Beyond the 30-Day Discount: Atiku’s Economic War on Tinubu, by Oluwafemi Popoola

On Friday, October 9, Atiku Abubakar gave his audience something to laugh about during the inauguration of the ADC Presidential Campaign Council. Addressing Tinubu as “Bola,” he accused the President of borrowing his fuel-relief proposal and compared him to a dull student caught copying another person’s examination paper. His description of the President as a dull student sent his audience into laughter and cheers. And ever since the noise is impossible to ignore.

His words deserve to be reproduced in full because they capture the essence of the confrontation:

“Bola, when I proposed targeted support to ease fuel costs, you called me ignorant of economic policy. You are like a dull student who copied his classmate’s answer, you have done it so blindly that the classmate’s name at the top of his exam paper and then demanded marks for original thinking. You copied my production subsidy proposal, nothing wrong about that, you Stripped away the part that makes it work and handed Nigerians a 30-day discount. You see why it is good to go to school?”

This was not your routine opposition jab, the sort of political mosquito bite that sends presidential aides rushing to social media with megaphones. Atiku had effectively issued Tinubu an economic report card and, for good measure, appointed himself the invigilator. The President was cast as the student who ridiculed a classmate’s answer, copied it later, removed the substance, and then strutted around expecting a distinction. The joke was funny, but the political implication was considerably less amusing for the Presidency.

If Atiku’s account is accurate, a proposal once dismissed as ignorance has become useful enough to inspire a government intervention, albeit one limited to 30 days. But Nigerians have had to endure so much economic pain before a temporary discount became fashionable. Little wonder the remark could sting more than a dozen opposition press conferences.

For more than 3 years, Nigerians have complained that the opposition has not done enough to hold the government accountable. Now that Atiku has launched an unusually direct attack no wonder the presidential communication machinery has responded as though Atiku has committed a constitutional offence by addressing the President as “Bola.” Sunday Dare, Bayo Onanuga and Reno Omokri have all joined the chorus of criticism. Their objection, as reported in this exchange, is that addressing Tinubu by his first name amounts to insolence, desperation or political hubris. One would think Atiku had walked into the Presidential Villa, collected the presidential seal and demanded the keys to the official limousine. Apparently, in the Republic of Nigeria, a first name can generate more official outrage than a petrol price that leaves commuters calculating whether walking to work is now a respectable form of transportation.

My special seat, however, is reserved for Femi Fani-Kayode, the ever-vocal political commentator. I am waiting to see whether he will join the chorus or produce a fresh collection of adjectives for the occasion.

Apart from the comedy lies a serious point: Atiku is fighting a difficult political battle, and this attack has forced the administration’s defenders to respond. Whether his argument stands or falls should depend on the facts. After three and a half years of hardship, Nigerians need explanations for fuel costs far more than they need a national debate about whether the President should be called Bola.

Behind the verbal jabs is a familiar struggle for political ownership: who deserves credit for an idea, who gets to implement it, and whether the resulting policy does enough for the people who need relief most.

I am neither an Atiku fan nor a believer in everything he says. His long journey through Nigeria’s presidential politics provides enough material for scepticism. But on this particular issue, I must admit that this is how opposition politics should work. You must be willing to fire cannons at the government, expose its inconsistencies and publicise its follies when it makes a mess of its own arguments.
Opposition is not a Sunday school fellowship where everyone politely agrees to disagree. When the government gives you ammunition, you do not complain about the noise. You take aim.

Atiku made his proposal, the Tinubu camp criticised it, and now the Presidency has announced measures that include a temporary petrol discount, production-related interventions and a proposed ceiling on landing costs. Atiku sees vindication. The Presidency sees responsible economic management. Nigerians, meanwhile, are asking the more practical question: why has relief suddenly become fashionable?

On October 8, the Federal Government announced a package of measures to cushion the impact of rising petrol prices. The headline intervention was that NNPC Retail would forgo its profit margin and sell petrol at cost for 30 days, with priority for commercial transport operators. If its landing cost is ₦1,300 per litre, the company says it will sell at that cost rather than add its retail margin. The government insists this is not a return to subsidy. It is a temporary discount.

I find the distinction interesting. Nigerians have spent more than three years being told that petrol subsidy was an unsustainable economic evil, a fiscal burden that had to be removed to rescue the country. We were told that market forces would determine prices, competition would improve efficiency and the savings from subsidy removal would eventually deliver prosperity.

But here we are, discussing government-backed relief, a proposed ₦1,350 ceiling on petrol landing costs and arrangements for refiners and importers to recover losses when market conditions improve.

Call it price smoothing, temporary support or an exercise in economic cushioning. The question remains: if government intervention is now necessary to protect Nigerians from global oil-price shocks, why was the idea treated so differently when the people were drowning in the consequences of subsidy removal?

For approximately three and a half years, Nigerians have been asked to endure the consequences of a policy presented as necessary medicine. Transport fares have risen, food distribution has become more expensive, businesses have struggled with operating costs, and household budgets have been stretched. Now, as the 2027 election approaches, the same government is announcing a month of petrol relief and a long list of interventions.

Ten measures, in fact: the 30-day NNPC discount; forward sales of crude to domestic refineries; a proposed ₦1,350 landing-cost ceiling; action against illegal road levies; increased cash transfers and subsidised credit; faster CNG deployment; a possible excess-profit tax; reduced regulatory costs; a national strategic fuel reserve; and improved traffic and logistics management.

Some of these proposals deserve serious consideration. Forward crude sales could help domestic refineries manage supply uncertainties. A strategic fuel reserve could strengthen preparedness against future disruptions. CNG could reduce transport costs if infrastructure expands and operators pass the savings to passengers. Removing illegal levies could also ease the cost of moving goods.

But announcing a policy is not the same as implementing it. How quickly will these interventions reach ordinary Nigerians? How will the government verify that transport operators actually reduce fares? What happens when the 30-day discount expires? Does the government simply wave goodbye after offering Nigerians a brief taste of relief?And who will account for the money involved in these arrangements?

Tinubu’s supporters may insist that the measures are responses to international market volatility rather than electoral anxiety. That explanation is possible. Global energy prices can change rapidly, and governments must sometimes respond to circumstances beyond their control.

Still, the timing invites scrutiny. If targeted relief is economically defensible today, the government should explain why comparable ideas were previously rejected or why meaningful protections took so long to emerge. If these measures are necessary now, why should Nigerians believe that their welfare was sufficiently prioritised during the preceding years?

A government cannot spend years telling citizens that hardship is the unavoidable price of reform and then expect applause because it has offered them 30 days of cheaper petrol. Relief is welcome, but it does not erase memory. A month of assistance cannot settle an account that has been accumulating for years.

I will give Tinubu’s administration credit if these interventions work. If transport fares fall, businesses spend less moving goods, vulnerable households receive meaningful assistance and the proposed measures survive beyond campaign season, Nigerians will have reason to welcome them.

But I will not pretend that a temporary discount is a substitute for a sustainable economic policy.

The real test is not whether NNPC sells petrol at cost for 30 days. It is whether the government can build an economy in which ordinary Nigerians do not need emergency relief every time international oil prices rise.

For now, Atiku has landed a political punch. Whether it becomes a decisive blow in 2027 will depend on more than insults, clever analogies or the government’s latest announcements. It will depend on what Nigerians experience when they reach the petrol station, board a bus or visit the market.

While the Presidency maintains that its latest move does not amount to a return to subsidy, Atiku Abubakar argues that it vindicates his call for targeted support. Nigerians must judge the competing claims, but the larger issue is the timing of this apparent concern for affordability.

For three and a half years, citizens have been expected to absorb the consequences of painful economic decisions, often with promises that relief would eventually follow. They are not asking the government to perform miracles, they only want policies that make daily life bearable.

And if meaningful relief begins to feature more prominently as 2027 approaches, the electorate may reasonably wonder whether the government has finally heard their cries or whether the approaching election has suddenly made those cries impossible to ignore.

Oluwafemi Popoola is a Nigerian journalist, media strategist, and columnist. He can be reached via bromeo2013@gmail.com