There is an old political rule that governments often forget: when trapped in a controversy, do not create a bigger controversy in an attempt to escape the first one.
The Bola Ahmed Tinubu administration appears to have forgotten that rule in its handling of the Presidential Foreign Investment Promotion Council (PFIPC) controversy. In its determination to destroy the credibility of one man, Prince Adeniyi Matthew Adeyemi, it may have inflicted collateral damage on something far more valuable: the credibility of official government documentation itself.
The entire episode resembles the biblical story of Samson. Faced with defeat, Samson pulled down the pillars of the temple, killing his enemies but also burying himself beneath the rubble.
In seeking to vanquish Prince Adeniyi Matthew Adeyemi, the administration appears to have adopted a similar strategy. The problem is that governments are not supposed to bring the roof crashing down on themselves.
The Winner-Takes-All Disease
Nigeria’s political culture suffers from a chronic winner-takes-all mentality.
Every disagreement must end in total victory. Every opponent must be completely destroyed. Every controversy must be reduced to a battle between saints and sinners.
That mindset appears to have driven the response to the PFIPC affair.
Instead of acknowledging the existence of the council while questioning the legitimacy of Prince Adeniyi Matthew Adeyemi’ position within it, government spokesman, Bayo Onanuga and Femi Gbajabiamila, the President’s Chief of Staff moved towards a far more sweeping narrative: that the entire organisation was fake.
That was a dangerous road to travel.
Because once a government starts declaring that entities which have interacted with ministries, departments, agencies, offices, personnel, accounts and official correspondence never existed, it creates questions that cannot easily be answered.
Questions multiply faster than explanations.
The Baby and the Bathwater
The administration had a far simpler route available.
It could have accepted ownership of the council while distancing itself from Prince Adeniyi Matthew Adeyemi.
It could have argued that there were irregularities surrounding his appointment.
It could have claimed he was acting beyond his authority.
It could have stated that confirmation processes were incomplete.
It could have maintained that he occupied the office improperly or without final approval.
Such explanations may have been politically uncomfortable, but they would have preserved institutional credibility.
Instead, the government appears to have chosen a strategy that risks throwing away the baby together with the bathwater.
If PFIPC was truly non-existent, then how does one explain the apparent trail of official interactions associated with it?
How does one explain administrative arrangements?
How does one explain references within government circles?
How does one explain alleged allocations, facilities, accounts, personnel, and correspondence connected to the body?
These are not minor questions.
The 419 Problem
Section 419 of the Nigerian Criminal Code Act. This specific section defines and outlaws the crime of obtaining property by false pretenses and cheating, and the term “419” has become globally synonymous with advance fee fraud, Nigeria and Nigerians.
Nigeria has spent decades trying to escape the shadow of the infamous “419” label.
Most visa applications are alleged to be bedevilled by suspicion of foreign embassies that documents submitted are obtained under the auspices of the above criminal code. This has resulted in the unusually very high refusal rates.
Successive governments have invested enormous effort in convincing investors that Nigeria is a serious country whose official documents can be trusted.
That trust is fragile.
International investors do not merely evaluate economic indicators. They evaluate institutional reliability.
They ask a simple question:
“Can I trust what the government puts on paper?”
When a government appears to suggest that an organisation with visible footprints inside the machinery of state was entirely fictitious, it inadvertently invites scrutiny of every other document bearing official seals and signatures.
That is the real danger.
The issue ceases to be Prince Adeniyi Matthew Adeyemi.
The issue becomes credibility.
If today’s document is fake, investors naturally wonder about tomorrow’s document.
If today’s appointment letter is disputed, they begin asking questions about other appointment letters.
If today’s institution can disappear retrospectively, what certainty exists regarding future commitments?
Those are not questions any investment-promotion administration should want investors asking.
Creating More Heads Than Headaches
The PFIPC controversy should have been a manageable political problem.
Instead, the response appears to have generated more questions than answers.
More headaches than heads.
The government found itself having to explain not merely one man’s role but the apparent existence, operation, and footprint of an entire institution.
The controversy expanded rather than contracted.
This is often what happens when political communications become driven by immediate tactical considerations rather than long-term institutional interests.
The objective shifts from protecting the state to protecting individuals.
And that is where mistakes are made.
The State Is Not the Spokesman
One of the recurring weaknesses of modern Nigerian governance is the tendency of political appointees to confuse the government with themselves.
The state becomes secondary.
The administration becomes primary.
The principal becomes everything.
Institutions become expendable.
The role of a government spokesman is not merely to defend today’s headlines.
It is to preserve confidence in the institutions that will remain long after today’s occupants have left office.
When spokespersons become warriors rather than custodians, they often win the immediate battle while losing the larger war.
The PFIPC affair appears to illustrate that danger.
The Irony
Perhaps the greatest irony of all is that the controversy revolves around documentation.
Nigeria’s political history has been littered with disputes over certificates, credentials, signatures, records and official papers.
President Tinubu himself has spent years facing questions and allegations concerning educational records and documentation, whether justified or otherwise.
Against that backdrop, the emergence of another dispute centred on appointment letters, official documents and questions of authenticity was always going to attract intense public scrutiny.
The administration should have understood better than most that documentary credibility is not a trivial matter.
It is the currency upon which public trust rests.
Conclusion
The government did not need to pull a Samson.
It could have isolated Prince Adeniyi Matthew Adeyemi from the institution.
It could have questioned the appointment without questioning the entire structure.
It could have protected the state while prosecuting its case against the individual.
Instead, in the apparent rush to destroy one opponent, it risks damaging confidence in the very institutions it was seeking to defend.
Samson’s story is remembered not because he defeated his enemies.
It is remembered because he brought the whole building down in the process.
The troubling question for the Tinubu administration is whether the rubble from the PFIPC controversy will continue to fall long after the political dust has settled.
Centre for Nigeria Progress 