Olu Allen
Iran and Nigeria have something in common.
Both are oil-producing nations.
But that is where the similarity ends.
Right now, the world is watching Iran absorb one of the most intense military confrontations in recent history involving the United States and Israel. Cities are under missile alerts. Oil depots are burning. The entire Middle East is on edge.
Yet Iran is still fighting back.
Let us be honest: Iran does not believe it can defeat the United States militarily. No rational strategist believes that.
But war is not always about victory.
Sometimes it is about cost.
Iran’s strategy is simple: if they cannot win, they will make the price of attacking them painful enough to deter the next attempt.
That is deterrence.
This is the lesson of Vietnam, of Afghanistan, of Hezbollah’s war with Israel in 2006.
A smaller, determined actor can, by imposing unacceptable costs, force a larger power to reconsider its objectives. Iran studied this playbook. Nigeria, it seems, is not even aware a book exists.
So, Iran built its capabilities.
Missiles.
Drones.
Cyber warfare.
Satellite targeting.
Modern warfare has evolved into what strategists call the sensor-to-shooter chain, satellites detect targets, algorithms calculate coordinates, and weapons launch within seconds.
Human delay is removed.
That is the battlefield of the 21st century.
If such systems were used against Nigeria today, our military infrastructure could be crippled before iftar.
That is not mockery.
That is reality.
But deterrence in the 21st century is not just about weapons. It is a multi-layered shield. It is hypersonic missiles, yes. But it is also a resilient national grid, a self-sufficient pharmaceutical industry to withstand blockades, and a food security program that insulates a nation from global price shocks. Iran has invested in all of it. Nigeria imports milk, tomato paste, and security.
Now, hold that image of Iran’s national focus, its willingness to bleed under sanctions to build a genuine deterrent, in your mind. And then, look at home.
For over fifty years, Nigeria has been gifted one of the world’s most valuable economic assets.
Through the Nigerian National Petroleum Company Limited (NNPCL), hundreds of billions of dollars have flowed into the national treasury. Wealth that was meant to be the seed for a future.
Yet what do we have to show for this half-century of petro-wealth?
Our refineries barely function, national monuments to neglect.
Our infrastructure is collapsing, held together by the prayers of its users.
Our military, valiant in spirit but chronically under-equipped, has spent over a decade unable to conclusively defeat a non-state insurgency.
Our economy remains so fragile that global whispers about oil prices send it into convulsions.
And beneath it all, a river of scandal.
Reports and allegations of staggering sums continue to emerge, most recently, figures like N210 trillion in unaccounted revenue circulating in public discourse.
To grasp the magnitude, that is not just a number; it is a sum that surpasses the GDP of several African nations combined. It represents not just missing money, but missing hospitals, missing schools, and missing futures.
Think about that.
With that kind of wealth, Nigeria could have built world-class infrastructure, advanced defense capabilities, and sovereign wealth systems like those in Qatar and the United Arab Emirates.
Instead, we built corruption.
While nations invest in AI warfare, drone technology, cyber defense, and strategic deterrence, Nigeria is still practicing governance like it is the 1980s.
Old politics.
Old thinking.
Old excuses.
Meanwhile, leaders are already campaigning for second terms while millions of citizens struggle to survive.
Four more years of what exactly?
More of the same? More leaders treating national office as a retirement package while the world builds weapons that think faster than we do?
More hardship?
More propaganda?
More missed opportunities?
Above the refineries and the drones, however, a more fundamental failure festers. The nations that will dominate the future are not just those with the most oil, but those with the most advanced minds.
While other developing nations pour resources into STEM education, research grants, and tech hubs, Nigeria’s education system is in a state of emergency.
You cannot build a sensor-to-shooter chain with a population denied the skills to code, to engineer, or to think critically. We are not just stealing money; we are stealing the future of our own people’s minds.
Whether you like Iran or not is irrelevant.
But intellectual honesty demands this:
Respect deterrence when you see it.
Despite sanctions and isolation, Iran built enough military capability to ensure that attacking them comes at a cost.
Nigeria, blessed with far greater resources, has failed to build even basic strategic strength.
In global politics, weakness is never respected.
It is exploited.
And that brings the responsibility back to the Nigerian voter.
Politicians will always seek power.
But voters must decide who deserves it.
The next election should not be about tribe, party, or propaganda.
It should be about one question:
Who among these leaders is actually capable of preparing Nigeria for the future?
The question is not which candidate will bring more development. It is which candidate can stop the bleeding. Because a nation that cannot secure its wealth, feed its people, or defend its skies is not a nation on the path to greatness. It is a nation on the path to becoming a footnote in someone else’s history.
If Nigerians keep electing mediocrity, the next generation will not inherit a great nation.
They will inherit a tragedy of wasted potential.
Allen writes from Kano, he writes on public affairs and promote good governance
