In one of the most damning interventions yet from within Nigeria’s political establishment, Oyo State Governor Seyi Makinde has publicly raised the alarm over the integrity of the Tinubu administration’s controversial Tax Reform Laws, declaring bluntly that state governors do not even know the exact version of the legislation that was passed and signed into law. His words amount to a direct indictment of the National Assembly and the federal executive, accusing them—by implication—of presiding over a legislative process so opaque that it borders on constitutional fraud.
Speaking at a high-level stakeholders’ engagement in Ibadan on January 23, 2026, Makinde dropped the bombshell that the bills eventually assented to by President Bola Tinubu were materially different from the versions debated, harmonised, and approved by the Senate and House of Representatives. “We don’t know what was passed,” the governor said, revealing that state governments were never consulted, briefed, or even shown the final text before it became binding law. According to him, insertions, deletions, and alterations appeared in the signed document without the knowledge or consent of those constitutionally expected to implement the reforms at subnational level.
This is not casual criticism. It is a fundamental challenge to the legitimacy of one of the most consequential economic reforms of the Tinubu presidency. The Tax Reform Laws restructure VAT sharing, expand the powers of federal revenue authorities, introduce new tax obligations, and significantly alter Nigeria’s already fragile fiscal federalism. For a sitting governor to admit publicly that states do not know what exactly they are being asked to enforce is an extraordinary admission—and a devastating one.
Makinde’s intervention is particularly significant because he is not a political outcast or a habitual agitator. Though a PDP governor, he has maintained working relations with the federal government, collaborated on security matters, and avoided the incendiary rhetoric common in opposition politics. His decision to go public suggests that what is unfolding behind the scenes is far more troubling than previously acknowledged, and that private complaints from governors have gone unanswered.
At the heart of the controversy is a constitutional landmine. Under Nigeria’s 1999 Constitution, a bill must be passed in identical form by both chambers of the National Assembly before presidential assent. Any post-passage alteration—without renewed debate, concurrence, and approval—renders the process invalid. Makinde’s claim that the signed law differs from the harmonised version strikes at the foundation of legislative legitimacy. It reinforces earlier warnings from the House of Representatives Minority Caucus, which has already confirmed discrepancies between the passed bills and the gazetted law, describing the situation in stark terms as “legislative fraud.”
The governor warned that such a process does not merely violate procedure; it actively undermines trust in governance. States are being asked to adjust budgets, redesign revenue frameworks, enforce new tax regimes, and explain painful fiscal changes to citizens without clarity on the legal basis of those changes. In an economy already buckling under inflation, unemployment, and declining purchasing power, this level of uncertainty is not just irresponsible—it is dangerous.
The implications are far-reaching. If the final text was quietly modified to favour specific interests—political, corporate, or regional—then the entire reform package is compromised. Laws derived from secrecy and procedural shortcuts lack moral authority, no matter how well-intentioned their stated goals may be. Reform cannot be built on deception, especially in a federation where states are not administrative appendages but constitutional partners.
So far, the response from Abuja has been evasive. Presidential aides have offered generic assurances that the law reflects the “intent” of the reforms, while the leadership of the National Assembly has largely retreated into silence. That silence only deepens suspicion. If nothing improper occurred, transparency would be the obvious remedy. Instead, governors and citizens alike are left asking a basic but explosive question: who altered the bills after they left the chambers, and under whose authority?
Makinde’s warning reflects a growing, bipartisan unease among state executives who increasingly feel sidelined in decisions that directly affect their fiscal survival and political legitimacy. When a governor publicly admits ignorance of the content of a federal law signed by the president, the issue has moved beyond party lines. It is now a red alert on the state of Nigeria’s democracy.
What was meant to be a landmark tax reform is rapidly becoming a case study in how not to govern a federation: rushed legislation, executive overreach, legislative compliance, and zero accountability. If the discrepancies identified are real—and multiple credible sources now say they are—then the law is tainted, its implementation questionable, and its constitutional standing vulnerable to legal challenge.
Governor Seyi Makinde has done what few insiders are willing to do: say plainly that something is wrong. The burden now lies with the National Assembly and the presidency to respond with facts, documents, and transparency—not spin. Nigerians deserve to know what was passed, who changed it, and why the states were kept in the dark.
Anything less is not reform. It is governance by obscurity. And in a country already stretched to breaking point, that is a risk Nigeria cannot afford.
Post a Comment