind the high walls of power.
While official statements describe the alleged plot as “unfounded,” the scale of arrests and the speed with which the matter escalated suggest that something of national importance may have occurred. Nigerians, wary from past experiences, are watching closely—balancing scepticism with genuine concern.
The accompanying raid on the home of Chief Timipre Sylva, former Minister of State for Petroleum Affairs, adds another twist. His home in Abuja was reportedly searched by security operatives amid allegations that the Managing Director of the Niger Delta Development Commission (NDDC) withdrew vast sums of money for him. The NDDC boss himself was said to have been taken in for questioning.
Chief Sylva has since denied any wrongdoing, describing the entire incident as a “politically motivated witch-hunt.” His statement came amid growing unease that political battles may be spilling into the security space at a time Nigeria can least afford instability.
These unfolding events evoke troubling memories of Nigeria’s chequered history with military interventions. Since the first coup of January 15, 1966, the country has witnessed a series of power seizures that truncated democratic aspirations, distorted institutions, and left scars on the national psyche.
The coups of 1966, 1975, 1983, 1985, and 1993 are grim reminders of a recurring nightmare. Each military takeover came with promises of reform, discipline, and national rebirth—but in the end, Nigeria was left with broken promises, eroded freedoms, and damaged economic foundations.
During the long years of military rule, the press was gagged, human rights were abused, and corruption ironically flourished under the same regimes that claimed to fight it. The cost to Nigeria’s democratic development cannot be overstated.
The sub-region’s recent experiences are also worrying. From Mali to Burkina Faso, Niger Republic, and Gabon, the drums of coup d’état have been beating again, suggesting a relapse of democratic values across West and Central Africa. The contagion effect is real—and Nigeria, as a regional leader, must be alert.
When the Nigerien military ousted President Mohamed Bazoum in 2023, few imagined how quickly such anti-democratic tendencies could spread. Today, ECOWAS’s authority has been tested and weakened, while military juntas justify their actions with the rhetoric of national salvation.
But can we ever truly find salvation in the barrel of a gun? The lessons of history say no. Nigeria’s worst democratic government, with all its flaws, remains better than the best of military regimes. Military rule is an aberration—a disruption of the people’s collective will.
Nigeria suffered deeply under the gun. From political executions to economic mismanagement, to the suppression of dissent and the silencing of intellectual voices, those years left deep wounds that still bleed quietly.
Democracy, though slow, remains the surest path to reform. It allows for accountability, debate, and periodic renewal through elections. The alternative—the forceful overthrow of government—leads only to uncertainty and repression.
Those who romanticize coups forget that soldiers are trained for combat, not governance. Their rule often replaces dialogue with decrees and turns citizens into subjects rather than participants in nation-building.
The alleged foiled coup, if true, should serve as a warning sign of discontent—perhaps within the ranks, or within the broader social structure. Nigeria’s deepening poverty, unemployment, and insecurity can indeed create fertile ground for desperation and conspiracy.
Today, millions of Nigerians live below the poverty line. The cost of living has become unbearable. A hungry citizen is easily swayed by populist rhetoric or by those who promise stability through force. But that is a dangerous illusion.
A poor and frustrated populace becomes vulnerable—to ill health, to manipulation, to crime. This is why governance must be sensitive, transparent, and accountable. The legitimacy of democracy depends not only on elections but also on economic justice.
The Tinubu administration must therefore see this episode not merely as a threat to its authority but as a signal of the urgent need to rebuild trust with the people. Nigerians need hope, not fear. They need jobs, not propaganda. They need food, not rhetoric.
Security agencies, for their part, must avoid the temptation to politicize intelligence. The military must remain loyal to the constitution, not to any individual. It is their professionalism and neutrality that safeguard democracy, not their silence or complicity.
The media, too, must play its role responsibly—probing without sensationalism, holding power to account without jeopardizing national stability. Rumour and conjecture only deepen national anxiety.
Nigeria must also strengthen its institutions. The legislature, judiciary, and civil society must act as bulwarks against democratic erosion. Where institutions are weak, power becomes concentrated, and coups—both military and political—become easier to justify.
It is time for introspection. The recurring whispers of coups reflect a deeper malaise—a nation still struggling with identity, justice, and equitable development. Until these root causes are addressed, the shadow of the barracks will always loom.
Yet, the Nigerian spirit is resilient. We have survived wars, dictatorships, recessions, and terrorism. What we need now is collective vigilance. The aphorism holds true: “If you see something, say something.”
Silence in the face of tyranny is complicity. Wole Soyinka’s The Man Died reminds us that “the man dies in all who keep silent in the face of tyranny.” This is not just a literary truth—it is a civic call to courage.
We must therefore reject those “merchants of drawback”—the ones who trade in fear, confusion, and nostalgia for military order. They must find no audience among a people determined to move forward, however difficult the journey may be.
Democracy is messy, imperfect, and often frustrating. But it is ours—the collective expression of our will to be free. Let us nurture it, defend it, and never again trade it for the deceptive comfort of the gun.
On The Frontline With Boma is published by The Port Harcourt Telegraph Newspaper
