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Nigeria is not dying. Nigeria is transforming — painfully, loudly, and sometimes clumsily — but it is transforming all the same. Those who look only at the surface see the hardship; those who look deeper see a country breaking free from decades of manipulation. President Bola Ahmed Tinubu may not be the most popular man in the country right now, but make no mistake — he is forcing Nigeria to swallow the bitter pill that could finally cure its long-standing illness.
Tinubu did not inherit a country at peace with itself. He took over a nation exhausted from years of broken promises, failed economic experiments, and foreign entanglements disguised as aid. Nigeria had become addicted to shortcuts—cheap fuel, easy loans, and imported solutions. When Tinubu decided to confront these illusions head-on, the pain was inevitable. But beyond the domestic discomfort, what truly unsettled the Western world was Nigeria’s sudden refusal to bend.
For years, foreign governments—especially the United States and parts of Europe—have treated Nigeria like a younger brother who must always ask for permission before taking a breath. They influence trade, dictate policies, and decide which leaders get international applause. But this time, Abuja said “enough.” When Nigeria recently refused to accept deported foreign-based criminals—people who had long renounced their citizenship rights through crime abroad—it shocked the diplomatic order. For once, Nigeria said: you cannot treat us like a waste-bin for your failed immigrants. Those who had been convicted abroad and deported would not simply be dumped back home without due process or accountability.
That singular decision—small as it seemed—sent tremors through the quiet machinery of control. Nigeria, the most populous black nation on earth, was not only saying “no”, it said it with confidence. The reaction was swift. The same Western press that once hailed Tinubu’s democratic credentials suddenly found its voice to question his legitimacy, to criticise his reforms, to amplify every protest against his policies. Subtle pressure began—policy warnings, travel advisories, investment threats. It is the classic Western play-book: if persuasion fails, use propaganda; if propaganda fails, fund dissent.
And that is exactly what is happening now. Behind the noise of “human‐rights activism” and “free speech advocacy”, several Western‐backed groups have found new life in Nigeria. These are not always the genuine patriots or defenders of democracy. Some are political mercenaries—unpatriotic Nigerians hiding behind human rights slogans to weaken their own country. Many receive foreign grants, disguised as NGO support, but their real assignment is to paint the government as tyrannical and unstable, to push Nigeria into the same chaos that consumed Libya and Sudan.
Look closely and you’ll detect the pattern. Every reform that threatens foreign interests is promptly branded as “anti‐people”. Every security operation against extremists becomes a “human rights violation”. Every economic policy aimed at independence is twisted into an “attack on the poor”. These narratives don’t originate from ordinary Nigerians; they are created and funded from outside, repackaged locally by voices who have traded patriotism for foreign relevance.
They want to drag Nigeria back to the dark days—the years of coups, confusion, perennial foreign dependency. They want to make Nigerians believe that democracy has failed, so that the streets fill with anger, the system collapses, and the same foreign sponsors step in pretending to save us. It’s the same script they used in other African countries—destabilise, demonise, divide. First, they fund the protest. Then they fuel the propaganda. Then, finally, they install chaos in the name of “freedom”.
But this time, Nigeria must not fall for it. Tinubu’s “Renewed Hope” agenda is not about pleasing the West; it is about securing the future. Yes, the fuel subsidy removal hurt. Yes, inflation is biting. But these are growing pains—the birth marks of a nation trying to stand upright after years of crawling. For once, a Nigerian leader is facing reality instead of hiding behind excuses. He is saying: let us endure the hardship now, so our children will not inherit our weakness.
The Western world cannot accept that kind of awakening. For them, a strong Nigeria is a dangerous Nigeria. A self‐reliant Nigeria means fewer Western contracts, fewer exploitative loans, fewer puppet leaders to control. So they push back, quietly, through embassies, think-tanks and media. They fund stories about “corruption” when their concern should be about capacity. They exaggerate statistics and paint every policy as a failure—because they know perception can destroy progress faster than fact.
What makes their plan more dangerous is the complicity of some Nigerian elites who should know better. Some of our so-called activists, social critics and “rights defenders” have become tools in this invisible war. They use Western talking points to attack their own country, pretending to fight for “freedom” while feeding the very narratives that weaken national sovereignty. They are quick to condemn government action, but silent about the external manipulation behind our challenges. They accept foreign money to insult their homeland and call it advocacy.
No country became great by allowing outsiders to define its story. The United States itself went through decades of poverty, inequality and protest before it became what it is. Britain, France, Germany—all built national capacity before claiming leadership. Why then should Nigeria be denied its right to reform itself simply because the process is painful?
Tinubu’s reforms are not miracles; they are corrections. Removing subsidies, floating the naira, restructuring the economy—these are roots of independence, not the fruits. The West knows that once Nigeria survives this phase, it will no longer be a dependent market; it will be a competitor. That is their real fear.
The irony is glaring: the same countries now lecturing Nigeria on “human rights” have deported Africans as cargo, denied visas to students, enforced brutal immigration rules, yet act offended when Nigeria refuses to accept back criminals they produced. The hypocrisy is gross—they export problems, then lecture us on governance.
Nigeria’s biggest enemy has never been hunger or hardship. It has always been hypocrisy—both foreign and domestic. The foreign powers that exploit us and the local voices that echo them are two sides of the same coin. But Nigerians are wiser now. The youth who protested for change are beginning to see that not every loud voice loves the country. Some simply love the spotlight.
The world may try to isolate this government, but it cannot isolate Nigeria’s destiny. Tinubu’s administration may not be perfect—but for the first time in a long while, Nigeria is charting a course that is unmistakably Nigerian—independent, assertive, unapologetic. The coming months will test the nation’s patience—and its maturity. The question is whether we will endure the heat to enjoy the harvest.
The West can keep its lectures. What Nigeria needs now is solidarity, not sabotage. Our future will not be defined by the noise of those who want us to fail, but by the resolve of those who refuse to give up. Tinubu’s “Renewed Hope” may not please everyone today, but history will remember it as the turning point when Nigeria finally decided to stop begging and start building.
The Western world may frown; their funded activists may shout. But Nigeria is done being anyone’s project. We have become too wise, too wounded, and too proud to be fooled again.
Mogaji Wole Arisekola writes from Ibadan.
