Daddy, Daddy dont be scared. Everything is under control. Suleman was crushed by a hit-and-run drunkard, but he is currently admitted at Cedarcrest.

That was the message from my son, Saad, last Monday morning in Kano a morning when I was preparing to open an executive training programme we were hosting with the Bureau of Public Service Reform (BPSR). I had been in the city for more than a week, overseeing the PRNigeria Young Communication Fellowship. The days had been full and productive. The BPSR training was meant to cap the visit. I was in conversation with the Director General, Dr. Dasuki I. Arabi, making final preparations before participants arrived, when the call came.

I have been a father long enough to recognise the sound of a child carrying a weight he was never designed to carry. Saad is measured by temperament, not easily rattled. The phrase dont be scared told me before any detail that there was something to fear.

Dr. Arabi noticed the shift in my expression immediately. He paused and asked quietly whether there had been a fracture. I was still on the phone, asking the only question a father in that moment knows how to ask: Is he conscious? Is he talking?

Saad replied, Everything is in the hands of God. Continue your programme, Dad. We have it under control.

He was trying to protect me. I am a hypertension patient. Since my traumatic experience at the National Institute for Policy and Strategic Studies (NIPSS) an ordeal I have documented elsewhere my family has maintained an unspoken protocol around how they deliver difficult news. They weigh their words before they give them to me. That morning, I could feel the weight of what Saad was not saying.

I returned to the training. The professional in me took over, as it has always done in moments of crisis the body occupies the room, the voice delivers what it must, while the mind runs on two tracks. But the second track, replaying Saads call, was louder than I would have liked.

I had already sent the deposit money to Cedarcrest. Whatever was needed would be provided. That was the only action available to me from Kano, and I took it without hesitation. But action and peace of mind are different things, and I had only one of them.

Gidado gave me the first real breath. He sent a photograph Suleman in his hospital bed, arm raised, making the victory sign. That image did something to me that no reassuring word had managed. A young man crushed by a vehicle, hospitalised, facing surgery, and his first instinct was to raise his hand in defiance of what had happened to him. I looked at that photograph for a long time.

But I had already decided, quietly, to take the earliest possible flight back to Abuja. I told the participants the next morningwithout unnecessary detailthat I needed to cut my stay short.

They were gracious. I was on a Wednesday morning flight.

Nothing prepares a father for the sight of his child in a hospital bed after trauma. What I heard when I arrived broke my heart in ways I did not expect. Only then did I learn the full truth my family had deliberately shielded from me until I reached the hospital.

Suleman had been taking his early morning walk after Subhi and other morning prayers when a driverappearing from nowhereran him over at top speed. Seeing blood gush from his body, the man fled instantly, fearing my son was dead.

A medical doctor, Chidi Umeokoli who is a family friend, arrived just in time. I do not use the term god sent lightly, but in that moment, Umeokoli was exactly that. He assessed the injuries with the calm competence of his training, fully aware that the manner of evacuation in trauma cases matters enormously that a spine moved carelessly can turn a survivable accident into something irreversible.

He secured help from a Federal Road Safety vehicle. With lights and siren, they beat the Abuja traffic. Suleman reached Cedarcrest one of the countrys foremost orthopaedic and trauma centres in time. In the back of the emergency vehicle, bleeding and in pain, genuinely uncertain, Suleman asked his brother whether he was going to die.

Saad answered with a courage only love can produce steady, composed, refusing even to cry inside himself.

There are fractures. There are surgeries ahead. But his head is intact. His spine is intact. He speaks clearly, fully aware of where he is and what happened. In a road accident of this severity crushed by a vehicle driven by a man too irresponsible to remain at the scene, too cowardly to face what he had done these are not small mercies. They are the kind of mercies people of faith spend lifetimes praying for.

That gesture that small, defiant raising of a hand by Suleman in pain just to reassure his father tells me everything I need to know about the son I raised, and the son I intend to see fully recovered.

We pray that Suleman will walk out of Cedarcrest Hospital whole after the next surgery.

Yushau A. Shuaib, author of “NIPSS: MNI Versus MNIPR- Tackling Institutional Bullying” yashuaib@yashuaib.com

The post How a Hit-and-Run Driver Nearly Took Our Suleman appeared first on YAShuaib.

I was reluctant to make this disclosure. For weeks, I weighed silence against the obligation to be transparent. In the end, a video forced the matter: footage of my brotherly friend, Omoyele Sowore, leading a Tinubu Must Go procession. It reminded me that this dilemma has a public dimension I can no longer keep to myself.

Let me begin with context. Sowore and I have maintained a cordial relationship despite our different orientations his rooted in activist journalism, mine in strategic communication. When I was removed from federal public service after my well-documented altercation with then Finance Minister Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala, Sowore used his platform, energy, and resources to defend me at a time when few were willing to be publicly associated with the controversy. That kind of solidarity is hard to forget.

When I later served as a communications consultant to a sensitive office and our media placements appeared on Sahara Reporters, which he still publishes, a misunderstanding followed. During my transit in New York on my way to Las Vegas, he declined to see me, suspecting, I believe, that I had come to compromise his editorial independence on behalf of the then National Security Adviser, Colonel Sambo Dasuki. He treated the man the same way.

Ironically, he and Dasuki later found common ground in a DSS detention cell, and were released the same day. I have never sought a favour from Sowore that he refused, except for one occasion when he confronted me over an article supporting Okonjo Iwealas WTO aspiration. I respected his candour then, as I do now.

I offer this context not to demonstrate proximity to power on either side, but because the dilemma I am about to describe only makes sense against this background.

A few weeks ago, Kashifu Inuwa a highly respected technocrat from the North and a strong supporter of President Bola Ahmed Tinubu and the First Lady, Remi Tinubu invited me to his office. Known nationwide for championing digital literacy and transformation that has empowered training centres and young people, Kashifu came straight to the point: he wanted my professional guidance in building a movement.

Before I could respond, he named it: Tinubu Must Stay for Continuity, Stability and Prosperity.

I asked why the framing was not simply Tinubu Should Stay. His explanation was strategic, not sentimental. The movement was intended as a counter-narrative to the Tinubu Must Go campaign, which he believed had gained momentum from northern opposition quarters aligned with former Vice President Atiku Abubakar. He needed a response that matched the oppositions framing without conceding its terms.

He asked me to commit within 24 hours. I requested more time, but he held firm. I told him I would return with an assessment. The question was not whether I supported the President. The question was whether I could support a campaign on terms that were professionally defensible.

I asked my team to run a perception index and sentiment analysis on recent campaigns around the President. Using PRrev PRNigerias cross-platform media monitoring software supported by NITDA the findings were sobering. Negative sentiment, especially on social media, was not just high; it showed a level of public disaffection that no honest communicator could mask with slogans or rallies.

I then consulted a cohort of young communicators professionals in their late twenties and early thirties, from different regions and with no political affiliations. I asked if they would support the Tinubu Must Stay campaign. Their initial response was lukewarm. But I pressed further. I asked them to independently assess the administrations verifiable achievements against the weight of public grievance. What they brought back was more instructive than I anticipated.

They found that Tinubu facilitated the takeoff of new medical universities not only in the South, but also in Tsafe and Funtua in the North institutions many Nigerians hardly know exist. They noted hundreds of housing units commissioned across northern states and a marked rise in federation account allocations to states and local governments, funds that previous administrations often diverted into federal intervention schemes like PTF, DFRRI and SURE P. Security improvements were equally notable: new military divisions, acquisition of sophisticated armaments, and better personnel remuneration.

These were concrete, documented, verifiable facts that had not penetrated public consciousness because communication around them had been, to put it mildly, inadequate buried in technical statistics and figures that ordinary citizens rarely engage with.

Three of the young communicators who had been most reluctant became the most thorough in their research. By the end of the exercise, they joined the movement voluntarily, without inducement. To me, that was more significant than any polling data. It suggested that the deficit was not in the administrations record it was in the communication of that record.

When I returned to Kashifu, I recommended that the campaign be strictly evidence-based: facts, data, documented outcomes, and verifiable comparisons. I also cautioned against attacks on opposition personalities and confrontational posturing toward anti-government movements. No hired crowds. No orchestrated demonstrations. No manufactured street energy. No faking.

The forum would contribute intellectual rigour to the national conversation, not spectacle. A communication campaign built on verifiable facts does not need to shout down its critics. It simply needs to be heard.

Then, as I finalised my position, Sowores video emerged. My brotherly friend the man who stood with me when others did not was now supporting the very movement my professional guidance was retained to counter. I do not know whether he will formally align with the Atiku Abubakar camp, based on endorsements from initial conveners in the North.

As a student and practitioner of public relations, I believe the battle for public opinion in the months ahead will not be won by the side that shouts loudest, marches furthest, or commands the most digital noise. It will be won by the side that builds the most credible narrative around verifiable reality.

If the administrations achievements are as substantial as the data suggest, then failing to communicate them is a failure of professional executionnot a failure of governance. And that failure can be corrected.

Yushau A. Shuaib is the author of An Encounter with the Spymaster and NIPSS: MNI Versus MNIPR- Tackling Institutional Bullying. yashuaib@yashuaib.com

The post TMG vs TMS: The Communication Dilemma Over Tinubus Future appeared first on YAShuaib.

I approach national security and intelligence operations with deliberate caution. Revealing successes too early can compromise ongoing missions; failures narrated without context can sound like conspiracy theories. Allegations against individuals working at the sensitive intersection of intelligence, non-kinetic security strategy, and politics can inflict irreversible reputational damageeven when entirely fabricated.

That caution explains my initial reluctance to write on the recent viral video purporting to show high-profile bandit kingpins on a visit to the residence of Senator Shehu Umar Buba of Bauchi South. But the scale of the circulation, and the pattern behind it, now demand public clarification.

I have known Senator Buba for about two years, during investigations into non-kinetic approaches to counter insurgency in Northern Nigeria. In that period, senior security and intelligence officials including the Office of the National Security Adviser under Malam Nuhu Ribadu provided information that did not support any of the banditry allegations repeatedly circulated against him. This does not certify perfection; it simply reflects what the evidence showed.

The campaign against him is not new. The allegations took formal shape in September 2024, when Bauchi State Governor Bala Mohammed, once an ally of Senator Buba, petitioned President Bola Ahmed Tinubu. The petition claimed that the senator, through an aide named Yahaya Ibrahim, sponsored a bandit kingpin to the 2024 Hajj and distributed motorcycles to bandits. Senator Buba denied the claims, insisted he had no aide by that name, and explained that his Hajj sponsorships like his scholarships, medical outreach and other empowerment initiatives are based on recommendations from community and religious leaders, and that he does not personally screen or identify the beneficiaries. No investigation has contradicted his explanation.

After the petition failed to gain traction, the same narratives resurfaced through social media influencers with far lower evidentiary thresholds. Since mid 2025, photographs and videos alleging Bubas support for bandits have surfaced periodically. In professional verification chats with mainstream media organisations and senior editors who had received similar allegations and multimedia including a respected Abuja bureau chief who is also a media scholar with strong investigative credentials, the publisher of Zagazola, and a US‑based northern Nigerian journalist‑activist all examined the materials and declined to publish them because they found no substantiation. Their restraint was professional judgment, not fear.

Nevertheless, Senator Buba petitioned security agencies to investigate the disinformation network. Several suspects including a lawyer and three influencers were arrested, while a fifth suspect, Hassan, fled the country.

On October 30, 2025, the suspects were arraigned before Justice Rita Ofili Ajumogobia on charges of criminal conspiracy, cyberstalking, defamation, advance fee fraud, and extortion. The prosecution alleges they broadcast false videos accusing Senator Buba the then Chairman of the Senate Committee on National Security and Intelligence of sponsoring banditry and causing a breakdown of law and order. The extortion charge suggests the campaign may have been more commercial than political at that time.

In July 2026, a fresh petition emergedthis time against Muhammad Abdullahi Abubakar, SAN, former Bauchi governor and APC gubernatorial candidate for defaming Senator Buba. Filed by Jay Adl Attorneys, it alleged cyberstalking, criminal defamation, incitement, and disturbance of public peace, following viral statements in which Abubakar questioned the senators wealth and insinuated blood money. The political context is clear: Senator Buba defected from the APC to the PRP and is now the PRPs gubernatorial candidate. The disinformation campaign, the rivalry, and the legal proceedings are intertwined.

Meanwhile, the latest episode came in August 2026 when a content creator known as D English Alhaji circulated a video claiming to show bandit kingpins at a senators residence. PRNigerias fact check established that the video was a splice of two unrelated clips: Kaduna based Hajj returnees visiting Senator Buba in 2023, speaking Fulfulde/Fulani, and a separate group of individuals displaying passports and speaking English. Neither clip involved bandits. The content creator later interviewed Hassan the fugitive suspect who supplied the footage. The interview went viral with some funny allegations.

By the way, how can anyone seriously believe a narrative by the same Hassan in the interview claiming that bandits were brought to Abuja of all places to be trained by security agencies? How does such an implausible story even survive a moment of scrutiny?

This pattern reveals the architecture of modern disinformation: an old fabrication, rejected by responsible media, is retrieved, re edited, and repackaged for amplification by social media operators who understand that novelty can make old lies feel new. Algorithms reward outrage, giving reckless content creators a competitive advantage over those who exercise restraint. This is not accidental; it is structural.

I am cautious about character testimony, but after two years of engagement with Senator Buba in contexts where performance matters more than presentation, some observations are relevant. He is a man of few words, not given to the theatrics of Nigerian politics. His work in non kinetic securitypersuasion, community engagement, de-radicalisationhas, by credible accounts, helped reduce abductions along the Abuja Kaduna expressway and in Birnin Gwari, among others. Such work cannot be publicised without compromising community leaders or inviting sabotage from actors who profit from instability.

His philanthropic record is independently documented. A Trust TV documentary captured the breadth of his medical outreach across Bauchi and Plateau, showing Muslims and Christians among the beneficiaries. Monthly medical support programmes of that scale leave traces in communities and hospitals; they are not easy to fabricate.

None of this places Senator Buba beyond scrutiny. Public officials must be examined. But the evidence consistently shows that the allegations against him sponsoring banditry, hosting bandit kingpins are manufactured, and the machinery producing them is driven by electoral competition rather than civic concern.

When recycled footage, political rivalry, and social media algorithms converge, even a debunked falsehood can acquire a second life. In such an environment, a public figures communication strategy becomes as important as the truth itself.

Yushau A. Shuaib, the author of An Encounter with the Spymaster and MNI versus MNIPR in NIPSS , yashuaib@yashuaib.com

The post Senator Buba, Banditry and the Social Media Mercenaries appeared first on YAShuaib.

On the afternoon of Tuesday, August 25, 2026, I exchanged messages with Dotun Oladipo respected journalist, former President of the Guild of Corporate Online Publishers (GOCOP), and publisher of The Eagle Online. I sent him a report on the unfolding political rivalry in Katsina State between the camps of Governor Dikko Radda and Tinubus adviser, Ibrahim Masari which allegedly led to the arrest of security aides attached to the governor for publication on his platform.

In his characteristically simple and professional manner, Dotun asked me to forward it to his Gmail address instead of the Yahoo account I had previously used. I obliged. Within minutes, the article was published, and a few hours later, he promoted it as the lead story in his WhatsApp news broadcast.

That was Dotun: no bureaucracy, no excuses, no endless promises. If a material was newsworthy and suitable for his platform, he acted promptly.

The next day, as I prepared to attend a programme, my son Gidado called.

Dotun Oladipo is trending everywhere, he said.

I smiled instinctively. When good people trend, one hopes it is for good reasons an appointment, an award, a promotion, or another professional milestone.

Then he completed the sentence.

They say he is dead.

What? What! I screamed.

It struck like a thunderbolt. I immediately returned to our last conversation. I checked the messages. I looked again at the article he had published. Everything had happened less than twenty‑four hours earlier. How could a man who had just attended to a professional request suddenly become the subject of an obituary?

Reports said Dotun died at 56 after suddenly taking ill at his office in Lagos. Colleagues said he had appeared well earlier in the day and had even gone to the gym before proceeding with his normal activities. He reportedly became unwell at work and sought medical attention, but he did not survive. Some reports suggested a heart attack, though the precise medical cause should be left to those competent to establish it.

But in that moment of grief, my mind rebelled against the cold logic of mortality.

Why does sudden death sometimes appear to pick the good ones even those, like Dotun, who had just observed the physical exercise recommended for medical fitness? Why would it take a patriotic journalist, a gentleman, and a friend, while bandit kingpins, terrorist commanders, and others who inflict misery on innocent citizens continue to roam?

Why do people who work for peace and national stability depart without warning, while those who threaten the peace seem to survive one violent episode after another?

Of course, these are not questions mortals can answer. Death does not operate according to our understanding of fairness or fitness.

My relationship with Dotun spanned many years. I came to know him more closely during Nigerias most challenging security period, when the Forum of Spokespersons of Security and Response Agencies (FOSSRA) was coordinated under Major General Chris Olukolade and supported by the Office of the National Security Adviser under Colonel Sambo Dasuki (Rtd). It was also the era when PRNigeria strengthened its role in security reporting and crisis communication.

Those were difficult years. Boko Haram dominated headlines, security agencies were under immense pressure, and public confidence was constantly shaken by conflicting reports and propaganda. The relationship between security institutions and the media was therefore critical. Journalists had to balance the publics right to know with the responsibility not to compromise operations, while security agencies had to recognise that journalists were not adversaries simply because they asked hard questions.

Dotun understood that delicate balance. He believed in journalism, but he also understood national responsibility.

Our interactions continued long after that period. Until the article he published barely hours before his death which he even promoted as the lead story in his final WhatsApp news broadcast Dotun remained remarkably consistent. Whenever I sent him something newsworthy, he responded promptly. Sometimes it was purely professional; at other times, it carried the quiet solidarity colleagues extend to one another without making a ceremony of friendship.

Dotuns professional journey spanned nearly three decades across major Nigerian newsrooms Nigerian Tribune, Nigerian Compass, The Sun, and PUNCH, where he served as Politics Editor before establishing The Eagle Online. His contribution to digital journalism was significant. There was a time when online journalism in Nigeria was treated as the unruly younger cousin of traditional media associated with sensationalism, poor verification, and weak gatekeeping.

People like Dotun helped change that perception. Through The Eagle Online and his leadership in GOCOP, he belonged to a generation of publishers who proved that online journalism could be fast without being reckless, competitive without abandoning ethics, and independent while still respecting professional standards.

He understood something that remains relevant today: the platform may change, but the fundamentals of journalism should not. Holding leaders accountable does not mean abandoning responsibility to the nation. Dotun represented the bridge between the traditional newsroom and the digital environment that now defines journalism.

Beyond the profession, I remember the human being a patriotic Nigerian, a dependable colleague, a gentleman who valued friendship and professional solidarity, and a publisher who could receive an article and, without drama, publish it within minutes if he considered it worthy.

As I mourn Dotun Oladipo, I also reflect on the peculiar vulnerability of journalists. We chase deadlines, manage breaking news, respond to calls at odd hours, travel unexpectedly, confront professional pressures, and carry burdens audiences rarely see. We report everyone elses emergencies while sometimes ignoring the warnings from our own bodies.

The circumstances surrounding Dotuns passing should remind media professionals and indeed all of us that health deserves attention even amid the pressure of deadlines and obligations.

At 56, we shared the same age, and by human reckoning he left far too soon. Yet life is ultimately measured not by how long we stay, but by what we leave in the minds and lives of others.

My brother Dotun, I still struggle to reconcile our last exchange with the obituary that followed. Yesterday, you were the publisher receiving my article; today, you are the subject of one. The deadline has finally come for a story none of us ever wished to publish.

Good night, Dotun Oladipo and with tears, I send this one last message to your favourite email, dotunoladipo@gmail.com.

Yushau A. Shuaib
Publisher, PRNigeria & Economic Confidential
yashuaib@yashuaib.com

The post Dotun Oladipo: Why Does Sudden Death Take the Good and Spare the Wicked? appeared first on YAShuaib.

When the Presidential Spokesman, Bayo Onanuga, announced that President Bola Tinubu had constituted an eleven‑man committee to develop a National Threat Assessment and a Strategic Defence Operations Plan within ninety days, several things struck me with about four months to the general elections even before I reached the substance of the directive.

The first was a detail so small it might ordinarily escape notice. The release identified Major General Adeyinka A. Famadewa, the Presidents Special Adviser on Homeland Security being tasked to coordinate the committee and provide secretariat support. His name appeared without the designation Rtd retired after his military rank. In routine communication, such an omission may be a harmless editorial slip. But in security communication, precision is not a luxury; it is a discipline.

The substance of the directive, however, is consequential. The President has mandated the committee to produce the plan that will establish medium‑term operational priorities by identifying force requirements, capability gaps, and equipment needs across all theatres.

The committees membership is composed of named individuals, not offices a significant distinction. It includes the National Security Adviser, Malam Nuhu Ribadu; the Minister of Defence, General Christopher Musa; the Minister of State for Defence, Alhaji Bello Muhammad Matawalle; the Chief of Defence Staff, General Olufemi Oluyede; the service chiefs; and the heads of the DSS and NIA. Naming individuals rather than offices removes the flexibility of substitution and attaches personal accountability to the mandate. That means the meeting with not be by representation or delegation.

Yet the composition raises legitimate questions the release did not address. The Inspector General of Police and the Chief of Defence Intelligence are absent. So are the heads of the Nigeria Security and Civil Defence Corps and the Nigeria Immigration Service. Whether these omissions reflect a deliberate architectural choice or an oversight is unclear. But in a country where internal security, public order, and counter‑insurgency rely heavily on policing and civil defence structures, their absence is not a trivial matter.

The release cited a single operational event the rescue of pupils and teachers abducted in Oriire LGA of Oyo State as justification for the new initiative. The rescue was indeed commendable. But anchoring a national‑level defence planning directive on one successful southern operation inadvertently reinforces the asymmetry in how security successes across Nigerias regions are framed. Comparable and often larger rescue operations in the North‑East and North‑West from freeing abducted students to reclaiming communities from insurgents have received far less national attention.

Nigeria is not a country that lacks security strategy documents. If anything, it has produced them in abundance. The ninety‑day mandate would benefit from an honest reckoning with what already exists and what became of it.

In 2013, under President Goodluck Jonathan, Nigeria launched a comprehensive national security architecture built on three interconnected documents: the National Counter Terrorism Strategy (NACTEST), the National Security Strategy (NSS) and the National Cybersecurity Policy and Strategy.

NACTEST, initiated by NSA Colonel Sambo Dasuki (Rtd), rested on five pillars Forestall, Secure, Identify, Prepare, and Implement and mandated periodic reviews every five to ten years.

Under President Muhammadu Buhari, the Office of the National Security Adviser, led by Major General Babagana Monguno (Rtd), revised the framework of NACTEST and launched the National Crisis Management Doctrine (NCMD) in 2022. The NCMD translated broad policy directives into concrete crisis protocols, establishing standardised command structures, strategic communication channels, and escalation pathways for coordinated national response.

Under the current administration, the Office of the National Security Adviser unveiled the NCTC Strategic Plan 20252030, a five‑year roadmap for preventing and countering violent extremism built on intelligence fusion, inter‑agency collaboration, operational capacity building, and strategic communications. It was unveiled in November 2025 by Senate President Godswill Akpabio on behalf of President Tinubu, while NCTC Cordinator Major General Adamu Garba Laka represented Ribadu at the occasion.

The logical question the ninety‑day committee must answer before drafting a single page is simple: What is the relationship between its new mandate and the frameworks that already exist? Is the new Strategic Defence Operations Plan intended to replace NACTEST, the NCMD, and the NCTC Strategic Plan? Will it sit alongside them? Is it a military‑specific operational layer beneath the broader national security architecture? If so, how will coordination be ensured?

Onanugas release contains a paragraph that deserves particular attention. It states that once approved, the proposed plan would serve as the principal framework for coordinating military and defence operations over the medium term and would guide a multi‑year defence expenditure and procurement plan.

The emphasis on military and defence operations and spending rather than national security in the broader sense is telling. It may align with the committees composition, which is heavily weighted toward the armed services and intelligence agencies, and with the choice of a retired Major General Famadewa as coordinator rather than the NSA, whose remit covers the entire national security spectrum.

Ribadus background is in civilian law enforcement he retired as an Assistant Inspector General of Police before his distinguished career at the EFCC and in politics. His placement as a member rather than coordinator reflects a committee architecture that is primarily military in orientation. Whether this orientation is appropriate for Nigerias diverse security challenges from economic crime and banditry to coastal piracy and electoral violence is a legitimate question for scholars and policymakers.

The most consequential paragraph in the release is the one that received the least attention. It notes that the proposed framework will guide multi‑year defence expenditure, ensuring resources are directed toward agreed operational priorities. That is funding and funding is where seriousness is ultimately tested.

Nigeria has a long history of producing sophisticated security strategy documents that were quietly shelved once the budget cycle arrived and political priorities shifted. The question now is whether the new plan will emphasise expenditure more than operational efficiency and whether it will avoid becoming another well‑written document without practical impact.

A ninety‑day planning exercise can produce a credible framework, but it must be backed by a realistic, legislatively supported multi‑year funding commitment. It should not demand excessive new spending, especially at a time when the country continues to borrow heavily for major capital projects.

In the concluding paragraph of the release, the President tasked not individual officers but the Office of the Secretary to the Government of the Federation (OSGF) and the Office of the National Security Adviser (ONSA) to give immediate effect to the directive. Their compliance and the quality of output from the committees named members will define the next ninety days.

With the general election approaching, the ninety days will tell us much, while the budget will tell us the rest.

Yushau A. Shuaib is the author of “MNI Versus MNIPR in NIPSS- Tackling institutional Bullying” yashuaib@yashuaib.com

The post Famadewa, Ribadu and 90-Day Security Plan: Unpacking Onanuga’s Release- YAShuaib appeared first on YAShuaib.

When I met her, I simply remarked that such an incident was not reflective of our culture, and she laughed it off with grace.

When I received the invitation to speak on crisis communication at the 20th International PR Congress in Lagos and learned that Esther Cobbah, the first African President of the International Public Relations Association, would also be in attendance I was genuinely excited. The annual Congress is far more than another conference; it is a gathering of senior public relations practitioners, academics, institutional leaders, and communication strategists, a forum where emerging professional practices are interrogated and excellence is celebrated.

For me, it was also an opportunity to share practical lessons and present my recent publications, including a research on AI in crisis communication within Nigerias public sector.

My schedule was tight. I planned to return to Abuja the next day to prepare for the National Spokespersons Awards and the Economic Confidential Annual Lecture. Yet, beyond professional duty, the journey carried a personal significance.

My participation at the Congress was made possible through the generous hospitality of a man whose contributions to public relations in Nigeria and Africa remain extraordinary Mazi Mike Okereke, President of BEEC International and Director of The Management School, London. He personally provided my return flight ticket and accommodation in Lagos.

That gesture is typical of a man who has spent decades opening professional doors for others. He was a gateway to international professional exposure. Through his programmes including the International School of Public Relations in London, he did not merely gain access to international platforms; he opened those doors for others. In my own case, Mazi Okereke recommended my nomination for membership of the then Institute of Public Relations (now CIPR) in the United Kingdom, as well as IPRA in the 1990s. Those relationships contributed to my career and continue to influence my work especially on crisis Communication.

His institutional footprints are equally remarkable. He served as President of the Nigerian Institute of Public Relations (NIPR) and the African Public Relations Association (APRA), while also holding leadership roles within the Nigerian Institute of Management and IPRA. Through these platforms, he projected Nigerian public relations practice beyond our borders.

The 20th International PR Congress is itself a testament to his persistence and vision. Sustaining such a gathering for twenty editions across shifting governments, economic uncertainties, and institutional challenges in African countries requires conviction, not just resources. It was therefore natural to be enthusiastic about attending this milestone edition.

Then came the morning of August 11, 2026 a day when a crisis communicator encountered a crisis firsthand. Arriving at the Nnamdi Azikiwe International Airport at 6:30 a.m., two hours ahead of my scheduled Air Peace flight, I found the entrance gates padlocked, the departure hall deserted, and no official notification explaining what had happened or what would happen next.

In my luggage were copies of my publications on crisis communication the very subject I was travelling to discuss. Yet there I stood, books unopened, while stranded passengers milled around the forecourt without seating, information, or officials who could provide clarity.

The irony was not lost on me. Organised labour and major aviation unions had moved to enforce industrial action. Airline counters were inaccessible, gates sealed, check‑in suspended, and airline personnel unable to perform their duties.

Ironically, posters displayed around the entrance communicated the unions grievances more effectively than the airlines communicated with their own passengers.

The issues behind the dispute were not trivial they involved workers rights to unionise and disagreements over statutory financial obligations within the aviation sector. Yet, on a personal level, I frown at actions that jeopardise indigenous businesses and undermine the sacrifices of local investors sustaining our aviation industry.

But the strike exposed a deeper systemic failure: a breakdown in passenger communication. These were people who had purchased tickets, rearranged schedules, left their homes early, travelled to the airport only to discover at the gate that the services they paid for were unavailable.

In crisis communication, one basic principle applies: stakeholders should never learn about a crisis directly affecting them from a padlocked gate.

When I later checked my booking status, my flight appeared on the system but was marked as a past flight, with no option to check in and no explanation. A simple notification would have saved me the dawn trip to the airport.

Customer service channels, overwhelmed by distressed passengers, became unreachable precisely when they were needed most. That was the moment an industrial dispute turned into a communication crisis.

Information about a potential shutdown usually exists within the system long before the first gate is locked. The real question is who ensures that such information reaches passengers promptly. Crisis communication is anticipatory providing timely, credible updates that help stakeholders make informed decisions before the full impact hits them.

Missing the milestone PR Congress and the chance to honour a professional elder who shaped my international exposure would have been deeply disappointing. After nearly six hours without resolution, I booked a later ValueJet flight at almost twice my original fare, simply to secure a realistic chance of reaching Lagos.

Yet my personal inconvenience the wasted hours, extra costs, and disrupted itinerary was secondary to the larger institutional lesson. Some stranded passengers may have had international connections, medical appointments, examinations, interviews, funerals, weddings, court appearances, or business meetings. Disruptions may sometimes be unavoidable, but silence should never be.

Modern aviation possesses the infrastructure for automated alerts, real‑time updates, and coordinated communication. What is required is preparedness, coordination, and respect for passengers.

As I finally landed in Lagos, I resolved that my experience at the Abuja airport would become part of my presentation at the PR Congress. After all, the most memorable lessons in crisis communication are rarely found in textbooks or PowerPoint slides. They unfold before us in real time, among real people, with real consequences.

After my presentation with the aviation strike as my case study I learned that Esther Cobbahs flight from Ghana had also been affected. She arrived much later than scheduled, only to discover that her baggage had not arrived with the airline. It was an unnecessary ordeal for a distinguished guest.

When I met her, I simply remarked that such an incident was not reflective of our culture, and she laughed it off with grace. And on this occasion, the lesson was unmistakable: a crisis may be unavoidable, but communication failure is not.

Yushau A. Shuaib, Author of “Crisis Communication Strategies” and “MNI Versus MNIPR in NIPSS” www.YAShuaib.com

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After the bishops recent closed‑door meeting with President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, Cardinal John Onaiyekan made a striking claim: that presidential aides are shielding the President from the true suffering in the country, presenting a false rosy picture, and that Tinubu already appears desperate about winning the 2027 election.

As a writer and observer of governance, I share that concern. A president who controls the instruments of state, commands a united party, and faces a divided opposition has little rational cause for electoral anxiety unless overzealous handlers are manufacturing threats where few exist.

The question therefore deserves to be asked plainly: what exactly is President Bola Ahmed Tinubu afraid of?

The EFCCs freezing of the Osun State Governments accounts barely a week before the governorship election citing a court order later reversed by the President himself was not merely a legal misstep. It was a political signal of ‘over‑sabi’ that familiar Yoruba expression for excessive, misdirected overzealousness gone disastrously wrong. It also raised a question that goes beyond Osuns finances and cuts to the heart of governance in Abuja: are these the deliberate choices of a confident presidency, or the panicked manoeuvres of handlers who have convinced the President that 2027 is a battle he might lose?

Because by any honest reading of Nigerias political landscape, the evidence for such fear is astonishingly thin.

Tinubu enters the 2027 cycle with structural advantages unmatched in recent democratic history.

He controls the executive machinery of the Federal Government with unusual cohesion. The CBN and NRS, custodians of the national treasury and revenue and the full architecture of anti‑corruption agencies operate within a presidency facing no internal rebellion. The security services police, DSS, and the military answer to the Commander‑in‑Chief. INEC operates within a constitutional framework that any well‑resourced incumbent can navigate with relative ease.

Why should he entertain fear? His party, the APC, has absorbed opposition defections at a rate that has reshaped the electoral map. Several governors elected on opposition platforms in 2023 have since crossed over, weakening the institutional backbone of any credible challenge. The PDP, Labour Party, and other formations remain fractured much like 2023, when the split between Atiku Abubakar, Peter Obi, and Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso arguably delivered the presidency to Tinubu on the platter of gold. Has he forgotten that blessing in disguise?

Tinubu won the 2023 election under conditions far more hostile than anything he faces today. President Muhammadu Buhari was not enthusiastic about his candidacy. Vice President Yemi Osinbajo, Senate President Ahmed Lawan, ministers, and other APC heavyweights were either rivals or reluctant supporters. Yet Tinubu prevailed.

He now enters 2027 with those internal rivals neutralised and with the incumbency advantage he lacked in 2023.
So why are his handlers suddenly desperate even flirting with anti‑democratic impulses?

Should a president who survived 2023s turbulence now need anti‑corruption agencies freezing a states accounts one week before an election to prove loyalty?

Governance under Tinubu is mixed but not devoid of genuine achievements. Abuja, under the politically abrasive but undeniably effective Nyesom Wike, has witnessed accelerated infrastructural development: roads, housing schemes, and urban renewal projects visible to anyone who drives through the city. One may dislike his crude politics, but his performance as minister rivals the El‑Rufai era. Had these and other ministerial achievements been properly documented and consistently communicated, wouldnt they have formed a persuasive counter‑narrative to critics?

The Ministry of Information and National Orientation has also done strategic work in countering the internationally amplified Christian genocide narrative a framing that ignored the Muslim communities devastated by banditry and terrorism in the North‑West and North‑East. Doesnt the lobbying that produced a more balanced posture from Washington including under President Donald Trump reflect a sophistication in foreign‑policy communication that deserves amplification?

The administration has increased military remuneration, strengthening loyalty to civilian command. The foiling of a reported coup attempt further consolidates military alignment with the presidency.Do these achievements justify political panic?

One under‑analysed dimension of Tinubus political arithmetic is the legacy of the MuslimMuslim ticket. The TinubuShettima pairing was controversial in 2023, with critics warning it would alienate Christian voters. Yet, paradoxically after the victory, the administration has appointed Christian technocrats to some of the most economically sensitive ministries and key security portfolios alongside many Yoruba appointees. Whether by design or necessity, hasnt the MuslimMuslim ticket ended up delivering significant Christian representation at the apex of federal governance?

Retaining Shettima for 2027 follows the same logic: consolidate the Muslim North especially the core North that delivered decisive margins while Christian appointments counterbalance the optics. It is a defensible strategy. But doesnt it require sophisticated communication which has not always been forthcoming?

Back to Osun: The real danger. The EFCCs freezing of Osuns accounts days before an election was legally arguable but politically indefensible. The timing made it impossible to interpret as anything other than partisan interference. The President‑ordered reversal after the alleged court order only confirmed what the optics had already declared.

The damage is not to Governor Ademola Adeleke or the opposition party. The damage is to President Tinubu. It invites the central question every overzealous enforcement action provokes: did the President authorise this and other similar actions, including judicial manoeuvres?

If yes, it suggests a president anxious about 2027 despite overwhelming structural advantages or one willing to compromise institutional integrity for marginal electoral gain. If no, it suggests something equally dangerous: that agencies are acting in his name without his knowledge, and that the presidency is unable to control institutions under its authority.

Neither interpretation flatters the presidency. Both are politically corrosive.

Nigeria has seen this pattern before. Weaponising anti‑corruption agencies does not strengthen incumbents. It delegitimises institutions, hardens opposition resolve, generates sympathy for targeted figures, and provides ammunition to international observers already sceptical of Nigerias democratic governance.

Does the arithmetic of intimidation ever favour the intimidator?

Tinubu is not a political novice. He is one of the most strategically sophisticated political minds Nigeria has produced. The Lagos model whatever its imperfections demonstrates his ability to build and sustain political structures over decades.

Which makes the question more urgent: who is advising him that these manoeuvres are necessary? Are they genuinely trying to secure his re‑election?
Or are some exploiting his perceived anxiety for their own selfish interests?

Because the greatest threat to a Tinubu second term is not Atiku Abubakar, Peter Obi, or Kwankwaso. It is the growing perception that a confident presidency is behaving like one that is not.

Yushau A. Shuaib is the author of “MNI Versus MNIPR in NIPSS” on Tackling institutional Bullying. yashuaib@yashuaib.com

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By Yushau A. Shuaib

Ahmed Balarabe Saids new book Arent We All PR People? is one of those rare works that immediately announce themselves as more than textbooks. It is a field guide, a mentor in print, and a career compass for anyone stepping into the demanding but rewarding world of Public Relations. After carefully reviewing the book, I am genuinely temptedwithout any flatteryto call it the definitive PR career guide for emerging communicators. It is a standout resource that sets a new benchmark for the field.

Balarabe, a Mass Communication graduate of Bayero University Kano (BUK) more than two decades ago, is not merely a communication scholar; he is a true PR professional in every sense of the wordfar beyond regulatory certification. Calling him a practitioner feels almost inadequate because he breathes, speaks, writes, and conducts himself with the instinctive discipline of someone who genuinely lives and promotes Public Relations through his relationships, engagements, and professional ethos.

What makes this book remarkable is not only its breadth but its narrative style. Balarabe writes with a clarity that demystifies PR practice and a warmth that draws readers into the professions human side. His storytelling approach, just like my recently released memoir “MNI Versus MNIPR in NIPSS,” creates curiosity, making even foundational principles feel fresh and urgent. For budding communicators who often encounter PR as abstract theory, this book offers something different: a vivid, practical, and relatable journey into the craft.

Several chapters carry uniquely crafted titles that immediately spark curiosity and offer clear glimpses into their thematic direction. Chapter One, From Ancient Rhetoric to Digital Dialogue, sets the tone by tracing the evolution of communication from classical persuasion to todays fast‑paced digital exchanges. Other standout chaptersA Constellation of Concepts, Professionalising the Practice, That Good PR Practitioner, A Universe of Opportunities, Some of Your Mentors, Ethical Traps and Hidden Dangers, You and AI, and PR Shotspresent their subjects with clarity and creative framing. PR Shots, in particular, is an engaging compilation of short, sharp professional posts originally shared on social media, now curated into a chapter that reads like a pocket guide for daily practice. The final chapter, which foregrounds the emerging role of Public Relations in Nigerias national project, provides a thoughtful and forward‑looking conclusionpositioning PR not just as a profession but as a strategic pillar in nation‑building.

The book succeeds on multiple fronts. First, it bridges the gap between theory and practice. Many PR texts lean heavily on academic frameworks, leaving young practitioners unsure how to apply them in real‑world situations. Balarabe flips that script. He grounds every concept in lived experiencecrisis moments, ethical dilemmas, communication landmines, and the subtle art of managing reputation. The result is a book that teaches not only what PR is but how PR is done.

Second, the book is structured to guide readers through the profession with increasing depth. From foundational ethics to the anatomy of a good practitioner, from crisis communication to the evolving role of AI, each chapter builds on the last with intentional clarity. The inclusion of real personalitiesrole models whose careers illuminate different pathways in the fieldadds a human dimension that young readers will find both inspiring and instructive.

Third, Balarabe demonstrates a rare courage in addressing contemporary issues. His challenge to the Nigerian Institute of Public Relations (NIPR) on the absence of AI regulation is bold and necessary. His exploration of digital crises, misinformation, and emerging technologies shows a practitioner who understands that PR is evolving rapidlyand that the next generation must be prepared for a landscape far more complex than what existed a decade ago.

The book also shines in its treatment of ethics. Balarabe does not present ethics as a checklist but as the backbone of professional credibility. His insistence that ethical grounding must precede technical skill is a message young communicators urgently need. In a world where speed often competes with accuracy, and visibility competes with integrity, this emphasis is both timely and timeless.

One of the books strongest features is its use of narrative to teach principles. Balarabes storiesof practitioners, crises, institutions, and turning pointsare not decorative. They are instructional. They show how PR works in real life, how reputations are built and broken, and how communicators must think, act, and adapt. This narrative approach makes the book accessible without sacrificing depth.

The book is also refreshingly honest. It does not romanticise the profession. It acknowledges the pressures, the politics, the ethical crossroads, and the emotional labour involved in communication work. Yet it balances this realism with optimism, reminding readers that PR remains one of the most impactful careers for those who master its principles.

For emerging communicators, this book will serve as a mentor. For educators, it will be a teaching companion. For practitioners, it will be a reminder of the disciplines core values. And for the profession at large, it will be a contribution that strengthens the intellectual and practical foundation of PR in Nigeria.

In my sincere assessment, this book is more than a guide. It is a benchmark. A resource that will inspire, instruct, and challenge. A book that emerging communicators will return to repeatedly as they navigate their careers.

And truly, Arent We All PR People is a book our profession has been waiting for.

Yushau A. Shuaib, Award‑Winning PR Practitioner, is the author of MNI Versus MNIPR in NIPSS- Tackling Institutional Bullying yashuaib@yashuaib.com

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When a sponsored attack song backfires, it reveals everything about the sponsors and nothing damaging about the target.

A brief disclosure is necessary before I proceed. In December 2018, Jamilu Gwamna then Managing Director of the Kano Electricity Distribution Company (KEDCO) personally approved the removal and reinstallation of electric poles to support the expansion of the PRNigeria Centre in Kano. That gesture of institutional goodwill remains unforgettable. His spokesperson, Ibrahim Shawai, who still serves in that role today, has also been a long standing professional colleague. I state this up front because transparency about relationships is the foundation of credible commentary, and what I am about to say directly touches on the political contest in which Gwamna is now a participant.

I must also clarify my relationship with Isa Ali Pantami. I have closely monitored the evolution of Nigerias digital economy ecosystem since his days as Director General of NITDA and throughout his tenure as Minister of Communications and Digital Economy. That monitoring led to active promotion of legitimate achievements and a sustained effort to counter malicious narratives directed at him. It also resulted in a book documenting his trials and triumphs. My engagement with Pantami has always been based strictly on public service record nothing more, nothing less.

For more than two years, Pantami has openly signalled his intention to contest the governorship of Gombe State. There were early indications that Governor Muhammadu Inuwa Yahaya might not remain neutral in the APC primary. I raised this concern with the Governors spokesperson, Ismaila Misilli, during the launch of Pantamis books in Abuja in January 2024. Misilli consistently reassured me that the Governor would be fair to all aspirants.

When Shawai later informed me that Jamilu Gwamna would also be contesting after securing the APC ticket, I did what fairness required: I told him directly that any press release or material his candidate issued would be published on our platforms at no cost the same courtesy extended to Pantami, who had paid his dues in national service. Equity demanded nothing less.
This week, precisely last Thursdays evening after Shawai discussed a release and a new photograph of his candidate with me which we published immediately a video began circulating less than twenty four hours later.

In it, APC Hausa praise singer Kahutu Rarara did not merely criticise Pantami; he accused him of drug addiction, alleged corruption, and issued thinly veiled threats of referral to anti corruption agencies. He then, in the same breath, lavished praise on Jamilu Gwamna, the APC governorship candidate. The sponsorship was not implied. It was announced.

The response was swift, fierce, and deeply instructive. Clerics who had previously criticised Pantami came out in his defence. Scholars who had held reservations issued statements of solidarity. Politicians in opposing camps expressed sympathy. Social media influencers with no particular allegiance condemned Rarara in terms sharper than anything he had directed at his target. Without spending a kobo or uttering a word in his own defence, Pantami gained more followers, more sympathisers, and more vocal supporters in forty eight hours than any conventional campaign event could have delivered.

The attack produced the exact opposite of its intended effect. This is not a coincidence. It is a textbook case of demarketing by incompetence a lesson written in real time for anyone willing to read it.

I have made this point repeatedly in professional settings, and it bears restating with the specificity this episode demands. There is a fundamental difference between publicity, where noise and trend matter, and public relations, where substance and credibility matter. Many politicians and campaign managers behave as though the two are interchangeable assuming that anyone with a large audience or a talent for generating noise is automatically a useful campaign instrument. This is a costly error.

Publicity measures reach and volume. Public relations measures credibility and consequence.
A praise singer with hundreds of thousands of followers can generate trend after trend, but if his credibility is already compromised, every trend he generates carries the stench of that compromise. The audience does not simply receive the message; it filters it through what it already knows about the messenger. When a campaign instrument is perceived as mercenary, every message it carries is contaminated.

Kahutu Rarara is not an artist in the tradition of musicians who use their platforms to advocate justice or accountability. He is, by his own pattern, a hired tongue available to praise whoever pays and to attack whoever his current patron designates. He has performed this function against former Kano Governors Ibrahim Shekarau and Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso, among others. In each case, those he vilified were, in other seasons, recipients of his flattery when patronage flowed in their direction. Nigerians are not unaware of this. His credibility as an independent voice is precisely zero. That is why there can be no basis for comparing a global musical icon like Davido with Rarara after their public clash in June 2026 over Nigerias kidnapping crisis.

Any campaign strategist who deployed him for this assignment either failed to conduct the most basic perception audit or conducted one and ignored it. Either way, the professional failure belongs to the architects of the strategy not to Rarara, who simply did what Rarara does.

While publicity chases attention, public relations earns trust. And the most damaging form of demarketing is when an opposition relies on a weak, hate-driven campaigner who resorts to ignorance, arrogance, and indecency. Such tactics almost always backfire, instantly boosting public sympathy and solidarity for the reputable competitor without them spending a single penny. That is exactly what we are witnessing in the case of Rararas attack song against Pantami.

Yushau A. Shuaib is the author of Pantami: Trials & Triumphs of a Digital Economy Maestro. Email: yashuaib@yashuaib.com

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Crisis communication teaches one hard truth: silence doesn’t calm a crisis; it fuels it. When leaders fail to engage, their silence is easily read as indifference. That was the uncomfortable impression some participants felt during the second day of the recent National Security Summit organised by the Nigeria Union of Journalists (NUJ) in Abuja, where senior security officials were absent.

Were security chiefs concerned that journalists might demand answers about the persistent allegations linking illegal mining activities in bandit-prone areas to the financing of criminal networks? Could they have been uncomfortable addressing claims that some retired and serving security personnel have been implicated, directly or indirectly, in the worsening insecurity across the country?

Could they also have feared being asked whether the nation’s democratic authorities and security leadership possess the political will and operational latitude required to confront these monumental challenges, especially amid claims that some major financiers and sponsors are known yet remain untouchable?

And what about the resurgence of mass abductions and kidnappings, particularly in schools spreading beyond their traditional epicentres, raising concerns about whether these attacks are being orchestrated for political motives or illicit financial gain?

While there may be no evidence to support such suspicions, insecurity thrives in the shadows where transparency is absent. The summit, themed “Media and Security Agencies as Partners in Nation Building,” was conceived as a platform to foster understanding between two institutions whose responsibilities frequently intersect: the media and the security services.

The opening day was impressive. It drew a diverse audience of journalists, academics, communication specialists, development partners, security personnel, and government officials. The Minister of Information and National Orientation, Malam Mohammed Idris Malagi, was the most senior figure in attendance, adding weight to the proceedings. Discussions focused on strategic communication, responsible journalism, national security, and the importance of collaboration in addressing Nigeria’s complex security challenges.

However, the second day, which was designed as the technical session devoted specifically to national security issues, presented a different picture. The security chiefs whose institutions were central to the conversation were conspicuously absent. More disappointing was the fact that many of them were neither physically present nor represented.

Ironically, the discussions that day could have benefited enormously from their participation. The keynote speaker, Mr. Musikilu Mojeed, President of the International Press Institute (IPI) Nigeria, delivered a well-researched paper on the delicate relationship between the media and security institutions. He examined several historical and contemporary cases that highlighted tensions, misunderstandings, and occasional confrontations between journalists and security agencies.

During his presentation, he referenced the controversial 2014 incident in which security operatives intercepted newspaper distribution vehicles, an episode that drew widespread criticism from media organisations and civil society groups.

What Mr. Mojeed perhaps did not know was that one of the principal actors in that period, former Director of Defence Information, Major General Chris Olukolade (rtd.), was quietly seated at the back of the hall with a former Director of Naval Information, Commodore Kabir Aliyu (rtd.). I was privileged to sit beside them as the presentation progressed.

General Olukolade, currently the Chairman of the Centre for Crisis Communication (CCC) is not known for reopening old controversies. In fact, he has consistently avoided public discussions about many military operations and sensitive decisions from previous eras. Yet, on this occasion, he felt compelled to provide clarification.

When given the microphone, he explained that at the time, during the administration of Goodluck Jonathan, security agencies were grappling with evolving terrorist tactics, including intelligence reports suggesting that insurgents were exploring unconventional methods of transporting weapons and logistics across the country.

More importantly, he revealed something that many critics may not have known: the security command later acknowledged public concerns over the incident and apologised. According to him, lessons were learned, and safeguards were introduced to ensure that such actions would not recur. He added that dialogue often achieves what assumptions cannot.

To my surprise, I was also invited to the podium to contribute to the discussion on media-security relations. My intervention was modest. Rather than focusing on disagreements, I chose to highlight examples of productive collaboration between journalists and security agencies through the Forum of Spokespersons of Security and Response Agencies (FOSSRA), an initiative once chaired by General Olukolade and later by the late Major General Abubakar Rabe.

I remembered the professionalism of editors who placed national interest above sensational headlines. One notable example involved a senior editor of ThisDay Newspaper, Ms Ijeoma Nwogwugwu, who received a late-night request in June 2013 from military authorities regarding a specific word used in a report on insurgency operations. The concern was that publishing certain details could jeopardise an ongoing mission. After reviewing the implications, the newspaper agreed and made the adjustment. The operation was subsequently adjudged successful.

I also recalled my May 2014 visit to Premium Times’ headquarters after a report on an alleged mutiny by soldiers in Borno State. At the time, I passionately appealed to the newspaper’s leadership to consider replacing the word “mutiny” with “protest” because of the severe legal implications of mutiny under military law. While the then Managing Editor, Musikilu Mojeed, listened attentively and showed understanding, the story had already gained traction elsewhere. Eventually, some of the affected soldiers were convicted of mutiny.

Similarly, I recounted how Mallam Hamza Idris, then Daily Trust Bureau Chief in Borno in February 2015, filed what appeared to be a routine report. Security officials later raised concerns that the unpublished story, though harmless on the surface, could inadvertently expose troop movements and operational plans. After assessing the potential consequences, the editorial leadership of Weekend Daily Trust sacrificed what was scheduled to be a front-page lead in the interest of national security.

That same year, two Nigerian journalists working for foreign media were briefly detained in a Borno hotel, an action taken purely for their safety, though widely misinterpreted. During major anti‑insurgency operations, senior media executives were routinely briefed. And despite criticisms of Sahara Reporters’ style, its publisher, Omoyele Sowore, often showed genuine concern for national security. The then NGE President, Femi Adesina, and the Dean of Bureau Chiefs, Yusuf Alli, can attest to the trust and confidentiality that defined those engagements.

The cooperation between the media and security agencies, supported by broader inter‑agency coordination through FOSSRAhelped reduce conflict and contributed significantly to the recovery of dozens of towns from terrorist control ahead of the 2015 election. Although FOSSRA was last chaired by General Rabe before being abandoned under the Buhari administration, its strategic value was clear. Recognising this, NSA Malam Nuhu Ribadu pragmatically revived the mechanism with the Centre for Crisis Communication (CCC) as technical partner. Unfortunately, that effort was later undermined by unprofessional insiders whose motives remain questionable.

These examples demonstrate that the relationship between the media and security agencies has not always been characterised by hostility. There have been countless instances of cooperation, understanding, and mutual respect.

That is precisely why the absence of serving security chiefs from the second day of the summit was disappointing. The gathering offered a rare opportunity for frank conversations, confidence-building, and institutional learning. Meanwhile, the communiqu issued at the end of the two-day summit, signed by NUJ President Comrade Alhassan Yahaya Abdullahi, captured many of the concerns raised during the discussions. Most importantly, participants reaffirmed that national security and sustainable development depend on strong, transparent, and accountable partnerships among the media, security agencies, government institutions, and citizens.

It is expected that next time an invitation is extended, they will honour it, especially when it comes from a respected and trusted ally whose partnership is vital to national security.

Yushau A. Shuaib is the author of An Encounter with the Spymaster. yashuaib@yashuaib.com

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