The Fake DG Incident Reflects Our Society

A man got fed up with his wife’s bad attitude. She was hardly ever around and when she was, she was not really engaged. Her affection seemed fake and her happiness depended on what she could gain. Eventually, he took a second wife and let her manage some of his money. After a year, they thought about moving from their four-bedroom bungalow to a bigger terrace apartment. They moved. Three years later, the man found out he had been paying rent on the terrace apartment to a caretaker who was giving the money back to his second wife. Right under his nose, she took his money, built a house, rented it to him, and collected rent. What do we call this? Domestic robbery!

Imagine waking up one day to find out that someone had been running a government agency that never existed. Not a small neighbourhood group. Not a fake NGO. Not a WhatsApp investment scheme. A so-called "government agency." This person had a title, an office, documents, and even held meetings. He was recognized and operated 34 bank accounts. Then, one day, everything fell apart. A "whistleblower" revealed the truth, and the deception was exposed. Almost immediately, social media reacted. "The government must have known. They’re all part of it." "Oh, this is Nigeria; anything can happen!"

Within hours, the focus shifted from the fraud to a political blame game. This reaction is understandable. Our citizens have been divided in their views of leadership for a long time. We focus so much on political ties that it shapes our opinions and stirs outrage, making it hard to have real conversations about governance. When public institutions look weak, people throw accusations around. But there’s a question we often ignore. A much more uncomfortable one. What if this story is not just about the government? What if it’s also about us? Before assuming that an institution was complicit just because it was tricked, we should think carefully.

Some of the biggest frauds in the world happened in countries known for strong institutions, not just weak ones. On December 11, 2008, the world was shocked to learn that a man named Bernard Madoff in the United States had run one of the largest investment frauds ever. He created a Ponzi scheme worth about $65 billion that cost investors billions over two decades. Prince Adeniyi’s alleged fraud is like the "Presidential Advisory Council." Madoff operated an "Investment Advisory Business," luring thousands of investors with fake account statements, inflated returns, and a misleading high-yield trading strategy.

Madoff had close ties with the Securities and Exchange Commission. He built a personal relationship with the regulators who were supposed to oversee him. Banks did business with him. Professionals worked with him. Regulators received warnings. Many smart people believed in him. When the scheme collapsed, the public was furious: "Where was the regulator?" "How could nobody know Madoff was a fraud?!"

On November 10, 2021, similar questions rose in the United Kingdom after the Arena Television financing fraud. Lenders had reportedly given about £280 million for television equipment that investigators later said either didn’t exist or was pledged multiple times. In December 2019, an investment firm called Muddy Waters accused NMC Health of inflating its cash balances and downplaying its debts. This led to the collapse of NMC Health, which was once listed on the London Stock Exchange. Billions in hidden debts shocked investors and regulators alike. Different countries, different governments, different political parties. The same uncomfortable questions.

If someone could pretend to be the Director-General of a non-existent entity, then our verification processes, coordination between agencies, documentation practices, and internal controls clearly need improvement. Those are valid concerns. But who builds these institutions? Every institution is made up of people. The accountant who approves. The administrative officer who files. The procurement officer who signs.

The lesson here is that oversight failures should not be ignored. Not at all. It’s that sophisticated fraud is not just a Nigerian issue. When systems collapse, institutions should be examined. But examination should not turn into conspiracy theories. There is a difference. The claims regarding the so-called Presidential Foreign Intervention Promotion Council show weaknesses that need serious examination. If someone could present themselves as the Director-General of a non-existent organization, then our verification processes, inter-agency coordination, documentation practices, and internal controls clearly require strengthening. Those are valid concerns. But who builds institutions? Every institution is a group of people. The accountant who approves. The administrative officer who files. The procurement officer who signs. The banker who sees but ignores unusual transactions. The consultant who turns a blind eye. The civil servant who thinks, "it’s not my problem." Systems don’t fall apart on their own. They weaken, one compromise at a time.

Corruption is a problem that starts and grows in the human mind. The government reflects society. Our national issues didn’t start inside government offices. They began where honesty gave way to convenience. This brings me to another hard truth. Some professionals have sadly helped create escape routes for financial criminals. This is particularly concerning when legal skills are used not to defend rights but to create complex setups that hide ownership, hinder accountability, delay justice, or clean up the profits from wrongdoing.

To be clear, most of our lawyers serve society well and our legal profession is vital for democracy and the rule of law. But when a few knowingly aid financial crime, the line between professional service and profit-making becomes dangerously thin, and when loyalty to country loses out to greed, the nation suffers. The same can be said for accountants who tamper with records. Governors who misdirect federal funds, contractors involved in shady deals, and citizens who celebrate ill-gotten wealth while mocking honest work. That’s why strengthening accountability must go beyond changing laws. It needs a cultural shift.

On a positive note, Nigeria has been putting money into digital reforms to improve identity verification, public administration, and service delivery. Efforts around the National Identity Management system and broader digital integration offer real hope for reducing impersonation, enhancing authentication, and making some types of fraud harder to commit. Technology is not a magic solution. To date, London hasn’t stopped fraud. New York hasn’t eliminated scheming, and Singapore still prosecutes financial crimes. Digital systems may reduce chances for theft, but they don’t wipe out human greed.

This is why we should keep investing in technology, refine it, and improve it, not dismiss it just because crime still happens. Progress should not be seen as a threat to perfection. If technology can close some of our loopholes, protect public records, improve verification, and boost transparency, then we should support it while we keep demanding accountability from those in public office.

The most patriotic response is not blind support or constant blame. It should be honest self-reflection. It is about insisting on stronger institutions while also developing responsible citizens. It is about praising integrity wherever we see it. It is about not celebrating fraudsters just because they are rich. It is about not spreading every negative story about Nigeria with a sense of pride, as if the country’s shame confirms our opinions.

We need to stop a habit as citizens: Before investigations finish, before facts come out, before institutions do their work, many of us only ask, "How can this hurt my political rival?" That mindset is costing us. Every major scandal should not become immediate political ammunition because crime does not have a political party and fraud does not wear a party badge. Criminality starts in the human mind.

When we turn every wrongdoing into political warfare, we stop looking for solutions and only seek chances to score political points. That helps no one. Patriotism calls for better. We should firmly condemn wrongdoing without hesitation. But we should resist using every crime against political foes before knowing the facts. A nation can’t heal if every scandal turns into a campaign tool. We should not pretend that the people committing these crimes are outsiders. Those arrested for internet fraud, those involved in property scams, those selling the same land to multiple buyers, those charged with banking fraud, those forging documents, those laundering crime profits, those manipulating contracts, landlords and agents extorting tenants. They are not strangers. They are products of the same society we all helped shape.

The most patriotic response is not blind support or constant blame. It should be honest self-reflection. It is about insisting on stronger institutions while also developing responsible citizens. It is about praising integrity wherever we see it. It is about not celebrating fraudsters just because they are rich. It is about not spreading every negative story about Nigeria with a sense of pride, as if the country’s shame confirms our opinions. Sadism is not victory and a mature nation confronts its failures without becoming addicted to them.

If this recent incident teaches us anything, it should be this: Oversight is important. Professional ethics matter. Institutional reforms are crucial. But more than anything, when we can’t have conversations that strengthen democracy, important national issues get drowned out by political noise. Ultimately, the real battle is not between supporters of the government and supporters of the opposition. It is between strong institutions and weak ones.

Governments will come and go. Political parties will rise and fall. Public officials will retire. But the institutions we build today will decide if future generations inherit a nation where public trust is earned through skill, accountability, and honesty, or one where every scandal becomes another chapter in a never-ending blame game. It is one conviction per person that builds a nation. This is why our character matters, because it takes a strong, constructive, and intentional character to resist the temptations around us and still have the moral strength to look away. The fight against corruption must start well before a courtroom. It begins with the person you see when you look in the mirror!