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Analysis

Is Nasir El-Rufai on the Peril? By Alabidun Shuaib AbdulRahman

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Is Nasir El-Rufai on the Peril? By Alabidun Shuaib AbdulRahman

 

There is something almost Shakespearean about the current phase of Nasir Ahmad El-Rufai’s political journey. Once firmly lodged within Nigeria’s innermost corridors of power, the former governor of Kaduna State now finds himself navigating choppy waters—estranged from elements of the establishment he helped midwife, locked in public disagreements with former allies, and increasingly defined by sharp media interventions rather than executive authority. The question therefore suggests itself with urgency: is Nasir El-Rufai on the peril, politically speaking, or merely repositioning for another audacious ascent?

 

To answer that, one must first understand the architecture of his rise. El-Rufai has always thrived at the intersection of intellect and insurgency. From his days as Director-General of the Bureau of Public Enterprises to his tenure as Minister of the Federal Capital Territory between 2003 and 2007, he cultivated the persona of a reformer unafraid of entrenched interests. In Abuja, he enforced the capital’s master plan with relentless precision, demolishing structures deemed illegal and digitising land administration through the Abuja Geographic Information System. Admirers saw courage; critics saw cold technocracy. But none doubted his influence.

 

His political resurrection after years in relative exile was equally strategic. As a central figure in the coalition that birthed the All Progressives Congress in 2013, El-Rufai demonstrated both tactical patience and elite networking. The APC’s 2015 victory was not merely a partisan turnover; it was a reconfiguration of Nigeria’s power map. In securing the governorship of Kaduna State that same year, El-Rufai transitioned from federal reform czar to subnational executive with a mandate to replicate structural transformation.

 

Kaduna was never going to be an easy laboratory. With its near parity of Muslim and Christian populations and a history of sectarian volatility, governance required not only administrative efficiency but also delicate social navigation. El-Rufai chose the path he knew best—structural reform. He implemented a Treasury Single Account to streamline finances, overhauled the civil service, and embarked on sweeping education reforms that culminated in the disengagement of more than 20,000 primary school teachers who failed competency tests. The state borrowed heavily for infrastructure, betting that long-term growth would justify short-term fiscal strain.

 

To his supporters, these were acts of bold leadership in a polity allergic to tough decisions. To his critics, they revealed a governor more comfortable with spreadsheets than sentiments. Southern Kaduna’s recurrent violence further complicated his record. His insistence on framing the crisis largely as criminality rather than ethno-religious persecution was analytically defensible in some respects, yet politically combustible. Perception hardened into distrust among segments of the population who felt unseen and unheard.

 

Even so, he secured re-election in 2019, proof that reform and controversy can coexist in Nigeria’s electoral calculus. But it was the transition from governor to elder statesman that has proven most perilous.

 

El-Rufai entered the 2023 political season as a visible ally of President Bola Tinubu during the APC primaries. His intellectual heft and northern pedigree positioned him as a bridge-builder within the party’s power arithmetic. When Tinubu won the presidency, many assumed El-Rufai would feature prominently in the new administration. His nomination as a minister appeared to confirm that trajectory until the Senate declined to confirm him, reportedly citing security concerns.

 

In Nigerian politics, symbolism often outweighs substance. The rejection was more than procedural; it signalled a rupture. For a politician accustomed to shaping events rather than reacting to them, the development marked a subtle but unmistakable shift from insider to outsider. Since then, his public commentary has grown more pointed. He has questioned the direction of the ruling party, hinted at betrayals, and portrayed himself as a custodian of principles sidelined by expediency.

 

Is this evidence of peril or repositioning?

 

There are at least three dimensions to consider. The first is institutional. El-Rufai no longer controls a state apparatus. Without the leverage of executive office, influence must be exerted through persuasion, coalition-building and narrative framing. This transition is difficult for leaders whose authority was reinforced by command structures. His recent media engagements which implies candid, combative and occasionally accusatory suggest a man recalibrating his tools.

 

The second dimension is relational. Politics is sustained by networks, and networks are sustained by trust. Reports of mistrusts between El-Rufai and key federal figures, as well as friction with his successor in Kaduna, complicate his positioning. In Kaduna, reviews of past contracts and policies have cast shadows backward, feeding narratives of vendetta on both sides. At the federal level, silence has often met his critiques, a strategy that can either isolate a critic or amplify him, depending on public mood.

 

The third dimension is strategic. Nigeria’s political elite operates in long cycles. Conversations about 2027 are already underway in quiet rooms. El-Rufai’s national profile, intellectual agility and northern base make him a potential factor in any future coalition calculus. His current dissent may therefore be less about grievance and more about differentiation—an effort to craft an identity distinct from a government facing economic and security headwinds.

 

Yet peril remains a real possibility. Nigeria’s political memory can be unforgiving. Leaders who overplay their hand risk alienation from both establishment and grassroots. If El-Rufai’s critiques are perceived as personal vendetta rather than principled dissent, his moral capital may erode. Moreover, the electorate has grown increasingly wary of elite quarrels that appear disconnected from everyday hardship. A politician who once sold reform as necessity must now demonstrate empathy as convincingly as efficiency.

 

Still, history suggests that El-Rufai has often converted adversity into opportunity. After leaving the Obasanjo administration under clouds of controversy, he returned stronger within a new coalition. After early resistance in Kaduna, he consolidated his authority and reshaped the state’s administrative culture. His career has been punctuated by phases of apparent crisis followed by strategic resurgence.

 

The deeper question may not be whether he is on the peril, but whether Nigeria’s political environment can accommodate his style of engagement. El-Rufai thrives on intellectual contestation and structural overhaul. He is less adept at the slow, conciliatory art of consensus politics. In a federation where legitimacy often rests on accommodation as much as achievement, this imbalance can be costly.

 

There is also the matter of narrative control. El-Rufai has long been his own chief spokesman, deploying social media and interviews with precision. In the absence of political office as he is currently, narrative becomes power. His recent outbursts once again keep him in the national conversation. Silence would have signified retreat.

 

So, is Nasir El-Rufai on the peril? The answer is layered. Institutionally, yes—he stands as an outsider in the power structure he once influenced. Relationally, yes—alliances appear strained and rivalries sharpened. Strategically, however, peril can be prelude. In politics, moments of vulnerability often precede recalibration and El-Rufai has always been a master of that.

 

Ultimately, El-Rufai’s future will hinge on whether he can transform dissent into constructive coalition-building. If he remains defined by grievance, the peril may deepen into isolation. If he channels critique into a broader vision that resonates beyond elite circles, the current turbulence could become a staging ground.

 

For now, he occupies an ambiguous space: not dethroned, not enthroned; neither silenced nor fully embraced. In that ambiguity lies both danger and possibility. Nasir El-Rufai has built a career on defying expectations. Whether this chapter marks decline or reinvention will depend less on his adversaries than on his capacity to balance conviction with conciliation.

 

The peril, if it exists, is not merely political. It is existential—the risk that a man defined by reform and combat may struggle in an era demanding reconciliation and breadth. But in Nigeria’s ever-shifting theatre of power, yesterday’s peril can become tomorrow’s platform.

 

Alabidun is a media practitioner and can be reached via alabidungoldenson@gmail.com

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Analysis

Canada’s Policy Shift and the Changing Reality for Nigerian Migrants, By Boniface Ihiasota 

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Canada’s Policy Shift and the Changing Reality for Nigerian Migrants, By Boniface Ihiasota

 

Canada’s evolving immigration and asylum policies in 2026 mark a turning point that is being closely watched across migrant communities, including Nigerians who have, over the past decade, become one of the fastest-growing African diasporas in the country. What is unfolding is not a closure of doors, but a recalibration—one that prioritises economic utility, system efficiency, and stricter compliance over the expansive openness that once defined Canada’s migration model.

 

The most notable shift is in the asylum system. In March 2026, the Canadian government enacted new reforms through legislation widely reported as Bill C-12, aimed at tightening refugee intake procedures and reducing a backlog that has stretched the system for years. Canada’s asylum inventory had exceeded 260,000 pending claims by late 2025, according to data from the Immigration and Refugee Board, creating long waiting times that sometimes ran into several years. The new law introduces faster screening mechanisms, allowing authorities to determine early on whether claims are eligible for full hearings.

 

Early outcomes have already begun to reflect the impact. Tens of thousands of claims have been flagged for additional scrutiny, with some applicants required to provide further documentation within strict timelines or face removal proceedings. For Nigerians, who continue to feature prominently among asylum applicants, this introduces a new level of uncertainty. While Canada does not target specific nationalities, applicants from countries with complex migration patterns often face deeper scrutiny in credibility assessments.

 

Yet, the tightening of asylum pathways does not exist in isolation. It is part of a broader restructuring of Canada’s immigration system, which has been under pressure from housing shortages, healthcare capacity constraints, and public debate over population growth. In response, the federal government adjusted its Immigration Levels Plan for 2026–2028, maintaining a target of approximately 500,000 permanent residents annually but reducing the intake of temporary residents, including international students and some categories of foreign workers.

 

For Nigerians, this dual-track approach—restrictive in some areas and targeted in others—presents a mixed picture. On the one hand, study pathways have become more competitive. Nigeria has consistently ranked among the top 10 source countries for international students in Canada, with over 16,000 Nigerian students holding study permits as of 2024, according to Immigration, Refugees and Citizenship Canada. However, new policies introduced in early 2026 cap the number of study permits issued nationwide and tighten post-study work conditions, particularly for students enrolled in short-term or preparatory programmes.

 

On the other hand, economic migration pathways are being sharpened rather than reduced. Canada’s flagship Express Entry system has undergone targeted reforms designed to align immigration more closely with labour market shortages. In February 2026, Immigration Minister Lena Metlege Diab announced category-based selection draws focusing on healthcare, science and technology, transportation, and skilled trades. These sectors have faced persistent labour gaps, especially as Canada’s population ages.

 

For Nigerian professionals, this presents a clear opportunity—provided they meet the heightened requirements. The minimum threshold for relevant work experience in many categories has effectively increased, with greater emphasis placed on recent, verifiable employment within the last three years. Language proficiency benchmarks and credential verification processes have also become more stringent, reflecting a broader effort to ensure that newcomers integrate quickly into the workforce.

 

At the same time, enforcement has become more visible. The Canada Border Services Agency reported that hundreds of Nigerians were deported in 2025 for overstaying visas or failing to comply with immigration rules, with additional cases pending. While deportations remain a small fraction of overall migrant numbers, they signal a tougher posture toward non-compliance, reinforcing the message that entry into Canada now comes with stricter accountability.

 

Despite these changes, Canada’s immigration system retains key features that distinguish it globally. Unlike some Western countries, Canada does not impose nationality-based caps or bans. Instead, its system remains points-based and merit-driven, allowing applicants from countries like Nigeria to compete on relatively equal footing. Nigerians, in fact, continue to perform strongly in economic migration streams due to high levels of English proficiency and a growing pool of university-educated professionals.

 

From a diaspora perspective, the significance of these reforms lies in their long-term implications. Canada is moving away from a volume-driven immigration model toward one that is more selective and sustainability-focused. The emphasis is shifting from how many migrants the country can admit to how effectively those migrants can contribute to economic growth and social stability.

 

For prospective Nigerian migrants, the message is becoming increasingly clear. The era of broad accessibility—where multiple pathways could be explored with relative ease—is giving way to a more disciplined system that rewards preparation, skill alignment, and legal compliance. Success now depends less on aspiration alone and more on strategy: choosing the right immigration stream, meeting precise eligibility criteria, and presenting verifiable documentation.

 

Still, the Canadian dream remains very much alive. What has changed is the pathway to achieving it. It is no longer defined by openness alone, but by competitiveness. For those willing to adapt to these new realities, Canada continues to offer opportunities—not as a guaranteed destination, but as a carefully managed one.

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Analysis

Atiku, Why Again? By Alabidun Shuaib AbdulRahman

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Atiku, Why Again? By Alabidun Shuaib AbdulRahman

 

In Nigerian politics, ambition is not unusual. Neither is persistence. But when a politician has been on the presidential ballot for several years without success, it is fair to ask a simple question: what is the plan this time that was not there before?

 

That question has come up again after the recent television interview by Atiku Abubakar, where he made it clear that he intends to run for president in 2027. If he does, it will be his seventh attempt.

 

The interview, aired on ARISE TV on Wednesday, April 15th, was meant to position him as a leading figure in the opposition ahead of the next election. Instead, it has brought back old doubts about his long political journey, his repeated attempts, and whether anything has really changed.

 

Atiku did not present his ambition as something he was still considering. He spoke as someone already committed to the race. He also described the 2027 election as his “last outing,” suggesting that this would be his final attempt.

 

At the same time, he tried to balance two positions. He said he was open to working with others in a coalition under the African Democratic Congress (ADC). But he also made it clear that he would contest for the ticket and would not step aside for anyone, including Peter Obi, Kwankwaso and others.

 

That position is important. It shows that while he talks about unity, he is not ready to sacrifice his own ambition for it. This has been a consistent feature of his politics over the years.

 

Atiku has been in Nigerian politics for over three decades. He served as vice president under Olusegun Obasanjo from 1999 to 2007. That position gave him national visibility and influence. However, his main political identity today is built around his repeated attempts to become president. He first contested in the early 1990s. Since then, he has run in 2007, 2011, 2015, 2019, and 2023. He lost all.

 

This history matters. It is not just about numbers. It shapes how voters see him. Many Nigerians now associate him more with contesting elections than with holding office. So the issue is not just that he is running again. The real issue is why he believes this time will be different.

 

One major part of Atiku’s strategy over the years has been changing political platforms. He started with the Social Democratic Party (SDP) in the early 1990s, moved to the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP), later joined the Action Congress (AC), returned to the PDP, then moved to the All Progressives Congress (APC), and went back again to the PDP before aligning with the ADC for now.

 

This kind of movement is often explained as political strategy. Nigerian parties are not strongly ideological, so politicians move when they feel their chances are better elsewhere. But frequent defection also raises questions. It becomes difficult to clearly define what a politician stands for beyond personal ambition. In Atiku’s case, every move has been tied to his presidential ambition. When one platform does not work, he looks for another. That approach may be practical, but it also creates doubts about consistency.

 

The ADC is now being presented as a platform for a broad opposition coalition ahead of 2027. For Atiku, it is another opportunity to reposition himself and work with other opposition figures. The idea of a coalition is simple: bring together different political forces to challenge the ruling party, currently led by President Bola Ahmed Tinubu.

 

However, coalitions are not easy to manage. They involve people with different ambitions, different support bases, and different strategies. In this case, figures like Peter Obi, Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso, Rauf Aregbesola, David Mark, Rotimi Amaechi et al also have strong followings.

 

Atiku’s decision to insist on contesting may create crisis within the coalition. While his experience and national network are advantages, his ambition could also divide the group. So his presence in the ADC is both helpful and complicated.

 

Although Atiku said in the interview that 2027 would be his final attempt. By then, he will be close to 80 years old, so the claim is understandable. But Nigerian politics has seen similar claims before. Politicians often say an election will be their last, only to return again later. This is why many people are not fully convinced.

 

More importantly, the idea of a “last attempt” raises a bigger issue. Should leadership at this stage focus on long-term national direction or on completing a personal political journey? This is where age and generational change come into the conversation. Nigeria has a very young population. Many voters are looking for new faces and new ideas. Atiku represents experience, but he also represents an older political generation.

 

Atiku’s biggest strengths are clear. He has experience, name recognition, and a strong political network across the country. He understands the system and knows how to run national campaigns. But these strengths come with weaknesses. His long history also connects him to past political practices that many Nigerians now question. Some voters see him as part of the old system rather than a candidate for change.

 

In his interview, he spoke about reforms, including constitutional changes and power rotation. However, critics point out that his positions on some of these issues have changed over time, depending on political circumstances. This gap between what he says now and what he has done before is part of the trust problem he faces.

 

From a political standpoint, Atiku’s decision to run again is not without logic. He is likely counting on strong support from the northern region and hoping that dissatisfaction with the current administration will work in his favour.

 

Economic challenges and public frustration could create an opportunity for the opposition. Atiku is trying to position himself as the candidate who can benefit from that situation. However, the situation is not simple. The opposition is not united. There are other strong candidates. Voters are also becoming less predictable.

 

Winning an election now requires more than regional strength. It requires broad national appeal and the ability to connect with younger voters. This is where Atiku faces his biggest test.

 

At a broader level, Atiku’s repeated candidacies reflect a pattern in Nigerian politics. The same group of politicians continues to dominate the system, moving between parties and positions. This makes it harder for new leaders to emerge. It also creates a sense that elections are contests between familiar faces rather than opportunities for real change. Atiku is not the only example of this, but he is one of the most visible.

 

If Atiku wants to convince Nigerians this time, he needs to do more than declare his intention to run. He needs to explain clearly why he has not succeeded before and what will be different now.

 

He also needs to show that his campaign is not just another attempt, but a new approach. That includes how he plans to govern, how he will address current challenges, and how he will work with other political actors. Without this, his candidacy risks being seen as a repeat of previous efforts.

 

Atiku Abubakar has the right to contest for president. That is not in question. The real issue is whether his continued participation adds value to the political process or simply repeats what Nigerians have already seen.

 

His recent interview has reopened an important debate. It is not just about him. It is about the direction of Nigerian politics, the need for new leadership, and the balance between experience and change.

 

As 2027 approaches, voters will have to decide. Do they want to give Atiku another chance, or do they want something different?

 

Alabidun is a media practitioner and can be reached via alabidungoldenson@gmail.com

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Analysis

Where Lies the Integrity of INEC Chairman? By Boniface Ihiasota 

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Where Lies the Integrity of INEC Chairman? By Boniface Ihiasota

 

From the vantage point of the diaspora, where institutions are often judged less by rhetoric and more by credibility, Nigeria’s electoral process continues to raise uneasy questions. At the centre of this scrutiny is the Independent National Electoral Commission, INEC and its current chairman, Professor Joash Amupitan, whose tenure, though relatively new, is already entangled in controversy that strikes at the very heart of electoral neutrality.

 

Amupitan assumed office in October 2025, following his nomination by President Bola Ahmed Tinubu and confirmation by the Senate on October 16, 2025. His appointment was framed as a technocratic choice—an academic, a Senior Advocate of Nigeria, and, in the words of the presidency, an “apolitical” figure expected to restore confidence in the electoral system. Yet, barely six months into his tenure, that expectation is being tested by a controversy rooted not in policy decisions, but in digital footprints.

 

The storm centres on a series of alleged past activities on the social media platform X (formerly Twitter), linked to an account bearing his name. The most cited instance dates back to March 18, 2023, during the Lagos State gubernatorial elections. On that day, Dayo Israel, a prominent figure in the ruling All Progressives Congress, posted about electoral success in a previously opposition-leaning area. A reply attributed to an account carrying Amupitan’s name reportedly read: “Victory is sure.”

 

That single phrase—brief, seemingly innocuous—has since taken on outsized significance. For critics, it is not just about the words themselves, but what they imply: a possible alignment, however subtle, with a political party that the electoral umpire is expected to regulate with strict neutrality. The African Democratic Congress (ADC), through its spokesperson Bolaji Abdullahi, has described the resurfaced interaction as a “grave affront” to the integrity of the electoral system and has gone as far as demanding Amupitan’s resignation.

 

The controversy deepened in April 2026 when conflicting narratives emerged. On one hand, some digital analyses and commentaries claimed that the account in question bore traces consistent with Amupitan’s online identity prior to his appointment. On the other, INEC issued a categorical denial. In a statement released on April 10, 2026, the commission insisted that the chairman “does not own or operate any personal account on X” and described the allegations as “entirely baseless” and a “fabrication.” The commission further alleged that cybercriminals had been impersonating the chairman and warned that those responsible would face prosecution under the Cybercrimes Act.

 

This duality—accusation and denial—captures the essence of the current dilemma. In the absence of definitive proof, the debate has shifted from fact to perception. And in matters of electoral integrity, perception is often as consequential as reality.

 

From a diaspora perspective, this is where the concern becomes most pronounced. Electoral bodies are not judged solely by their legal correctness, but by the confidence they inspire. In countries where institutions are deeply trusted, even minor controversies are addressed swiftly and transparently to prevent erosion of credibility. In Nigeria, however, where trust in electoral processes has historically been fragile, such controversies carry amplified consequences.

 

It is important to acknowledge that no conclusive evidence has established that Amupitan personally operated the controversial X account. The timeline itself complicates the narrative. The alleged posts date back to 2023, two years before his appointment as INEC chairman. At that time, he was a law professor, not a public electoral official. The question, therefore, is not simply whether the account existed, but whether past expressions—if indeed they were his—should disqualify him from holding an office that demands absolute neutrality.

 

Yet, public office has its own moral burden. The chairman of INEC is not just an administrator; he is the custodian of democratic legitimacy. His credibility must be beyond reproach, not only in action but in history. Even the perception of partisanship, however distant, becomes a liability.

 

INEC’s defence rests on a familiar but critical claim: impersonation. In an era where digital identity can be easily manipulated, the existence of fake accounts is not implausible. The commission has stated that several such accounts have been identified and reported to security agencies. But this explanation, while plausible, does not entirely settle public anxiety. It shifts the burden to verification, a process that is often slow and inconclusive in Nigeria’s digital and legal landscape.

 

Ultimately, the question remains unresolved: where lies the integrity of the INEC chairman? It lies, perhaps, not in the binary of guilt or innocence, but in the response to doubt. Integrity, in this context, is demonstrated through transparency, openness to scrutiny, and a willingness to subject oneself to independent verification.

 

For Amupitan, the challenge is immediate and defining. He must not only lead elections; he must lead trust. In a system already burdened by suspicion, he cannot afford the luxury of ambiguity. Every action, every clarification, every silence will be interpreted through the lens of credibility.

 

From the diaspora, the hope remains that Nigeria’s electoral institution can rise above these recurring cycles of doubt. But hope, as history has shown, is not enough. Integrity must not only exist—it must be seen, tested, and, above all, believed.

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