Coup Whispers and the Crisis of Trust By Haroon Aremu
The story began like a splinter under the skin—small, but impossible to ignore. Late last week, an online outlet claimed that the Defence Intelligence Agency had detained senior army officers over a plot to overthrow President Bola Ahmed Tinubu. Sixteen officers, including a brigadier-general, were allegedly involved. The internet erupted. From Lagos to London, one question pulsed through the noise: Was Nigeria once again flirting with a coup?
Within a day, the Defence Headquarters dismissed the report as “false and misleading.” Yet the denial only deepened public suspicion, sounding to many like damage control rather than truth. Sources hinted that interrogations had indeed begun in late September after whispers of secret meetings and encrypted chats within the barracks. At the same time, President Tinubu’s frequent foreign trips became fuel for rumor—his absence abroad spun into a ready-made conspiracy. What remains is not certainty, but tension—that uneasy space between rumor and revelation, where Nigeria’s history of power and paranoia meet once again.
Part of the anxiety lies in political memory. Nigerians have seen this movie before. When presidents travel, vice-presidents sometimes assume acting powers with full state authority. During President Muhammadu Buhari’s prolonged medical absence, Vice President Yemi Osinbajo served as acting president and exercised decisive leadership, earning public respect. That precedent explains why Nigerians today ask whether Vice President Kashim Shettima is equally empowered to “hold the fort,” or whether internal frictions within the ruling coalition have created subtle vulnerabilities. The question is less about law and more about politics: does the acting arrangement translate into full command of the state at a moment of crisis? History shows such gaps can matter.
Nigeria’s modern history is haunted by its long dance with the military. From the coups of 1966 to the iron-fisted regimes of the 1980s and 1990s, the nation learned a bitter truth—military rule may impose temporary order, but always at the expense of freedom, trust, and progress. Those scars explain why any whisper of a coup still sends tremors through the public, the markets, and diplomatic circles alike.
Yet, nostalgia lingers in the shadows of social media. Some users still romanticize the soldier as savior—the one who can “put the country in order.” They forget that while juntas may build roads, they often demolish the very institutions meant to sustain them. Governance without accountability may look efficient for a while, but it leaves behind debris of silence and fear.
When the reports of a coup plot surfaced, the Defence Headquarters’ quick denial was expected. But in today’s digital age, denials without details fuel more doubt than confidence. Nigerians asked: was this genuine transparency or calculated concealment? As Yushau A. Shuaib aptly observed in his essay “Reno’s Factfinders: Genocide Spin, Coup Whispers and Foreign PR Mercenaries,” the uproar over the alleged arrest of 16 officers—paired with the sudden cancellation of the Independence Day parade—only deepened suspicion. He warned that coincidences of this kind are the oxygen for foreign manipulators and domestic opportunists who thrive on chaos and propaganda.
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Indeed, these tensions were further compounded by swirling rumours of an attempted military coup in Nigeria. Though the Defence Headquarters categorically denied any such plot, labeling the reports “false and spurious,” the mere circulation of these claims revealed how fragile public trust has become. The arrest of 16 military officers—officially for “professional misconduct”—was seized upon by rumour mills as confirmation of a brewing mutiny. While the authorities insisted that the arrests were routine disciplinary matters, the timing, coinciding with the cancelled Independence Day parade, fanned speculation. In such a climate, suspicion metastasizes quickly. It must be managed responsibly and transparently to prevent foreign actors and local provocateurs from turning misinformation into a weapon of instability. Nigeria needs unity, clarity, and confidence in its leadership—not outsourced narratives that inflame panic and undermine public morale.
There are two competing theories about whether a coup is even feasible in Nigeria today. One side points to President Tinubu’s formidable political network and his mastery of coalition politics. They argue that any military plot would lack the civilian infrastructure and legitimacy to survive. In their view, Nigeria’s politics, whatever its flaws, remain firmly civilian at the center.
The other side warns that discontent festers within the ranks—poor welfare, delayed promotions, and an eroding sense of purpose. They argue that coups do not begin with ideology, but with grievances, and that in a country struggling with inflation, insecurity, and disillusionment, those grievances are fertile soil. The truth lies somewhere in between: charisma and coalition may blunt a mutiny, but they cannot permanently inoculate a system against collapse. Stability must rest on institutions, not personalities.
Analytically, military regimes can appear efficient in the short term—they can mobilize quickly, discipline the civil service, and push through policies. Democracies, by contrast, are slower, often messy. Yet that very messiness protects freedom and legitimacy. Studies across West Africa show that while both systems can deliver growth spurts, democracies tend to produce more sustainable human development because they strengthen the institutions that outlive leaders.
The real coup Nigeria should fear is not one of guns, but one of neglect. When citizens lose faith in the police, the courts, the civil service, and even the press; when young people see corruption as the only path to success, then democracy begins to decay from within. That is the coup of disillusionment—the silent overthrow of hope by despair. The antidote is not repression, but reform: transparent governance, economic opportunity, and justice that works for all.
For now, the alleged coup remains an open chapter—an accusation, a denial, and a nation asking: what is true? Rumours are the smoke signals of a society in pain. They reveal not just the hunger for information, but the deficit of trust. In a country where official silence often substitutes for accountability, the line between fact and fiction is perilously thin.
Nigeria stands at a crossroads. To dispel rumours, its institutions must earn belief—not through press statements, but through openness, honesty, and consistency. The lesson from history is clear: rumours thrive where transparency dies. If the military and political leadership want to secure the future, they must communicate truthfully, act decisively, and rebuild the fragile architecture of public confidence.
Haroon Aremu Abiodun is an Associate Member of the Nigerian Institute of Public Relations.
Email: [email protected]
