NIPSS Memoir that Mirrors Nigerian Institutions
By Arafat Abdulrazaq
Yushau Shuaib’s Mni Versus Mnipr begins as a memoir of intellectual engagement at the National Institute for Policy and Strategic Studies (NIPSS), but by Chapter Ten, it has transformed into something far more consequential. What starts as a dispute over publications and disciplinary procedure gradually evolves into a legal confrontation at the Federal High Court, where Shuaib seeks reinstatement, an apology, and ₦1 billion in damages. Yet the real value of this chapter—and indeed the book—is not in determining who was right. It lies in what the escalation reveals about institutional culture, authority, and the fragile trust between individuals and the organisations that shape them.
One of the most unsettling issues raised in the chapter is digital privacy. Shuaib recounts how NIPSS issued a second query after accessing a restricted editorial email related to his Blue Economy article. The implication is troubling: what authority does an institution have to retrieve a participant’s private correspondence? Was there consent, a policy, or lawful grounds for such access? The book does not answer these questions, and perhaps it should not. Their importance lies in their discomfort. They force the reader to confront the blurry boundaries between institutional oversight and personal autonomy in an increasingly digital world.
Equally striking is the way NIPSS later relied on Shuaib’s earlier apology as evidence of wrongdoing. In a previous chapter, he explains that he responded “according to NIPSS style”—a phrase he understood to mean that an apologetic tone was expected regardless of the circumstances. The irony is sharp: an apology produced within a culture that demands contrition becomes a tool for establishing guilt. It is one of the clearest illustrations of how authority can shape narrative.
The conflict eventually reaches a symbolic point of no return. Responding to Shuaib’s pre action notice, NIPSS’s counsel, P.A. Akubo, SAN, describes him as a “one man riot squad” and declares that the institution is ready to “meet yours at Philippi.” The historical reference—evoking the clash involving Brutus, Antony, and Octavian—reads almost like a declaration of war. For an institution built on leadership and strategic communication, the moment feels like an admission that communication has failed.
Shuaib captures this transformation in a memorable line: “Institutions have memory. But courts have judgment.” By this stage, the dispute is no longer about a course or a query. It is about dignity, privacy, authority, and who ultimately gets to define the truth.
Yet Mni Versus Mnipr is not merely a chronicle of conflict. It is also a portrait of Jos—its highlands, its coolness, its distance from the noise of Nigeria’s major cities—and of NIPSS at its best. Before the conflict begins, Shuaib paints an institution designed to broaden the minds of senior professionals: military officers, civil servants, academics, diplomats, and private sector leaders. The lectures, excursions, and interactions create a picture of a place where ideas collide productively. Under different circumstances, the early chapters could have served as a public relations brochure for NIPSS.
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But the book’s strength lies in how admiration gradually gives way to interrogation. One word appears repeatedly: discipline. Its repetition forces the reader to ask what discipline should mean in an institution meant to educate accomplished adults. Is discipline mere obedience? Is it punctuality? Is it respect for authority? Or should it also include restraint, fairness, emotional intelligence, and the ability to manage disagreement without humiliation?
This is where the book’s most important critique emerges. There is a difference between being stern and being disrespectful, between enforcing decorum and weaponising authority. NIPSS draws from a tradition steeped in military discipline, and that tradition has its strengths. But a programme populated by senior professionals is not a military barracks. These participants are not recruits. They are individuals with careers, reputations, and the capacity for independent judgment. Executive education should cultivate self discipline, not impose discipline as though shaping raw recruits.
If an institution wants to teach leadership, it must model leadership. If it wants to teach emotional intelligence, its administrative culture must reflect emotional intelligence. And if it wants participants to disagree intelligently, disagreement cannot automatically be treated as defiance.
The memoir therefore becomes a window into a larger Nigerian institutional question: what happens when an organisation’s methods contradict the values it claims to teach? This question is especially important because NIPSS is entrusted with shaping strategic thinkers and national leaders.
Still, Shuaib’s own position deserves scrutiny. Memoir is inherently personal, and Mni Versus Mnipr occasionally reads like a carefully assembled defence brief, filled with correspondence, disciplinary documents, and legal exchanges. This density sometimes interrupts the narrative flow. Yet it also gives the book its weight. Shuaib understands the power of documentation. He does not want his experience to survive as allegation; he wants it to stand as record.
The conflict eventually expands beyond NIPSS into his relationship with the Nigerian Institute of Public Relations (NIPR). His professional identity becomes entangled with institutional authority. The book raises a fundamental question: who owns a professional identity? In an era where individuals are simultaneously employees, publishers, consultants, and public personalities, the question is increasingly relevant.
The memoir’s most unexpected revelation is that Shuaib’s disappointment becomes a source of opportunity. His withdrawal from NIPSS creates space for new work: the Young Communication Fellowship grows, his research into artificial intelligence and crisis communication deepens, and his professional engagements expand. His “blessed disappointment” is not a celebration of pain but a recognition that disruption can produce renewal.
Ultimately, the book’s most compelling lesson is simple: institutions can interrupt a person’s journey, but they cannot determine its destination.
The memoir’s power lies not in proving that Shuaib was wronged but in prompting larger questions: What should NIPSS learn about discipline? What should professional bodies learn about dissent? What should leaders learn about authority? And what is the difference between protecting standards and protecting pride?
These questions give the book a life beyond its controversy. They remind us that institutions are not merely buildings or hierarchies; they are environments meant to shape people. A school that teaches discipline must model discipline. An institution that teaches leadership must be willing to learn.
Perhaps that is the unintended gift of Mni Versus Mnipr. It begins as the story of one man’s disappointment but becomes an examination of institutional character. It leaves behind a question more important than whether NIPSS was right or wrong: Is an institution created to produce better leaders willing to keep learning?
That, ultimately, is the real test of leadership.
Arafat Abdulrazaq is a journalist and co author of Anti Drug, Anti Smuggling Campaigns: A Corpers’ Chronicle. He writes from Abuja.
