There are shocking stories and then there are disturbing stories. The recent CNN investigation into what has been chillingly described as an online “rape academy” straddles both. It is not just a story of depravity. It is a story of digital, social, and cultural systems working in quiet collusion to harm women on a scale that is both industrial and intimate.

According to the investigation, a site with tens of millions of visits reportedly, over 62 million in a single month, hosts communities of men who share not just explicit content, but strategies: how to drug women, how to violate them while unconscious, how to record the act, and how to distribute it.

This is not happening in the shadows of the dark web. It is happening in plain sight and that is the point.

At the heart of these horrors is a fundamental truth: the erosion of consent as a moral boundary. The men on these platforms do not see unconsciousness as a barrier. They see it as an opportunity. They do not interpret silence as absence of consent; rather, they redefine it as permission.

When men gather in spaces where rape is normalised, discussed, and even celebrated, they begin to internalise a different moral framework, one in which women’s bodies are objects, not agents. And once that shift occurs, the line between fantasy and action collapses. The digital world does not just reflect violence; it produces it in astronomical numbers.

A Global Pattern and Digital Architecture of Violence

For years, we have spoken about violence against women as though it were episodic—something that happens in dark alleys, in moments of individual moral failure. But what this investigation reveals is something far more sinister: the systematisation of sexual violence.

These platforms operate like any other online community. They reward participation, normalise behaviour and create belonging. Badges, rankings, and validation loops turn acts of violence into social currency. Men are not merely consuming content; they are learning from one another. They are teaching, improving techniques and building a culture.

And culture, once entrenched, is far harder to dismantle than any individual criminal act. This is the terrifying evolution of misogyny in the digital age: it is no longer just expressed, it is organised, networked, and optimised.

It would be comforting to believe that these are isolated incidents or aberrations in otherwise functional societies. But the evidence suggests otherwise. From France to the United Kingdom, from Nigeria to the United States, stories of drug-facilitated sexual assault, image-based abuse, and online exploitation continue to surface with disturbing regularity.

The CNN investigation is not an outlier. It is a window into a global ecosystem where technology enables anonymity, communities reinforce deviance and weak accountability allows it to flourish. Even more troubling is the scale. Sixty-two million visits is not a fringe statistic. It is a mass phenomenon.

It raises an uncomfortable question: How many men are participating in, consuming, or silently tolerating this violence against women and girls?

When Home Becomes the Crime Scene

If the online world reveals the scale, real-life cases reveal the depth of this violence. Consider the case of Gisèle Pelicot. For nearly a decade, her husband, Dominique Pelicot, drugged her repeatedly and invited dozens of men to rape her while she lay unconscious in her own bed. He filmed the assaults. He catalogued them. He shared them. She was raped at least 92 times by over 70 men and she did not know.

When she finally discovered the truth through police evidence, not memory, her world collapsed in a way that language can barely contain. She later described the experience as “unbearable.” This was not a stranger in a dark alley. This was her husband. Her home. Her life.

And he was not alone. Dozens of men participated, men with families, jobs, and social standing. Some claimed they believed it was consensual. Others did not bother to ask. What unites them is not ignorance. It is entitlement.

For generations, women have been told to be careful: Do not walk alone at night.

Watch your drink. Dress decent. Trust your instincts. But what happens when the danger is not outside but inside? Inside homes, marriages and trusted relationships.

What happens when the person who is supposed to protect you is the one orchestrating your violation? The case of Gisèle Pelicot shatters the illusion that safety can be achieved through vigilance alone. You cannot guard against what you cannot imagine. You cannot defend yourself against a betrayal you do not see coming.

This is the cruel paradox of gender-based violence: women are asked to be responsible for preventing crimes that are entirely outside their control.

The Role of Platforms and Policy Failure

There is another layer to this story, one that cannot be ignored: the role of platforms and regulators. How do communities like this exist, grow, and thrive without intervention?

The answer lies in a toxic mix of platform negligence, weak enforcement of content moderation, jurisdictional loopholes and a persistent underestimation of gender-based violence as a serious crime. For too long, online abuse has been treated as a secondary issue, less urgent than terrorism, less visible than financial crime, less politically costly than other forms of harm.

But what we are witnessing now is the consequence of that neglect. When you fail to regulate spaces that normalise violence, you are not neutral. You are complicit.

If there is any light in this darkness, it is the courage of survivors like Gisèle Pelicot, who chose to waive her anonymity and face her attackers in open court. In doing so, she made a radical demand: that the shame of rape should no longer belong to the victim, but to the perpetrators.

This is not just symbolic. It is transformative. Because silence protects systems. Visibility disrupts them. Her story has sparked outrage, yes, but also reflection. It forces societies to confront uncomfortable truths about masculinity, power, and the normalisation of violence.

A Million Ways, One System

Women are harmed in homes, at work and on the streets. In physical and digital spaces. By strangers and by those they love. But beneath these many forms of violence lies a single, unifying system: a world that still, fundamentally, does not value women’s autonomy as it should.

Until that changes, until consent is non-negotiable, until accountability is real, until platforms are forced to act, and until societies confront the cultures they have allowed to fester, these stories will continue. And each one will feel like an aberration. But they are not. They are the pattern.

The question is no longer whether women are safe. They are not. The question is whether we are willing to confront the uncomfortable truth of why. And more importantly, what we are prepared to do about it.

To curb this horrific trend, governments, technology platforms, and societies must move decisively to criminalise and aggressively prosecute digital sexual violence, enforce stricter platform accountability and content moderation, invest in survivor-centred justice systems, and fundamentally challenge the cultural norms that enable men to dehumanise and violate women with impunity.

The world will remain a dangerous place for women and girls until men see women as humans with agency and voice and those who profit astronomically from digital technology begin to hold their platforms accountable to womanity!

The views expressed by contributors are strictly personal and not of Law & Society Magazine.

Ketenfe was an ancient town that used to be feared for its wealth and military prowess many many years ago, when drums spoke louder than men. There lived seven kingmakers who believed they were greater than the crown they served.

Their commission was to be the hands that lifted kings to the throne and the whispers that buried them. Men feared them. Women lowered their voices and gazes when their names passed like wind through the market.

It was not that their king, Oba Adegbola, was a tyrant. No. His crime was that he ascended the throne as a rich trader and used the throne to expand his trade. The kingmakers watched their young royal father establish trading points beyond the borders of his kingdom. He brought his fellow traders into Ketenfe and made them chiefs and royal advisors. Oba Adegbola began to rule not just with the narrow counsel of the seven, but with the advice of his business partners. This whittled down the influence of the seven kingmakers, leaving them dangerously restless.

“Who is a king,” said Balogun, the leader of the conspirators“if not the clay we mold?”

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“What is a crown,” replied Apena, his eyes spewing angry fire, “if we decide to use it to drink hot pap, its beads be damned?”

They laughed. The kind of laughter that cracks like dry wood and leaves a bitter smell. They poured more fuel on the fire of their conspiracy.

They met at night, when honourable men were in bed. They poured libations not to the ancestors, but to their own ambition. They wove stories of madness around the king—said he spoke to unseen spirits, that he had offended the gods, that his reign was making the ancestors angry

But a lie, no matter how finely dressed will limp, no matter how fast it runs, truth will outrun it.

They sent evil whispers into the town, expecting them to grow teeth but their shame responded with a a wide toothless smile. The stories remained wild until they became jokes at ‘opon ayo’ and pamwine joints.

Still, the seven boasted.

“We will remove him,” said Agbaakin, swinging his staff and then hitting the dusty floor with it, with all the violence in his heart. “Before the next full moon, he will be a distant memory.”

“Kings come and go,” said Aworo. “But we,” he tapped his chest, “we are forever.” He had forgotten that forever is a dangerous word.

The day came when they gathered in full regalia, beads heavy with arrogance, voices sharp with rehearsed rage. They stood before Oba Adegbola and pronounced him unfit. They expected him to tremble, to plead, to bow before the invisible knife they held.

But the king smiled.

Not the smile of a defeated man. No. The calm smile of one who had already seen the end of a story.

“Have you finished?” he asked.

They blinked. They could not believe the king’s confidence.

The palace was suddenly full—farmers, hunters, traders, mothers with children strapped to their backs. The people had come. Not summoned by gong, but drawn by something deeper than command.

“Did you say I am no longer king,” Adegbola continued, his voice ominously steady. “Then tell me, who will you crown?”

The seven exchanged glances. They had planned the fall, not this landing.

“Anyone,” Balogun said quickly. “A better man who understands the order of things.”

“And who will choose this ‘better man’?” the king asked.

“We do!” they chorused.

The people stirred. A murmur rose, not loud, but heavy.

An old woman stepped forward, her back bent from toil and age. She looked Balogun straight in the eye and asked,“And who chose you?”

Silence.

The seven felt it then, the ground shifting beneath their shaking feet. They tried to speak, to reclaim the moment, but their words scattered like frightened birds.

Oba Adegbola raised his hand, and the crowd quieted.

“You were given power,” he said, not with anger, but with something colder. “Not to own the throne, but to protect it. You mistook the path for the destination. You thought nobody will ever ask questions about your diabolical hold on Ketenfe, your evil noose around the people’s neck.” The king then passed a verdict swift like a blade .

The seven kingmakers were stripped, not just of clothes, but of titles, of voice, of farmlands and hurled into exile. They were led out at dusk, before the sky could decide between light and darkness. As they crossed the boundary between reverred men and yesterday’s men, the birds still sang, the iroko tree behind them stood still, as it always had, unmoved by their rise and fall.

They learnt too late that power is like a borrowed ‘agbada’, it must be worn and handled with care because one day, one can be asked to return it—naked.”

That fall you just read? It is not trapped in a dusty Yoruba town. It walks among us, wearing agbada, clutching microphones, issuing press statements that sound like thunder but land like drizzle.

Nigeria’s opposition parties today look eerily like those seven kingmakers: loud in confidence, thin in strategy, and strangely surprised when the ground not only shifts but threatens to swallow their starched pride.

Here are seven things they got wrong.

1. Noise is not influence

Like Balogun and his men, the opposition has mastered the art of talking at Nigerians, not with them. Press conferences, social media storms, fiery interviews—plenty sound, very little resonance. But politics, like the marketplace, rewards those who listen. While they shouted “we will unseat them,” the people quietly asked, “and then what?” Silence should not have followed. How about specific strategies on how to employ more doctors and nurses and teachers? How about what opposition will do differently to stop kidnapping and retrieve our national pride and flag from terrorists? How about a genuine road map to food security and food export? Why is every press conference not about that? Imagine one press conference, one far reaching solution to one problem. Imagine how the halls of change would have filled and overflowed .

2. Planning for the fall, not the future.

Those kingmakers had plans to dethrone, not how to replace. Nigeria’s opposition has often behaved the same way—united only by a shared desire to remove the ruling party, but deeply divided on what comes after. Remove who? Replace him with who? Nigerians are too exhausted from trusting Sade Adu’s ‘ Smooth Operators’. They have learned to distrust empty transition illusions. We got here somehow, didn’t we?

3. Past rapes birthed present lessons

Coalitions stitched in hotel rooms, alliances sealed over handshakes and hyped by headlines, yet the ordinary voter, like the old woman in the courtyard, keeps asking, “Who chose you?” When people feel excluded, they disengage or worse, they resist quietly by avoiding the ballot box altogether, accepting their painful fate.

4. Victims don’t forget

The Yorubas say the person who defecated may forget but the one who cleared the faeces never forgets.

Nigerians remember. Opposition figures who once held power cannot pretend to be strangers to the system they now condemn. Past records, old speeches, previous failures, these linger like stubborn harmattan dust on our furniture. You cannot shout “change” when your own footprints are still fresh in yesterday’s sand.

5. An opposition divided against itself…

Before the kingmakers even reached the palace, they were already suspicious of one another. That same disease runs deep in our polity. Internal wrangling, factional splits, ego battles disguised as ideology. Too many opposition leaders wanting to become President and Vice President at the same time have smothered genuine ideology, if ever there was one. Tickets are contested more fiercely than policies. Court cases replace strategies to build national spread. By the time they face the ruling party at the polls, they are already wounded from self-inflicted cuts.

6. Opposition that disappear or dissolve into ruling party after election day.

“We are forever,” the kingmakers had said. Nigerian opposition parties sometimes act with that same illusion. They assume relevance is automatic, that discontent will always deliver votes to their doorstep. But politics is a shifting river. Parties rise, fracture, merge, disappear. Voters are not loyal to ever changing logos. Nigerians are tired of following leaders who disappear at crossroads, leaving them stranded.

7. The quiet verdict of a tired people.

The kingmakers expected applause; they met silence, then resistance. In Nigeria, the verdict is often quiet—low turnout, unexpected losses, apathy that speaks louder than protest. When citizens begin to see all sides as variations of the same story, they withdraw belief and without belief, no opposition can stand.

There is a lesson sitting quietly beneath all this noise.

Power, as the Ketenfe failed palace coup reminds us, is a borrowed cloth. The ruling party wears it today. The opposition hopes to wear it tomorrow. But the owners are neither of them. The owners are the people—watching, remembering, waiting.

Until Nigeria’s opposition learns to listen before speaking, to build before boasting, to unite before contesting, they will remain like those seven men,bewildered, exiled not by decree, but by overconfidence and unpreparedness.

It is not enough to want to dethrone the king, you must know everything the king knows and most importantly, the people must follow you all the way to the palace and stay with you until the crown is retrieved. It is either all that or you cross that boundary into the forest of yesterday’s men.

The views expressed by contributors are strictly personal and not of Law & Society Magazine.

Nigeria’s electricity sector remains one of the most critical yet troubled components of its economy. Despite decades of reforms, including the landmark Electricity Act 2023, the country continues to experience erratic power supply, infrastructural decay, and financial instability.

This article examines the core problems in Nigeria’s power sector and proposes practical solutions, supported by relevant legal frameworks, vis-à-vis the solemn promise made to the people of Nigeria by President Bola Ahmed Tinubu in the course of his political campaigns. Power generation is the main issue in regard to the socio-economic development of any nation. In Nigeria, however, successive governments have deployed it for political gains, knowing the importance that Nigerians attach to it. Thus, in 2015 when it was canvassing for votes from the electorate, the All Progressive Congress stated as follows:

“INFRASTRUCTURE: APC WILL:

Generate, transmit and distribute from current 5,000 – 6,000 MW to at least 20,000 MV of electricity within four years and increasing to 50,000 MW with a view of achieving 24/7 uninterrupted power supply within ten years, whilst simultaneously ensuring development of sustainable/renewable energy.”

Manifesto of the All Progressive Congress (APC), submitted to the people of Nigeria in the wake of the 2015 general elections.

While seeking the mandate of the people to be voted into office, President Tinubu declared that he will surely and certainly fix the power sector issues which will guaranty stable, functional and efficient electricity supply. During the 2023 presidential campaign in particular, the President made a notable promise regarding the Nigerian power sector, stating that if he fails to provide stable electricity within his first four years, Nigerians should not vote for him for a second term. The statement as monitored from his campaign video, states thus: “If I don’t keep the promise (of providing electricity) and I come for a second time, don’t vote for me,” adding that he would provide “24-hour electricity” and end estimated billing.

Eleven years after the APC manifesto and three years after his swearing in, the electricity situation has not fared any better, if not worse. For instance, I have never experienced electricity supply in my hometown since I was born, as we are not connected to the national grid at all. Several towns and villages are like my hometown, locked out of any form of development at all, yet we are classified as oil producing. The impression that our leaders in power have conveyed to us is that it is practically impossible to have stable and permanent power supply; that we don’t have the resources to build the needed energy plants that will meet the needs of all Nigerians; and that we must accept generators as second nature if we must function and survive as a people.

Churches, banks, schools, small businesses, factories, government ministries and departments, police stations, the courts and even PHCN itself, all depend on generators. Instead of fulfilling his promise, the President has exited the epileptic national grid to the suffering masses of Nigerians and this has trickled down as the Nigerian Revenue Service has recently announced its exit too. In reality, the President may have forgotten that he made any promise to Nigerians, since Aso Villa is now powered with modern solar technology.

 Overview of Nigeria’s Power Sector Crisis

Nigeria’s power sector has long been characterised by inadequate generation, weak transmission networks, and inefficient distribution systems. Although installed capacity exceeds 13,000 MW, actual generation is often far lower due to systemic inefficiencies and constraints. Frequent national grid collapses, blackouts, and dependence on private generators highlight the depth of the crisis. It is very difficult to know what to believe between bogus figures being bandied by the government and the institutions established to manage the power sector.

The Major Problems in the Power Sector

a. Inadequate Generation Capacity

Nigeria generates far less electricity than required for its population of over 200 million people. Structural issues such as gas supply shortages and overreliance on fossil fuels limit output. The system equipment is obsolete and no major investment is imminent to end the rot.

b. Poor Transmission Infrastructure

The transmission network, largely controlled by the government, is outdated and unable to efficiently evacuate generated power. Aging infrastructure contributes to frequent grid failures. What is required is a total overhaul, not selective attention meant to garner acceptability.

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c. Inefficient Distribution System

Distribution companies (DisCos) struggle with:

    High technical and commercial losses, mostly from government agencies.

    Poor metering systems, fueled by corruption and bureaucracy.

    Inability to recover costs, as the route for such endeavour are very cumbersome and costly.

This results in unreliable service delivery and revenue shortfalls. While the consumers are shouting blue murder against the DISCOs, the latter is always complaining of frustration by the system.

d. Financial and Liquidity Crisis

It has been alleged that the sector is heavily indebted, with trillions of naira owed to generation companies. This discourages investment and limits expansion. We were, however, informed lately that the President has ordered the payment of all legacy debts connected with the power sector. It is therefore surprising that Nigeria is currently experiencing the worst in electricity supply after the financial liquidity issue has been addressed.

e. Regulatory and Policy Challenges

Prior to recent reforms, the legal framework—primarily the Electric Power Sector Reform Act 2005—was insufficient to address evolving sector challenges, including decentralisation and renewable integration. This led to several suggestions for an amendment of the said Act which was indeed accomplished in 2023. But that has not changed anything.

f. Vandalism and Energy Theft

Pipeline vandalism, electricity theft, and sabotage of infrastructure further weaken the system and increase operational costs.

3. Legal Framework Governing the Power Sector

a. Electricity Act 2023

The Electricity Act 2023 is the most comprehensive reform in Nigeria’s electricity sector. It repealed the 2005 Act, decentralised the sector by empowering states to regulate electricity markets, encouraged private sector participation and promoted renewable energy development. These reforms have however remained opaque and elusive as Nigerians still grapple with generators all over the country.

b. Nigerian Electricity Regulatory Commission (NERC)

Established under earlier reforms and strengthened by the new Act, Nigerian Electricity Regulatory Commission oversees licensing, tariff regulation, and consumer protection. It is considered to be a weak institution, displaying inability to muster the needed willpower to enforce the law.

c. National Integrated Electricity Policy (NIEP)

This policy provides strategic direction for long-term sector planning and energy mix diversification. 

4. Solutions to Nigeria’s Power Sector Crisis

a. Decentralization and State-Level Electricity Markets

The Electricity Act 2023 allows states to generate and distribute electricity independently. This can reduce pressure on the national grid, encourage localised solutions and improve efficiency through competition. The President should develop a road map for the power sector as a matter of priority and this should be done in active collaboration with the states. The convergency of interests should not be visible only on political matters but should be extended to and include developmental projects.

b. Investment in Infrastructure

Significant investment is required in transmission networks, smart grid technologies and renewable energy systems. Public-private partnerships (PPPs) should be strengthened under the legal framework. Like the reforms implemented in the telecommunications sector, government should be concerned with effective regulation.

c. Cost-Reflective Tariffs

Implementing tariffs that reflect actual costs—while protecting vulnerable consumers—can improve liquidity and attract investors.

d. Promotion of Renewable Energy

The law supports renewable energy integration, including solar mini-grids for rural electrification. This reduces dependence on fossil fuels and improves energy access. 

e. Strengthening Regulation and Governance

Enhancing the capacity of Nigerian Electricity Regulatory Commission ensures transparent licensing regime, holistic enforcement of market rules and protection of consumer rights.

f. Addressing Sector Debt

Government intervention—such as debt refinancing and subsidy reforms—can stabilise the sector financially and restore investor confidence.

g. Tackling Vandalism and Energy Theft

Stronger enforcement of electricity offences under the Electricity Act 2023 is essential to reduce losses and protect infrastructure.

5. Conclusion

Nigeria’s power sector crisis is deeply rooted in structural, financial, and regulatory challenges. However, the introduction of the Electricity Act 2023 marks a turning point by providing a modern legal framework for reform. If effectively implemented—alongside investment, decentralisation, and improved governance—the Act offers a realistic pathway to achieving stable and sustainable electricity supply in Nigeria. For now, we hold the President to the solemn promise he voluntarily made to the people of Nigeria that he is willing and able to fulfil that undertaking, failing which he should expect the enforcement of the consequence, which is that Nigerians should not vote for him for a second term in office if the darkness persists.

With the resources said to have accrued from the trumpeted economic reforms, there is no reason that Nigerians should keep enduring high tariffs for darkness and estimated billings drain their resources painfully. Abia State has recorded stable power supply through effective partnership with the private sector, so electricity supply is not rocket science and unless the issue is resolved by the President in line with his solemn promise, it may be a burden he will carry for a long time and into the coming election.

The views expressed by contributors are strictly personal and not of Law & Society Magazine.

The terror of Nigeria’s North-West is a man called Bello Turji. As strong as he is for everyone, including Abuja, he is not half of the man in my story here. This man once terrorised his community so terribly that everyone became his slave.

To be spared, many people adopted the strongman’s surname, abandoning their ancestry. Those who refused to do so because of family values fled the town. Many were forced into slavery, working without pay on the man’s farmlands. And he had many of them!

The man of power, the legend says, became so powerful that he felt that nothing untoward would ever happen to him. He told his courtiers that he was not scared of anything; not even death! What a mistake.

In that same town remained a few other men who neither joined the bandwagon nor fled when the heat was much. Those few men of courage just held their posts, doing everything possible to outsmart the man of power. They consulted different diviners. Each prescribed a sacrifice that must be placed on the farm path of the powerful man.

But all the attempts failed. The sacrifices were placed on the path as directed and all the ingredients required provided. Rather than the man of power coming down, he waxed stronger each day. Then his adversaries returned to their diviners. They were short of calling the Babalawos fake, when a child suggested a solution.

The boy said that he suspected that something was missing from the pots of sacrifice. He asked the elders to place the usual sacrifice on the farm path and wait in ambush for the powerful man. Probably, out of arrogance or infallibility, the boy reasoned, the man of power might mention the missing item(s). Omodé gbón, àgbà gbón, ni a fi dá Ilè Ifè (the wisdom of both the young and the old is at the root of the creation of Ilè Ifè), is a saying among the elders of my place.

The elders took counsel and did as the little boy suggested. On the appointed day, the powerful man got to the spot where the sacrifice was placed. He looked at the items in the pot, using his walking stick, to touch every item. Then he laughed derisively.

“These people are foolish sha”, he said aloud. “So, you think that this is what will scare me?” He asked no one in particular. Then he laughed one more time and announced: “Come to think of it o; if they had added just a male lizard to these items, these people would have gotten rid of me o.” He upturned the pot, chanted some terrible invocations (Àyájó), and headed home.

Pronto, those in hiding emerged. They congratulated one another. The next day, they returned with a fresh sacrifice. Of course, an agama lizard was on top, dripping in palm oil. The powerful man finished his daily farm work. On his way home, he stumbled on the sacrifice. His first words were: kí lè yí (What is this)? He needed no confirmation.

“Págà, àwon ará ibí mú mi” (Wow, these people finally got me), he lamented. He tried all the sorceries in his arsenal. He chanted Ògèdè (incantation); he recited ofò (evocation), none worked. He resorted to Àyájó (invocations), all to no avail. Within minutes, he felt feverish. His legs wobbled, and then he collapsed.

Those in hiding rushed out. They made jest of him to no end. As it is said by the elders, the corpse of the wicked is carried home in broad daylight (Òsán gangan làá ru òkú ìkà wá’lé); they carried his lifeless body home to be buried by his family. The whole community made a show of his downfall. As usual, derisive dirges accompanied the corpse home. The town became liberated and everyone began to answer his or her father’s name again.

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This legend, the narrator said, happened around the throne of the ancient On’tagi Olele, the traditional ruler known in present-day as Onitaji of Itaji in the modern-day Ekiti North. That was the period the terror held Itaji, Umojo and their environs hostage.

The collective will of the few men of courage saw to his end because there is no champion for life. Only the swaddling cloth of the community can strangle a man and not the other way round. Every powerful man is scared of something. When a man tells you, ‘I am not scared’, just know that he is already dead with scare! How do I know this?

The generation that listened to folktales under the tree in bright moonlight is wise. The one that studied Classics is blessed. Yet, the one that listened to tales and went ahead to study Classics is the most fortunate.

What does this generation know? How much of Classics do our leaders have in them? How often did they listen to folktales, growing up? Is there a correlation between our parlous state and the lack of ancient wisdom in our rulers? I answer these posers with a short voyage to Ancient Greece.

There is a god among the numerous Greek gods known as Ares. He is regarded as a god of war. One account says of Ares thus: “Ares often represents the physical or violent and untamed aspect of war and is the personification of sheer brutality and bloodlust (“overwhelming, insatiable in battle, destructive, and man-slaughtering”, as Burkert puts it). Burkert here refers to Walter Burkert (February 2, 1931-March 11, 2015), the German professor of Classics with specialisation in Greek mythology and cult at University of Zurich, Switzerland.

Strong as he was in battles, Ares is also regarded “as a ‘coward’ or a god who shrinks from direct, equal competition when faced with superior strength or strategic prowess.”  Though an inimitable bully, it is also said the Ares “whines or flees when injured or outmatched, such as when he was wounded by the mortal Diomedes with Athena’s help, leading him to flee from the battlefield.”

Cowardice is not the only negative side of Ares. Different accounts interrogate his paternity until he was finally regarded, in Homer’s Iliad, as being “established as the son of the chief god, Zeus, and Hera, his consort.”  Many ancient Greek mythology scholars, especially Burkert, believe the character disorderliness in Ares could be traced to “…. a personification of the violent strife often present in their (Zeus and Hera). tumultuous marriage.”

In the battlefield at Troy, as recorded in Iliad, Zeus is recorded to have expressed disdain for the cowardly nature of Ares, such that when he returned wounded and began his usual whining, Zeus poetically says: “…. Do not sit beside me and whine, you double-faced liar/To me you are the most hateful of all gods who hold Olympus/Forever quarrelling is dear to your heart, wars and battles…/But were you born of some other god and proved ruinous/long since you would have been dropped beneath the gods of the bright sky/”

When a father expresses reservations about the character of a child he sired, it speaks volumes. This is further reinforced by the account that in his lifetime, the Greeks associated Ares “with Thracians, whom they regarded as a barbarous and warlike people.” (Iliad V 13.301).

For two days last week, President Bola Ahmed Tinubu and his man Friday, Senate President Godswill Akpabio, were in their boastful elements. They used a government function to ridicule the opposition parties. President Tinubu, while describing the opposition as “confused”, hinted that he might do some more damage to their camp by sending Akpabio to their midst to “scatter them anyhow you like.”

Expectedly, Akpabio found the joke funny. A friend who shared the short video of the encounter with me asked for my opinion. I had none to give. I asked if he had come across Ares and the company he kept. When he answered in the negative, I simply asked him to search for the Greek god, with particular attention to his ancestry and companionship. A god which keeps the company of the “barbarous” lot cannot but make jokes of the parlous state of the people.

A lot happened between Tinubu and Akpabio at that opening ceremony. Akpabio alluded to the fact that the insecurity, banditry, killings and kidnappings that have been the full share of Nigerians since the coming of the All Progressives Congress, APC-led government, of which Tinubu administration is a continuation, were self-made afflictions by the political class.

Because Akpabio knows more than the average Nigerians know, he projected that once the elections were over, normalcy would return.  There were not less than a thousand security personnel at that event when the Senate president made that statement. It has been exactly a week since he uttered those words. There is no record of his being invited by those saddled with our safety to come and shed more light. This is Nigeria, where once you are big, you get away with blue murder!

If I were to interrogate the Senate President, I would have asked him how much he, as a politician who is also seeking a re-election, had contributed to the spate of killings in Nigeria. I would have asked him when exactly would normalcy return to Nigeria and how many more men and women in the Military, civilians and innocent ordinary citizens we would lose before the elections are over. But he is a powerful man; the one that answers no questions.

On the joke about sending the Akwa Ibom lawmaker to the camp of the opposition to cause more commotion, funny as that sounded, I think it is most unfortunate that our Number Three man is the President’s purveyor of commotion and what my people call dàrúdàpò (medley). I wish Akpabio success in this new ‘National Assignment.’ But while on the voyage, I encourage him to study Momus (or Momos in some spellings), the Greek god of mockery and how Zeus expelled him from Mount Olympus. “Wisdom”, the Holy Writ says, “is profitable to direct’” (Ecclesiastes: 10:10)

We return to President Tinubu and his “Me?-They-want-to-scare-me-off-It’s-a-lie” statement at the meeting with the state coordinators of his Renewed Hope Agenda. I paid particular attention to Tinubu’s gestures as he narrated how he defeated his enemies while outside power. He angled his hands in a way suggestive of someone who has captured the whole universe and asked, gesticulating: ‘is it now they want to defeat me?’ What I got is a confirmation of a man who lacks every iota of the qualities of a statesman as espoused by Plato, who opines that ‘The true statesman is seen as a knowledgeable leader—often a philosopher-ruler—who functions as a “herdsman” or “weaver,” managing relationships and directing state affairs with expertise.” 

The braggadocio displayed notwithstanding, President Tinubu is greatly dead-scared! If there is anything he wishes not to happen now, it is the 2027 elections. The man is scared and desperate. The Tinubu I saw in that video depicts a man that has been over romanticized. Like Ares, he is “the brutal, bloody, and chaotic aspect of battle rather than strategic warfare.”

He represents the typical Ares of our contemporary politics. Yes, he is Jagaban (the warrior). Ares was also a warrior of no mean repute. But the Greek god is also a bloody coward, “who flees to Mount Olympus when injured or facing a worthy opponent like Athena or the hero.” The only time Tinubu is a ‘master strategist’ is when the law is skewed in his favour. He lost Lagos State woefully in 2023.

He had to beg all the hawks and sharks of Lagos politics before he could ‘re-install’ the incumbent Governor Babajide Sanwo-Olu! In a free and fair contest, like Ares, Tinubu will flee when confronted by “a worthy opponent.” That ‘worthy opponent’ may as well be the missing agama lizard in the opposition’s pot of sacrifice; who knows? After all, our elders say: Ode ránun rànun ló ún pa ikún (The inconsequential hunter is the one who usually kills the deaf squirrel) 

Cowards are always afraid of competition. Ares is a worthy example. Those scared of an imminent defeat at any enterprise put clogs in the ways of their opponents. This is what Nigeria is experiencing now. Tinubu has 32 of the 36 state governors in his armpits. Yet, his government would not allow the opposition to use the Eagle Square for its convention. When the opposition secured a private event centre for the same purpose, the administration goons sent words of intimidation to the owners. Who does that but a scared fellow!

In a sane environment and for an administration that prides itself as the pillar of democracy, and a President that flaunts democratic credentials even when not required, a character like Professor Joash Ojo Àmúpìtàn, the Chairman of the Independent national Electoral Commission (INEC), would have been thrown off the system the way market women sort out rotten tomatoes from the lot! This administration is retaining him because the man at the centre of it does not shine when the laws are straight and strictly observed!

What do we have? When Nigerians, with impeccable evidence, demonstrated that Àmúpìtàn is most unworthy of the INEC Chairmanship, the President and his party, the APC, are falling over each other in defence of Àmúpìtàn! If Tinubu is not scared; if he is not jittery of what awaits him in 2027, why is it difficult for him to ask Àmúpìtàn to excuse INEC?  If Àmúpìtàn lacks personal worth to quit voluntarily, why can’t his appointing authority purchase the cheapest of human decency for him at Kuje night market, and ship him out of the electoral umpire building?

Again, why is the President mouthing his ‘I am not scared’ refrain all over the place if he is sure of victory? The elders of my place have a saying to describe Tinubu’s present trepidation: kò dùn mí, kò dùn mí, àgbàlagbà ún bò èwù ni ee mefa nítorí iyán àná (An elder that says he is not bothered about yesterday’s leftover pounded yam should not be caught removing his cloth six times for a confrontation).

If 2027 is going to be a no-contest affair for the President, why did he suddenly remember that he is the incarnate of the late General Muhammadu Buhari? The same Buhari that the Tinubu administration used over two years to vilify is suddenly now the hero! Yet, Tinubu said he is not scared but he is doing everything to become the friend of the North! What about the repentant bandits and their projected rehabilitation by the Tinubu government; is that not an act of desperation by a man that is scared to his very pants?

What Tinubu is doing now is to play psychological war against the opposition. That is his last joker having exhausted all the tricks in the book. Fortunately, Nigerians are getting wiser by the day. I wait to see how Tinubu would go to Jos and tell the relations of the victims of the killings there he could not even honour with his presence, but spent a wretched 10-minute airport stop-over to address, that he is the best to have happened to their humanity.

I want to see what he would tell the ravaged people of Benue, the decimated and displaced population of North-East and North-West; the humiliated people of Ndigbo clan and the daily-raped people of the South-West, and the average Nigerians who live in darkness while the President lives in a N10 billion-solar-powered Aso Rock Villa, that he is their Biblical light of the world!

One can only hope that Nigerians would appreciate that only one added agama lizard saved the people of old from their oppressor. Nobody holds that deciding lizard more than the people who are determined to use their voting strength to chart a new course for their future. May the Nigerian electorate be enlightened to the level that they would be able to assess those coming for their votes on their individual merits and choose the lesser of all the evils parading as political gladiators!

The views expressed by contributors are strictly personal and not of Law & Society Magazine.