As President Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s administration embarks on its ambitious economic reforms, one of the most contentious and consequential initiatives is the proposed overhaul of Nigeria’s tax system. Not only been touted to be a critical measure to revitalize the nation’s finances when fully implemented, the reform aims to address chronic revenue shortfalls, curb tax evasion, and expand the tax base. Yet, as with any transformative agenda, the tax reform has sparked a wave of apprehension across different sectors of the economy. 

The proposal to expand the country’s revenue streams, including through a harmonized Value Added Tax (VAT) system, has drawn criticism from various quarters. Notably, governors in the northern region of Nigeria have raised objections to certain aspects of the reform. Their resistance, combined with a broader cultural and socio-political debate, underscores the complexity of implementing such a sweeping policy.

Despite the baseless apprehension which the move has sparked across the nation, there is no denying the fact that there is an urgent need for tax reform.  As gathered, Nigeria’s tax-to-GDP ratio, which stands at about 6.1%, is one of the lowest globally, far below the average of 16.5% for sub-Saharan Africa. This anomaly has long hindered the nation’s capacity to fund essential services and infrastructure. Given the foregoing statistical backdrop, which is no doubt appalling, Tinubu’s tax reform seeks to correct this by improving compliance, plugging revenue leakages, and promoting equity in tax collection.  

The proposed reforms include measures to simplify the tax code, introduce digital tax systems, and ensure progressive taxation where wealthier individuals and corporations contribute a fairer share. While these changes promise to boost government revenues, they have also unearthed deep-seated fears among key stakeholders.

Governors from northern Nigeria, who are no doubt largely guided by Islamic principles, have expressed reservations about elements of the tax reform, particularly those relating to VAT. A significant portion of VAT revenue in Nigeria comes from alcohol sales, a product prohibited in many northern states under Sharia law.  

Despite their objections to alcohol and their enforcement of bans on its sale and consumption, northern states have consistently benefited from the federal allocation of VAT, including revenue generated from alcohol sales. This paradox has fueled widespread criticism, with observers pointing out the inherent contradiction: how can states destroy beer trucks on one hand and still partake in the sharing of revenues from alcohol taxes on the other?  

The issue raises fundamental questions about equity and consistency. If northern states wish to remain beneficiaries of national VAT revenues, they must adopt a fairer stance towards products and industries contributing to the tax pool. Alternatively, they might need to advocate for a regional or state-specific VAT system where revenue generation and allocation align more closely with local practices and laws.

While the political pushback from northern governors garners significant attention, the business community has also voiced apprehension. Many private-sector players worry that increased tax obligations could exacerbate the financial strain on businesses already grappling with inflation, high energy costs, and foreign exchange volatility. Small and medium enterprises (SMEs), in particular, fear that stricter compliance measures might disproportionately affect their operations, pushing some to the brink of closure.  

Corporate executives argue that implementing new tax measures during an economically turbulent period could stifle investment and innovation. They call for a phased approach that allows businesses time to adapt to the changes while safeguarding their profitability.

For ordinary Nigerians, the fear is more visceral. With rising living costs and dwindling purchasing power, any hint of increased taxes feels like a dagger to the heart of survival. Tinubu’s administration has repeatedly assured citizens that the reforms are designed to target high-income earners and large corporations rather than the poor. However, skepticism remains widespread, fueled by a history of mistrust in government initiatives.  

The question lingers: “Will these reforms truly avoid cascading effects on consumer prices, or will Nigerians find themselves paying more for basic goods and services?” For many in the northern region, where poverty levels are disproportionately high, the fear is even more pronounced.

At the heart of the controversy surrounding the VAT allocation is the question of alcohol taxes. In northern states where Sharia law is enforced, alcohol is often treated as contraband. This has led to frequent raids and destruction of alcohol products being transported to markets.  

While these actions reflect the cultural and religious sentiments of the region, they also create an ethical dilemma. Should states that actively prohibit and destroy a taxable product be entitled to share in the revenues derived from its sale? This question has ignited debates across the country, with many southern stakeholders calling for a reevaluation of the VAT-sharing formula.  

Critics argue that it is unjust for northern states to reject the production and consumption of alcohol while benefiting financially from its taxation. This situation, they contend, highlights the need for a more transparent and equitable revenue allocation framework that respects regional differences without fostering dependency or contradiction.

In fact, Tinubu’s tax reform has also faced resistance within political circles. Critics argue that the administration should focus more on cutting government waste and improving expenditure efficiency before increasing taxes. Some elites, accustomed to exploiting loopholes to avoid paying their fair share, are predictably unsettled by the prospect of tighter enforcement.  

Political analysts suggest that these opponents may deploy their influence to stymie the reform’s progress, framing it as anti-business or punitive. This opposition underscores the high stakes of the reform agenda and the entrenched interests it threatens to disrupt.

Without any iota of exaggeration, it is not a misnomer to opine that the success of Tinubu’s tax reform will hinge on the administration’s ability to address these regional and sectoral concerns transparently and inclusively. This is as public engagement is crucial to dispel fears and garner support. The government must also demonstrate fiscal discipline by addressing corruption and ensuring that revenues generated through the reform are channeled into tangible improvements in infrastructure, education, healthcare, and social services.  

For the northern states, this may require a difficult but necessary reckoning. If they wish to continue benefiting from national tax revenues, they must adopt a more equitable stance on industries contributing to the tax pool. Alternatively, Nigeria may need to explore a federal VAT system that allows states to keep revenues generated locally, incentivizing them to adopt policies that encourage economic activity.

Without a doubt, Tinubu’s tax reform is a litmus test for his administration’s resolve to address Nigeria’s fiscal challenges. While fears abound, they should not overshadow the reform’s potential to catalyze a more sustainable and equitable economy.  

The controversy over northern states’ stance on alcohol taxes encapsulates the broader challenge: balancing cultural, religious, and economic considerations in a diverse nation. The question is not just “Who is afraid of Tinubu’s tax reform?” but also, “Who is willing to embrace it for the greater good of Nigeria?”  

In navigating this delicate terrain, the government must remember that meaningful reform requires not just bold ideas but also empathy, fairness, and inclusivity. If managed correctly, these reforms could lay the foundation for a stronger, more unified Nigeria where all states contribute equitably and benefit proportionately.

In the labyrinth of Nigerian politics, where loyalty is often sacrificed at the altar of ambition, the story of Donatus Matthew, a former Okada rider turned federal lawmaker, serves as a glaring illustration of opportunism. Matthew’s remarkable ascent to the House of Representatives as a representative of Kaura Federal Constituency in Southern Kaduna under the Labour Party (LP) banner was a beacon of hope, a testimony to the power of grassroots support. However, his recent defection to the ruling All Progressives Congress (APC) reveals the darker side of Nigerian politics: the propensity to betray the very platform and people who propelled one to power.  

Matthew’s journey from being an Okada rider to a federal lawmaker captured the imagination of many Nigerians. His victory over Gideon Gwani, a four-term incumbent and Minority Chief Whip of the House of Representatives under the People’s Democratic Party (PDP), was nothing short of revolutionary. It symbolized a shift in the political dynamics of Kaura Federal Constituency, fueled by the “Obidient wave” led by Peter Obi’s Labour Party.  

His story resonated deeply with Nigerians disillusioned by the political status quo. Matthew embodied the aspirations of ordinary citizens seeking representation by leaders who understood their struggles. His victory was celebrated far and wide, with activists like Stephen Kefason hailing it as a victory for the people of Southern Kaduna.  

Yet, less than two years into his tenure, Matthew has dealt a heavy blow to his supporters by defecting to the APC. This defection, coming from a man whose rise was rooted in the grassroots mobilization and ideological fervor of the Labour Party, is nothing short of a betrayal. It is a painful reminder of the opportunistic tendencies that plague Nigerian politics.  

Activist Stephen Kefason, one of Matthew’s early supporters, expressed his disappointment in a scathing post on X (formerly Twitter). Kefason did not mince words, describing Matthew as “opportunistic” and accusing him of capitalizing on Peter Obi’s popularity to secure his position, only to abandon the movement once his political ambitions were achieved.  

Matthew’s defection is not an isolated incident. It is symptomatic of a broader culture of political nomadism in Nigeria, where politicians shift allegiances for personal gain rather than ideological convictions. This behavior erodes the foundation of democracy, which thrives on accountability and trust between leaders and the electorate.  

In Matthew’s case, the timing and nature of his defection suggest that it was motivated by political convenience rather than any principled disagreement with the Labour Party’s ideology. The APC, as the ruling party, offers access to resources, patronage, and political cover, temptations that many politicians find irresistible.  

However, this culture of defection has far-reaching consequences. It diminishes public trust in politicians and undermines the credibility of political parties. When leaders like Matthew abandon the platforms that brought them to prominence, they send a message that political promises and commitments are expendable.  

Matthew’s actions raise serious questions about his character and priorities. His victory was not merely a personal achievement but a mandate entrusted to him by voters who believed in the ideals of the Labour Party and the broader “Obidient movement.” By defecting to the APC, Matthew has disregarded the trust of his constituents and aligned himself with a party that many of his supporters view as emblematic of the problems they sought to change.  

Critics have also pointed to Matthew’s underwhelming performance as a lawmaker. Since joining the National Assembly, he has reportedly not sponsored any bills or motions. This lack of legislative activity further fuels the perception that his defection is less about serving his constituents and more about securing his political future.  

Matthew’s defection underscores a troubling reality in Nigerian politics: the absence of ideological commitment among many politicians. Parties are treated as mere vehicles for achieving power, with little regard for their principles or the electorate’s aspirations. This trend undermines the development of strong political institutions and perpetuates a cycle of instability and disillusionment.  

For voters, such betrayals deepen cynicism and apathy, making it harder to mobilize grassroots support for future movements. Why invest time, energy, and hope in a leader who might abandon their mandate at the first opportunity?  

At its core, Matthew’s defection is a betrayal of trust. The Labour Party and the “Obidient wave” represented more than just a political movement; they symbolized a collective desire for change, for a new kind of politics that prioritized the needs of the people over personal ambition. By abandoning the Labour Party, Matthew has not only bitten the hand that fed him but also trampled on the hopes of those who believed in him.  

Matthew’s defection should serve as a wake-up call for political parties, voters, and institutions. Against the foregoing backdrop, it is expedient to opine that a few steps that can help mitigate the damage caused by such betrayals cut across strengthening party discipline, instilling voter accountability, instilling civic education, and reforming the political system. 

The put the foregoing steps in details, it is expedient to opine that political parties must establish mechanisms to discourage defections, such as requiring defectors to relinquish their seats. This would ensure that mandates remain tied to the parties that earned them.  

In a similar vein, constituents must hold their representatives accountable, demanding transparency and engagement throughout their tenure. Defections that betray the electorate’s trust should be met with public condemnation and political consequences.  

Also in a similar vein, there is the need for the education of voters about the importance of ideological consistency and the role of political parties in governance can help create a more informed electorate.  

Added to the above steps is that Nigeria’s political system must be restructured to prioritize service delivery over personal gain. This includes addressing the excessive perks and privileges that make political office so attractive.  

In fact, Donatus Matthew’s defection from the Labour Party to the APC is more than a personal decision; it is a reflection of the broader challenges facing Nigeria’s political landscape. By biting the hand that fed him, Matthew has not only betrayed his party and supporters but also highlighted the urgent need for reform in how politics is practiced in the country.  

For the electorate, Matthew’s actions serve as a stark reminder to scrutinize leaders not just for their promises but also for their commitment to principles. Trust is the currency of democracy, and when it is squandered, the cost is borne by all.  

As Nigeria grapples with its political challenges, one thing is clear: the path to a better future requires leaders who are not just opportunists but true representatives of the people. Donatus Matthew’s story is a cautionary tale, a lesson in the dangers of placing hope in leaders who prioritize ambition over service.  

Afe Babalola, at 95 years old, your name carries immense weight in Nigeria. You are a Senior Advocate of Nigeria (SAN), a legal titan, and a celebrated builder of institutions. You have lived a life many could only dream of—a career that began in the 1960s, when you returned from London armed with degrees and a calling to shape Nigeria’s legal landscape. Your influence spans decades, reaching your birthplace, Ado Ekiti, where you are not just a son but a kingmaker. But now, at the twilight of your life, you have allowed anger, ego, and a thirst for vengeance to taint the legacy you spent a lifetime building. Good God, Afe Babalola—at 95, what are you doing?

Farotimi and the Unchecked Wrath of Your Ego

Dele Farotimi, a human rights lawyer and fearless critic, dared to write something that bruised your pride. In his book, Nigeria and Its Criminal Justice System, he accused you of influencing the judiciary—words that clearly struck a nerve. Yes, defamation can sting; it challenges how others perceive you. But Babalola, was this how you chose to respond? By unleashing AK-47-wielding police officers to storm his legal office, abduct him like a fugitive, drag him across state lines to Ekiti—your birthplace and sphere of influence—and lock him in prison?

This wasn’t a pursuit of justice; this was rage, unchecked and weaponized. At 95, instead of offering a dignified rebuttal or seeking redress through lawful civil processes, you turned to brute force and intimidation. Babalola, are you proud of this road you’ve taken—a road paved not with law and reason, but with power and vengeance? Does this bring you peace, or does it simply reveal the fragility of a legacy built on influence but now shaken by a single book?

This is not the justice you spent decades advocating for. This is not the Afe Babalola who established institutions to educate the next generation. This is not the legacy of a man who became a beacon of excellence in the legal profession. This is something else entirely—an act of revenge, a misuse of influence, and a display of unchecked power. At 95, is this the story you want to be told about you? That you used the police, the judiciary, and your immense sway in Ekiti to crush a man who dared to say something that offended you?

Your Place of Birth and Influence: A Stage for Intimidation

Ekiti State, your birthplace, carries a legacy intertwined with your name. Ado Ekiti is more than a town; it is the foundation of your life’s story, a place shaped by your influence. Yet, like so many parts of Nigeria, it is not immune to whispers of judicial compromise—where magistrates often face undue pressure, judges tread carefully under the shadow of reprisal, and the decisions rendered sometimes reflect the weight of power more than the rule of law. It is within this complex and fragile system that Dele Farotimi now finds himself, facing circumstances that call into question the very principles of justice and fairness.

Farotimi was hauled into an Ekiti magistrate court and denied bail in a state where your word carries the force of law. A man locked in a cell not because he committed a heinous crime, but because he wrote words that angered you. Good God, Babalola, think about the pain you are inflicting on this man—not just the physical pain of imprisonment, but the mental torment of being victimized by a system you so thoroughly dominate. Is this what you want for your birthplace? For Ekiti to be remembered not as the home of a great legal mind but as a place where the powerful crush dissent?

What Will You Tell the Next Generation?

You are a teacher, a builder, and a mentor to countless lawyers. What will you tell them about this chapter of your life? That you used your immense legal knowledge to teach the importance of justice, or that you used your influence to exact revenge? What do you want young lawyers to learn from this? That defamation, an emotional wound, justifies weaponizing the police and judiciary? That the power you’ve built over a lifetime is best spent silencing critics rather than uplifting the law?

At 95, you are closer to meeting your Creator than most of us. When that time comes, what will you say to Him? That you allowed your anger to overshadow your achievements? That you used the police not as enforcers of justice but as tools of intimidation? That you let ego, not wisdom, guide your final years?

Farotimi’s Pain: What Have You Done?

Dele Farotimi’s arrest has not silenced him. It has amplified his voice. The pain you have inflicted on this man—dragging him from his legal office, imprisoning him in Ekiti, forcing him to endure a system that you know is broken—has not made you stronger. It has exposed the very abuses he speaks of. Farotimi has long said that the powerful in Nigeria use the police and judiciary to serve their interests, and here you are, proving him right.

What satisfaction have you gained from this? A fleeting sense of power? A temporary quelling of your wounded ego? Or are you simply consumed by anger, unable to see the damage you are doing—not to Farotimi, but to yourself, your legacy, and the place you call home?

A Judiciary Under Pressure, a Police Force Without Direction

Babalola, you know the judiciary in Nigeria is compromised. You’ve seen it all—the bribes, the pressures, the rulings dictated by influence. Judges in Ekiti, like in most parts of Nigeria, often act under duress, fearing the repercussions of defying powerful figures like you. You know this, and yet you allowed Farotimi to be locked up in this system. What does this achieve? What is the point of having a magistrate remand him when the system itself is so riddled with flaws? Is this the justice you want to be remembered for?

And the police—those who stormed Farotimi’s office with rifles, as though they were capturing a dangerous criminal—what message does this send to the world? That in Nigeria, a man can be treated like a fugitive for words he wrote in a book? That the police exist not to protect citizens but to serve the anger of the elite? Babalola, this is the system you have chosen to align yourself with. This is the system you now represent.

Afe Babalola’s Painful Choices—Will the Nightmares Ever End?

Here you are, going to sleep tonight with Dele Farotimi locked up in prison, awaiting his next hearing on December 10, as ordered by Magistrate Abayomi Adeosun. For defamation—a matter long recognized as civil—and with the police attempting to justify their actions under the pretext of cybercrime, this charade is nothing short of tragic. Cybercrime, a convenient catch-all accusation in Nigeria’s legal landscape, was introduced here as a desperate attempt to add weight to a case that should never have escalated beyond civil litigation.

How do you reconcile this with your legacy, built over decades of legal excellence? Will the nights ahead be haunted by dreams of him, locked behind bars because of your wounded ego—a 95-year-old man with a name revered across Nigeria, now risking it all in an act of power-driven vengeance?

What justice is there in using your influence to imprison a man for words? Your legacy deserved better, but now it will carry the weight of this moment—a moment where wisdom gave way to anger, and power overshadowed fairness. Will these decisions let you sleep in peace, or will they leave you questioning the choices that have brought you here?

Afe Babalola: Fighting Words with Guns—Is This the Legacy You Want?

No matter the AK-47s or the heavy-handed tactics, at the core of this spectacle lies a wounded ego, Babalola. Farotimi’s 2024 book, Nigeria and Its Criminal Justice System, questioned your legacy with allegations that you influenced Supreme Court judgments for your clients, casting shadows over the judiciary’s integrity. Instead of meeting these words with truth, debate, or the dignity expected of a man of your stature, you chose a path of force—arming the police to silence a critic. Babalola, do you truly believe this brutal display of power will restore your name, or does it reveal a deeper fear of the very words that challenge your legacy? At 95, is this what your decades of excellence have come to—a battle against words with guns?

Turning Farotimi’s Book Into a Symbol of Resistance

Oh Babalola, in your fit of emotional outrage and abuse of power, you have achieved the very opposite of what you intended. By targeting Dele Farotimi, a human rights lawyer, you have turned him into a symbol of defiance against oppression. His book, Nigeria and Its Criminal Justice System, once an underappreciated critique of systemic corruption, is now a sensation. Thousands are Googling it, publishers are overwhelmed with orders, and now, more than ever, they will know the rot you sought to bury.

The words you tried to silence are echoing louder than ever, exposing the very system you are a part of. Afe, your actions have amplified his truth, and this is what you get—turning a critic into a hero and your legacy into a cautionary tale of ego and misused power.

What Will You Tell God?

At 95, you have seen more of life than most. You have achieved what many can only dream of. But in these final years, what will you tell God when you meet Him? That you used your influence to lock up a man who challenged you? That your anger over words in a book drove you to misuse the very institutions you once upheld? That the power you spent a lifetime building was ultimately spent silencing dissent? Babalola, is this how you want to go out of this life?

A Civil Matter Turned Cruel—Why Has Justice Been Forsaken?

Babalola, this is the painful ending you have chosen for yourself at 95. A legacy built on decades of legal excellence and national respect now overshadowed by an act of vengeance. Dele Farotimi, a human rights lawyer, sits locked in a Nigerian prison—a place of overcrowded cells, no sanitation, and unimaginable suffering—all for words he wrote in a book. Words.

Defamation, firmly rooted in civil law, should never have spiraled into this grim spectacle. Criminal defamation, long abolished in Lagos and dismissed by modern legal standards, has no place here. And even if it did, the principles of bail and humane treatment demand fairness. Yet here we are, with a man stripped of his freedom, dragged from Lagos to Ekiti, and left to endure conditions that break the human spirit.

This was never about justice. It’s about a chilling message—not just to Farotimi but to anyone who dares to speak truth to power. Why, in a matter so clearly civil, must the punishment be so brutal and disproportionate? Even if the system could somehow justify these charges, why take a route so steeped in cruelty and ego-driven vengeance? Why allow your towering legacy to be tarnished by actions that defy compassion, fairness, and wisdom?

A Legacy at Risk: Your Final Chapter Is Being Written

Babalola, your legacy, built over decades, is being rewritten—not by your achievements but by this act of anger. It is no longer about the institutions you built or the respect you earned. It is about this moment, a moment where your choices have overshadowed everything else. Farotimi’s imprisonment is not just a story about him; it is a story about you, your choices, and the path you have taken in the twilight of your life.

At 95, you stand at a crossroads. Will this be the final chapter history remembers—a man who let ego and wounded pride define his legacy? Or will you step back, release Farotimi, and allow wisdom to guide your final years?

The world is watching, and history will not forget. Good God, Babalola—at 95, is this really how it ends?

Indian Prime Minister, Shri Narendra Modi‘s state visit to Nigeria from 17-18 November 17 – 18 to “strengthen the current India-Nigeria Strategic Partnership” was but a renewal of over six decades of bilateral relationship between India and Nigeria dating back to 1958 – two years before Nigeria secured her independence from Britain. While the two leaders spoke of the immense potential for collaboration in the fields of trade, investment, education, energy, health, culture, Prime Minister Modi also offered India’s experience in agriculture, transportation, affordable medicine, renewable energy, and digital transformation to Nigeria.

Nigeria has always benefitted from her close relationship with India. For instance, besides the support of India teachers and doctors which Nigeria enjoyed immediately after independence, it is on record that it was India that established the National Defence Academy in Kaduna and the Naval War College, Port Harcourt. Today there are about 60,000-strong Indian expatriate community in Nigeria and over 200 Indian companies with investment portfolio of over $27 billion.

As post-colonial nation-states created by Britain to satisfy her greed for continued exploitation of resources of conquered and colonized territories, India and Nigeria share some parallels. Both are heterogeneous and multicultural societies where groups at different levels of cultural development were forcibly merged together without consultation. While Nigeria with a population of over 200m has about 350 ethnic groups, India with a population of about 1.4 billion has over 2000 ethnic groups. Sowing the seeds of future instability by Britain was not by accident. British officials, after all, had earlier boasted that it was their presence alone that had prevented the newly created states of Africa and Asia ‘from disastrous descent into turmoil of warring sects’. Institutionalising a federal arrangement for strange bed-fellows as a strategy for exploiting ethnic consciousness of federating ethnic nationalities was not out of place.

 India is ethnically diverse with significant diversity within regions; almost every state and several districts have its own distinct mixture of ethnicities, traditions, and culture. But India, unlike Nigeria has been able to manage her diversity because India’s political elite saw their pluralism as strength and accepted the challenge of living together. They saw nothing wrong with tribes and made conscious effort to create states on basis of languages spoken by citizens such as Maharashtra, Punjab and West Bengal.

The federal system of India provides equality to all the citizens as well as freedom of expression and freedom to practice their religion, etc. In terms of financial relations, India follows a system of fiscal federalism, where financial resources are distributed between the central and state governments. The constitution provides for the sharing of taxes and grants-in-aid to ensure financial autonomy for the states.

Like India, our own 1957 constitution also laid down the framework for a federal system of government clearly defining the powers and responsibilities of the central and regional governments. The regional list includes subjects of local or regional importance, such as police, public health, and agriculture. The concurrent list includes subjects on which both the central and state governments can legislate. Fiscal federalism ensures or guarantees financial autonomy of federating regions.

Sadly,  unlike India’s elite, our deceitful political elite undermined our own federal arrangement by unconstitutionally interfering in the affairs of the regions, and assaulting the tribes, the building block for African societies, claiming, albeit falsely, that it is possible to love Nigeria more than your family or your tribe which will be like climbing the palm tree from the top.

 Despite the provision of the 1957 constitution, the feudal lords in the north did not allow freedom of religion. The 1963 republican constitution, the first to be wholly midwifed by Nigerian elite provided the coalition partners an opportunity to insert a clause that would allow them to arrest and detain people without court order for expressing their opinion. The first victim was Obafemi Awolowo who was detained for criticizing Anglo-Nigerian defence pact.

However, while India was busy setting up technology special schools (India Institute of Technology (IITS), the India Institute of Science (IISc) and National Institute of Technology (NITS) that attracted the best brains among India’s youths which has today resulted in Indian engineers heading most of the leading tech companies in the world, we were busy replicating federal government unity schools across Nigeria.

India started the arduous task by first taming the feudal lords, who had to be replaced by the capitalist class who know how to mobilise the people to secure power. India did this without underestimating the intrigues of the metropolitan powers. As President Bola Tinubu moves from France to Britain and to Germany, he must not forget the duplicitous role of Britain as foremost promoter of ethnic consciousness, secret supporter of Fulani claim of ownership of Nigeria, and betrayer of  Biafra that had expected her support  as chief promoter of ethnic consciousness.

India therefore emerged as a union of nationalist groups that respect the culture and values of federating members. Apart from Hindi, the official language spoken by about 40 percent, there are about 20 other recognized languages. They understand their challenges include taming the feudal lords who have to be replaced by the capitalist class. They did not underestimate the intrigues of the metropolitan powers in the guise of promoting ethnic consciousness. Or preventing the disintegration of areas amalgamated without consideration for their level of cultural development and favoured one group above the other.

Patriotism for Indians is not about loving India. That comes naturally from the union of nationalities. They don’t have to set up unity schools, institutionalize quota system of admission to tertiary institutions or into bureaucracy, discriminatory admission marks for JAMB or decree a National Youth Service in pursuit of elusive unity.

Instead, they set up competitive tech schools that attract the best of their youths. The result today is that most of the best tech companies in the world are headed by Indians.  Indian leaders don’t need to decree patriotism. The billions of dollars repatriated back to India yearly by their tech experts in high demand in Europe and North America speak louder than the voices of those turned their brainwaves to state policies.

India’s visionary leaders didn’t have to mouth unity or patriotism. All they did was to invest in the education of their youths. The product of such schools are today in charge of India’s economy, ranked fifth in the world by GDP and in fact projected to become the third largest economy by the end of the decade.

We institutionalized quota system of admission into the unity schools to accommodate those who as a result of lower scores could not compete with their counterparts. In the name of unity, we set up JAMB to accommodate those who have no business in the universities, and quota system of recruiting third class graduates at the expense of first class graduates into the bureaucracy.

We don’t need to search far as to why India has become choice destination for Nigeria’s medical tourism, why our best graduates are moving in droves to seek greener pastures in Europe, Canada and USA and why India’s elite has been able to stabilize their democracy, their economy, sent satellite to the moon and became a nuclear power while our own elite remain the scourge of our nation.