There is a special kind of trust we place in our universities. They are not merely buildings of brick and mortar; they are sanctuaries for truth. Within their libraries and lecture halls, we believe that facts are sacred, that evidence is king, and that the title of ‘Professor’ is a solemn vow to uphold these principles above all else. It is a vow to the past, to honour the work of those who came before, and to the future, to protect the integrity of the degrees yet to be earned.
What happens, then, when the man entrusted to be the guardian of this sanctuary becomes its chief vandal? What are we to think when the Vice Chancellor himself takes a poisoned chalice and offers it to the very institution he is sworn to serve?
The unfolding scandal at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka, is not a simple administrative error. It is a profound and emotional betrayal. It is the story of Professor Simon Ortuanya, a man who appears to have mistaken the Vice Chancellor’s office for a political war room, and in doing so, has dragged the magnificent reputation of a great university through the dirt.
Let us speak plainly. The duty of a Vice Chancellor is to be a shield. He is meant to protect his staff and students from the corrupting influence of political machinations. When the newspaper Premium Times came knocking with questions about a graduation from forty years ago, the professional, the ethical, the correct thing for Professor Ortuanya to have done was to direct them to the Registrar. The Registrar is the keeper of records. The Vice Chancellor is the keeper of the university’s soul.
He did not do this. Instead, with an alacrity that is utterly suspicious, he took personal charge. He investigated, he adjudicated, and he pronounced a verdict, all in a timeframe that would be comical if it were not so sinister. A matter from 1985, resolved in a day or two? It is an insult to our intelligence. It suggests not a search for truth, but the eager execution of a pre ordained mission.
And what a brutal, politically-charged verdict it was. His letter did not simply state a finding. It was a public flogging. The relentless, unnecessary repetition of “the current Minister of Science and Technology” was not bureaucratic language; it was a deliberate, malicious emphasis. It was designed to maximise the political damage. The words “DID NOT” and “COULD NOT”, screaming from the page in capital letters, were not a statement of fact; they were an accusation, a triumphant shout from the rooftops. This was not the calm, measured tone of an academic. This was the aggressive, pointed language of a political hitman.
One can almost picture the scene. The newly installed Vice Chancellor, perhaps feeling the weight of a debt to be repaid, sees this request not as a matter of record keeping, but as an opportunity. An opportunity to please his sponsor, the Governor of Enugu State, Peter Mbah. The politics of Enugu are a tangled, murky affair, a dirty game of chess where men are moved and sacrificed for power. The whispers are loud that Governor Mbah seeks new political pastures, and to get there, he must first remove the roadblock of Minister Geoffrey Nnaji. And so, the university, this sacred space, is weaponised. Its official letterhead becomes a blade to stab a political rival.
This is where the betrayal cuts deepest. Professor Ortuanya was not acting in isolation. He was a willing pawn in a grubby game orchestrated by his sponsors. They have used him, and he has allowed himself to be used, to transform a centre of learning into a tool for character assassination. He has handed a poisoned chalice to the entire academic community, asking them to drink from the lie that their institution is a place of political vendetta, not intellectual pursuit.
And what of Premium Times? A newspaper, I had believed, was meant to speak truth to power. It is meant to be a sceptical, investigative force, questioning the narratives of the powerful. Yet here, they appear to have become a willing messenger, a conduit for a clearly politicised attack. They received a response so blatantly, unprofessionally swift, so dripping with political animus, and they published it. Did no alarm bell ring? Did no editor pause and ask why a Vice Chancellor was behaving like a party press secretary? By failing to question the manifest absurdity of the process, they have allowed themselves to be manipulated. They have become the megaphone for the mudslingers, and in doing so, they have been complicit in this betrayal of public trust.
The emotional weight of this scandal falls on the shoulders of every honest student and lecturer at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka. I think of the young graduate who has scrimped and saved, whose parents have sacrificed everything, to hold that certificate. It is a ticket to their future, a document that should be unimpeachable. Now, its value is being tarnished by the very man who is supposed to be its chief protector. I think of the dedicated professors who have spent a lifetime in quiet, underpaid research, upholding the true spirit of academia. They must watch in horror as their leader reduces their noble profession to a dirty political tool.
The evidence that has emerged since—the 1985 departmental list bearing the Minister’s name—may be contested. But its existence highlights the central tragedy: Professor Ortuanya’s actions have destroyed any possibility of a credible, believable outcome. He has poisoned the well. Whatever is found now will be viewed through the lens of his grotesque partiality.
This is a moment of profound shame. It is a story of a VC who forgot his vows, of sponsors who see no line they will not cross, and of a newspaper that forgot to be sceptical. They have all played their part in a sordid drama that sacrifices integrity for power.
But the soul of a university is resilient. The students, the lecturers, the alumni—we must be the ones to reject this poisoned chalice. We must rise and demand that our sanctuaries of learning are never again used as battlegrounds for political warfare. We must demand that Professor Ortuanya and his sponsors are held to account for this breathtaking betrayal. For if we do not, we are not just losing a political battle; we are surrendering the very soul of our future to the dirt.
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