Editorial: Tinubu's Outlandish Claim of Rescuing Nigeria from Bankruptcy

There are exaggerations in politics, and then there are the sort of claims that make economists reach for their calculators in disbelief. President Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s recent declaration that he “saved Nigeria from bankruptcy” after taking office in May 2023 belongs squarely in the latter category; an assertion so audacious, so blithely detached from the lived experience of millions of Nigerians, that it deserves not polite disagreement but firm correction. Speaking during a Ramadan dinner with media executives at the Presidential Villa in Abuja, Tinubu informed his audience that Nigeria had been “tilting on the edge of bankruptcy” when he assumed office and that his administration’s controversial reforms had pulled the country back from the brink. It is a stirring narrative: the leader arrives just in time, performs an act of fiscal heroism, and the republic is saved.

 

Unfortunately, like many heroic tales in Nigerian politics, it collapses under the mildest scrutiny. Let us begin with the most obvious problem: Nigeria was not bankrupt in 2023, nor was it about to declare insolvency in the technical sense understood by economists. Nigeria’s public debt, while troubling, stood at roughly $108bn, according to figures from the Debt Management Office Nigeria. That debt represented about 40% of GDP, far below the levels seen in many advanced economies. The problem Nigeria faced was not bankruptcy but fiscal mismanagement and revenue weakness; a chronic inability of the state to collect taxes efficiently while spending prodigiously on subsidies and governance overhead. To describe this condition as “bankruptcy” is not merely inaccurate. It is theatrically inaccurate. The president’s argument rests largely on his administration’s decision to abolish the fuel subsidy shortly after taking office; a policy long advocated by economists and repeatedly attempted by previous governments. Fuel subsidies were indeed expensive, costing Nigeria billions of dollars annually. Removing them was economically defensible in principle.

 

But good policy is not measured by intentions alone; it is measured by consequences. And the consequences for ordinary Nigerians have been brutal. Within months of the subsidy removal, petrol prices soared from roughly ₦185 per liter to well above ₦600, sending transportation costs, food prices and basic living expenses spiraling upward. Inflation surged past 30%, according to the National Bureau of Statistics Nigeria; a level that has pushed millions deeper into poverty. Meanwhile, the naira suffered one of the most dramatic currency depreciations in Nigeria’s history following the government’s decision to liberalize the foreign exchange regime. The currency plunged from around ₦460 to the dollar to well over ₦1,400 in parallel markets within a year. Import costs exploded. Businesses staggered. Household purchasing power collapsed.

 

If this is what salvation looks like, one shudders to imagine catastrophe. The president would argue, of course, that such pain is necessary. Structural reforms, he insists, require sacrifice. Perhaps so. But sacrifice in Nigeria tends to follow a suspiciously predictable pattern: the public bleeds while the political class continues to dine comfortably. Nigeria remains one of the most unequal societies in the world. While citizens grapple with rising food prices and collapsing incomes, the federal government continues to operate an expensive bureaucracy, maintain lavish political privileges and allocate billions to questionable projects. One might reasonably ask: rescued from bankruptcy for whom?

 

Tinubu’s narrative also performs a curious sleight of hand with history. By presenting himself as the savior of Nigeria’s finances, he implies that the country’s fiscal crisis was an inherited calamity rather than the cumulative result of decades of political mismanagement by the very elite to which he belongs.

Tinubu has not been an outsider to Nigerian power. He has been a central figure in the country’s political establishment since the late 1990s—first as governor of Lagos State and later as one of the most influential power brokers in national politics. To claim the mantle of economic rescuer now is rather like a long-serving board member announcing that he has heroically repaired a company whose problems developed on his watch. One does not extinguish a fire and immediately claim credit for saving the house when one helped design the faulty wiring. 

 

There is also something faintly ironic in the venue where this economic triumphalism was delivered: a convivial Ramadan dinner with media executives. The president assured journalists that he reads newspapers every morning and welcomes criticism. That is admirable. Yet reading headlines is not the same as confronting reality. Reality is visible in Nigeria’s markets, where food prices have risen beyond the reach of ordinary households. It is visible in small businesses closing their doors under the weight of rising operating costs. It is visible in the swelling ranks of young Nigerians seeking opportunities abroad because their own economy has become inhospitable to ambition.

 

In 2024 the World Bank warned that economic reforms were pushing millions more Nigerians into poverty in the short term, even if they might yield benefits eventually. The organisation estimated that over 100 million Nigerians were already living below the poverty line. This is not the profile of a country basking in economic rescue. To be fair, Nigeria’s economic problems are formidable. Decades of dependence on oil revenues, weak institutions and poor fiscal discipline have left the country vulnerable to shocks. Reform is necessary, and the fuel subsidy regime was indeed unsustainable. But necessary reforms must be accompanied by credible strategies to protect citizens from hardship. That means targeted social support, improved public services and visible reductions in government waste. 

 

Instead, Nigerians have witnessed a familiar pattern: economic pain imposed swiftly, relief promised vaguely, and political rhetoric deployed liberally. The claim that Nigeria was “saved from bankruptcy” is therefore not merely inaccurate; it is politically convenient. It reframes a painful adjustment as a heroic rescue and casts criticism as ingratitude. Yet Nigerians are not ungrateful. They are simply unconvinced. If the president wishes to persuade the country that his policies represent a genuine economic revival, he will need more than speeches and metaphors about brinkmanship. He will need evidence: stable prices, rising incomes, productive investment and a tangible improvement in the everyday lives of citizens. Until then, the declaration that he has saved Nigeria from bankruptcy will remain what it currently appears to be: a grandiose claim in search of supporting facts. And Nigerians, whose wallets have grown conspicuously thinner during this supposed rescue, are entitled to remain skeptical.