In Nigerian politics, there is a familiar reflex that surfaces when power feels threatened: unleash the state’s coercive machinery on perceived opponents. Investigations multiply. Prosecutions intensify. Security agencies suddenly discover urgency — not always about bandits or kidnappers, but about critics, rivals, and inconvenient voices.
It is an old playbook. And history shows it rarely delivers the political security its architects hope for.
From independence to intelligence politics
Even in the early years of the republic, political competition often blurred into state intimidation. During the crisis in the Western Region in the early 1960s, federal power was widely seen as taking sides. Emergency powers, arrests, and heavy federal intervention deepened the perception that national institutions were being used in partisan struggles.
The result was not stability. It was escalating distrust, regional bitterness, and a collapse of confidence in federal neutrality — conditions that helped pave the way for the fall of the First Republic. The lesson was stark: when the state looks like a political weapon, the system itself loses legitimacy.
Under military rule, that line disappeared almost entirely. Security institutions were no longer just protectors of the state; they became instruments in elite power struggles. Detentions without trial, bans on media houses, and crackdowns on critics were justified as “national security” but widely understood as political control.
Yet repression did not secure those regimes. After the annulment of the June 12 election, attempts to silence dissent only deepened national resistance. Under General Sani Abacha, arrests of journalists, politicians, and activists did not extinguish opposition; they transformed many detainees into symbols of democratic struggle and triggered international isolation that weakened the regime economically and politically.
Force did not produce stability. It produced martyrdom, solidarity, and global backlash.
Democracy returned — the habit lingered
The Fourth Republic was meant to mark a clean break. Civilian rule, constitutional safeguards, and an independent judiciary were supposed to ensure that no president could casually turn security agencies into political tools. Yet the temptation has remained.
During the Obasanjo years, anti-corruption institutions like the EFCC pursued several high-profile cases. While corruption was undeniably real, a widespread perception emerged that enforcement was tougher on political opponents than on allies. That perception weakened public trust in anti-corruption efforts. When institutions are seen as selective, even legitimate actions lose moral authority.
The Buhari years saw shrinking civic space. Under President Muhammadu Buhari, concerns about the use of state power against dissent grew louder. Arrests of activists, prolonged detentions despite court rulings, and confrontations with protesters and online critics created the impression that dissent itself was becoming a security issue.
This did not quiet opposition. It energized it — especially among young Nigerians. Public frustration grew, and the government’s image, particularly in urban and youth spaces, suffered. Once again, the use of force in the political arena expanded criticism rather than shrinking it.
Tinubu’s moment — and a dangerous déjà vu
Now, under President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, similar anxieties are resurfacing.
At the same time, tensions between federal authorities and opposition-led states — for example, Bauchi State — are reinforcing a wider narrative that the coercive weight of the centre is being felt most strongly where political resistance is loudest.
Perception is not always reality. But in politics, perception shapes legitimacy.
Why this strategy backfires — especially before an election
History suggests that using prosecutorial and security tools in ways that appear politically tilted creates serious political risks.
First, it unites a divided opposition. Nigerian opposition politics is often fragmented by ambition and rivalry. But perceived persecution creates a shared grievance. Politicians who might otherwise compete begin to cooperate when they believe state power is being used against them collectively.
Second, it creates political martyrs. Prosecutions seen as unfair rarely end careers. They often elevate profiles. A figure portrayed as targeted can attract sympathy, media attention, and new political relevance — especially at a time when many citizens are already frustrated by economic hardship.
Third, it erodes trust in institutions. If security agencies are widely believed to be politically influenced, then even genuine anti-corruption or security actions become suspect. This weakens the moral standing of the government at the very moment it needs public confidence to carry out difficult reforms.
Fourth, it shifts attention away from governance. Elections are not won on elite legal battles. They are won on bread, security, and hope. A political climate dominated by investigations of opponents risks making the government look more focused on control than on solutions to inflation, unemployment, and insecurity.
A word to the presidency
President Tinubu is himself a veteran of political struggle. He knows what it means to stand in opposition and to challenge federal authority. That history should serve as a caution, not a footnote.
Security agencies — including those in the national security architecture — must be seen to act strictly within the law and without political colouring. The fight against corruption and crime is necessary, but it must be even-handed, transparent, and insulated from partisan battles.
If the perception hardens that coercive state power is drifting into political contest, it will not strengthen the president. It will steadily weaken the moral authority of his government and complicate his path to reelection.
Nigerian history offers a clear lesson: governments that lean too heavily on coercive power to manage political competition often weaken themselves in the process. Fear can quiet voices for a moment. It cannot build legitimacy for a second term.
What sustains democratic power is not fear, but fairness.
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Opinion