Opinion

By Sonia Wa Sarki

I write this letter to call the attention of Nigerian graduates to the urgent need to learn veritable and viable skills. The realities of today’s world have shown that academic certificates alone are no longer sufficient to guarantee a meaningful livelihood. The growing rate of unemployment in Nigeria calls for a rethink of how young graduates prepare themselves for life after school.

Every year, thousands of students graduate from universities, polytechnics, and colleges of education across the country. Unfortunately, the labour market cannot absorb them all. The available jobs are too few, and competition is fierce. Those who rely only on their certificates without developing practical, marketable skills often find themselves stranded, frustrated, and disillusioned.

It is no longer news that many young Nigerians roam the streets with impressive degrees but little to show in terms of personal enterprise. Some spend years submitting applications that yield no results. Others become dependent on their families, while a few give in to despair. The question that every graduate must ask is: what can I do with my own hands that can sustain me, even if no one gives me a white-collar job?

Skill acquisition is the surest answer to that question. Beyond academic knowledge, every graduate needs to learn something practical that the society demands. Skills such as digital technology, software development, photography, tailoring, catering, welding, shoemaking, agriculture, or even content creation can open unexpected doors of opportunities. Many Nigerians who embraced skills early now employ others, including degree holders.

Graduates must understand that the global economy is changing. The age of oil wealth and government jobs is fading fast, while the knowledge and creative economies are rising. Nations now reward innovation, entrepreneurship, and resilience more than mere certificates. Nigeria cannot be an exception, and her graduates must adjust accordingly.

It is also important to stress that learning a skill does not diminish the value of one’s degree. Rather, it enhances it. A graduate of engineering who also learns carpentry or metalwork is far more resourceful than one who waits endlessly for an engineering job. A graduate of English who also learns publishing, editing, or graphic design can create multiple income streams. Education and skills should complement each other.

Moreover, employers themselves now look beyond certificates when hiring. They want problem solvers, creative thinkers, and innovators. A graduate who demonstrates practical competence stands out more than one who merely quotes theories from textbooks. Skills sharpen critical thinking, instil discipline, and provide a sense of independence that certificates alone may not offer.

Dear Nigerian graduates, it is time to rise above excuses and face reality. The government may provide some jobs, but it cannot employ everyone. Waiting endlessly for opportunities is a dangerous gamble. The future belongs to those who take initiative, who refuse to be idle, and who create value through the mastery of viable skills.

Parents and educational institutions also have a role to play. Schools must integrate vocational training into their curricula, while parents should encourage their children to explore talents beyond the classroom. Society at large must begin to respect artisans, entrepreneurs, and skill-based workers as much as professionals in traditional fields.

In conclusion, this letter is not to discourage academic pursuit but to remind Nigerian graduates that degrees alone are not enough in the present world. Certificates may open doors, but skills sustain livelihoods. The graduates who will thrive in today’s Nigeria are those who combine knowledge with practical ability. To every graduate out there, my message is simple: learn a skill today, and secure your tomorrow.

Sonia Wa Sarki writes from Department of Mass Communication, University of Maiduguri, Nigeria.

By Salama Ishaku

The issue of phone snatching has become a serious threat to the peace and safety of many Nigerian communities. What was once considered a petty crime has now grown into a menace that leaves people living in fear. From major cities to smaller towns, countless residents have sad tales of how their phones were forcefully taken from them in broad daylight or under the cover of night.

The danger lies not only in the theft of valuable devices but also in the violent methods often employed by the culprits. Victims are sometimes attacked with sharp objects, beaten, or even fatally injured when they resist. What should have been a simple theft frequently escalates into a tragic encounter that leaves lasting trauma on individuals and families.

Phone snatching has become particularly rampant in busy areas such as motor parks, traffic hold-ups, markets, and dark alleys. Motorcyclists, popularly known as “okada riders,” are often linked with this crime, as they swiftly snatch phones from unsuspecting victims before disappearing into thin air. Such incidents happen so quickly that passers-by hardly have time to react, making the criminals more daring.

For many victims, the loss of a phone is not just about the cost of the device. Mobile phones have become essential tools for daily life — for business, banking, communication, education, and even healthcare. Losing one means losing access to vital contacts, financial accounts, and sensitive information. The emotional toll of such an experience is equally devastating.

The root causes of this menace are not far-fetched. High unemployment, drug abuse, and the quest for quick money drive many young people into such crimes. Peer pressure and lack of proper parental guidance also play significant roles. Sadly, society has reached a point where criminal acts like phone snatching are sometimes seen as normal, even celebrated in certain circles.

Law enforcement agencies have made efforts to curb this trend, but the problem persists. In some cities, special patrol teams have been deployed to hotspots, leading to several arrests. However, weak prosecution and poor follow-up often mean that offenders return to the streets to continue their trade. Without stronger deterrents, phone snatching will only continue to thrive.

Community members also have a responsibility in tackling this menace. Vigilance and cooperation with security agencies can make a difference. Neighbourhood watch groups, street lighting, and community awareness campaigns can discourage criminals and protect residents. People must also be cautious with phone use in public places, especially in vulnerable locations.

Technology can also be harnessed in the fight against phone snatching. Tracking applications, biometric locks, and quick reporting systems can make stolen devices less useful to thieves. Mobile phone companies and service providers should work with security agencies to disable stolen phones, thereby reducing the incentive for theft.

Beyond policing and technology, addressing the root causes of crime remains key. Job creation, youth empowerment, and rehabilitation programmes for drug users can gradually reduce the number of young people turning to phone snatching. Government, non-governmental organisations, and religious bodies must work hand in hand to provide alternatives for at-risk youths.

In conclusion, the menace of phone snatching is a social ill that cannot be ignored. It disrupts lives, instils fear, and tarnishes the image of communities. A united response — involving government, security agencies, community members, and individuals — is the only way forward. Every Nigerian deserves the right to walk freely without fear of losing their phone or their life to criminals.

Salama Ishaku writes from the Department of Mass Communication, University of Maiduguri, Nigeria.

By Salama Ishaku

The unauthorized selling of traditional medicine is gradually becoming a menace that begs for our collective attention. Across many towns and cities, traders openly display unlicensed herbal products, often with loud proclamations about their supposed healing powers. While traditional medicine has long been a part of our culture, the unregulated and indiscriminate sale of these substances poses serious risks to public health and safety.

At motor parks, street corners, and crowded markets, it is common to see hawkers peddling mixtures in bottles and sachets, claiming they can cure anything from malaria and typhoid to infertility and diabetes. Some even promise instant solutions to chronic conditions that modern medicine struggles with. These exaggerated claims lure unsuspecting citizens, particularly the poor and vulnerable, who are desperate for relief.

The danger, however, lies in the fact that most of these so-called remedies are not scientifically tested or approved by relevant health authorities. Without proper regulation, there is no guarantee of their safety, dosage, or effectiveness. Some of the concoctions are prepared in unhygienic conditions, exposing users to infections and long-term complications.

Equally worrisome is the way sellers often discourage people from seeking professional medical care. By instilling false confidence in their products, they convince patients to abandon prescribed treatment in favour of unproven alternatives. This not only worsens health outcomes but also contributes to avoidable deaths that could have been prevented through timely medical intervention.

Another aspect of this menace is the use of harmful substances. There have been reports of herbal mixtures laced with high doses of alcohol, caffeine, or other chemicals to create instant effects. Such practices endanger consumers who unknowingly ingest toxic elements in the name of treatment. The lack of labelling and dosage instructions further increases the risk of overdose.

The proliferation of unauthorized traditional medicine sellers also undermines the credibility of genuine traditional healers who practise responsibly and adhere to cultural ethics. By mixing quackery with legitimate herbal practices, the public perception of traditional medicine as a whole is eroded. This makes it difficult for serious practitioners to gain recognition and collaborate with modern healthcare providers.

Mr. President and relevant health agencies must recognise that this problem requires urgent attention. Stronger regulatory measures need to be introduced to monitor and control the sale of traditional medicine. Sellers should be licensed, and products subjected to scientific testing to ensure they are safe for human consumption.

Public sensitisation is also essential. Citizens must be educated about the dangers of patronising unverified medicine sellers. Awareness campaigns through radio, television, social media, and community outreach will go a long way in discouraging reliance on unsafe remedies. People should be encouraged to seek medical advice from qualified professionals rather than fall prey to street hawkers.

Equally important is the need to strengthen the healthcare system. Many Nigerians resort to traditional sellers not out of choice but because hospitals are often inaccessible, expensive, or overcrowded. By improving affordability and access to quality healthcare, the dependence on unauthorized herbal remedies will naturally reduce.

There is also a need for collaboration between traditional and modern medicine. With proper regulation, research, and training, traditional knowledge can complement modern healthcare instead of competing with it. This would preserve our cultural heritage while safeguarding the health of citizens.

Communities themselves must take responsibility by reporting illegal sellers to the authorities. Religious and traditional leaders should also lend their voices in discouraging the spread of unregulated products. Tackling this menace is a collective duty, not one for government alone.

In conclusion, while traditional medicine has its place in our society, the unauthorized and reckless selling of herbal products is a ticking time bomb. The longer we ignore it, the greater the health risks we invite upon ourselves. For the safety of our nation, decisive action must be taken now to regulate traditional medicine, protect citizens, and uphold public health standards.

Salama Ishaku writes from the Department of Mass Communication, University of Maiduguri, Nigeria.

By Sonia Wa Sarki

I write to call the attention of the newly established National Almajiri Commission and other relevant agencies saddled with the responsibility of tackling the crisis of out-of-school children. The issue has lingered for too long and demands urgent, pragmatic action if Nigeria is to make meaningful progress in education and human development.

For decades, the North has struggled with the twin challenge of the Almajiri system and the rising number of children who are completely out of school. This has created a dangerous cycle of illiteracy, poverty, and social vices. Every street corner in many northern cities tells the same story: barefooted children, bowls in hand, begging for alms instead of sitting in classrooms.

According to UNICEF reports, Nigeria has the highest number of out-of-school children in the world, with over 10 million children excluded from basic education. A significant percentage of these children are from the northern part of the country. This reality is not only a unfortunate but also a time bomb that threatens national security, peace, and development.

The Almajiri system, once rooted in noble intentions of imparting Islamic education, has today become synonymous with neglect, child labour, and poverty. Many parents, unable to cater for their children, send them off to distant towns under the care of teachers who lack the resources to provide proper welfare. The result is a generation of children abandoned to hunger, street begging, and exploitation.

The consequences of this neglect are glaring. Many of these children grow up without formal education, lacking the skills necessary to compete in today’s world. Worse still, they become easy recruits for criminal gangs, violent groups, and extremist movements. Nigeria cannot afford to ignore the dangerous implications of having millions of idle, uneducated, and hopeless youths roaming the streets.

The creation of the National Almajiri Commission is a welcome development, but it must not become another toothless bureaucracy. The commission must develop a clear strategy to integrate Quranic education with modern subjects such as English, Mathematics, Science, and vocational training. This will give the children both spiritual grounding and the practical skills needed to survive in today’s society.

Government at all levels must also invest massively in building functional schools across the North. The lack of infrastructure is one of the reasons many children remain out of school. Where schools exist, they are often overcrowded, understaffed, and poorly equipped. Education must be made accessible, attractive, and affordable for every child.

Equally important is the role of parents. Many parents deliberately withdraw children from school, either due to poverty, cultural beliefs, or ignorance. Sensitisation campaigns are necessary to change attitudes and emphasise the importance of education. No society can progress when its children are left behind.

Religious and traditional leaders must also rise to the occasion. For too long, the Almajiri menace has been treated with silence or indifference. Leaders who wield influence in communities must use their voices to advocate reforms, encourage enrolment in schools, and support initiatives aimed at ending child neglect.

Addressing this menace also requires economic empowerment. Poverty is at the root of the problem. Many families send their children to beg simply because they cannot provide food, clothing, and shelter. Empowering households with jobs, microloans, and skills training will reduce the burden and keep children in school.

Another critical step is the enforcement of child rights laws. Nigeria has the Universal Basic Education policy, but its implementation remains weak. States must enforce compulsory education and punish parents or guardians who neglect their children’s education. Without enforcement, policies remain mere paperwork.

Civil society organisations and international partners also have a role to play. Collaboration is key in building model schools, providing teacher training, and supporting child welfare. With proper synergy between government, NGOs, and communities, the tide can be turned.

The media must equally sustain the spotlight on this issue. The plight of the Almajiri and out-of-school children should not only make news during special events but remain a central theme in public discourse. Awareness is the first step towards action.

In conclusion, Nigeria cannot achieve sustainable development while millions of its children are excluded from education. The Almajiri crisis and the epidemic of out-of-school children must be treated as a national emergency. Education is the foundation of progress, and leaving children on the streets is nothing short of mortgaging the country’s future.

The time to act is now. The National Almajiri Commission and all stakeholders must rise above lip service and deliver real, tangible solutions. The future of the North—and indeed Nigeria—depends on it.

Sonia Wa Sarki writes from the Department of Mass Communication, University of Maiduguri, Nigeria.

By Salihi Adamu

Writing A Glimpse of Takai in the History of Kano has been a personal journey for me. Growing up, I have read stories about Takai’s rich history and its impact on the Kano emirate. However, I noticed that there wasn’t a single book that told the story of Takai in a way that was easy to understand. This book is my attempt to fill that gap.

As I researched Takai’s history, I discovered many interesting stories and facts. I learned about the town’s founding, its role in the Kano Civil War, and its cultural heritage. I also met with people from Takai who shared their experiences and insights with me. Through these interactions, I gained a deeper understanding of the town’s history and its people. This book is a reflection of what I have learned, and I hope it will be a valuable resource for anyone interested in learning more about Takai.

This book is not a complete history of Takai. Instead, it’s a collection of stories and facts that give readers a glimpse into the town’s past. I have endeavoured to make the book accessible to a diverse range of readers, from those interested in history to those seeking to learn more about Takai.

One of the challenges I faced while writing this book was deciding what to include and what to leave out. Takai’s history is complex and multifaceted, with many stories that could be told. I have tried to focus on the most important events and themes, while also leaving room for further research and exploration.

I hope that A Glimpse of Takai in the History of Kano will inspire readers to learn more about Takai and its people. I also hope that it will contribute to a greater understanding and appreciation of the town’s history and culture.

I would like to thank everyone who contributed to this book, from the people of Takai who shared their stories with me to my family and friends who supported me throughout the writing process. Ultimately, this book is a labour of love, and I am proud to share it with readers. 

By Usman Muhammad Salihu,

In Nigeria today, the loudest voices belong to politicians, policymakers, and power brokers. They dominate the headlines, flood our timelines, and distract us with promises that rarely survive beyond campaign seasons. Yet, the true story of this country isn’t written in the echo chambers of Abuja or the mansions of Lagos. It is written daily in the struggles, resilience, and quiet innovations of ordinary citizens.

Think about the woman who wakes before dawn to fry bean cakes by the roadside, not only to feed her children but also to put other people’s children on the road to school. Or the young graduate who, tired of waiting for white-collar jobs, starts a small business online and employs three others. These stories rarely make the news. Yet, they are the heartbeat of our nation.

But here’s the tragedy: Contemporary Nigeria seems designed to work against these everyday heroes. Power cuts paralyse small businesses. Inflation, now on food items, erodes family savings before the end of the month. Insecurity forces farmers to abandon their fields and traders to fear the road. Meanwhile, most of the political class remains locked in battles over appointments, power-sharing, and personal interests.

The question is not whether Nigeria has potential; we have repeated that mantra for decades. The real question is, when will we begin to prioritise the citizen above the system?

Imagine a Nigeria where governance shifts from elite negotiations to practical solutions: working schools, safe communities, accessible healthcare, and reliable electricity. That’s not fantasy; it is a choice.

The good news is that despite the odds, Nigerians are not waiting. Communities are solving their own problems. Tech-savvy youths are creating digital markets. Women’s cooperatives are building small savings pools. Farmers are collaborating to beat middlemen. These are the silent revolutions we must amplify, not just the failures of the elite.

If the political class won’t prioritise the citizen, then the media, civil society, and Nigerians themselves must. We must shift the spotlight from what politicians promise to what Nigerians are already doing, because that is how change starts – not from the top, but from the people who refuse to give up.

Nigeria stands at a crossroads. One road leads to more political drama, endless debates, and broken promises. The other road leads to a citizen-centred nation where leaders are compelled to serve, not rule.

The choice is ours. But more importantly, the responsibility is theirs.

Usman Muhammad Salihu was among the pioneer fellows of PRNigeria and wrote from Jos, Nigeria. He can be reached via muhammadu5363@gmail.com.

By Umar Aboki

The traditional Hausa cap, also known as “Hula,” is recognised for its intricate embroidery and is often worn with traditional Hausa attire. It has a long history in Hausa land, originating as a common and traditional male garment and later evolving into a symbol of cultural, religious, social, and even political status.

Many people associate any man they see wearing a Hula with being a Muslim or Hausa or both. Yusuf Ahmad, a traditional Hausa cap seller, believes that wearing a Hausa cap is a sign that indicates someone is a Hausa man and a Muslim, and that wearing a Hausa cap is what completes a man’s decency. 

Yusuf added that the older generation of Hausa men like to wear tall Hausa caps, while the new generation prefersshorter ones. And when people come to buy caps, they mostly ask for the cheaper and lighter ones; it is the rich men who usually ask for the Zanna-Bukar and other heavier ones.

There are various types of traditional Hausa caps, including “Zanna-Bukar”, “Damanga”, “Zita”, “Maropiyya”, “Zulum” and “mu-haɗu-a-banki”. They are distinguished by factors such as the materials used to make them, their place of origin, the wearers, and their purposes, among other considerations. However, the most popular and widely worn is the “Zanna-Bukar”. Overall, the hula has evolved from being merely a piece of headwear to a symbol of cultural identity and belonging within the Hausa community and beyond. 

Malam Khamilu, a resident of Yahaya Gusau Road, Kano, claims that he wears Hausa caps frequently, especially the Zanna-Bukar. He says it is very special to him and he got his own tailor-made, specially for himself. He also considers his cap a part of his identity as a Hausa-Fulani man and a Muslim.

The Hula is not limited to being worn only within Hausa communities. It is worn by men in many populations in North Africa, East Africa, West Africa, South Asia, and the Middle East.

Zulyadaini Abdullahi Adamu, a Hausa cap knitter and seller, says he wears his Zanna-Bukar or Damanga daily, and he knits the Zanna-Bukar, Damanga and PTF, then sells them at prices ranging from eight thousand to thirty thousand Naira, and that people come to buy them from Jigawa, Maiduguri and other states and places.

Men throughout the African diaspora also wear it. Within the United States and other foreign countries, it has become primarily identified with persons of West African heritage, who wear it to show pride in their culture, history, and religion. Dauda Ibrahim Dachia, a Northern Nigerian staying in Tirana, Albania, claims to wear his traditional Hausa cap overseas, but not all the time. He usually wears it on Fridays, during Eid celebrations, or during cultural events.

It was written in an article by the Centre de l’ldentité et de la culture Africanes titled ‘The Khada Habar: A traditional hat in a Hausa environment’ that “wearing a hat is a mark of respect for oneself, above all, according to Mr. Adéyèmi “when you don’t wear a hat, traditional dress is not complete”, he insists, “it reflects a disconnect between man and his own culture”.

Muhammadu Sa’idu, another resident of Kano, claims to wear the Zanna-Bukar frequently, usually to events. He says that anytime he wears it, people respect him a lot. He also has a ‘Damanga’ but prefers wearing the Zanna-Bukar. In his case, he doesn’t usually associate Hula with the Hausa tradition or Islam.

 Sa’id Salisu Muhammad, a Hausa cap washer at Gaɗon ƙaya, says he wears traditional Hausa caps a lot, especially the Zanna-Bukar. He says that a typical Hausa man always wears the Hula to work, events and other places, so they have to always bring them in for washing. He also notes that people bring in Zanna-Bukar the most, followed by the lighter ones such as the “Maropiyya” and “Zita”.

The Hula also serves as a means for people to fit into Hausa communities, as they are seen as a symbol of identity, and provide a sense of belonging. Musa Abdulrazaq, a young man from Kaduna who studies in Kano, says anytime he is in Kano, a place where the Hausa culture is evident and vibrant, wearing the traditional Hausa cap is very important to him. Although he doesn’t wear it much back at home, he understands that it is a vital part of the culture in Kano, so he regularly wears his Hula to fit in with the people of Kano and feel at home.

However, not everyone from outside the Hausa community feels the need to identify with the Hausa people. Umar Ahmad, a Fulani man who visits Kano but has been staying here for about two years, says he doesn’t wear the traditional Hausa caps. Instead, he maintains his Fulani cap. And when asked, he said he does indeed associate the Hula with Islam and Hausa tradition.

Umar Aboki wrote via umaraboki97@gmail.com.

By Muhammad Dan Kano

I have watched Kano’s civil space rise and fall over the years, and I must confess—what we are living through today is one of the saddest chapters. The silence we now see did not come from bans, threats, or crackdowns. It came from within. Our loudest voices, those who once stood before us as defenders of the people, were in fact working behind the scenes for the then-opposition party that now holds the seat of power.

On the surface, these men and women spoke the language of civil society: accountability, transparency, justice. They attended our town halls, drafted our communiqués, and stood at our press conferences. But as events have now shown, they were playing a double game—working for the citizens in daylight, but aligning their loyalties with politicians in the dark.

Take, for instance, the Kano Civil Society Platform. For years, it was the face of civil society in Kano, leading civil platforms and presenting itself as an independent voice of the people. But what many of us did not see then was that its activism tilted toward the opposition, quietly laying the groundwork for its current role. Today, the head is no longer the watchdog—but a Commissioner, the very voice of government. How can citizens trust that same platform to ever return to the civic space as an independent advocate?

Community Health Research Platform is another example. Highly respected in health advocacy and governance circles, it was perceived as fighting for the welfare of citizens. Yet, its alignment with political interests has now been made clear by its place in the system. The independence we once admired was, in truth, compromised long before official appointment.

And then there is another, Executive Director KAJA (KAYA) KAJA, who once represented the fiercest face of accountability in Kano, known for exposing governance lapses and demanding transparency. Many of us believed it was a shining example of what a watchdog should be. However, today, with KAJA appointed to the government, the fire has been extinguished. The once-vibrant KAJA is quiet, and the citizens who trusted it have been left disillusioned.

Even the Open Government Platform has not been spared. Its co-chair on the civil society side has been appointed to a government committee. This effectively blunts the citizens’ voice in Open Governance Platform processes. The very platform designed to guarantee equal partnership between government and citizens is now lopsided, tilted in favour of those in power.

Networks like Education For All, which once campaigned vigorously for education reforms, now spend their time attending government meetings, collecting transport allowances, and receiving awards from the governor. Independence is gone, credibility eroded.

The tragedy here is not just that these individuals accepted appointments—it is that for years, they masqueraded as neutral actors while quietly serving political interests. Unlike One Commissioner, who publicly and honourably resigned from the civic space before joining politics, these others chose to corrupt the system from within. They played both sides—civil society by day, politics by night.

That is why I ask: how will they return after their tenures? How will they look citizens in the eye and claim once again to be “independent voices”? How will their organisations reclaim trust when their leaders have already betrayed it? For me, and for many others, that trust has been broken.

I do not deny that bringing civic actors into government can strengthen delivery. But when watchdogs pretend to be neutral while secretly serving politicians, it is not inclusion—it is manipulation. The cost is the death of independent scrutiny.

Today, only a few brave individuals, like two Marxists, remain outside the government’s orbit. They continue to speak up, but without funding, their voices are faint. The vibrant, united civic space we once had during the days of SFTAS and FCDO’s PERL and ARC project is gone, fractured by appointments and rewards.

The lesson is clear. Civic leaders who wish to join politics must do so openly, as One Commissioner did. But those who exploit the civic space as a stepping stone to political office only betray the citizens who trusted them. They may enjoy power today, but the day they return to claim the mantle of “civil society” again, the people will not forget.

For me, that is the most tremendous loss—not just of voices, but of trust. And once trust is broken, can the civic space in Kano ever be the same again?

By Amir Abdulazeez

The United Nations is currently holding its 80th General Assembly sessions in New York. Some days earlier, the U.S. State Department, under the pretext of national security and anti-terrorism laws, revoked visas for dozens of Palestinian officials, including President Mahmoud Abbas slated to participate, at the General Assembly and a high-level two-state conference. This move drew criticism from the UN itself, EU and some human rights groups, with calls to relocate Palestinian-related meetings outside New York. This echoes historical precedents, notably the 1988 visa denial to Late Yasser Arafat, which forced the UN to shift one of its sessions to Geneva to allow him participate.

Although the 1947 ‘Headquarters Agreement’ obliges the United States to admit all UN participants, Washington occasionally and selectively invokes security and legal excuses to discriminate between entrants. Such practices explain how the UN’s operations remain vulnerable to U.S. control, thereby undermining its independence, authority and credibility. As the UN marks the 80th anniversary of the ratification of its charter on 24th October 2025, the organization which was founded on the ashes of World War II in 1945 faces an existential crisis of credibility and effectiveness.

While it has achieved notable successes in humanitarian aid, educational research and global environmental and health initiatives, its core mission of maintaining international peace and security has been repeatedly undermined by structural and diplomatic flaws. The organization’s inability to meaningfully respond to crises from Syria to Ukraine and most visibly in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, has exposed fundamental weaknesses that warrant urgent reform. The UN’s record is one of profound paradox: a body designed for action but often defined by its inaction. Nowhere is this impotence more starkly illustrated than in its 70 years’ failure to resolve the Palestinian question or to hold Israel accountable for its international impunities.

From the outset of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, the United Nations assumed a central role by proposing the 1947 Partition Plan, which sought to establish separate independent states for both parties. Although initially conceived as a potential path to peace, the plan was never enforced and the UN has since struggled to translate its own decisions into reality. Further failures are documented in a paper trail of unimplemented resolutions: Security Council Resolution 242 (1967) called for Israel’s withdrawal from territories occupied during the Six-Day War; Resolution 338 (1973) and countless subsequent resolutions reaffirmed this demand that was not only ignored but instead empowered Israel’s massive expansion of illegal settlements.

Beyond the unimplemented resolutions, a critical UN failure in this regard is that of narrative framing. It has been unable to consistently enforce a foundational principle: that the right to self-determination for one people (Israelis) cannot be predicated on the denial of that same right to another (Palestinians). The organization’s various bodies often treat the conflict as a symmetrical dispute between two equal parties, rather than an asymmetrical struggle between a nuclear-armed occupying power and a stateless, occupied population living under a brutal blockade.

The core of the UN’s ineffectiveness lies in the flawed decision-making structure of its Security Council, where the five permanent members (United States, Russia, China, France and United Kingdom) hold the autocratic privilege of veto power. This system of outdated World War II geopolitics has frequently paralyzed the organization in hours of need. Since 1946, the veto has been selfishly exercised about 300 times. Between 2011 and 2023, Russia and China blocked 16 resolutions on Syria, enabling the Assad regime’s brutal campaign against civilians. The United States, meanwhile, has used its veto more than 50 times to shield Israel from accountability, making Palestine the single most vetoed issue in UN history. Instead of serving as a platform for global security, the Council has become an arena for shameless and hypocritical power politics.

The General Assembly, despite representing all 193 member states equally, has been relegated to a largely ceremonial role in matters of international peace and security. While the Assembly can pass resolutions by majority vote, these carry no binding legal force and are routinely ignored by powerful nations. The 2012 resolution calling for an arms embargo on Syria passed with 133 votes but had no practical effect, as Russia continued supplying weapons to the Assad government. This has created a two-tiered system where the views of the international majority are systematically subordinated to the interests of Security Council Super Powers.

The selective enforcement of international law has become a defining hallmark of UN impotence. While the organization has at times demonstrated resolve such as coordinating global sanctions against apartheid South Africa in the 1980s or authorizing military intervention in Libya in 2011, its responses to other similar crises have been inconsistent and politically driven. Similarly, the International Criminal Court, often operating with UN support, swiftly indicted leaders of Liberia, Sudan and Libya, yet no Western or allied leaders like George W. Bush or Tony Blair have been held to account for baseless interventions in Iraq, Afghanistan or Yemen. These double standards have eroded the UN’s credibility and moral authority, particularly in the Global South, where it is increasingly viewed as an instrument of Western hegemony.

The UN’s peacekeeping apparatus, while successful in some contexts, has also demonstrated significant limitations when confronting determined state actors. The United Nations Disengagement Observer Force (UNDOF) on the Golan Heights and the United Nations Interim Force in Lebanon (UNIFIL) have maintained buffer zones during their operations, but have been powerless to prevent violations by all parties. During the 2006 Lebanon War and subsequent conflicts, these forces could only observe and report violations rather than enforce compliance.

Financial manipulation has emerged as another tool of selective pressure within the UN system. The United States, which contributes 22% of the UN’s regular budget, has repeatedly withheld or threatened to withhold funding to pressure the organization on specific issues. In 2018, the Trump administration cut $285 million from UN peacekeeping operations and reduced contributions to various UN agencies. The UN’s human rights mechanisms face similar challenges of selective application and political manipulation. The Human Rights Council, reformed in 2006 to address criticisms of its predecessor, continues to be influenced by bloc voting and political considerations rather than objective human rights assessments. Countries with questionable human rights records have served on the Council while using their positions to deflect criticism and protect allies.

Critics argue that the UN has become a stage for symbolic debates while real decisions and tangible actions are outsourced to global bullies like the US, less formal coalitions like the NATO and regional actors like the EU. For example, the U.S.-brokered Abraham Accords normalized relations between Israel and several Arab states without addressing core Palestinian concerns while side-lining the UN. Similarly, its response to Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2022 was limited to humanitarian aid and symbolic condemnation, as bodies like EU looked more relevant and assertive.

The rise of new global powers and changing geopolitical realities have rendered the UN’s 1945 structure increasingly obsolete. Reform proposals have circulated for decades but have consistently failed due to the resistance of existing power holders. Things have changed since World War II, nations have evolved, others have declined and hence the UN must be reformed to reflect current realities. The permanency of the Security council membership must be reviewed and the senseless veto authority must be abolished or modified along the lines of justice and accountability. As the United Nations approaches its 80th anniversary, the choice is clear: fundamental reform or continued irrelevance.

Maintaining the United Nations system costs about $50–55 billion per year, not counting military deployments and opportunity costs. Beyond money, states commit significant diplomatic, military, humanitarian and bureaucratic resources to maintain their participation. This makes the UN one of the most resource-intensive international organizations ever created. Without serious reforms to address structural inequalities, eliminate veto abuse and restore the primacy of international law over great power politics, the UN risks becoming a historical footnote rather than the cornerstone of the global governance its founders envisioned. The international community must decide whether it will tolerate continued dysfunction or demand the transformative changes necessary to address 21st century challenges.

By Abdullahi Kabiru Muhammed

Life as a student is rarely easy, and for three close friends at Bayero University, Kano, the journey has been both tough and inspiring.

Their journey, which began in Level 100 and is now in Level 400, serves as a powerful testament to faith, friendship, sacrifice, and perseverance.

From the very start, the three friends knew the odds were stacked against them. Two of them were students of Mass Communications, while the third was studying Law, a five-year program. They began their academic journey with no sponsor, relying solely on faith in God and a strong will to succeed. 

Despite the uncertainties, their bond grew stronger. There was no conflict, no hatred, only unity. They shared everything and supported one another with love and understanding.

Their first year was marked by some struggles, but they managed to survive. The hardships were there, but not as overwhelming as what was to come. 

In their second year, things became even tougher. The school fees were increased from ₦37,000 to ₦100,000, causing panic and fear. They started Level 200 without paying their fees, holding on to hope as Bayero University, Kano,continued to extend the registration deadlines. They rarely ate more than once a day, dinner only. Many nights, they went to bed on empty stomachs, and in the morning, they would head to class without breakfast. But through it all, they never gave up. They could only afford ₦40,000 for a single bed space, yet all three of them managed to squeeze into the room.

Just when it seemed impossible, help came. Governor Abba Kabir Yusuf’s administration intervened and covered the school fees for Kano State indigenes. It was a moment of relief and joy. May Allah (S.W.T) guide and protect him, and may He grant him his heart’s desires, amin.

Level 300 came with fewer school fee issues, as NELFUND covered their tuition. However, the cost of living increased, and they struggled to afford food. Two of the friends took on labour jobs, and the third, a tailor, tried to support himself with his handwork.

Among the labourers, one could travel out every weekend for work, while the other could only leave during holidays. The tailor worked under someone and had a few customers. Income was unstable. 

Even though they received a monthly ₦20,000 upkeep allowance from NELFUND, it was often delayed. They sometimes had to borrow money and were usually refused, as people doubted their ability to repay.

Their families supported them too, but the assistance barely covers 10% of their needs. They didn’t desire luxury, just enough to eat and survive.

Now in Level 400, nothing much has changed materially. The hunger, the hustle, the struggles—they remain. But the friends remain grateful, and more than ever, they are hopeful.

They continue to share, encourage, and support one another, believing that tough times don’t last forever. Their academic performance is commendable, and they are determined not to let poverty or hardship define their future.

Their story is a reminder that Allah is always in control. Through all the pain, hunger, and financial stress, they have continued to pray, to trust, and to push forward. Without divine intervention, they believe they would have dropped out, despite their passion to learn.

So, they say “Life is full of ups and downs, but we believe good things will surely come our way. Just be prayerful. Allah knows, and He will surely answer your prayers. All you have to do is believe in Him”

Abdullahi Kabiru Muhammed wrote via khaybhee006@gmail.com.