There are moments in politics when the fog lifts—when rhetoric, mythology, and carefully curated narratives fall away, and what remains is something far more primal. Call it instinct. Call it method. Or, less charitably, call it the politics of the street.
“Eureka,” one might say—because sometimes recognition arrives not through revelation, but through pattern.
To understand Bola Ahmed Tinubu, one must step away from the polished language of policy papers and into the raw grammar of power as it is actually exercised. Not theorised. Not sanitised. But lived.
The Company One Keeps
Politics, like the law, often reveals itself through association. Tinubu’s long-standing relationship with figures such as Musiliu Akinsanya (MC Oluomo)—a dominant enforcer within the transport union ecosystem—offers a window into a style of political organisation that is less about ideology and more about control. These are not alliances of convenience; they are structural, embedded in the very machinery that delivers votes, enforces loyalty, and suppresses dissent where necessary.
Similarly, his proximity to Nyesom Wike reflects a shared political temperament—combative, unapologetic, and often indifferent to the niceties of liberal democratic etiquette.
The Shadow of Strongmen
No political analysis of Tinubu escapes the gravitational pull of Sani Abacha. Whether as influence, inspiration, or mere historical coincidence, the comparison persists. Abacha’s regime was defined by centralised authority, opaque financial dealings, and a governing philosophy that placed control above consensus.
The suggestion—fair or otherwise—is that Tinubu’s political project echoes aspects of that legacy: a consolidation of influence, an expansive patronage network, and a tolerance—even reliance—on coercive undercurrents.
Language as a Window to Intent
Words matter. Not just in what they say, but in what they reveal. Tinubu’s now-infamous exhortation—“grab it and run with it”—during electoral mobilisation was not a Freudian slip. It was a signal. In political communication, especially in volatile democracies, such language carries operational meaning.
It is the vocabulary of contest not as a civic exercise, but as a territorial one.
Lagos: A Case Study
If Nigeria is the theatre, Lagos is the laboratory. The events surrounding the 2023 elections in Lagos—marked by intimidation, voter suppression allegations, and episodic violence—did not emerge in a vacuum. They are consistent with a long-evolving political ecosystem where the line between statecraft and streetcraft is deliberately blurred.
Even intra-elite conflicts—such as Tinubu’s handling of Akinwunmi Ambode—demonstrate a ruthlessness that prioritises dominance over diplomacy. Ambode’s political unravelling was swift, public, and absolute. In this system, loyalty is not merely expected; it is enforced.
Optics and Indifference
Then there are the moments that, in other political cultures, would trigger introspection. The bullion vans reportedly seen at Tinubu’s residence ahead of elections became emblematic—not necessarily of illegality, but of something more subtle: indifference to perception.
In mature democracies, optics constrain behaviour. Here, they appear almost irrelevant.
The Myth of Entitlement
Underlying all this is a philosophy—rarely stated, but frequently implied—that power is earned not just through ballots, but through endurance, network-building, and, crucially, control. The notion that the presidency was “his turn” is less a gaffe and more a thesis.
It reflects a worldview where politics is not a contest of ideas, but a culmination of accumulated leverage.
Final Reflection
Are there redeeming features? That depends on the analytical lens. Supporters would point to political longevity, strategic acumen, and the ability to build enduring coalitions. Critics, however, see a system that prioritises power over principle, enforcement over engagement, and loyalty over legitimacy.
What is clear is this: Tinubu is not an anomaly. He is a product—and perhaps the purest expression—of a political tradition where the street and the state are not separate arenas, but overlapping ones.
And once you see it that way, the “Eureka” moment is less about discovery—and more about acceptance.
Centre for Nigeria Progress 