Tinubu and the Erosion of Our National Values and Institutions

It bears constant reminder that in a republic like Nigeria, no elected or appointed public official—regardless of rank—holds office to rule, but to serve. Our democracy is not a monarchy, nor is it an absolutist regime where power is wielded without accountability. Public office must remain a platform for stewardship, not self-aggrandizement.

President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, either by direct action or by acquiescence, has overseen a series of decisions that undermine the spirit and integrity of our national values and institutions. While many of these actions appear to follow the letter of the law, they fall short of upholding the democratic principles of transparency, consultation, and public interest.

A prime example is the recent restoration of the colonial-era national anthem, “Nigeria, We Hail Thee.” This change, imposed without meaningful public engagement, was hastily pushed through the National Assembly. The process lacked the participatory essence that democratic societies demand for such symbolic decisions. If a president today can arbitrarily change the national anthem, what stops another from reversing it tomorrow—or worse, composing an entirely new one at will? National symbols must not be treated like personal property.

Equally troubling is the decision in March 2024 to rename the Abubakar Imam International Airport in Minna after President Tinubu. Governor Umaru Bago’s move to replace the name of a revered son of the soil—a literary icon and pioneer journalist—with that of a sitting president was widely condemned. Even if the gesture was politically motivated at the state level, the presidency could—and should—have declined it in deference to national unity, modesty, and propriety.

More recently, the Abuja International Conference Centre (AICC) was renamed Bola Ahmed Tinubu International Conference Centre following its renovation. This mirrors a growing pattern of premature self-honouring. The AICC was built under General Ibrahim Babangida without being named after him. In democracies from which we borrow these traditions, such honors are typically reserved for individuals after they have left office—or posthumously—so that their legacies can be objectively evaluated and rightly celebrated.

When public servants use state resources to renovate national landmarks and then rename them after their benefactors, it reeks of sycophancy and cheapens the prestige of public recognition. True honour comes not from titles but from the enduring impact of leadership and service. Titles conferred in haste or flattery risk being reversed in a future era that values integrity over vanity.

To be clear: President Tinubu and his FCT Minister, Nyesom Wike, have undeniably made visible improvements in Abuja within two years—more, arguably, than what their predecessors achieved in eight. Let that record speak for itself. If sustained, history will remember and honour them appropriately—without the need for premature inscriptions on walls.

In the end, Nigeria is greater than any individual. Our values, symbols, and institutions must reflect that truth—not be diminished by political expediency or personal glorification.

Vanguard

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