Olu Allen
When Nasir El-Rufai warned that a Tinubu victory in 2027 could morph the president into “another Paul Biya,” it landed with the calculated mischief we expect from a master political grenadier. But to dismiss it as mere shade is to ignore the political canvas on which it’s painted.
Look at the current National Assembly, and El-Rufai’s prophecy transforms from partisan potshot to a chillingly plausible scenario, backed by a growing pile of legislative receipts.
This assembly has shed the skin of an independent arm of government, embracing instead the role of a well-programmed karaoke machine: the executive drops a tune, and they sing it back, on key and with gusto.
The national anthem saga is Exhibit A in the erosion of due process. While Nigerians were still deciphering the sudden return to “Nigeria, We Hail Thee,” Akpabio’s chorus had already passed it into law at a speed that mocked deliberation.
There were no debates, no hearings—just the fast-food legislation of a captured institution, served hot and devoid of nutritional democratic value.
Then came Exhibit B: The Rivers State Pantomime. Here, the State Assembly was not just a karaoke machine but a puppet theatre, with strings pulled so blatantly from Abuja it was a national embarrassment.
The constitution, that sacred document meant to be the bedrock of our republic, was treated like a disposable suya paper—greased, folded, and tossed aside once its purpose was served.
The silence from the National Assembly was not just deafening; it was complicit.
Exhibit C solidifies the pattern: The Budgetary Circus. Three budgets in one year is not fiscal diligence; it is a parody of governance, like a Nollywood producer churning out sequels before the audience can critique the plot of the first.
Each passed with bewildering ease. If Tinubu were to present a fourth budget tomorrow, one imagines these lawmakers would scarcely read it, inquiring only about his preferred pen for the signing ceremony.
And now, Exhibit D: Loan Stampede. Multi-billion-dollar loan requests that should have sparked intense debates were instead waved through like receipts at a supermarket till.
No cost-benefit analysis, no hard questions, no resistance—just a perfunctory nod as the nation’s future was mortgaged with the casualness of swiping a POS machine.
If debt obligations can be approved in minutes, why not a third term amendment whispered from the Villa?
Stack these exhibits together, and El-Rufai’s warning ceases to be paranoia and becomes a stark prognosis.
Recall the failure of Obasanjo’s third-term bid? It collapsed not for lack of ambition, but because that National Assembly, for all its flaws, retained a spine.
There was pushback, rebellion, and ultimately, defense of the constitutional order. Contrast that with today’s rubber-stamp factory.
If Tinubu were to even murmur the words “third term amendment,” would this assembly not roar a unanimous “Aye!” before the trending hashtag #ThirdTermAgenda could even gain traction?
And yet, this is precisely where the Paul Biya analogy meets its limits.
Nigeria is not Cameroon. Our history is a graveyard for overreach. Our people may possess a legendary capacity to endure hardship, but they draw a red line at being stripped of their agency.
This is the nation that chanted the military back to the barracks, that turned “Occupy Nigeria” into a national movement in 2012.
Try to smuggle a life presidency into this volatile mix, and the streets will deliver a swift reminder: Nigerians may be patient, but they are not political vegetables waiting to be harvested.
This, perhaps, is El-Rufai’s most cunning play. He is no prophet of doom; he is a strategist weaponizing fear.
By invoking the specter of Paul Biya, he injects the 2027 election with apocalyptic stakes, making Tinubu’s removal feel less like a political choice and more like a national rescue mission. His prophecy is not gospel; it’s high-stakes politicking.
Yes, the National Assembly is conducting itself as an obedient choir. Yes, the temptation for Tinubu to test the waters will exist.
But the ultimate verdict does not lie with them. It lies with the people. Should Tinubu ever attempt to import Paul Biya’s script, he will discover, swiftly and decisively, that Aso Rock is not Yaoundé, and the Nigerian spirit is a force that no prophecy can contain.
Because the only Paul Biya we acknowledge remains comfortably across the border—far from Abuja.
Allen resides in Kano and writes on public affairs.
