The past few days have witnessed a maelstrom of complaints about the unrelenting hardships that have blighted Nigeria under President Tinubu’s administration. Social media is riddled with complaints that range from the price of petrol to the obscenely expensive price of food, to the contemptuous state of infrastructure in the country. This is not to say that until now, Nigerians have entirely been tight-lipped about the economic crisis we have been living through. But the events of the past few days, which have culminated in a near-ubiquitous rallying for good governance, carry the scent of a freshly budding revolution.
It all started when Ushie Uguamaye, who is more popularly known by her alias Raye, posted a video on TikTok criticizing the President over his blatant dereliction of duty and lamenting the cost of living crisis in the country. Raye begins the video on a somewhat austere note, for all the frustration she professes, her demeanor reflects stoicism. “I just want to say to our President, I don’t know if there’s any other president that has been (this) terrible, but I just want to say you’re such a terrible President. It’s so hard,” she begins, setting the tone that would color the rest of her monologue. But by the middle of the video—after she had essentially cycled through a litany of complaints, ranging from the cost of living crisis to the putrid stench that blankets Lagos—she unraveled completely, breaking down in tears.
Her polemic instantly resonated with audiences on social media, stirring conversations about the state of the country and debates over whether the NYSC program has outlived its usefulness. The shared camaraderie in criticizing the President’s ineptitude was however short-lived. Tinubu sympathizers soon entered the conversation, populating it with hollow and head-turning defenses. One particular defense of the president is especially illustrative. Replying to someone who had been complaining about the high cost of spaghetti, the Tinubu sympathizer in question replied with “Are you people Italians? Why you dey eat spaghetti?”
The situation would however reach a tipping point when individuals within the NYSC enacted a witch-hunt against her, bombarding her with threats and warnings, to get her to delete the video. (She was scheduled to appear on Monday before the LGI office of the NYSC in Eti-Osa, in penance for criticizing the government. However, according to Omoyele Sowore, an opposition politician and activist, who accompanied Raye with a coterie of lawyers, the officials “absconded, failing to show up throughout our stay.”
Many Nigerians, especially someone in her position—a young corper with so much to lose considering that she has her entire future ahead of her—would buckle under the pressure. Raye instead dug her heels into the ground, doubling down on her position. In her follow-up video, posted on TikTok, she trades the teary air of desolation that colored her first video for a more measured and astute tone. It finds her addressing the dishonest notion that the previous generation did nothing to deter the tide of bad governance that has increasingly assailed Nigerian society since independence. She asserts that the older generation played their parts, parrying staunch tyrants like Sani Abacha, and that the mantle of furthering the struggle against bad governance now rests with the youth.
The second half of the video is especially illuminating. It finds her challenging the notion that activism on social media is ineffective if not performative. “If we decide to start calling out the government, don’t you guys know that a lot of changes will be made?” She asks with impassioned sincerity. She then ventures into a spiel about how the Nigerian government gets so jittery anytime foreign nations or institutions catch wind of public conversations around malfeasance in the country. The points she made ought to serve as a wake-up call for all Nigerians.
Cynics and propagandists relentlessly push the narrative that activism on social media is performative and therefore toothless. It’s easy to fall for this narrative, to let it break your spirit and unravel your resolve. After all, calling out the government or bad actors in general is radically different, less explosive, than physically protesting. It’s also considerably safer, tweeting from the comfort of your home, as opposed to marching, facing the police head-on, chafing against a picket fence with a placard in hand, your body humming with the frisson of imminent change inflected with the looming specter of danger. But while social media activism is not a substitute for physical demonstrations, it offers unique advantages and is effective.
It offers a counterpoint to government propaganda and can help rally large swaths of people toward a cause. Take the Arab Spring, a series of anti-government protests that fanned across the Arab world in the early 2010s, and culminated in the ousting of many leaders, such as President Hosni Mubarak of Egypt and President Zine El Abidine Ben Ali of Tunisia. Social media platforms like Facebook and Twitter played a huge role in both amplifying dissent and helping demonstrators organize. The hashtags deployed in the period also helped draw international attention to the plight of the people. Similarly, in 2019, protesters in Hong Kong used encrypted messaging apps and live-streaming to coordinate and spread awareness globally. To the extent that the EndSARS protests achieved success and garnered international attention, social media played a priceless role. Cynics might want to dampen your spirits with sardonic rhetoric undermining the effectiveness of your social media activism, but your voice doesn’t just matter, it’s the silver bullet in our current struggle against bad governance.
