“In every democracy, truth and integrity are the twin pillars on which public trust stands. When either is broken, the edifice of governance trembles.” – Anonymous
In my column this week, I want to reflect on a troubling development in Nigeria’s political space, the recent resignation of a minister from President Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s administration following allegations of certificate forgery. I titled this piece “The Forged Credential, the Minister, and Nigeria’s Integrity Crisis” because the case goes beyond one man; it reflects the deeper cracks in our system’s moral and ethical foundation.
Uche Nnaji, who until recently served as the Minister of Innovation, Science and Technology, was appointed in August 2023. But just a few weeks ago, an investigative report by Premium Times alleged that he never actually completed his degree at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka (UNN). The report also claimed that both the NYSC discharge certificate and university degree he presented were forged. The story spread quickly across social and traditional media, sparking public outrage and disappointment. To make matters worse, The Cable reported that before resigning, Nnaji had gone to court, seeking an injunction to prevent UNN from releasing his academic records, but the court rejected his request and gave the university the green light to make the records public.
Now, what does Nigerian law say about forgery? According to Section 465 of the Criminal Code, forgery means making a false document, knowing it is false, with the intent that it will be used or acted upon as genuine to deceive another person or gain an advantage. In simpler terms, it means creating or using a fake document to cheat the system for one’s own benefit. Section 467 of the same Code adds that anyone who forges a document is guilty of a felony and can be imprisoned for three years. However, if the forged document is an official one, such as a university degree, a government certificate, or any credential used to gain public employment or office, the punishment can extend up to 14 years imprisonment depending on the severity of the case.
This means that forging a certificate to obtain a government appointment or political position is not just a moral offence, it is a serious crime that undermines public trust and fairness. Yet, in Nnaji’s case, instead of prosecution or investigation, he simply resigned, and the matter quietly began to fade from public attention. Unfortunately, that is how Nigeria often handles issues of integrity in public office. When a scandal breaks, a resignation follows, and soon after, silence takes over. It is as if stepping down is enough to wipe the slate clean, but it isn’t. Resignation should never replace accountability, because without accountability, wrongdoing continues without consequence.
When someone uses a fake certificate to occupy a position of authority, they are not just deceiving the government, they are cheating millions of qualified citizens who worked hard for their education but were denied such opportunities. It also means the nation’s policies and decisions are being shaped by people who rose to power through deceit. That kind of system weakens everything: the value of education, the integrity of leadership, and the faith of the people in government.
Forgery in public office is not peculiar to Nigeria; it happens in other parts of the world too. But the key difference is how those societies respond when it happens. In Kenya, for example, just last month, Noah Oketch Oluoch, a former General Manager for Finance and ICT at the Rural Electrification and Renewable Energy Corporation (REREC), was convicted for using a fake MBA degree to secure employment. The Kenyan court sentenced him to four years in prison and ordered him to refund all the salaries and allowances he had earned through that deceit. In India, in 2015, Jitender Singh Tomar, who was serving as a minister in Delhi, was arrested and charged with forgery, cheating, and criminal conspiracy after his law degrees were found to be fake. He faced trial in court and was made to answer for his actions. And in Israel, as far back as 2005, a former minister, Gonen Segev, was convicted for forgery and other offences. He served a prison sentence and was permanently barred from holding public office again.
These cases prove that forgery is a global problem, but the difference lies in how seriously each nation takes it. In nations where the rule of law is respected, resignation is never the end of the story, it is only the beginning of justice. In Nigeria, however, resignation seems to be the full stop to every wrongdoing. This culture of impunity is what continues to weaken our democratic institutions. A country cannot claim to value integrity while allowing criminal acts to be resolved by mere resignation.
A responsible government must go beyond public gestures. The law gives Nigeria the power to act decisively in such cases. Under the Criminal Code, anyone who presents forged documents can be prosecuted, and any financial gain obtained through that deceit can be recovered. Agencies like the EFCC, ICPC, and the Code of Conduct Bureau are empowered to investigate such cases, recover stolen benefits, and ensure that offenders are not rewarded for their misconduct. If the allegations against the former minister are true, the government should audit his records, review all payments made to him, and refer the matter to the relevant anti-graft agencies. Only then can justice be served and deterrence achieved.
The danger of treating serious crimes lightly is that it teaches future leaders that lying pays. When young people see officials escape accountability by simply resigning, they begin to lose faith in honesty and hard work. And when integrity loses its value in a nation, progress becomes impossible. Forgery in leadership is not just about a piece of paper, it is about the moral credibility of governance. A system that tolerates deceit will eventually collapse under the weight of its own hypocrisy.
Nigeria’s biggest challenge is not that bad things happen, but that our institutions often fail to respond appropriately when they do. True integrity is not shown when a leader is accused; it is shown in how the system handles that accusation. If we continue to treat resignation as the final solution, we are building a future where crime becomes strategy and honesty becomes weakness.
Let’s wait and see how this case unfolds, but one truth remains clear: a nation cannot build trust on silence or sweep its shame under the carpet. Integrity must mean something again, not just in words, but in action. Until that happens, Nigeria’s integrity crisis will continue to haunt every office, every appointment, and every generation that comes after.
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