Asiwaju Bola Ahmed Tinubu

Nigeria’s political arena has never been short of strong personalities, but few figures have remained as consistently relevant as Nasir El-Rufai. Love him or dislike him, it is difficult to ignore the fact that he has been one of the most consequential actors in Nigeria’s political journey since the return to civil rule in 1999. His recent confrontation with security authorities and the attempt to detain him without clear evidence speak less about law enforcement and more about the anxiety within the ruling establishment.

To understand the current political tension, one must first understand El-Rufai’s place in the system. From his early role in the administration of Olusegun Obasanjo to his strategic alignment in the political transitions that produced Umaru Musa Yar’Adua, Goodluck Jonathan, and later Muhammadu Buhari, El-Rufai has repeatedly demonstrated a rare understanding of how power works in Nigeria. Few politicians can claim to have operated so close to multiple presidencies across different political eras.

His experience is not accidental. As a former Minister of the Federal Capital Territory and later governor of Kaduna State, El-Rufai built a reputation for being both strategic and outspoken. That combination has earned him loyal supporters and fierce critics. Yet even his opponents concede that he understands the inner workings of Nigerian politics better than most of his contemporaries.

What makes the present situation intriguing is the reaction of the current government under President Bola Tinubu. Political watchers note that the administration appears unusually sensitive to El-Rufai’s moves and statements. The attempted arrest at the Nnamdi Azikiwe International Airport in Abuja, which was resisted by supporters who had gathered to welcome him, has only deepened public suspicion that political motivations may be at play.

In any democratic society, the rule of law demands that allegations be backed by evidence. Detaining a prominent political figure without a clear justification risks sending the wrong message to the public. It creates the impression that state institutions are being deployed as political tools rather than impartial guardians of justice. Such actions can weaken public confidence in democracy at a time when many Nigerians are already questioning the direction of the country’s governance.

Beyond the immediate controversy, El-Rufai’s political relevance lies in his networks and influence. In Northern Nigeria, he maintains relationships with traditional leaders, religious authorities, and political elites. His connections with groups such as the Arewa Consultative Forum and his standing among many northern political actors make him a figure whose voice carries weight in national conversations.

This is also why his reported involvement in strengthening the African Democratic Congress has attracted attention. In a political environment where alliances and coalitions often determine electoral outcomes, any figure capable of mobilising political forces across regions automatically becomes a strategic concern for those in power.

El-Rufai himself has long argued that political dominance in Nigeria can be challenged through direct engagement with voters. During a public lecture in Lagos years ago, he pointed out that millions of registered voters often stay away from the polls. His argument was simple. If a politician can mobilise even a fraction of those disengaged citizens, entrenched political structures can be defeated. That message resonates strongly in today’s political climate.

The lesson from his remarks is that Nigerian democracy still holds untapped potential. Electoral participation remains one of the most powerful tools available to citizens. When politicians connect directly with voters rather than relying solely on elite political arrangements, the balance of power can shift dramatically.

The current political drama surrounding El-Rufai, therefore, reflects a deeper struggle within Nigeria’s political system. It is not merely about one individual. It is about the anxiety that emerges whenever established power structures sense the rise of alternative political forces.

Whether one agrees with his politics or not, attempting to silence a figure like El-Rufai through intimidation or questionable legal action does not strengthen democracy. If anything, it elevates his profile and reinforces the perception that he represents a genuine challenge to the status quo.

Nigeria’s democracy should be strong enough to accommodate dissent, criticism, and competition. The country has endured decades of political turbulence and should have learned by now that suppressing political voices rarely solves problems. Open contestation, debate, and accountability are the true pillars of democratic progress.

As the political landscape gradually shifts toward the next electoral cycle, figures like Nasir El-Rufai will continue to shape conversations about leadership, power, and the future of governance in Nigeria. The real question is not whether he will remain relevant. The real question is how Nigeria’s political system will respond to voices that challenge the existing order.

If democracy means anything, it must allow strong political actors to participate freely without fear of intimidation. The strength of a nation’s democracy is measured not by how it treats its friends, but by how it treats its critics.

Interesting time ahead.

Muhammad Umar Shehu wrote from Gombe and can be reached via umarmuhammadshehu2@gmail.com.

The recent exchange between Daniel Bwala and Mehdi Hasan on Al Jazeera’s Head to Head programme has sparked widespread debate across Nigeria’s political and media space. The interview, which quickly went viral on social media, has been interpreted by many observers as a revealing moment at the intersection of political communication, accountability, and international journalistic standards.

Appearances on global platforms such as Al Jazeera are rarely routine engagements. Programmes like Head to Head are built on a tradition of rigorous questioning, where political figures are expected to defend their arguments under intense scrutiny. For journalists such as Hasan, whose interviewing style is known for its directness, the objective is not merely to host a conversation but to interrogate claims with evidence, previous statements, and policy records.

It is within this context that Bwala’s performance, a media aide to Bola Ahmed Tinubu, has attracted considerable commentary. Some analysts argue that the controversy surrounding the interview reflects a broader challenge faced by many political spokespersons when transitioning from domestic media environments to global broadcast platforms. International interviews of this nature often demand a high level of preparation, particularly when the subject has an extensive public record that can be referenced during questioning.

One of the most notable aspects of the interview involved the presentation of Bwala’s earlier criticisms of Tinubu during the period leading to the 2023 Nigerian presidential election. Before aligning with the current administration, Bwala had publicly expressed views that were sharply critical of the president and his political movement. During the interview, those earlier remarks were revisited and contrasted with his present role as a defender of the government’s policies.

In professional journalism, such lines of questioning are neither unusual nor inappropriate. Public figures frequently encounter questions about their previous positions, particularly when those positions appear to contradict their current stance. The purpose is not necessarily to embarrass the interviewee, but to test the consistency and credibility of their arguments.

Following the broadcast, Bwala reportedly stated in subsequent media interviews that he felt “ambushed,” suggesting he had not anticipated extensive questioning about his past remarks on Tinubu. That explanation, however, has generated further discussion among media commentators. Critics maintain that any appearance on a programme known for its confrontational format should reasonably come with the expectation that past public statements may be scrutinised.

Beyond the immediate personalities involved, the episode highlights an important issue in Nigeria’s political communication culture. Many public officials are accustomed to interview formats within the local media environment, where questioning can sometimes be less adversarial and more conversational. While this approach may foster cordial interactions between journalists and political actors, it can also create a degree of unpreparedness when officials engage with international media institutions that operate under different professional expectations.

Global news networks often emphasise adversarial journalism as a way of ensuring accountability. Interviewers are expected to challenge power, confront inconsistencies and demand evidence for political claims. Within that framework, the intensity of the Hasan–Bwala exchange was largely consistent with established international broadcasting practices.

There is also a broader dimension to consider. When government representatives appear on international media platforms, their performance inevitably shapes perceptions of their country’s governance and political culture. Such appearances, therefore, carry implications that extend beyond individual reputations, touching on issues of national image and diplomatic communication.

Nevertheless, the controversy surrounding the interview also offers a useful moment for reflection. Nigeria’s democratic system benefits from open engagement with the media, both domestically and internationally. In an era where information circulates instantly across borders, political communicators must recognise that past statements remain accessible and can resurface at any moment.

Ultimately, the Bwala–Hasan interview serves as a reminder of an enduring reality in public life: political narratives are constantly subject to scrutiny. In the digital age, where every speech, interview or social media post becomes part of a permanent archive, consistency and preparation are essential tools for anyone representing government policy.

Whether one views the exchange as a difficult interview, a tactical misstep, or simply the normal workings of adversarial journalism, it reinforces the importance of accountability in democratic discourse. When political actors face rigorous questioning, the process may be uncomfortable, but it remains central to the role that journalism plays in holding power to account.

Abdulhamid Abdullahi Aliyu is a journalist and syndicate writer based in Abuja.

By Muhammad Sulaiman

The Alumni of the Kashim Ibrahim Fellowship have called for the immediate release of former Kaduna State Governor, Nasir Ahmad El-Rufai, describing his continued detention as unlawful and a violation of his fundamental human rights.

In a press statement issued on Monday, the group expressed “deep concern” over what it termed the illegal detention of El-Rufai, arguing that it contravenes constitutional guarantees of personal liberty, dignity and due process under the 1999 Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria.

The alumni further criticised the Department of State Services (DSS) for failing to produce the former governor before the Federal High Court on February 25, 2026, stating that this action infringes his right to a fair hearing within a reasonable time as provided under Section 36 of the Constitution.

According to the statement, the right to be brought promptly before a court is “not discretionary but an essential safeguard of personal liberty and justice.” The group urged all relevant authorities to ensure strict adherence to constitutional provisions and uphold the rule of law.

The fellowship alumni also highlighted El-Rufai’s record in public service, particularly his tenure as governor of Kaduna State, where they said he implemented institutional reforms and socio-economic development programmes with measurable impact. They noted that the establishment of the Kashim Ibrahim Fellowship was among his initiatives to encourage youth participation in governance and leadership.

Reaffirming their solidarity, the group called on well-meaning Nigerians to support their demand for justice and due process. They insisted that every citizen is entitled to protection from unlawful detention and urged authorities to grant El-Rufai full rights to defend himself without prejudice.

The statement concluded with a renewed demand for his immediate release, emphasising that adherence to democratic principles and the rule of law is critical to strengthening public trust in national institutions.

By Isah Kamisu Madachi

The furore over whether the tax laws should be implemented has passed. The nationwide discussions about the discrepancy between the gazetted version and the version passed by the National Assembly have also faded. January 1 has come and gone, and many changes, especially around digital transactions, are already beginning to manifest, as provided for under the new tax law. The consolidated tax laws under the tax reform regime are now in force, and as a citizen, I hope they are backed by strong accountability mechanisms and oversight to ensure that collected taxes are used for the right purposes.

However, I observed a major policy gap in the final moments of the law’s implementation, which, if left unaddressed, could not only undermine the law’s effectiveness but also cause greater harm to its objectives. If I were to estimate, I would say that less than 5% of Nigerians understand what the new tax law contains, how it works, and what it does not do. This knowledge gap has created a fertile ground for misinformation, disinformation, and fake news. 

In the past few days, I have personally encountered many people who told me they had withdrawn all the money saved in their bank accounts and converted it to cash. They said they no longer trust cashless transactions. Some were told that every transaction, regardless of the amount, would incur a flat ₦50 fee. 

Others were also told that keeping money in their accounts would result in monthly deductions, or that 5% of their savings would be deducted each month for tax. None of these claims could be traced to any provision of the law, yet they are widely shared with absolute confidence.

Another unfortunate experience was my encounter with a young and vibrant POS agent from whom I regularly withdraw cash. He told me he had shut down his business. According to what he was told, every ₦500,000 transaction would attract ₦15,000 in tax, every ₦5 million would attract ₦250,000, and any transaction above ₦1,000 would automatically be charged ₦50. 

He was also told these deductions would be accumulated and collected at the end of the month, and that’s what frightened him most. He used to make transactions averaging ₦50 million per month. With this information, he now chose to abandon his livelihood. Whether these claims are true or false is not the most important when one considers the damage such misinformation is already causing.

There is also a growing narrative, particularly on social media, that every transaction must now be clearly explained in the narration section. People are being told they must specify whether the money is for savings, shopping, gifts, rewards, profit, or salary. A counter-narrative exists saying this is false. Sadly, the average Nigerian does not know which version to believe. In an environment where official clarity is weak, rumours travel faster than facts.

If I were to document all the misinformation circulating about the new tax law, it would take more than a newspaper opinion. New versions emerge almost every hour. The most alarming outcome of this misinformation is how people are altering their economic behaviour. Businesses are being abandoned. Trust in digital finance is being eroded. People are deserting the cashless system out of fear, believing their money is no longer safe in the banking system.

The only effort I am aware of to address this information gap is the reported engagement of social media influencers to enlighten the public. If this effort has begun, it is not enough. If it has not, then it is urgently needed. But beyond influencers, one must ask: what happened to local radio stations? Radio remains the primary source of information for millions of Nigerians, especially in rural areas. The law should be broken down and discussed in local languages on local radio. 

There are also a proliferation of online television platforms operating across social media spaces. The tax reform committee should collaborate strategically with them to explain the law in simple, creative ways. Influencers alone cannot carry this burden. Public communication must be broader, more structured, and more deliberate.

The Federal Ministry of Information also plays a central role here. There is an urgent need for a simplified version of the tax law, as well as translations into local languages, and for their dissemination in collaboration with state ministries of information. Students, heads of households, community leaders, traders, and small business owners must all be deliberately engaged. Town hall meetings, especially in peri-urban communities, should be organised. They are necessary to counter the scale of misinformation already circulating.

When people are largely unaware of what a law entails, dysfunction is inevitable. The law may exist, but its implementation will be undermined by fear, resistance, and unintended consequences. By the look of things, those who understand the new tax law are currently the fewest in Nigeria, even among the highly educated. If this gap remains wide open, the law may struggle to achieve its intended outcomes.

Now that it’s here, I hope, and I genuinely pray, that if effectively implemented and properly communicated, the new tax laws will become one of the long-awaited channels for fixing many of Nigeria’s challenges. But without deliberate public education, I doubt if the policy can yield the desired result.

Isah Kamisu Madachi is a public policy enthusiast and development practitioner. He writes from Abuja and can be reached via: isahkamisumadachi@gmail.com.

By Professor Abdussamad Umar Jibia

The year 2023 was a remarkable year in Nigeria’s history. Just like the year 1993, an election was held that generated a win for a Muslim candidate with another Muslim as his running mate.

In both 1993 and 2023, the presidential candidates were warned against choosing a Northern Christian as a running mate. Christians constitute not just a tiny minority in the North, but many of them have also proven to be very bad neighbours in their relations with their Muslim compatriots.

Wherever Christians constitute the majority, they display an unforgivable hate and marginalisation against their Muslim neighbours. A handy example is Plateau state, the home state of the current APC Chairman. The way Muslims are sidelined in Plateau state is enough to show what we should expect if Christians were the majority in Nigeria.

His Excellency Peter Obi was misled into believing that a combination of Igbo and Northern Christians could make him the President, and he moved from one church to another to campaign, only to end up in third place. 

The 2023 election was thus a religious census in disguise that showed the numerical superiority of Muslims over Christians in Nigeria. 

But no sooner had Bola Ahmed Tinubu won the 2023 presidential election than he began to sideline Muslims, the very group that brought him to power, in his appointments. Last year, we saw him personally going to the Vatican with what the state house described as a “bragging right of 62% Christian appointees”. 

We watched as he appointed a Northern Christian as the SGF. Of course, President Muhammadu Buhari did the same. President Umaru Musa Yar’Adua appointed a Northern Christian to lead the National Assembly. They did not deserve any of these, given their small number. However, Muslims gave them out of magnanimity. Or is it foolishness? They would never do the same if they were in our position. 

Many of us became disappointed when we saw a Northern Christian being chosen to lead the ruling party. This means two of the most important positions at the federal level have been given to Christians from the North Central, a geopolitical zone that is overwhelmingly Muslim. Worse still, our politicians in and outside the ruling party, our emirs and Islamic scholars are silent. When have we become animals who only care about eating food and sleeping with women?

As if that is not enough, speculation is that the President wants to drop his VP and choose a Northern Christian as his running mate in next year’s election. I commend the Honourable Minister of Culture, Hajiya Hannatu Musawa, for publicly telling the truth to Mr President. But it shouldn’t have reached this level. The decision of the President to appoint Northern Christians as SGF, Party Chairman and INEC Chair should have been opposed in the first place.

We are still expecting Mr President to correct the imbalance that favours the very tiny Northern Christians. North Central is predominantly Muslim. The only Christian majority states, where, of course, Muslims have been marginalised, are Plateau and Benue. Niger, Nasarawa, Kogi and Kwara are Muslim states. That Muslims in those states have been left out by Mr President in the above-mentioned strategic appointments is unfortunate.

Professor Abdussamad Umar Jibia wrote from the Department of Mechatronics Engineering, Bayero University Kano, via aujibia@gmail.com.

By Ali Tijjani Hassan 

On December 19, 2025, President Bola Tinubu presented Nigeria’s 2026 budget to the National Assembly. As a health advocate, I was curious about sector allocations, especially in health, aligned with his Renewed Hope Agenda to revitalise Nigeria’s healthcare system. I hope the administration commits to the 2001 Abuja Declaration, in which African leaders pledged to allocate at least 15% of their budgets to health to address chronic underfunding and improve health sector outcomes. Nigeria proposed spending 2.82 trillion naira, only 4.26% of its 2026 budget.

 I was nearly buried in shame when I heard the president repeating that “this health allocation represents approximately 6% of the total budget net of liabilities.” Meaning that, excluding the net liabilities, the health sector’s take-home after deduction of debt servicing of almost 15 trillion Naira from the gross budget will be only 4.26%. Which makes me pause and ask myself, “Is this allocation holistic toward changing the narrative of the dilapidated healthcare system in Nigeria?” 4.26% against the 15% is relatively less than one-third of the Abuja Declaration—a beacon of hope to combat the ravages of HIV/AIDS, tuberculosis, malaria, and other scourges plaguing our continent.

Yet here we are in 2025, over two decades later, and Nigeria, the self-proclaimed Giant of Africa, continues to stumble in the darkness of illusion, allocating a paltry 4-6% to health in the just-presented 2026 budget. How can a nation so rich in oil, talent, and potential treat its people’s health like an afterthought?

This is not just negligence; it is a disappointment that endangers millions, especially as the United States government slashes its global health aid, leaving citizens exposed to infectious diseases, non-communicable ailments like chronic kidney disease (CKD), and a rapid population boom that threatens to overwhelm our fragile systems. The Abuja Declaration was no mere rhetoric; it was a collective vow by African Union members to prioritise health financing, recognising that without robust funding, diseases would continue to feast on our people like vultures on carrion.  Nigeria is a party to this decree, but history shows we’ve never come close to honouring it. From 2001 to now, our health allocations have hovered below 10%, peaking at around 5.95% in recent years before dipping again in the 2026 proposal of ₦2.48 trillion out of ₦58.18 trillion—a measly 4.26% when liabilities are included.

Our leaders always cite debt servicing, infrastructure, and security as excuses, but I want to ask a single question: “Is the life of a Nigerian child not worth more than another flyover or armoured vehicle?”

Although they are relatively important, one thing is certain: no nation can grow beyond the quality of its people. Apology to President Tinubu.

I can’t comprehend how we can parade ourselves as Africa’s economic powerhouse yet fund health like beggars at the roadside. In comparison to our African brothers, who have shown what true commitment looks like. Rwanda, rising from the ashes of genocide, consistently meets or exceeds the 15% mark, allocating up to 18% in recent budgets, which has built a universal health coverage system envied across the continent. 

In Botswana, with its prudent diamond revenues, which hit 15-17%, investing in HIV programs that have slashed infection rates. On the other hand, the Côte d’Ivoire joined this elite club, channelling funds into preventive care that keeps NCDs at bay. Even Tanzania briefly touched the target in 2011. While we proclaimed the giant of Africa’s band, these nations have long proved it’s possible by prioritising health as a national security issue, not an optional charity. The Giant of Africa lags behind most West African peers, where allocations average below 10%. 

We boast the largest GDP in Africa, yet our per capita health spending is a shameful $15-20 annually, far below Rwanda’s more than $50. This comparative disgrace isn’t just numbers; they represent the lives lost. While Rwanda’s life expectancy climbs to 69 years, ours stagnates at 55, a gap widened by our funding failures. The consequences are alarming, starting with the relentless burden of infectious diseases that stalk our land like ghosts in the night. 

Nigeria bears the heaviest malaria load globally, with millions infected annually and economic losses of $1.1 billion each year from treatment and lost productivity. In 2025 alone, Lassa fever has claimed 195 lives, with over 1,069 confirmed cases amid 9,041 suspected—a fatality rate hovering at 18.5%, higher than previous years. Cholera surges during rains, diphtheria ravages unvaccinated children, and HIV/AIDS affects millions, with Nigeria hosting the second-largest HIV population worldwide. These figures aren’t abstract statistics; they are the number of our brothers dying in rural clinics without drugs and mothers burying infants from preventable fevers.

Underfunded surveillance systems mean outbreaks explode before a response, as seen in the 2025 Lassa resurgence, which cost billions in emergency measures. If we met the 15% pledge, we could bolster primary health centres, stockpile vaccines, and train more community health workers—turning defence into offence against these microbial invaders. But wait, the horror deepens with non-communicable diseases (NCDs), silent killers creeping up as our lifestyles urbanise. Chronic kidney disease (CKD) exemplifies this scourge, with prevalence rates of 10-19% among adults, yet awareness is abysmally low. 

In Lagos alone, hypertension affects 29% of adults, fueling CKD and cardiovascular woes.  NCDs now cause 73.6% of deaths in developing nations like ours, surpassing infectious ones. Diabetes and cancer add to the tally, with households spending fortunes on out-of-pocket care—up to ₦384 billion annually, pushing families into poverty. The double burden is real: As we fight malaria, the CKD dialysis costs bankrupt families, while public facilities are overwhelmed. In armed conflict zones of Northern Nigeria, NCD prevalence hits 15% for hypertension and diabetes, compounding the trauma of insurgency. Without the pledged funding, proper disease-screening programs remain dreams, and preventive education is scarce. 

Compared to Botswana, where 15% allocation funds are for NCD clinics, reducing mortality by 20% in a decade. Exacerbating Nigeria’s demographic tsunami. Our population stands at 237.5 million in 2025, growing at 2.5-3% annually, and is projected to hit 380 million by 2043 and 440 million by 2050. Nearly half are under 15, a youthful bulge that could be a dividend but risks becoming a curse without health investment. More mouths mean more disease vectors: crowded slums breed cholera, and rapid urbanisation spikes NCDs driven by poor diets and pollution. By 2050, we’ll add 130 million souls, straining hospitals already at breaking point.

Rwanda, with controlled growth and high health spending, harnesses its youth; we risk a generation crippled by untreated ailments. And now, the dagger twist: US funding cuts. In early 2025, the Trump administration froze billions in global aid, slashing USAID programs by 23-40%. Nigeria lost over $600 million—a fifth of our health budget—crippling HIV treatment for millions, dropping coverage from 1.1 million to 350,000. Malaria and TB programs falter, with NGOs downsizing and lives lost estimated in the thousands.

We’ve long relied on foreign donors for 30-40% of health funding; now, with cuts, the gap yawns wider. Botswana and Rwanda, self-reliant through domestic pledges, weather this storm; we scramble with supplements like ₦4.8 billion for HIV packs, mere band-aids.

To redeem ourselves, the government must urgently ramp up to 15% by redirecting funds from wasteful subsidies, tax evasion loopholes, and corruption black holes. Invest in primary care: build 10,000 more health centres and train 50,000 midwives and doctors annually. Prioritise prevention: free CKD screenings, anti-malaria campaigns, and NCD education in schools. Forge public-private partnerships, like Rwanda’s with tech firms for telemedicine. Address demographic needs through family planning integrated into health services. And hold leaders accountable—civil society, demand audits; lawmakers, reject budgets below 10% as a start.

My compatriots, the clock ticks. It’s high time to hold our leaders accountable for their words and actions. If we sleep on this, infectious outbreaks will merge with NCD epidemics amid population surges, turning Nigeria into a health wasteland.

But with resolve, we can honour the spirit of the Abuja Declaration, outshine our peers, and build a nation where health is a right, not a lottery.

Arise, O Nigerians—demand better, for our future’s sake!

Ali Tijjani Hassan is a public health enthusiast, civil society actor, and public affairs analyst. He writes from Potiskum, Yobe State, and can be reached at alitijjani.health@gmail.com.

By Oladoja M.O

Nigeria’s new tax law arrives at a moment when questions of domestic resource mobilisation have moved decisively from the margins of fiscal discourse to its centre. The reform is ambitious in both scope and intent. It consolidates previously fragmented statutes, modernises tax administration, strengthens compliance mechanisms, and expands the state’s technical capacity to mobilise revenue in an increasingly constrained macroeconomic environment. 

Read on its own terms, the law represents a serious effort to stabilise public finance and reduce long-standing inefficiencies in the tax system. But tax laws, particularly of this magnitude, should not be mere instruments of collection, but rather reflections of what a state understands taxation to be for. 

When examined from the perspective of national health financing, Nigeria’s new tax law reveals not hostility to health, nor ignorance of its importance, but striking institutional restraint, a deliberate decision to keep taxation largely neutral to the direct financing of public health.

This neutrality is especially significant because it runs counter to the evolving global understanding of domestic resource mobilisation. In contemporary public finance, DRM is no longer conceived simply as the ability of a state to raise revenue, but as its capacity to do so in a manner that deliberately underwrites social protection, safeguards human capital, and reduces long-term economic vulnerability, where health occupies a central place. 

Ill-health is not a random misfortune but a predictable social risk, one that drives household impoverishment, reduces labour productivity, and places sustained pressure on public finances. For this reason, many countries have increasingly integrated health financing into their tax systems, whether through general taxation, earmarked levies, or hybrid arrangements that link tax administration directly to social insurance and prevention financing.

It is against this backdrop that Nigeria’s new tax law must be read. 

The law unquestionably strengthens the means of mobilisation. A unified tax administration framework, enhanced enforcement powers, clearer compliance obligations, and improved data coordination substantially upgrade the state’s fiscal machinery. In theory, this expanded administrative capacity could support innovative approaches to financing social sectors, including health. In practice, however, the law exercises marked caution. Health appears within the tax framework, but only at the margins, and only in forms that preserve the traditional separation between revenue mobilisation and social sector financing.

This pattern becomes evident when examining how health-related elements are treated across the law. Contributions to the national health insurance scheme are recognised as allowable deductions for personal income tax purposes. This recognition is not insignificant; it affirms health insurance contributions as socially legitimate expenditures deserving of fiscal relief. Yet the logic remains passive. The tax system responds only after individuals have already contributed. It does not actively mobilise resources for health, nor does it deploy its collection infrastructure to expand coverage, pool risk, or subsidise access. The fiscal relationship ends at recognition, not generation.

A similar logic governs the treatment of consumption taxes. Essential medicines, pharmaceuticals, and certain medical equipment continue to benefit from favourable VAT treatment. These provisions are defensible on equity grounds, particularly in a system where out-of-pocket spending remains high. But from a financing perspective, their effect is limited. They shield households from additional burden, yet they do not generate fiscal space for the health system. Again, health is insulated from taxation, not financed through it.

The clearest illustration of this restrained approach lies in the treatment of excise duties on tobacco, alcohol, and sugar-sweetened beverages. These taxes are frequently framed as “sin taxes,” ostensibly justified by their potential to alter harmful consumption patterns. In principle, excise taxation is meant to operate through a behavioural channel: higher prices reduce consumption, lower consumption reduces disease burden, and reduced disease burden lowers long-term health expenditure. In Nigeria’s case, however, this logic remains largely theoretical.

First, the excise rates themselves are modest. The levy on sugar-sweetened beverages, for instance, is widely recognised as too low to produce a meaningful price shock that would alter consumption behaviour. Similar concerns apply to alcohol and tobacco, where cultural entrenchment, affordability, and illicit trade further blunt the intended deterrent effect. 

Second, there is no publicly available evidence demonstrating that consumption of these products has declined since the introduction or adjustment of excise duties. On the contrary, available market indicators and anecdotal trends suggest that consumption has increased. Crucially, the state does not appear perturbed by this outcome. Higher consumption translates into higher excise revenue, and excise duties, in practice, function as reliable inflows to the general federal pool.

This reveals a deeper truth about how sin taxes are governed in Nigeria. Despite their rhetorical association with public health, excise duties are not treated as health instruments. They are treated as revenue lines. There is no systematic effort to measure behavioural change, no routine publication of consumption data linked to tax policy, and no formal evaluation of health impact. In policy terms, a behavioural instrument that is not measured is indistinguishable from a revenue instrument. 

The absence of evidence of reduced consumption is not merely a data gap; it indicates that behavioural change is not being actively pursued as an objective.

From a health financing perspective, this has serious implications. Excise taxes generate revenue, yet none of that revenue is structurally linked to health financing. No portion is dedicated to prevention programmes, health insurance subsidies, or system strengthening. The public bears the health consequences of continued consumption, rising non-communicable diseases, increasing treatment costs, and productivity losses, while the fiscal gains accrue centrally, unconnected to the sector that absorbs the burden. In effect, Nigeria taxes harm, tolerates its persistence, and finances neither its prevention nor its consequences through the tax system.

This outcome is unlikely to be accidental. The new tax law is too carefully constructed for its silences to be incidental. Rather, it reflects a broader fiscal philosophy that prioritises flexibility, central discretion, and revenue pooling over sector-specific commitments. Earmarking, even in its softer forms, constrains the treasury’s freedom to allocate resources across competing priorities. From a public health financing standpoint, this caution is costly. It leaves health structurally dependent on discretionary budgets, weak insurance enforcement, donor support, and household spending, even as the state’s revenue-collection capacity improves.

The result is a growing asymmetry. Nigeria now possesses an increasingly sophisticated tax apparatus, but lacks a corresponding approach to financing social risk. Revenue mobilisation is advancing, but allocation logic remains largely unchanged. Health remains acknowledged but peripheral, recognised, accommodated, and indirectly supported, yet excluded from the core architecture of taxation.

None of this implies that the new tax law should have transformed itself into a health financing statute. No! Tax laws cannot, and should not, bear the full weight of social policy. But in an era where domestic resource mobilisation is increasingly framed as a means of financing development rather than merely sustaining government, the continued treatment of health as fiscally incidental is striking. The administrative infrastructure now exists to do more than collect revenue efficiently. What is missing is the institutional decision to deploy that capacity deliberately to protect households from the economic consequences of ill-health.

The most important lesson of Nigeria’s new tax law for national health financing, therefore, lies not in what it includes, but in what it leaves unresolved. The law strengthens the state’s ability to mobilise resources, yet remains silent on whether that capacity should be harnessed to address one of the most predictable and economically damaging social risks. As Nigeria deepens its commitment to domestic resource mobilisation, the critical question will not simply be how much revenue can be raised, but how intentionally that revenue is aligned with protecting human capital. A tax system that improves efficiency without strengthening social purpose risks becoming technically impressive but socially thin.

Oladoja M.O writes from Abuja and can be reached at: mayokunmark@gmail.com.

By Zayyad I. Muhammad 

During President Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s official visit to the United Arab Emirates to participate in the 2026 edition of Abu Dhabi Sustainability Week (ADSW), Nigeria announced that it will co-host Investopia with the UAE in Lagos, Nigeria, in February. The initiative aims to attract global investors and accelerate sustainable investment inflows into Nigeria.

Nigeria has also concluded a Comprehensive Economic Partnership Agreement (CEPA) with the UAE to deepen cooperation across key sectors, including renewable energy, infrastructure, logistics, and digital trade. The agreement is expected to significantly strengthen trade relations and deliver tangible benefits for Nigerian businesses, professionals, and workers.

Overall, this expanding trade and economic relationship between Nigeria and the UAE represents a welcome development for both countries, with the potential to drive growth, job creation, and long-term economic collaboration.

However, on the international security front, the UAE is increasingly viewed through a more complex lens. Over the past decade, the country has pursued a more assertive foreign policy, particularly in parts of the Middle East and Africa.

The UAE has faced allegations and scrutiny from some governments, international organisations, media outlets, human rights groups, and analysts regarding its involvement in conflict-affected and politically fragile environments. These debates often centre on whether UAE actions have influenced or intensified existing crises, especially in several Muslim-majority countries.

In Sudan, various reports have alleged that the UAE was involved in the supply of weapons, including drones, to actors in the ongoing conflict. Some accounts claim that arms transfers were routed through neighbouring countries such as Chad, Libya, and Uganda, and that humanitarian operations served as logistical cover. Emirati authorities have denied these allegations, maintaining that the UAE supports humanitarian relief efforts and political solutions to the crisis.

In Yemen, the UAE was a key member of the Saudi-led coalition opposing the Iran-aligned Houthis. At the same time, analysts have pointed to UAE support for the Southern Transitional Council (STC), which seeks greater autonomy or independence for southern Yemen. Critics argue that this support contributed to political fragmentation, while others describe it as a pragmatic response to local security challenges and counter-terrorism objectives.

In Libya, the UAE has frequently been cited in international reports as a major external supporter of forces led by Khalifa Haftar and the Libyan National Army. Allegations include the provision of military assistance during operations against Tripoli-based authorities. UAE officials have consistently rejected claims of direct military involvement, emphasising their support for stability and counter-extremism.

In Somalia and the wider Horn of Africa, some observers have raised concerns about the UAE’s engagement with regional authorities and security actors, particularly in Puntland and Somaliland, suggesting that this involvement may have influenced internal political and security dynamics.

More recently, the Federal Government of Somalia announced the cancellation of all agreements with the UAE, including deals covering port operations, security cooperation, and defence. Somali authorities cited alleged violations of national sovereignty as the reason for the decision. The UAE, however, maintains that its activities in Somalia and the region are conducted within frameworks of cooperation, development assistance, and mutual security interests.

In 2022, the United States Treasury sanctioned six Nigerian individuals for allegedly raising funds in the UAE to support Boko Haram. This followed earlier actions by UAE authorities in 2021, when individuals were arrested and prosecuted for operating a fundraising network linked to the group. Despite these incidents, Nigeria–UAE relations remain largely focused on investment, trade, and broader economic cooperation.

Zayyad I. Muhammad writes from Abuja via zaymohd@yahoo.com.

By Muhammad Abubakar

Abba Atiku Abubakar, son of former Vice President Atiku Abubakar, has joined the ruling All Progressives Congress (APC) to mobilise support for the re-election of President Bola Ahmed Tinubu.

Abba Atiku was received Thursday evening in Abuja by the Deputy President of the Senate, Barau Jibrin, and the APC National Vice Chairman (North East), Mustafa Salihu.

He also announced the renaming of his political group to Haske Bola Tinubu Organisation, a body originally founded in 2022 as the Atiku Haske Organisation.

Reacting, Atiku Abubakar described his son’s decision as entirely personal, noting that such choices are normal in a democracy, even within families.

While reaffirming his democratic principles, he criticised the APC over what he described as poor governance and worsening economic and social conditions, pledging to continue working with others to offer Nigerians an alternative path to relief, hope, and progress.

By Muhammad Abubakar

The Nigeria Revenue Service (NRS) has officially unveiled its new institutional logo, formally marking its transition from the Federal Inland Revenue Service (FIRS) to a newly established revenue authority.

The unveiling ceremony took place in Abuja on Wednesday and was announced in a statement by Dare Adekanmbi, special adviser to the chairman of the NRS.

Speaking at the event, Zacch Adedeji, executive chairman of the NRS, described the new brand identity as a major milestone in the ongoing reform of Nigeria’s revenue administration framework, reflecting a renewed mandate and institutional vision.

Adekanmbi noted that the service became operational after President Bola Tinubu signed the Nigeria Revenue Service Establishment Act 2025 in June, paving the way for the transition from FIRS to NRS.

The new logo, officials said, symbolises efficiency, accountability, and a modernised approach to revenue generation in Nigeria.