There is an old political maxim that says every successful reform carries within it the seeds of its own undoing. The greater the sacrifice demanded of the people, the louder the voice that will rise to promise them relief. President Bola Ahmed Tinubu may have believed that removing the fuel subsidy was his boldest, most defining act of statesmanship—a necessary surgery on a cancerous economy. But in politics, just as in medicine, the patient’s memory of pain often outweighs the promise of healing in the future. And now, Atiku Abubakar is betting on that very memory.
It must be stated clearly what many in Aso Rock are unwilling to admit: Atiku’s promise to restore fuel subsidies is a political weapon. And it is a weapon aimed squarely at the most vulnerable point in Tinubu’s presidency: the widening chasm between economic theory and lived experience. The former Vice President understands something that perhaps the current administration has overlooked—that the average Nigerian does not measure governance by IMF commendations or World Bank approvals. They measure it by the price of a litre of petrol, a bag of rice, and the cost of getting their children to school.
Atiku’s move is perilous for Tinubu not because of its economic soundness—which is highly debatable—but because of the emotional chord it strikes among Nigerians. There is a growing perception, fair or not, that the Tinubu administration has asked Nigerians to bear an immense burden without demonstrating that the proceeds of subsidy removal are being reinvested in tangible public goods. The absence of visible dividends—better roads, though there are ongoing road infrastructure projects by the federal government, affordable healthcare, and reliable electricity—has created a vacuum that Atiku is only too happy to fill with promises of immediate relief.
Tinubu’s team has tried to dismiss Atiku’s proposal as reckless populism, and they are not entirely wrong. But they miss the point. In a democracy, the opposition does not need to offer a superior economic blueprint to win; they only need to convince the electorate that the current government has made their lives worse. Atiku is not running on a spreadsheet—he is running on the frustration of a nation that feels it has sacrificed without seeing returns. That is a powerful current, and Tinubu ignores it at his peril.
The President would do well to remember the fate of previous reformers. From the late Umaru Musa Yar’Adua, who attempted to phase out kerosene subsidy only to see it quietly return, to Goodluck Jonathan, whose own subsidy reforms were met with the infamous “Occupy Nigeria” protests of January 2012—history offers a sobering lesson. When leaders ask for sacrifice without offering a credible path to reward, the people will eventually turn to anyone who promises to end their pain. Atiku may not have the details right, but he has tapped into a truth that Tinubu cannot afford to dismiss: Nigerians are tired of waiting.
To understand why Atiku’s promise should worry Tinubu, one must first understand the political terrain. The 2023 election was fought and won on multiple fronts—regional loyalty, religious calculations, and the powerful incumbency factor of a ruling party that had controlled the federal machinery for eight years. But beneath all of that was a simple promise: Tinubu, like Atiku and other presidential candidates, told Nigerians that subsidy removal, though painful, would unlock prosperity. He promised that the savings—estimated at over N3 trillion annually—would be channeled into infrastructure, education, healthcare, and social safety nets.
Fast forward to today, and the verdict from the streets is harsh. Yes, the fuel queues have disappeared in every part of the country but the ripple effects remain undesirable. The exchange rate has yet to stabilize fully, though some progress has been made. The palliatives that were promised—the N8,000 conditional cash transfers, the compressed natural gas (CNG) conversion programme, the student loans—have either been mired in controversy, poorly implemented, or simply failed to reach those who needed them most.
This is not to say that the administration has done nothing. The argument that subsidy removal was a necessary step to save Nigeria from fiscal bankruptcy has merit. The Nigerian National Petroleum Company Limited (NNPCL) itself had been deducting billions from the federation account to cover subsidy costs. But the problem is one of optics and trust. When a government asks its people to endure hardship, it must show them, in real and visible ways, that the sacrifice is not in vain. On this front, the Tinubu administration has fallen short.
Atiku’s proposal, therefore, is not just about fuel prices. It is a referendum on the Tinubu administration’s broader governance philosophy. The former Vice President is saying, in effect, “You asked Nigerians to suffer, and they are suffering. I am offering them an alternative.” Whether that alternative is sustainable is almost beside the point. In the court of public opinion, the promise of immediate relief often trumps the logic of long-term reform.
A step back to examine the substance of the debate is necessary. Fuel subsidy, in its simplest form, is the difference between the cost of importing petroleum products and the price at which they are sold to Nigerians. For decades, this difference was borne by the government, with the NNPCL effectively deducting the shortfall from the federation account. The figures are staggering—by some estimates, Nigeria was spending over N4 trillion annually on subsidy payments, money that could have been invested in education, healthcare, and infrastructure.
The fiscal argument for removal is compelling. Nigeria, unlike oil-producing nations such as Saudi Arabia or Kuwait, does not have the luxury of unlimited petrodollars. With a rapidly growing population, crumbling infrastructure, and a debt-to-revenue ratio that has become unsustainable, the country simply could not afford to continue subsidizing petrol consumption. This is not a partisan view; it is shared by international financial institutions, local economists, and even many opposition figures who privately concede the necessity of reform.
But there is a flip side to this coin. The removal of subsidy, without a corresponding investment in alternatives—functional refineries, robust public transportation, or even a credible social welfare system—amounts to an austerity programme that disproportionately affects the poor. The rich, who can afford to absorb the increase in fuel prices, are largely unaffected. The poor, who spend a significant portion of their income on transportation and the cost of goods, are crushed. Atiku’s proposal, whatever its fiscal flaws, speaks directly to this inequality.
If Tinubu can point to visible, tangible gains from subsidy removal, Atiku’s argument loses its power. But if the average Nigerian cannot see where the savings have gone—if they see politicians living in opulence while they struggle to feed their families—the promise of a return to subsidy becomes an irresistible lure. Atiku understands this. He does not need to present a fully costed budget; he only needs to present a credible alternative to the current suffering.
One of the more troubling aspects of this debate is the tendency of Nigerian politicians to prioritize short-term political gains over long-term structural reform. This is not unique to Nigeria; it is a feature of democratic politics the world over. But in a country with Nigeria’s fragile institutions and deep social inequality, the consequences are especially severe.
Atiku’s proposal, if implemented, would likely lead to a short-term reduction in fuel prices, providing immediate relief to millions of Nigerians. But at what cost? The return of subsidy would mean that the government would once again be forced to borrow to cover the deficit, increasing the country’s debt burden and crowding out investment in critical sectors. It would send a signal to foreign investors that Nigeria is not serious about reform, potentially leading to capital flight and a further devaluation of the naira.
Yet, this is precisely why Tinubu must be concerned. In a country where the majority of voters live below the poverty line, they will vote for the candidate who promises to put food on their table today, not the one who promises a better economy in ten years. This is the brutal reality of Nigerian politics. It is not a matter of whether Atiku’s plan is good or bad—it is a matter of whether it is politically compelling. And on that score, it is very compelling indeed.
History offers a sobering lesson in the consequences of failed subsidy reforms. In 2012, President Goodluck Jonathan attempted to remove fuel subsidy, only to face nationwide protests that crippled the economy and forced a partial reversal. Jonathan never fully recovered politically from that episode; it defined his presidency and contributed to his eventual defeat in 2015.
Tinubu should study that history carefully. The Occupy Nigeria protests, which Tinubu spearheaded, were not just about fuel prices; they were about a broader sense of alienation, a feeling that the government was out of touch with the suffering of its people. Sound familiar?
If Tinubu cannot demonstrate that the sacrifices Nigerians are making today are yielding tangible results, he risks a similar fate. Atiku’s promise to restore subsidies is not just a policy statement—it is a political challenge, a direct appeal to the very voters who are most likely to feel abandoned by the current administration.
What, then, should Tinubu do? The answer is not to dismiss Atiku’s proposal as reckless, nor to double down on austerity without offering a credible social safety net. The President must do what he has so far failed to do: show Nigerians the value of their sacrifice.
This requires concrete, measurable actions—visible investments in infrastructure, functional refineries that lower the cost of importation, and a credible social welfare system that protects the most vulnerable. It also requires transparency. The government must show Nigerians exactly where the savings from subsidy removal are going. Without that accountability, the people will continue to believe, with some justification, that they are being asked to sacrifice for the benefit of a corrupt elite.
Tinubu must also address the perception, fair or not, that his administration is more concerned with protecting its own political interests than with the welfare of ordinary Nigerians.
Atiku Abubakar’s promise to restore fuel subsidy is, on its face, economically reckless. It would undo the progress made in fiscal reform, increase Nigeria’s debt burden, and signal to the international community that the country is not serious about sustainable growth. But the problem is not the economic logic—it is the political reality.
Tinubu has asked Nigerians to endure immense hardship, and they have responded with a mixture of resignation and resentment. Atiku is offering them an exit. Whether that exit is sustainable is almost beside the point; what matters is that it is an exit, a way out of the current pain. And in a democracy, that is a powerful message.
Tinubu should be concerned about Atiku’s subsidy restoration plans. Not because they are economically sound—they are not—but because they speak directly to the frustrations of millions of Nigerians who feel abandoned by the current government. The President has a choice: he can continue to defend his reforms in the abstract, or he can demonstrate, in concrete terms, that the sacrifice has been worth it.
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