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Nigeria’s Schools Closure and the Disease of Rhotacism

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By Prince Charles Dickson, PhD

The inability to pronounce the letter r is called rhotacism—a quiet irony in speech pathology, where sufferers lack the tongue to name their condition. Nigeria today appears afflicted by a similar policy disorder: an incapacity to articulate the real threats to learning, safety, and development, while endlessly announcing their symptoms. The reflexive closure of schools across states, often with the Federal Government’s blessing, is not merely a security response; it is a linguistic failure of governance. We cannot pronounce the problem, so we silence the classroom.

At surface level, school closures masquerade as prudence. No leader wants abducted children, grieving parents, viral outrage. But development practice teaches us to distrust surface logic. If classrooms are unsafe, what calculus deems campuses secure? If primary schools are closed in the name of vulnerability, why do lecture halls hum, convocation grounds fill, churches and mosques swell, markets bustle, and political rallies roar? The policy geometry is incoherent. Risk does not dissolve with age brackets or academic levels; it migrates along opportunity lines. Violence, like water, flows where barriers are weakest—not where regulations are loudest.

The headline figures tell a damning story. Over 42,000 schools categorized as vulnerable. A $30 million Safe School Initiative announced, lauded, and then largely evaporated into PowerPoint memory. What exactly has closure achieved in this arithmetic? If risk prompted closure, closure must prompt mitigation. Yet what we witness is substitution, not solution. Strategy is replaced by symbolism. Doors are shut to demonstrate action while the engines of threat, the logistics, financing, intelligence gaps, and ungoverned spaces remain scandalously intact.

The first ethical question is not poetic distrust; it is arithmetic ethics. How many days of learning are lost per closure? How many children drift permanently out of school into child labor, early marriage, recruitment pipelines, or migration traps? Empirical evidence across fragile contexts, from the Sahel to Northeast Nigeria, shows that prolonged closures fracture educational trajectories irreversibly. A classroom shut today becomes a livelihood foreclosed tomorrow. When education systems stall, insecurity does not retreat; it recruits.

Development is not administered by press statements. It is built through boring, relentless infrastructure—data infrastructure, trust infrastructure, and response infrastructure. Consider Community Early Warning Systems (CEWS). Where they exist and function, attacks are anticipated, routes mapped, and escalation interrupted. Where they are absent, closure becomes the blunt instrument of last resort. Yet how many states have meaningfully integrated CEWS into school security architecture? How many have empowered bodies to convene multi-actor protection coalitions that include women, youth, traditional leaders, transport unions, and faith networks? The chalk does not hold risk; the cheque does. And the cheque has been shamefully mute.

Security is not the absence of pupils; it is the presence of intelligence. Closing schools without opening data is policy rhotacism. We cannot pronounce “threat mapping,” so we mouth “shutdown.” We cannot say “transport node vulnerability,” so we say “holiday.” We cannot articulate “perimeter hardening and community interception routes,” so we declare “postponement.” The oxygen of risk—enrolment points, travel corridors, marketplaces abutting school fences requires monitoring in real time. If threat mapping did not intensify the moment schools closed, then the threat merely changed address, not behavior.

The contradiction deepens when worship spaces remain open. Christian Association of Nigeria congregations gather. Nigeria Supreme Council for Islamic Affairs convenes faithful. If the doctrine is crowd risk, the exemptions are indefensible. If the doctrine is youth vulnerability, then universities must not be exempt. If the doctrine is intelligence deficit, then closure is an admission of systemic failure. You cannot claim safety by relocating learning into chaos. Faith spaces recognize a truth policy forgets: protection flows from relationship density. The congregation knows its strangers. Does the school gate?

Globally, contexts plagued by school-related violence have moved in the opposite direction—not toward retreat, but toward smart hardening. Drone reconnaissance over school corridors. AI-assisted risk scoring that fuses incident data, weather, market days, and movement patterns. Platforms to defuse land, grazing, and community disputes before they metastasize into school-adjacent violence. Psychosocial resilience units embedded in schools. Community rangers trained, insured, and supervised, not as vigilantes but as guardians accountable to law. Transparent pilots with public dashboards. Sanctions for local leaders who ignore warning signals. None of this is theoretical.

Because closure is administratively convenient. It transfers responsibility from execution to explanation. Once schools are shut, failure becomes abstract. Metrics blur. When exactly did the risk reduce? Who measures it? At what threshold does reopening occur? Without benchmarks, closure becomes the chief KPI of insecurity governance. That is not security architecture; it is security bureaucracy—forms without force, memos without muscle.

Local Government Areas on volatile frontiers—whether in Niger State or Kogi are living laboratories of conciliation culture. Traditional dispute resolution, faith mediation, women-led early warning, youth intelligence networks; these are not weaknesses to be ignored until Abuja’s biro approves boots on the ground. They are strengths to be funded, trained, and supervised. Development practice demands co-design. Are LGA leaders co-authoring protection protocols, or passively awaiting circulars? Centralization kills time; time kills children’s futures.

The opportunity costs of closure are staggering and gendered. Girls pay first and longest. Distance learning fantasies collapse where electricity, devices, and safety at home are uneven. Boys drift into non-state labor or armed networks promising income and belonging. Teachers disengage. Trust between communities and state frays further. When schools finally reopen—if they do—the damage is cumulative. Closure does not pause risk; it compounds it.

There is also a moral hazard. Normalizing closure teaches adversaries what works. Disrupt learning to extract concessions. Threaten the symbol to paralyze the system. Deterrence requires resilience. A state that keeps schools open while hardening them sends a different signal: intimidation will not erase futures.

To be clear, this is not romantic defiance. There are moments when temporary closure is warranted. But temporary requires temporality: timelines, triggers, alternatives. Closure without an accompanying surge in intelligence, infrastructure, and accountability is futility dressed as care. It is rhotacism—the inability to name and thus cure the disease.

So, the unperfumed questions must persist. What exactly is being done differently today that was not urgent yesterday? Where are the transparent pilots funded by the Safe School Initiative? Who owns the dashboards? Which perimeters were hardened, which routes monitored, which sanctions enforced? Who measures risk reduction, and when is bureaucracy upgraded into architecture?

Shutting schools may shelter minds briefly. But without strategy that attacks the root—financing of violence, data blindness, local exclusion, and accountability gaps—it only shelters the conscience of policy. Until answers arrive with evidence of execution, Nigeria’s schools are not closed for safety. They are closed for convenience. And convenience, like rhotacism, leaves us unable to pronounce the truth. May Nigeria win.

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The Choice Before Kaduna

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By Sani Abdulrazak, PhD

People go through watershed moments sometimes when the cacophony of politics attempts to drown the cadence of progress; it becomes more serious when chimaera masquerades as certainty, but it is a known fact after all that the loudest voices are most times not necessarily the wisest.

Kaduna seems to have arrived at one of those moments. The propagandist opposition within the state is trying very hard to burnish manifestoes and criticisms wrapped in hyperbole and rehearsed until it begins to mistake itself for truth.

Yet, history has always been an unforgiving arbiter. It has an uncanny habit of stripping rhetoric naked, leaving only the vestiges of deeds. It is against that backdrop that one is compelled to reflect, not on who shouts the loudest, especially on social media, but on who has quietly altered the landscape of the beautiful crocodile state. That, conceivably, is the choice before Kaduna State.

Education hewn the destiny of a society, long before it is announced in boardrooms. Governor Uba Sani of Kaduna State appears to appreciate this axiom. As if constructing hundreds of classrooms, renovating neglected schools, expanding access to education and reviving projects abandoned to bureaucratic torpor is not remarkably astral, his administration has gone further to make tertiary education more affordable through the reduction of tuition fees in state-owned institutions. That single decision has become a bulwark against hopelessness for thousands of families. Parents breathe easier, students remain in school instead of abandoning their dreams, enrolment has received fresh impetus, and human capital has become a little less hostage to economic adversity.

Even the reconstruction of roads within Ahmadu Bello University, despite its federal status, speaks of governance that refuses to hide behind jurisdictional caveats. Curiously, while lecture halls become fuller, some critics remain engrossed in composing jeremiads, as though hashtags now award degrees and social media threads have replaced convocation ceremonies. If this does not deserve another term, then perhaps Kaduna should entrust its classrooms to keyboard warriors instead?

A sector that defies drama, yet consequentially integral in Kaduna State is healthcare. Primary Healthcare Centres have continued to receive upgrades, sixteen general hospitals have witnessed rehabilitation, the once-abandoned 300-bed Specialist Hospital has emerged from years of limbo, health insurance coverage has expanded considerably, and investments in personnel and equipment continue with assiduity. Yet, one occasionally encounters the strange absurdity wrapped as opposition, that government should be judged not by functioning hospitals but by the virulence of online criticism. It is almost as though some believe ailments or surgeries retreat before social media posts. Should we now replace stethoscopes with microphones or social media posts and call it healthcare?

If there is any sector that more clearly illustrates the difference between governance and grandstanding in Kaduna State, it is agriculture. Mechanisation, dry-season farming, free fertiliser distribution, value addition, the Special Agro-Industrial Processing Zone and renewed support for farmers all point towards a carefully crafted paradigm rather than an accidental policy.

There is a metamorphosis taking place in rural communities indeed. While genuine farmers harvest maize, ginger and tomatoes, critics harvest conspiracy theories with astonishing alacrity. One group tills the soil and produces food; the other tills public resentment. Since when did viral posts become a substitute for fertile fields?

They wouldn’t want to take their ballyhoo to infrastructure for sure, because infrastructure refuses to remain invisible no matter how determined propaganda may be. Roads snake through communities once forgotten, bridges reconnect places long separated, water projects restore hope where scarcity once seemed ineluctable, and abandoned projects have gradually returned from institutional comatose. Yet there exists a peculiar group of disgruntled politicians that notices every pothole repaired only long enough to ask why another one still exists somewhere else. It is a curious predilection, almost quixotic, to dismiss completed projects because perfection has not yet arrived. Must development now apologise for not occurring overnight?

Security remains man’s most delicate labyrinth, and perhaps the easiest subject upon which to score political points. No responsible leader claims absolute victory against insecurity, yet few can deny that many communities once deserted have gradually witnessed the return of farming, commerce and social interaction. Such progress may not satisfy those addicted to political apoplexy, but it certainly matters to the farmer returning to his land after years of displacement. Or should insecurity be preserved simply because it offers better campaign material?

Economic governance, that complex yet rarely glamorous aspect of governance, is not left out. Increased internally generated revenue, prudent expenditure, strategic partnerships, capital investments and fiscal discipline have gradually strengthened Kaduna’s financial architecture. International partners investing in Kaduna State seldom do so because of slogans, but because of credibility. Sadly, the numbers don’t lie as data is a very stubborn thing. Are spreadsheets now expected to consult political parties before balancing their figures, or should economic data also join the opposition?

Youth empowerment deserves equal reflection. With a skills acquisition centre in each of the three senatorial zones of the state, entrepreneurship support, digital innovation and targeted interventions for small businesses, an attempt is being made to replace dependency with productivity. The apotheosis of governance is not the endless distribution of charity but the deliberate creation of opportunity. Young people increasingly seek tools and training against tokenism and expectancy. Still, some measure empowerment only by the number of campaign T-shirts distributed during election season. Have branded caps suddenly become the highest form of economic policy?

The choice before Kaduna State is simpler than it first appears. Shall we exchange reduced tuition fees for recycled promises? Shall rehabilitated hospitals be traded for rehearsed indignation? Shall roads surrender to rhetoric, farms to social media debates, security gains to sensationalism, and fiscal prudence to flamboyant bombast? Shall tangible progress bow before political charlatanry merely because criticism aims to be louder than construction?

For our democracy to grow further, we must come to a non-negotiable conclusion that the ballot is not an instrument for rewarding the most eloquent critic, but for judging the most effective steward. How promising can stewardship be when classrooms are expanding, hospitals are reopening, roads are stretching farther, farmers are receiving greater support, communities are gradually becoming safer, and opportunities are multiplying.

The evidence before us is not ephemerally ethereal, but enduringly concrete. And so, the lingering questions refuse to disappear: if this is not the direction Kaduna should continue, then what is? If these are not the footprints of purposeful leadership, whose are? If measurable progress has become insufficient, what miracle remains outstanding? And if the answer lies somewhere beyond Governor Uba Sani, then who, exactly, has presented Kaduna with a more convincing testament than the one already written across its schools, hospitals, farms, roads and communities?

Sani Abdulrazak, PhD, is a writer, researcher and a public affairs analyst based in Zaria, Kaduna State.

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Even Messi Needed Trophies. Nigerians Demand Results, not Dribbling

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Nigerians Demand Results

By Blaise Udunze

From a general observation, comparisons are powerful political tools. They simplify complex realities, inspire supporters and shape public perception. Another side of this is that they can also become misleading when symbolism replaces substance.

The latter appears to be the objective behind two recent interventions in defence of his excellency, President Bola Ahmed Tinubu. Respectfully, it was observed that veteran journalist Martin Oloja likened Tinubu’s political journey to that of football icon Lionel Messi. He portrayed him as a resilient strategist whose patience and tactical brilliance eventually produced victory. As this now appears to be a trend, Imo State Governor Hope Uzodimma further elevated the narrative, comparing Tinubu to Singapore’s founding Prime Minister, Lee Kuan Yew. He didn’t stop at that; rather further argued that today’s painful reforms would eventually transform Nigeria just as Lee transformed Singapore. They are compelling analogies.

Unfortunately, it was observed that both began to unravel once governance, not politics, was used as the standard of measurement.

It is a known fact to the world that Lionel Messi is celebrated not because he endured criticism or finally lifted the World Cup after years of disappointment. He is celebrated because his greatness is measurable. His goals are counted. His assists are recorded. His trophies are displayed, and not just that, his records speak louder than the opinions of his admirers, which may have taken a different turn now after the outcome of the 2026 FIFA World Cup.

The same is also true of Lee Kuan Yew. History has shown that he is not revered because he introduced difficult reforms or enjoyed the support of loyal political allies. Governor Hope should be reminded that Lee is remembered because he fundamentally transformed Singapore. Amongst his achievements were transforming a poor trading port into one of the world’s richest, cleanest, safest and most efficiently governed nations.

Lee’s records speak for him because under his leadership, Singapore built world-class infrastructure, an incorruptible public service, globally competitive education, affordable housing, investor confidence and one of the highest standards of living anywhere in the world.

Neither Messi nor Lee Kuan Yew became legends through carefully crafted narratives. Yes, they became legends because the evidence became impossible to dispute. That is precisely where comparisons with President Tinubu become difficult.

It is an error to assume that winning elections is the same as winning governance, and at the same time, political brilliance may secure power, but only effective leadership secures history’s approval.

For millions of Nigerians, governance is not measured by campaign strategy or political resilience. It is measured by the realities they confront every morning.

Can they afford food? Can they pay transport fares? Can they pay rent with the current landlords’ economy? Can they keep their businesses open? Can they sleep or travel freely without fear of kidnapping? Can they find jobs after graduation? Can they access reliable electricity and healthcare? These are the scoreboards by which governments are judged.

Supporters of the Tinubu administration frequently point to encouraging macroeconomic indicators. Foreign reserves have improved. Government revenues have risen. States now receive significantly larger allocations through the Federation Account Allocation Committee (FAAC). Well, these ‘achievements’ will be reviewed soon through the lens of news narratives. International financial institutions have welcomed several policy reforms. The removal of fuel subsidy and exchange-rate liberalisation are presented as courageous decisions that previous administrations avoided.

These developments deserve acknowledgement. Yet macroeconomic improvements are not the same as improvements in citizens’ welfare.

In reality, an economy cannot be declared successful merely because government revenues have increased while household purchasing power continues to deteriorate, as this would be a complete aberration.

Again, it is considered an anomaly that Nigeria reports stronger fiscal numbers, but millions of families continue to struggle with soaring food prices, rising transport costs, expensive housing, high electricity tariffs and shrinking disposable incomes.

Statistics may comfort policymakers. They rarely comfort hungry citizens. Messi never celebrated possession statistics after losing a match; rather, he cried and cried over losing the opportunity of winning the trophy at the concluded 2026 FIFA World Cup.  To him, results mattered.

The reality is that governments should be judged by the same principle. This is open to dispute, but of a truth, Governor Uzodimma’s comparison to Lee Kuan Yew deserves even closer scrutiny because it raises an important question, though it may appear hard to answer.

If Tinubu is Nigeria’s Lee Kuan Yew, where is Nigeria’s Singapore? What exactly made Lee Kuan Yew exceptional? Was it simply his willingness to implement painful reforms? Certainly not.

Many leaders across the developing world have introduced painful reforms. Very few transformed their countries.

One thing stands out here: Lee’s legacy rests on outcomes, not intentions. Judging from all indications, it is obvious that his reforms dramatically reduced corruption, attracted investment, strengthened institutions, expanded industrialisation, improved education, guaranteed affordable public housing and steadily raised incomes across generations. Unlike Nigeria’s ongoing experience, Singapore’s rise was not a promise repeatedly postponed to the future. Citizens experienced tangible improvements in their daily lives. That is why history celebrates Lee Kuan Yew. Nigeria’s present reality tells a different story.

It is glaring and ironic that despite improved fiscal revenues, many Nigerians continue to grapple with rising inflation, worsening poverty, declining purchasing power, youth unemployment, struggling businesses and persistent insecurity. If they must know, these are not merely economic statistics; they are the lived realities by which citizens judge any government.

The Lee Kuan Yew comparison also overlooks perhaps the most important ingredient behind Singapore’s success, which is primarily the institutions.

It is obvious and practically doubtful if Governor Uzodinma’s kind of Singapore is the same as the one on which its transformation was built upon an efficient bureaucracy, disciplined public institutions, predictable regulation, meritocracy, uncompromising anti-corruption enforcement and consistent long-term planning as championed by Lee Kuan Yew. An honest question here is, can the same be said of Nigeria today?

The truth is not far-fetched; Nigeria is nothing close to it because the realities and lived experiences of Nigerians are that the country continues to grapple with weak institutions, policy inconsistency, bureaucratic inefficiency, corruption concerns and widespread insecurity.

His impeccable achievements are built on the institutions; hence, without institutional transformation, every effort to invoke Lee Kuan Yew risks confusing aspiration with achievement.

One common trend witnessed lately is that the supporters of the administration often argue that Nigerians must be patient because meaningful reforms require time. That argument deserves consideration.

Let it also be made known that patience should never become an endless substitute for accountability. Citizens are also entitled to ask whether the sacrifices demanded today are producing measurable improvements tomorrow.

History remembers leaders not because they prescribed hardship, but because that hardship ultimately produced prosperity for those alive and not for the dead.

Another weakness in both comparisons is the tendency to confuse political mastery with administrative excellence. These are totally two different things, because when it comes to winning elections, it requires coalition building, negotiation and political calculation. Whilst running a nation demands competent institutions, sound economic management, transparency, public trust and measurable improvements in living standards.

Again, the two are not the same, and for this reason, many exceptional politicians have governed poorly. Many successful administrators never became political giants. Democracy ultimately rewards governance, not political mythology.

This is not to suggest that President Tinubu’s administration has achieved nothing. Tax reforms, infrastructure investments, fiscal restructuring and efforts to stabilise public finances represent important policy initiatives whose long-term impact remains to be seen. Well, acknowledging those initiatives is consistent with honest public discourse.

Equally important, however, is recognising that millions of Nigerians continue to judge the administration through the realities and their lived experiences rather than the promises they hear.

Football supporters judged Lionel Messi by the trophies in the cabinet.  In like manner, history judges Lee Kuan Yew by the Singapore he built. The same measure should be applied in this nation, as Nigerians will judge President Tinubu by the Nigeria he leaves behind.

The key metric here is that if inflation falls sustainably, poverty declines significantly, insecurity is substantially reduced, electricity becomes more reliable, industries expand, jobs multiply, and citizens regain confidence in the future, history will acknowledge those achievements without requiring comparisons to Messi or Lee Kuan Yew.

Neither Messi nor Lee Kuan Yew needed political allies to persuade the world of their greatness, and that distinguishes both as the greatest of all time (GOAT).

Their records spoke for themselves. Political endorsements may dominate today’s headlines. History, however, listens only to evidence. Even Messi needed trophies. Lee Kuan Yew needed results. Nigerian leaders should be judged by no lesser standard.

Blaise, a journalist and PR professional, writes from Lagos and can be reached via: bl***********@***il.com  

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From Force to Partnership: How IGP Disu is Changing the Police Narrative

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IGP Tunji Disu

By Jerome-Mario Utomi

There are moments in the life of a nation when leadership is measured not merely by the ability to command institutions but by the courage to transform them. Such moments demand more than administrative competence; they require vision, strategic communication, and an unwavering commitment to rebuilding public confidence. The keynote address delivered on behalf of the Inspector-General of Police (IGP), Mr Olatunji Rilwan Disu, at the Lagos PR Fest 2026 grand finale was one of such defining moments.

Held at the iconic MUSON Centre, Onikan, Lagos, the event transcended the boundaries of a conventional police engagement. It became a national conversation on security, governance, public trust, and the indispensable role of strategic communication in nation-building.

More importantly, the IGP, who was represented at the event by AIG Simeon Udofia Akpanudom, Head of the Force Criminal Investigation Department (FCID) Annex, Alagbon Close, Ikoyi, revealed a policing philosophy that is quietly but deliberately redefining the image and operational culture of the Nigeria Police Force.

For decades, public perception of policing in Nigeria has largely been shaped by mistrust, misunderstanding, and an unfortunate history of strained relations between citizens and law enforcement agencies. While successive administrations have introduced reforms, many struggled to address the most fundamental ingredient of effective policing-public trust.

IGP Disu appears determined to confront that challenge from an entirely different perspective.

His declaration that “security is everyone’s business” was not a rhetorical flourish. It was a profound statement of intent. It reflected an understanding that sustainable security cannot be achieved through coercion alone but through partnership, inclusion, transparency, and continuous engagement with the people. Indeed, what the IGP has introduced is more than institutional reform. It is a comprehensive rebranding of policing itself.

Unlike cosmetic rebranding that focuses on uniforms, slogans, or public ceremonies, this initiative is rooted in changing institutional culture and public perception simultaneously. It seeks to replace fear with confidence, suspicion with collaboration, and silence with meaningful dialogue.

The brilliance of this approach lies in its recognition that trust is not demanded; it is earned.

Throughout the keynote, the IGP consistently emphasised evidence-based communication, accountability, and transparency as pillars upon which public confidence must be rebuilt. At a time when misinformation travels faster than facts, and public institutions are constantly subjected to intense scrutiny, his insistence that policing should be supported by credible information rather than propaganda reflects both wisdom and contemporary relevance.

Perhaps nowhere is this transformation more visible than in the establishment and expansion of the Violent Crimes Response Unit (VCRU). Rather than allowing achievements to remain hidden within internal reports, the Nigeria Police Force is increasingly communicating measurable outcomes, demonstrable operational effectiveness, and encouraging independent public assessment.

This deliberate openness and transparency represent a significant departure from the communication style traditionally associated with many security institutions.

Equally commendable is the renewed emphasis on accessible channels for complaints, feedback and citizen engagement. Every modern democratic institution understands that accountability strengthens authority rather than weakening it. By inviting public scrutiny instead of avoiding it, the Nigeria Police under IGP Disu is gradually redefining what institutional confidence should look like. The Inspector-General deserves particular commendation for recognising that public relations is not an appendage to policing but an operational necessity.

Far too often, public relations is misunderstood as image laundering or crisis management. In reality, effective public relations is about building relationships, creating understanding, managing expectations, and sustaining credibility. It is this broader and more professional understanding that permeated the Inspector-General’s address.

His decision to engage public relations professionals at Lagos PR Fest was therefore highly symbolic. It demonstrated that security communication must evolve beyond press statements announcing arrests or crime statistics. It must become a continuous conversation with citizens, communities, opinion leaders, professional bodies, and the media.

Equally remarkable is the renewed focus on community policing and the revitalisation of the Police Community Relations Committee (PCRC). These initiatives acknowledge an enduring truth: communities understand their security challenges better than distant bureaucracies.

By encouraging local participation, youth engagement, religious leaders, traditional institutions, and civil society organisations to become active stakeholders, the Nigeria Police is moving policing closer to the people it serves.

This approach is consistent with successful policing models across the world where intelligence flows more freely because communities trust law enforcement agencies enough to share information.

The emphasis on participatory campaigns such as “Security is Everyone’s Business” and “If you see something, say something” further reinforces this philosophy. These messages wisely redefine every citizen from being a passive observer into an active contributor to national security.

That represents strategic public relations at its finest. Perhaps the most compelling dimension of the Inspector General’s address is his deliberate connection between policing and nation-building.

Security does not exist in isolation. It supports economic growth, encourages investment, protects democratic institutions, and creates the stability necessary for social development. Safe highways promote commerce. Secure schools guarantee educational continuity. Protected communities attract investment. Professional law enforcement strengthens constitutional governance.

Viewed through this broader lens, policing becomes an essential instrument of national development rather than merely an agency of law enforcement. The Inspector-General’s appeal for “Nigeria First” narratives equally deserves commendation. In an era characterised by misinformation, polarisation, and divisive narratives, institutions must intentionally promote messages that unite rather than divide.

Strategic communication has become an important national asset. This is where professional public relations practitioners have an enormous responsibility. Their expertise extends beyond media visibility to fostering social cohesion, encouraging responsible public discourse, and strengthening confidence in democratic institutions.

The Nigerian Institute of Public Relations (NIPR), therefore, occupies a strategic position in supporting this national assignment.

Naturally, scepticism remains understandable. Public confidence, once diminished, cannot be restored overnight. Institutional reforms require consistency, measurable outcomes, and sustained leadership commitment.

Fortunately, the Inspector-General himself demonstrated refreshing realism by acknowledging that rebuilding trust remains an ongoing process. That honesty itself strengthens credibility.

His clearly articulated roadmap-rebuilding institutional credibility through transparency, strengthening community intelligence through grassroots participation, and promoting national cohesion through coordinated communication-provides a practical framework for long-term institutional renewal.

Importantly, these objectives align with internationally recognised principles of democratic policing. What distinguishes the current leadership is the willingness to place communication at the very centre of institutional transformation rather than treating it as an afterthought.

Leadership is often remembered less for the challenges inherited than for the direction established. Judging from the philosophy articulated at Lagos PR Fest 2026, IGP Disu is laying the foundation for a policing model that recognises that legitimacy derives not only from constitutional authority but from public confidence.

That distinction is profound. A police force may possess legal powers, but without public trust those powers become increasingly difficult to exercise effectively. Conversely, when citizens willingly cooperate, volunteer intelligence, respect lawful authority, and see themselves as partners, security becomes collective rather than confrontational.

That appears to be the future envisioned by the Inspector-General. His concluding appeal that all stakeholders must work together in transparency, accountability, and shared responsibility captures the essence of democratic policing in the twenty-first century.

Ultimately, the significance of the Lagos PR Fest address extends far beyond one conference or one keynote presentation. It represents a declaration that the Nigeria Police Force is prepared to measure success not only by arrests made or crimes prevented but also by relationships built, confidence restored, and communities united.

For me, the recent elevation by the IGP and express approval by the Nigerian Police Service Commission of some senior officers to the rank of Assistant Inspectors-General of Police (AIGs). Commissioners of Police (CPs) and others truly proves beyond reasonable doubt that the IGP is a man who understands that professionalism, strategic thinking and operational excellence are the defining features of global policing. In fact, analysts in particular and Nigerians of goodwill in general are beginning to view the recent appointment of IGP Disu as a very huge blessing to the nation.

If sustained with consistency, integrity, and measurable performance, this strategic shift may well become one of the most consequential institutional reforms in contemporary Nigeria. For at the heart of every peaceful nation lies a simple but enduring truth: security thrives where trust flourishes.

By placing strategic public relations at the centre of policing, IGP Disu has demonstrated an appreciation of that timeless principle. In doing so, he has presented Nigerians with something far more valuable than a communication strategy. He has presented a vision.

A vision in which the police badge symbolises not fear but reassurance; not distance but partnership; not mere authority but earned legitimacy. That is a vision worthy of national support, thoughtful reflection, and sustained implementation.

Utomi, a media specialist, writes from Lagos, Nigeria. He can be reached via Je*********@***oo.com/08032725374

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