By
Nze David N. Ugwu
Let’s stop pretending.
Dictators don’t sneak in through the window. We Nigerians open the front door, sweep the floor, lay red carpet—and then act surprised when they take the entire house.
We did it before. We’re doing it again.
Dictators don’t always come with guns. Sometimes they come with manifestos, agbada, and a sweet tongue. Sometimes they win elections. Sometimes they rig them. But the end is always the same: once they enter, they never want to leave.
And if you hand one man both the yam and the knife, don’t cry when he eats everything—even the peel.
The “Messiah” Scam
Every dictator in Nigeria starts as a “messiah.” In 1966, the soldiers said they were saving us from corrupt politicians. We believed them.
In 1983, Buhari marched in with “War Against Indiscipline.” People cheered. By the time he was locking up journalists and chasing market women with whips, it was too late.
In 1999, Obasanjo arrived as the father of the new democracy. But the moment he sat in Aso Rock, he started testing the waters. He chased third term like a man chasing stolen suya. Thankfully, Nigerians dragged him back. Just barely.
Buhari 2.0 — Different Calendar, Same Script
Then came Buhari again in 2015. This time with a fresh suit, a rebranded image, and promises of change. Nigerians, tired of PDP’s wahala, voted with their chest.
But change came wearing handcuffs. Under him, the courts lost their voice. National Assembly became a laughing stock. Elections were more drama than democracy. And anytime someone raised a finger, DSS would knock on their gate at 3am.
He left the stage, but not before normalizing impunity.
Tinubu: The Crown Without the Crown
Now Tinubu is here—and make no mistake, he’s not playing small politics. This is not chess. It’s Monopoly.
The 2023 elections? A daylight insult. INEC danced shaku-shaku on its own guidelines. Yet we moved on.
The courts? Let’s not deceive ourselves. Nigerians watched live as judicial robes were turned into agbada. Verdicts came faster than power outages, and logic was often missing in action.
The National Assembly? More like a fan club. Instead of checking the executive, they’re checking their alerts.
The man in Aso Rock knows this. And he’s playing the long game. Consolidating power. Appointing loyalists. Silencing critics. Buying silence where possible, ignoring noise where necessary. That’s how soft dictatorships form—not overnight, but inch by inch.
Our Problem: We Adjust Too Much
The real issue isn’t just the man in power. It’s the rest of us. We adjust. We adapt. We normalize nonsense.
Fuel hits ₦1000? We trek.
Electricity disappears? We buy inverter.
Dollar hits ₦1,800? We pray.
We turn national trauma into memes and comedy skits. We tweet, vent, and move on.
But while we laugh, power is shifting. Institutions are crumbling. And one man is growing bigger than the constitution.
The Warning
When the courts fear one man…
When lawmakers serve one man…
When the people cheer one man blindly…
That’s not democracy. That’s monarchy without the crown.
Dictators don’t always come with force. Sometimes they come with form. And we Nigerians—masters of survival—often mistake survival for freedom.
But remember: the day you can’t criticize your government without fear, that’s the day you’re no longer free.
We’ve seen this movie before. Let’s not act like we don’t know how it ends.
The question is not whether another dictator can emerge.
The question is: have we already built the throne?
NZE DAVID N. UGWU IS MANAGING CONSULTANT, KNOWLEDGE RESEARCH CONSULT
