In recent years, the Nigerian government has intensified its crackdown on free speech a coordinated campaign to silence citizens and muzzle the social media platforms that amplify their voices. One of the earliest and most glaring attempts came under the late President Muhammadu Buhari, with the introduction of the infamous “Social Media Bill.” The bill, sponsored by Senator Mohammed Sani Musa of Niger East Senatorial District in the Nigerian Senate, the bill was presented as a response to online misinformation, but people quickly saw it for what it was, a legislative weapon to criminalize dissent and digitally regulate public opinion. It was met with fierce opposition from journalists, human rights defenders, civil society organizations, and ordinary Nigerians. I was even present at the Nigerian Senate to help declare the bill dead on arrival, forcing the regime to retreat.
However, the free speech repression simply took on a new form. Following the historic #EndSARS protests, the government escalated its digital war on dissent. On June 5, 2021, the Buhari administration banned Twitter (now X) after the platform removed a tweet by Buhari that threatened the Igbo people with violence. The suspension marked a turning point, a state openly declaring war on digital freedom across Nigeria, however, undettered most X users turned to using VPNs to bypass the banning of Twitter, though costly, it was their response to keep digital freedoms alive and kicking, it was their way of thumbing nose at the puerile attempt to destroy one of their most potent weapons of resistance, it worked, Buhari was forced to unban Twitter but what followed was a carefully orchestrated collaboration to infiltrate and weaken the platforms in Nigeria. It will be clear to readers in the body of this riposte.
For me, these attacks are not theoretical. They are deeply personal. In 2019, I was arrested by the Buhari regime for calling for a Revolution Now protest. I was detained for five months, it was the first time I was charged with Cybercrime, a crime that arose from the obnoxious “Cybercrime Act of 2015” promulgated and signed into law by the Goodluck Jonathan regime. I was also charged with treason, money laundering and “cyberbullying” by the president of the federal republic of Nigeria, a judge quickly stripped me of my international passport for five years and restricted me to Abuja the Federal Capital Territory for three. The regime even proposed that I issue an apology and tone down my criticism on social media. I refused.
The tricky part of the crackdown only deepened when the Buhari government demanded that global platforms like Twitter and Facebook set up legal offices and local representatives in Nigeria as a condition for unbanning Twitter. What was presented as regulation was, in reality, tactical coercion, but sadly, these companies caved in for the sake of profit. They agreed to terms that transformed them into extensions of the Nigerian state, serving as tools for digital policing and ensuring silent compliance.
Now, under President Bola Tinubu, the repression has become even more aggressive. Activists, journalists, and ordinary citizens face a rising tide of arbitrary arrests, detentions, and trumped-up charges under the Cybercrime Act, a law now routinely weaponized to target dissent by government officials, traditional rulers, and even religious leaders. Through our movement, Take It Back,
Amnesty International
and several human rights lawyers, we’ve secured bail for more than 30 young Nigerians detained in the last few years alone for simply expressing themselves online.
And I haven’t been spared either. In 2025 alone, I’ve faced two separate arrests by the Nigerian Police Force for exposing the illegal activities of the current Inspector General of Police, Kayode Egbetokun. I was charged with cybercrime, forgery of a police wireless message, and even “mutiny.” The first arrest came in January after I recorded and shared a video showing officers extorting motorists near the Lagos Airport. The second came in July, after I joined retired police officers protesting the fraudulent PENCOM pension scheme that has reduced retirees to beggars.
In Nigeria, I have the singular honor of being charged four separate times under the so-called Cybercrime Act.
Ironically, while I was fighting for their welfare, the police robbed me, through a plainclothes operative Aku Victor Chiemerie, who was directed by the former PRO of the Nigerian Police Muyiwa Adejobi, the fellow snatched my Ray-Ban AI smart glasses in broad daylight and on camera, and then disappeared into the premises of the Force Headquarters. I refused to stay silent, and after weeks of public pressure, they quietly returned the glasses. That episode grew into a national parable, proof that even sophisticated technology can expose corrupt systems built on opacity.
But the most sinister development came in September. After I described President Tinubu as a criminal in reaction to his ridiculous claim in Brazil that “corruption no longer exists in Nigeria” the Department of State Services (DSS) demanded I delete the post. I refused. The DSS responded by filing a five-count charge against me and, astonishingly, also listed Facebook and X (formerly Twitter) as co-defendants.
What followed was even more shocking. On the day of the hearing, X sent no representative but Facebook did. Its lawyer, Mofesomo Tayo-Oyetibo, SAN, appeared in court not to defend free speech but to align largely with the DSS. Before Justice M.G. Umar, he made no objection to my prosecution. He even implied Facebook had no problem with the charges, accepting irregular service during the proceedings, and to the surprise of the judge, was alluding to the fact that Facebook will likely oppose its inclusion, to which the judge openly stated, he did not need permission to do the needful. That moment crystallized the dangerous truth that Facebook has gone beyond silent compliance; it has become a willing accomplice to authoritarian repression.
This collaboration between a global tech giant and a repressive security agency is a chilling escalation. It echoes the Buhari-era compromise, when platforms were bullied into “partnership” under the threat of bans. Since then, it has been reported that over 59 million harmful posts and 13.5 million social media accounts critical of the Nigerian government have reportedly been taken down at the authorities’ request.
Facebook’s posture in my case revealed something even worse than complicity, collusion. Its lawyer’s deference to the DSS and dismissal of free expression were a betrayal not just of Nigerian users, but of the platform’s own professed principles.
This isn’t the first time multinational corporations have enabled repression. In the 1990s, Shell colluded with Nigeria’s military regime in the judicial murder of Ken Saro-Wiwa and the Ogoni 9. The next generation of accomplices, it seems, are the tech giants offering data, surveillance, and legitimacy to rogue regimes in exchange for continued market access.
As I’ve often said, repression thrives not merely on the cruelty of oppressors but on the silence or active collaboration of those who should know better. Facebook has now chosen its side. It stands shoulder to shoulder with those who weaponize state power to trample on free speech.
Freedom of expression remains non-negotiable. And for those of us who have paid the price for it, silence is not an option.
