Tinubu's Remarks on Gun Imagery and El-Rufai's Political Downfall

President Bola Tinubu, during an interfaith breaking of fast event with Senate members last week at the Presidential Villa in Abuja, responded to opposition critiques that accused him of coercing defectors into his political party, the APC, by declaring, "Critics must talk. When they accused me of killing the opposition, but I didn’t have a gun." At that moment, he was visibly cheerful, with his emotional state easily interpreted by those acquainted with emotional intelligence and cognitive neuroscience.

In this context, the president resembled an elephant in a forest. A popular Yoruba proverb states that if an elephant enters a forest and consumes its grass without feeling full, it reflects poorly on the forest, not the elephant itself. Feeling triumphant, he appeared to revel in the idea that he had effectively silenced opposition voices, metaphorically consuming them as an elephant. This imagery, likening the political environment to life and death, reinforced the narrative of his seemingly unshakeable position.

Tinubu effectively advanced his narrative further by utilizing metaphors connected to firearms and fatality, suggesting a sense of unassailable dominance as he navigates the political landscape shaped by the recently revised Electoral Act 2026, which many believe enables a prolonged rule for him. The president has swiftly welcomed new political allies, solidifying control within the political arena as more governors switch allegiances. As of now, he maintains a firm grip on these defectors, further illustrated by a recent private meeting with the beleaguered Bauchi State Governor, Bala Muhammed, embroiled in a terrorism financing investigation.

Indeed, it seems Tinubu cannot contemplate a scenario where he is not ensconced in power again. Echoing this, music played by Yoruba traditional artist Yusuff Olatunji sung about cosmic decrees possibly contributed further to the president's confidence. The music, which speaks to uncontestable fate, suggests that the opposition has already lost the fight against him.

While Tinubu’s use of violent imagery may have been intended to project strength, there is a deeper implication concerning his handling of opposition figures. He seemingly advocates for a lethal style of politics without any direct violence — akin to the mythical depiction of a witch who brings calamity without wielding a weapon. His critics today might well label him as an embodiment of that witch, subtly dismantling opposition under the pretense of peaceful governance.

El-Rufai, on the other hand, finds himself at an unexpected and distressing juncture, reflecting the unpredictable nature of political life. His bold political maneuvers, once feared as skillful and calculative, now leave him vulnerable, underscoring the relativity of power in politics. His recent legal ordeal underscores the precariousness that can accompany a once-dominant political presence.

The Yoruba term Ìrèmòjé, often recited at funerals, reminds us of the inevitability of fate, emphasizing that even the most theoretically invulnerable cannot entirely escape mortality — a metaphor easily applied to El-Rufai now that he is ensnared by the very forces he once danced around.

The ramifications of political gambits often come back around, much like a misfired shot. El-Rufai’s past criticisms and boastful claims now present a contrasting reality, suggesting a hard lesson learned: the cruelty of political fortunes, where past wisdom fails to preempt present calamity. With his recent legal struggles, many argue that the fallout from his political cunning is now catching up to him, reinforcing the adage that even wise figures can fall into traps of their own making. El-Rufai may soon find that the wisdom in his political strategies fails to protect him from the very systems he once maneuvered successfully.