Ministerial appointments are not beer-parlour decisions. They are not WhatsApp polls either. They have a history. In Britain, monarchs relied on advisers who later became ministers. Nigeria inherited this idea through the Macpherson Constitution of 1951, then the Lyttleton Constitution of 1954, which made ministers heads of departments in a federal system. At independence in 1960, Tafawa Balewa appointed Nigerians fully into his cabinet.
Today, under the 1999 Constitution, ministers are presidential appointees confirmed by the Senate. That is settled law. Which is why the ongoing campaign of insults against the Minister of Women Affairs, Barr. Imaan Suleiman-Ibrahim, is misplaced—like trying to collect NEPA bill from your landlord instead of PHCN.
Yes, there are comments and criticisms anchored on her alleged incompetence. But let us be honest: the moral and constitutional responsibility to judge her competence or incompetence belongs to only one person—the Executive President of Nigeria. Ordinary citizens can grumble, yes, but they cannot remove her. Power no be Facebook “block” button.
What we now see instead is a new national pastime—insults. Everyone is suddenly a political commentator, dropping curses like confetti at a wedding. Nasarawa is at risk of being branded the country of “noise and bitterness.” If that becomes our political identity, history will laugh at us. Socrates said it well: “Strong minds discuss ideas, average minds discuss events, weak minds discuss people.” Sadly, many of our loudest voices are not even discussing people—they are just abusing them.
Even more hilarious (and sad) is that many of these “online warriors” want to contest elections. But let me remind them: politicians who turn campaigns into noise-making festivals rarely win. Politics is not a shouting competition; if it were, the loudest motor park conductor would be President by now.
The 2023 elections proved this. Across Nigeria, those who screamed the loudest online, those who insulted from morning to night, were humbled when the ballots were opened. As one voter joked: “Twitter no dey queue under the sun.” The truth is, noise doesn’t translate into votes. When the counting begins, analysis cannot replace structure, and anger cannot replace strategy.
Some argue: “But some people actually won and were denied!” Maybe. But even then, winning elections is not only about the day of voting. It begins long before—with groundwork, alliances, and staying power. Shouting at your opponents does not build polling units. Insults don’t print posters, they don’t mobilise voters, and they don’t protect ballots.
And here lies the real tragedy: instead of crafting ideas, building alliances, and selling development-driven programs, some of our people are burning their energy on insults. Imagine someone wants to be Governor but spends half his day on Facebook fighting with “comment section warriors.” How do you expect serious-minded citizens to trust such a leader? You cannot build tomorrow with broken words from today.
My advice is straight: if you want to win elections, reduce the grammar, reduce the venom. Channel that same energy into vision, policy, and grassroots work. Remember: Nigerians don’t reward noise; they reward results. Even generators that make too much noise eventually get kicked out for solar.
Ministerial appointments are about service, not sentiment. Reducing them to quarrels and gossip is like using a sledgehammer to kill a mosquito—loud but useless. As Lincoln warned: “A house divided against itself cannot stand.” And Aristotle also added: “It is the mark of an educated mind to entertain a thought without accepting it.”
So, let’s say the truth plainly: Minister Imaan is not the real problem. The real problem is the poverty of reasoning, the addiction to insults, and the confusion between criticism and abuse.
In the words of Oscar: Akwai Problem Fa! But the problem is not her. The problem is us.
