20 Aug 2025 | Africa, News and features, Nigeria, Volume 54.02 Summer 2025
This article first appeared in Volume 54, Issue 2 of our print edition of Index on Censorship, titled Land of the Free?: Trump’s war on speech at home and abroad, published on 21 July 2025. Read more about the issue here.
The air in Lagos hung thick like wet wool, heat rising off the asphalt in visible waves that curled into the sky. Ushie Uguamaye, a 24-year-old National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) member, pressed “record” on her phone, with sweat forming on her forehead and frustration bubbling in her chest.
It was 16 March. She had just left a supermarket and the maths wasn’t adding up. Prices had soared again and her NYSC allowance had evaporated before the month was halfway through. So, like millions of young Nigerians do when the country feels unbearable, she turned to TikTok. No script. No make-up. Just rage.
“Tinubu is a terrible president,” she said – her voice cracking not from fear but from exhaustion.
The video was raw, honest and wildly relatable. It caught fire across TikTok, spiralling into threads, stitches and duets. But it wasn’t just likes and solidarity that followed. Within 24 hours, she had reportedly received threatening calls from NYSC officials. They wanted the video gone.
In the space of a day, a plaintive cry from a weary citizen morphed into a national inflection point. Uguamaye’s unscripted online lament, uttered in a moment of economic despair, crystallised into something far more combustible: a challenge to authority. Her words became a litmus test for the boundaries of dissent in a fragile democracy.
In the aftermath of this impassioned viral video, a ripple of digital dissent surged across Nigerian social media. Her raw expression of frustration kickstarted the #30DaysRantChallenge movement. People congregated online to voice their grievances, from escalating food prices to the erosion of civil liberties. Each post served as both catharsis and indictment, painting a mosaic of a nation grappling with systemic malaise.
Parallel with this, another incident illuminated the tensions between free expression and institutional authority.
During a public event in the southern state of Delta, a group of nursing students responded to an MC’s introduction of the First Lady, Senator Oluremi Tinubu, as “our mother” with the chant: “Na your mama be this?” This spontaneous expression, which was captured and disseminated widely on TikTok, was perceived by many as a subtle rebuke of the administration and a rejection of the First Lady by implying “your mother, not our mother”. The students – particularly the one who posted the video – faced a swift backlash, and had to deliver clarifications and apologies to mitigate potential repercussions.
In a society where traditional avenues for dissent are often fraught with peril, social media emerges as both a sanctuary and a battleground. Yet, as these cases show, the state’s vigilant gaze ensures that even online expression is not beyond reproach.
A legacy of silencing dissent
These digital expressions of frustration are not isolated incidents but rather the latest chapters in Nigeria’s long history of suppressing dissent. From colonial times to the present day, the state’s response to protest has often been marked by repression and violence.
In 1929, the Aba Women’s Riot saw thousands of Igbo women protest against colonial taxation policies. They were met with brutal force by the British authorities, resulting in many deaths. Fast forward to the 1990s, when Nigeria was under a military dictatorship. The execution of environmental activist Ken Saro-Wiwa and eight others for protesting against oil exploitation in the Niger Delta highlighted the regime’s intolerance for dissent and drew international condemnation.
A return to civilian rule in 1999 did not significantly alter this pattern. The 2012 Occupy Nigeria protests against fuel subsidy removal were met with arrests and the use of force. More recently, the 2020 #EndSARS movement, which began as a protest against police brutality, culminated in the Lekki Toll Gate shooting, where security forces opened fire on peaceful demonstrators.
These events are still fresh in the mind of 18-year-old TikTok comedian President Shaks when he is creating content. “I am always really careful with what I post so I haven’t been threatened,” he told Index.
His caution isn’t paranoia but memory. The events of 2020, the blood-stained flags and silenced chants, still haunt Nigeria’s digital resistance.
“A lot of people died trying to protest for a better Nigeria,” said Shaks.
With the streets deemed too dangerous, TikTok and other platforms have become the last refuge for dissent. But voicing dissent online can also come with significant personal risk.
“Even social media isn’t safe,” he added. “They can still come and arrest you in your house if you do too much. Allegedly o.” He adds the “o” at the end of his sentence to emphasise his point.
The global precedent of online censorship
In the evolving landscape of digital governance, the USA has set a precedent that reverberates far beyond its borders. Its government’s actions concerning TikTok have provided a framework that other nations, including Nigeria, have observed and emulated.
In August 2020, during his first term as president, Donald Trump issued Executive Order 13942, citing national security concerns over TikTok’s Chinese ownership. The order aimed to prohibit transactions with ByteDance, TikTok’s parent company, unless it divested its US operations. The administration argued that TikTok could be used by the Chinese government to collect data on American citizens or spread propaganda.
Joe Biden’s administration continued this scrutiny. In April 2024, he signed into law a bill requiring ByteDance to divest TikTok or face a ban. ByteDance was given nine months to find a US-approved buyer or the app would be shut down across the USA.
The administration contended that China’s control of TikTok through ByteDance represented a grave threat to national security. While the ban technically came into effect in January, Trump, now in his second presidential term, has so far granted TikTok two 75-day extensions to comply.
These actions have not gone unnoticed globally. In June 2021, Nigeria suspended the operations of X (then Twitter) after the platform deleted a tweet by the then president, Muhammadu Buhari. The government said there had been “a litany of problems” with the platform, including the spread of “fake news” leading to “real-world violent consequences”, and that it was being used to undermine “Nigeria’s corporate existence”.
Nigeria’s move to ban Twitter based on national security concerns mirrored the USA’s rationale for scrutinising TikTok, suggesting that the USA’s approach to online regulation has influenced other nations and provided a blueprint for justifying restrictions on digital expression.
Shaks is concerned that bans could happen on other platforms. “They’ve done it before with X, and TikTok is no different,” he said.
The interplay between national security and freedom of expression continues to be a contentious issue, with the potential to redefine the boundaries of digital discourse – and the actions of influential countries play a pivotal role in shaping global norms.
Comic relief or subversive speech?
In Nigeria, where protest is perilous and grief must be masked, humour has become both the shield and the weapon. In the era of TikTok, where the audience is vast and the state is watching, laughter is no longer just a reprieve but an act of calculated defiance.
“There is a line, ‘cause with the way things are in the country they can arrest you if you do too much,” said Shaks. “That’s why ‘allegedly’ is something people say 100 times to avoid those types of situations when speaking about politics or the state of the country.”
He says his satire is born out of necessity. For him, humour isn’t just creative flair – it’s strategy and survival.
“It started as a way to make such a heavy topic more approachable,” he said. “When you use humour, it feels less like a lecture and more like a conversation.”
Over time, he found that comedy allowed him to “point out the absurdities of corruption” in ways that resonated with audiences. But beneath the punchlines lies a deeper truth: “It’s a coping mechanism. Nigerians use laughter to cover up the fact that we’re going through a lot.”
While he is sceptical about whether online content creation can change things – “the protest in 2020 didn’t change anything” – he continues to post, joke and poke gently at power. His audience, he said, hasn’t turned on him. “Any time I make a joke about politics, I make it as subtle as possible. I don’t do too much, so I have never [had] a negative reaction from the public.”
But in this fragile republic, where truth is dangerous and silence is coerced, even a TikTok skit carries weight. Laughter, after all, is harmless only when the state says it is.
23 May 2025 | Africa, News and features, Nigeria, Volume 54.01 Spring 2025
This article first appeared in Volume 54, Issue 1 of our print edition of Index on Censorship, titled The forgotten patients: Lost voices in the global healthcare system, published on 11 April 2025. Read more about the issue here.
With a growing population that now exceeds 200 million, Nigeria’s demand for effective healthcare is immense – but the sector is critically underfunded. Less than 4% of the country’s GDP has been spent on health in recent years, resulting in operational inefficiencies, the deterioration of medical infrastructure, health professionals migrating to other countries, and medical tourism, where wealthier Nigerians pay for healthcare abroad instead of at home.
This year, the health sector was allocated only 5.18% of the total governmental budget, which will further impact the provision of quality services and deepen disparities in access.
Last September, the World Bank approved a $1.57 billion loan for Nigeria, including $570 million to strengthen primary healthcare provision. This is one of many international funds provided to help improve the country’s healthcare infrastructure. However, systemic failures including corruption divert essential resources away from those who need them most.
A recent report from Transparency International – a global coalition against corruption – highlights corruption as a barrier to effective healthcare delivery globally and indicates that $500 billion is lost to the problem annually. Nigeria ranks 140 out of 180 in its Corruption Perceptions Index, reflecting its pervasive nature within the country’s institutions. In healthcare, corruption manifests in many ways, including organ trafficking and unethical transplants, counterfeit drugs and the diversion of humanitarian aid.
In north-east Nigeria, the illegal trade of Ready-to-Use Therapeutic Food, which is intended for malnourished children, highlights the severe misuse of humanitarian aid, with healthcare workers implicated in diverting supplies for sale in local markets.
Systematic financial abuse has also been documented by organisations set up to help Nigerians access affordable, quality healthcare. The National Health Insurance Scheme (NHIS), for example, allegedly misappropriated more than 6.8 billion Nigerian Naira ($4.5 million) through illegal allowances between 2016 and 2017. Despite its mandate to reduce out-of-pocket healthcare spending, the NHIS has managed to cover only 5% of Nigerians since it began in 2005, with the majority of Nigerians still financing their own healthcare through out-of-pocket payments.
A report by the news agency Sahara Reporters revealed rampant corruption at the National Hospital Abuja in Nigeria’s capital, where patient-staff bribery and payments to private accounts are common. In another concerning account at a community health centre in Lagos, one anonymous healthcare worker told Index that contracted health workers who were paid to immunise young children had recorded discarded oral polio vaccinations as “administered”. This distortion not only alters public health data but also places entire communities at risk of preventable diseases. There was also alleged misuse of resources, with the source reporting that solar-powered lights intended for use in healthcare centres were installed in the homes of local politicians instead.
Challenges faced by whistleblowers
Amid these challenges, whistleblowing has emerged as a critical strategy for combating corruption. Experts identify it as an accountability tool that can promote transparency and reduce corruption in healthcare service delivery. However, it is fraught with challenges, including intimidation, a lack of legal protection and a culture of silence. Whistleblowers endure significant personal risks, including emotional distress, underscoring the need for protective measures and a supportive environment.
A major shortcoming is the law. Onyinyechi Amy Onwumere, of the Civil Society Legislative Advocacy Centre (CISLAC), provides free, confidential and professional legal advice to victims and witnesses of corruption. She noted: “Nigeria does not have a comprehensive whistleblowing law. Existing protections are fragmented and insufficient, leaving whistleblowers vulnerable to retaliation.
“Whistleblowers in Nigeria’s healthcare system often encounter retaliation, including threats, suspension or sacking, and even physical harm. These actions create a toxic atmosphere where human rights violations thrive, and potential whistleblowers are discouraged from coming forward.
“The failure to adequately protect whistleblowers leads to a deteriorating healthcare system and a loss of public trust.”
There is also a lack of awareness among potential whistleblowers regarding their rights and the protections and reporting mechanisms that do exist, she added. According to the Centre for Fiscal Transparency and Public Integrity, a Transparency and Integrity Index the organisation compiled found that only 10 ministries, departments and agencies out of 512 in Nigeria have a whistleblower policy. “This is far from best practice,” said Onwumere.
Cultural and systemic barriers
Cultural and societal norms create a challenging environment for whistleblowers. Informal corruption networks thrive where they are tolerated, particularly when they benefit the community. Tosin Osasona, a programme manager at the NISER/MacArthur Foundation Research Grant Project on Corruption Control in Nigeria, explained: “In a society where loyalty is highly valued, speaking out against one’s institution can be perceived as a betrayal.”
This attitude discourages people from stepping forward.
Osasona highlighted the professional risks that whistleblowers face. “They often encounter blacklisting by seniors, reduced future job prospects and ostracisation. The reality is that potential whistleblowers are intimidated, isolated and discouraged.”
He stressed the need for a dedicated whistleblower reporting system tailored to the healthcare sector. “A reporting mechanism that guarantees confidentiality, independence, and impartiality is essential to breaking the cycle of corruption,” he said.
One community health officer told Index that patients who were already burdened by the cost of treatment could find themselves extorted for basic medical services. They explained how a patient recently reported a staff member for selling injections that were meant to be free and for inflating the cost of other items.
“Instead of facing disciplinary action, the individual was merely transferred to another clinic in the subdivision.”
And when staff members are the whistleblowers, they ultimately get transferred, “perpetuating a cycle of corruption and silence with no real change”, the source added.
This climate of suppression extends to the media, where censorship continues to stifle investigative journalism – particularly on financial embezzlement. Despite amendments, authorities continue to misuse the broad powers of the 2015 Cybercrimes Act to detain and prosecute journalists uncovering corruption.
The path forward
There are severe consequences of widespread corruption in healthcare, including loss of life, increased healthcare costs and a deterioration of the health sector, disproportionately affecting vulnerable people.
Yusuff Adebayo Adebisi, a pharmacist and director of research and thought leadership at the international organisation Global Health Focus, said: “Corruption in healthcare resource allocation damages patient care. It deprives people who need treatment of crucial supplies and funding. This problem leads to drug shortages, outdated equipment and neglected facilities – all of which put patients at risk. Some people turn to expensive private clinics or skip treatment entirely because vital resources have been syphoned away.”
A recent review from five English-speaking West African countries, including Nigeria, suggests that poor working conditions and low wages push some healthcare workers to engage in unethical behaviour. Adebisi emphasised that “a real solution calls for a detailed understanding of how corruption operates in each place so that decision-makers can craft effective strategies that address these problems at their core”.
Empowering healthcare professionals to safely report corruption and mismanagement requires a combination of legal protection, secure reporting channels and a supportive workplace culture. Adebisi said that whistleblower protection laws are “essential” and should be communicated clearly to staff “so they know they will be shielded from retaliation”. Secure, anonymous platforms – such as confidential hotlines or encrypted digital tools – can also help professionals speak up without fear of losing their jobs or facing harassment.
Training and awareness programmes on ethics and accountability can boost staff confidence. Adebisi suggested that “working with professional associations, non-governmental organisations and community groups adds an extra layer of support and helps create a culture where reporting is seen as a collective responsibility rather than an individual risk”.
International models provide useful insights into how Nigeria can strengthen its whistleblowing framework. For instance, in the UK, National Health Service organisations rely on “Freedom to Speak Up guardians” who serve as neutral, trusted people who staff can approach with sensitive concerns. In some Latin American countries, partnerships between government agencies and civil society groups have led to digital whistleblowing platforms that maintain user anonymity. These ideas could be tailored to Nigeria, said Adebisi, taking into account the “unique challenges” of different regions.
Artificial intelligence can also enhance these efforts. He explained that “tools powered by machine-learning can track procurement data, pinpoint suspicious patterns in drug prescriptions and flag irregularities that might indicate theft or bribery”. While technology alone won’t solve the issue, he believes that integrating AI with “robust legal frameworks” and education programmes could help to “significantly strengthen oversight”.
“There’s no single solution that works for every institution, so it’s important to combine strategies that promote accountability, protect staff and foster a culture of transparency.”
A lack of accountability can have real-world consequences. One nurse in a teaching hospital told Index how corruption in resource management exacerbated existing disparities.
“Some wards are fully equipped with state-of-the-art machines, have a constant power supply and are staffed with highly efficient medical personnel,” she explained. “Meanwhile, other units struggle with outdated equipment, erratic electricity and severe staff shortages.”
When whistleblowers have the support of the media and the public, their reports can lead to meaningful reform. Onwumere highlighted the Ministry of Niger Delta Affairs scandal, where a whistleblower’s revelations of looting at the ministry prompted policy changes. Similar pressure in the healthcare sector could drive accountability and bring change.
Ensuring that those who expose wrongdoing in healthcare can speak out freely is not merely a matter of individual rights – it is a critical step towards a functional and equitable healthcare system for the tens of millions of Nigerians who depend on it.
31 Mar 2023 | News and features, Nigeria
On 25 February, Punch Newspaper journalist Gbenga Oloniniran stood near the Governor of Rivers State’s residence in Southern Nigeria, covering the recent presidential election. As policemen gathered and arrested young people at a polling station, Oloniniran brought out his camera, taking snapshots of the incident. Instantly, the policemen left the youths, pounced on Oloniniran, snatched his camera, and bundled him away in a van. They denied him the right to cover the elections.
This was not an isolated incident. At least 14 journalists and media workers covering the presidential election were detained, intimidated or attacked by security forces, political groups or citizens. During the state elections held on 18 and 19 March, at least 28 more journalists suffered the same treatment, with many more cases likely going unreported.
“They threatened me, and that was under the rain, and I was shivering,” Bolanle Olabimtan, a journalist at The Cable, told Index after she was attacked in Delta State. She was punched, and had the photos deleted from her phone.
Haruna Mohammed Salisu, CEO of WikkiTimes, was arrested while covering a protest during the presidential elections. He was detained and charged with inciting disturbance of public peace. He claims he had his phone taken, was interrogated by security personnel and was then assaulted by violent supporters of the governor.
“My experience in detention serves as a stark reminder of how vulnerable journalists are in Nigeria,” he wrote in WikkiTimes.
On March 18 unidentified men attacked an Arise TV crew consisting of reporter Oba Adeoye, cameraman Opeyemi Adenihun and driver Yusuf Hassan. Adenihun suffered facial injuries and their drone was seized. Meanwhile in Ogun State, Adejoke Adeleye, a News Agency of Nigeria reporter, was attacked by a mob when filming at a voting station. Five people, including one masked person wielding an axe, chased the group of journalists that included Adeleye, according to the Committee to Protect Journalists. In Lagos, 10 people hit reporter Amarachi Amushie and camera operator Aliu Adeshina from the privately-owned broadcaster Africa Independent Television, as they reported at a polling station. Security agencies issued threats. They harassed Adesola Ikulajolu, a freelance investigative reporter, deleting the image folder in his phone.
Nigeria is ranked at 129 out of 180 nations in the 2022 World Press Freedom Index compiled by Reporters Without Borders, with this latest assault on press freedom demonstrating part of the reason for the ranking.
After the attacks, Dupe Fehintola, Chairman of a branch of the Nigeria Union of Journalists, made a statement saying: “We condemn these attacks on journalists.”
During the elections, members of the Nigerian media investigated potential links between political parties and violent attackers, who threatened voters unless they proved they were casting their ballots in favour of the ruling All Progressives Party.
Adebola Ajayi, a journalist at People’s Gazette, experienced that violence first hand, saying: “I was attacked by political thugs at a polling unit in Orile-Oshodi ward in Lagos.”
This violence may have contributed to the fact that 71% of voters abstained from the elections. The election winner, APC’s Ahmed Tinubu, received only 8.8 million votes, while challengers Atiku Abubakar of the Peoples Democratic Party gathered 6.9 million and Peter Obi of the Labour Party received 6.1 million, in a country of 93 million registered voters and a population of over 200 million.
Evidence gathered by the media – including assaults on electoral officials and an incident where attackers destroyed ballot boxes with axes – showed that violence marked the elections. The pressure on journalists as they faced this violence themselves prevented them from covering the elections fairly.
Nearly two weeks after the end of the state and presidential elections, the media remains shaken.
“We strongly condemn these unacceptable attacks, which constitutes both the violation of fundamental human rights of the affected journalists and media worker and a major assault on press freedom,” Melody Akinjiyan, the spokesman of the International Press Center, Lagos, told Index.
9 Nov 2020 | Africa, News and features, Nigeria
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Recent protest in Nigeria. Credit: TobiJamesCandids/WikiCommons
A few weeks ago, Nigeria looked to be at breaking point. President Muhammadu Buhari had called in the army to quash large-scale protests that had filled the country’s streets.
Rather than allow peaceful protests, the army were responsible for a number of state killings as they fired upon their compatriots. For example, on 20th October, in the city of Lekki, around 12 people were killed, according to human rights group Amnesty International. This and other examples of violence shown on social media provoked real anger.
While the protests have died down, the desire for change has not gone away. With their right to free speech violently infringed upon by their own army, Nigerians are looking for alternative ways of protesting.
Poet and journalist Wana Udobang shed light on how the movement has adapted and on the feeling in the country.
“I think that hope was so high that by the time the 20th happened, and the army opened fire, we all encouraged people to stay home,” she said. “We all wanted change but nobody wanted people to die.”
“We have moved into the stage of [looking at] what we do strategically. If you go on social media, a lot of the talk is about getting young people into leadership and where they can make and impact change. There is an active movement for a more sustainable change. In a way, the protests were a first step in demanding for accountability and change. For a long time we were just voting between the devil and the deep blue sea.”
The protests originally began against the Nigerian police unit known as the “special anti-robbery squad”, or “SARS”, but have since become more of a protest aimed against police brutality and wider law enforcement. SARS was actually disbanded on 11 October, but demonstrations continued thereafter.
Udobang said: “It [the protests] was necessitated by the end SARS protests but I think that became like an umbrella for so many unjust things happening in the country.”
“I think [we are in] a kind of limbo period,” she said. “The protests were so hopeful. Everyone was going out every single day, people were donating food and money. It really was something where everyone felt like for the first time they could channel their energy towards something and we were all united for the first time in a very long time.”
Founded in 1992, the extra power given to SARS led to repeated incidents of police brutality and a unit that exercised fear over the civilians they were supposedly meant to protect.
Media freedom has been a notable victim of SARS brutality, with reporters repeatedly attacked and threatened by the unit. However, for a shift to take place, journalists must be protected. This, as well as being able to voice criticism towards the authorities, will be key to any kind of movement that brings about change.
“I think the role of journalists is incredibly important now,” noted Udobang. “This protest was happening during a global pandemic. A lot of the images shared were coming from Nigerians themselves. So the importance of documenting change, movements and what was essentially a massacre. The government did not acknowledge it.”
The country sits 115th in the World Press Freedom Index. Press freedom protection organisation Reporters Without Borders describe why Nigeria is so low down the rankings.
“Nigeria is now one of West Africa’s most dangerous and difficult countries for journalists, who are often spied on, attacked, arbitrarily arrested or even killed,” they said.
“The defence of quality journalism and the protection of journalists are very far from being government priorities. With more than 100 independent newspapers, Africa’s most populous nation enjoys real media pluralism but covering stories involving politics, terrorism or financial embezzlement by the powerful is very problematic.”
“Journalists are often denied access to information by government officials, police and sometimes the public itself.”
While the true impact the protests have had on Nigeria and its institutions is currently unclear, the demonstrations seem like a turning point for people in the country. Let’s hope it leads to more freedoms.
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