By Segun Adediran
In the decades since Nigeria shed the yoke of military praetorianism in 1999, the handover of power has become, if not always graceful, at least predictable. But as the administration of President Bola Ahmed Tinubu enters 2026, a shadow long thought banished has fully materialised: the spectre of the barracks has returned from the realm of rumour to a confirmed, chilling reality.
This week, the Nigerian Defence Headquarters shattered months of official denials and “indiscipline” euphemisms. In a sombre statement issued on Monday, military authorities finally admitted that a plot to violently oust Mr Tinubu’s government had indeed been afoot. The disclosure that 16 officers—including a brigadier-general—will face a military judicial panel for an attempted putsch in late 2025 has sent a seismic jolt through Africa’s most populous nation. For a country that endured 33 years of intermittent military rule, this admission is not merely a political scandal; it is an existential alarm.
There is enough blame to go around. The plot against the Tinubu government is rooted in a volatile paradox. Since taking office, Mr Tinubu has pursued “shock therapy” reforms that international financial institutions long insisted were the only cure for Nigeria’s economic stagnation. He scrapped a decades-old petrol subsidy and allowed the naira to float, ending a convoluted exchange-rate system that served as a trough for the well-connected.
On paper, these were the actions of a courageous reformer. In the markets of Lagos and Kano, they have felt like a catastrophe. Inflation, while showing recent signs of a tentative cooling, remains a predatory force, eroding the middle class and pushing millions into a desperate scramble for survival. When the price of basic staples outstrips the monthly minimum wage, the social contract does not just fray—it snaps.
Unfortunately, the Tinubu government is one that dances to its own music. Its public communication is not only poor, but it is sometimes arrogant.
History teaches us that military adventurers rarely initiate coups in a vacuum; they “invite” themselves in when the civilian architecture appears to be collapsing under the weight of its own unpopularity.
The plotters, reportedly led by Brigadier General Musa Abubakar Sadiq, allegedly sought to capitalise on this public agony. Their failure is a relief, but their existence is a symptom of a deeper, untreated malady in the Nigerian body politic.
So, the plotters, as is always the case, were mere opportunistic Praetorians. For anyone who has an inkling of what military rule meant for and did to Nigeria, the alleged coupists must have read their history upside down.
Yet, for the Tinubu administration, it should also tread more carefully where angels fear to tread. Sub-Saharan Africa is in trouble, all around trouble. The domestic malaise is exacerbated by a regional contagion. The “Coup Belt” stretching across the Sahel—from Guinea to Mali, Burkina Faso, and Niger—has proven that the democratic wave of the 1990s is in full retreat. In these neighbouring states, juntas have successfully marketed themselves as populist saviours, promising security and sovereignty while discarding the “inefficiencies” of the ballot box.
For Nigeria, the regional powerhouse, the confirmed plot is a stinging rebuke of its supposed immunity to this trend. The “demonstration effect”—where junior officers watch their counterparts in Bamako or Niamey take residence in presidential palaces—has clearly reached the Nigerian officer corps. The revelation that the conspirators allegedly planned to assassinate not just the President, but the Vice President and the heads of the legislature, speaks to a level of radicalisation that should terrify any proponent of constitutional rule.
If the military is the immediate threat, the civilian political class remains the primary culprit. Democracy in Nigeria has too often functioned as a closed-loop system—a government of the elite, by the elite, and for the elite.
Corruption remains the most potent weapon in the hands of would-be putschists. When Nigerians see lawmakers receiving armoured SUVs while public schools crumble, the moral high ground of elective government vanishes. The Tinubu administration has struggled to distance itself from this perception of profligacy. High-profile scandals involving social welfare funds have deepened a “trust deficit” that makes the military’s siren song of “order and discipline” sound dangerously appealing to the disenfranchised.
Furthermore, the official response to the plot—months of secrecy and denial before a sudden, forced admission—has only fueled public cynicism. A democracy that hides the truth about its own stability risks losing the very public support it needs to survive. “The most effective way to prevent a coup is not through the surveillance of the military, but through the satisfaction of the citizenry.”
What is the way forward?
Tinubu’s government must recognise that the legitimacy of a democracy is not found in the ritual of the ballot box every four years, but in the delivery of “democracy dividends” every single day. The confirmation of this plot must catalyse a radical pivot in governance.
The obscene lifestyles of public officials and their family members must change for the better. The other day, Professor Wole Soyinka was irked by the arrogant and crude display of wealth by one of the President’s children. Nigerians may be timid, but they are far from being fools!
The upcoming trials of the 16 officers must be as transparent as security allows. To ward off the threat of a “populist” coup, the government must show that it is acting out of a commitment to the rule of law, not merely self-preservation.
This is also a damning message to the political class. While recent data shows external reserves crossing the $46 billion mark and inflation finally dipping below 15%, these macro-level victories mean nothing if they are not felt in the average household. The 2026 budget must prioritise immediate, tangible relief over long-term structural theories.
The reshuffling of the military brass following the plot’s discovery was a necessary first step, but it must be followed by a deeper look into the welfare of the rank-and-file. A military that feels abandoned by its civilian masters is a military that looks for new leadership.
Nigeria stands at a crossroads. One path leads toward the consolidation of its democratic gains, however messy and painful that may be. The other leads back to the dark era of decrees, curfews, and the suspension of the constitution.
A successful coup in Nigeria would not be a local tragedy; it would be a continental catastrophe. It would signal the definitive end of the democratic experiment in West Africa. President Tinubu has the tools to prevent this, but the clock is ticking louder than ever. He must prove that democracy can put bread on the table as effectively as it can put names on a ballot.
Adediran writes via olusegunadediran@gmail.com
