Guilty by photograph: the Nigerians whose names deserve better
By
Suleiman Usman Yusuf
This article is based on a review of available official records, public statements, media reports and the documented professional histories of individuals connected to the controversy. It does not seek to prejudge any ongoing investigation, but to examine what the available evidence does, and does not, establish.
There is a particular cruelty in Nigerian public life that we have normalised without naming it: the speed with which a photograph can become a verdict.
Over the past week, photographs of more than twenty Nigerians, professionals, technocrats, entrepreneurs, mentors and several serving government officials, have circulated across newsrooms, social media platforms and WhatsApp groups under a single, damning caption: State coordinators of a “fake” Federal agency.
The National Brands Development and Made in Nigeria Special Project Office, which presented itself as an initiative operating under the Office of the Secretary to the Government of the Federation, has now been described by the Independent Corrupt Practices and Other Related Offences Commission as an unauthorised outfit. Its promoter, George Nwabueze, has been named by the commission in connection with the investigation, while President Bola Tinubu subsequently ordered his arrest and suspended three permanent secretaries over the matter.
All of that is serious. And it should be investigated. But there is another conclusion that has quietly attached itself to the story, one that deserves to be challenged: that everyone whose face appears on that office’s website must somehow have been part of the fraud. That conclusion has not been established. And it is precisely here that we need to slow down. I know some of the individuals swept into this story closely. Others, particularly a number of the Northern Nigerians named as State coordinators, I know only through their public records, their work and the reputation they have built over the years. I have watched some of them build businesses, mentor young people, support entrepreneurs, contribute to public policy, serve governments, establish initiatives and create opportunities for people who otherwise might never have had them. These are not obscure names that appeared from nowhere because of this controversy. They are, in several cases, among the people that younger Nigerians, particularly across the North, have looked up to for years. I say this not to preempt any investigation, and certainly not to ask that anyone be shielded from the law. If evidence establishes wrongdoing, whoever is responsible should answer for it. I say it because pedigree, record, conduct and character are also part of the facts that should be considered before a reputation is destroyed. And so the question deserves to be asked plainly. Is it a crime to be nominated?
Let us begin with what has actually been reported, rather than what has been assumed. TheCable reports that state governments received letters in 2025 requesting the nomination of coordinators for the National Brands Development and Made in Nigeria Special Project Office. Some states reportedly received reminders after failing to respond immediately. Most eventually nominated aides or members of their executive councils, people whom their governments presumably considered capable of undertaking the proposed assignment. The reported correspondence presented the project as a Federal initiative concerned with promoting Nigerian products, supporting businesses, encouraging local production and strengthening economic opportunities. TheCable’s reporting also indicates that the states were led to believe that the initiative was genuine, with the apparent involvement of officials connected to the Office of the Secretary to the Government of the Federation contributing to that impression.
Now pause for a moment. What exactly is the wrongdoing in being nominated by one’s State government for what appears to be a federal initiative? Is it a crime to be nominated? Is accepting a nomination evidence of conspiracy? Is appearing on an organisation’s website proof that one knew the organisation lacked lawful authority? Of course not.
PUNCH, while reporting the names of the twenty State coordinators, made an important qualification that has largely disappeared from the public conversation: inclusion on the list does not, by itself, establish that those individuals knew the organisation lacked government authorisation. That distinction matters.
That distinction rarely survives the retelling. The outlets that broke this story showed real editorial discipline: they hedged their language, attributed their claims, and stated plainly what had not been established. But a headline and a photograph do not stay inside that discipline for long. They pass into a second layer of publication, blogs and pages built to reproduce and reshare rather than to verify, where none of those qualifications travel with them. Somewhere in that journey, careful phrases like “was nominated” or “was listed” quietly become “was accused” or “was involved.” That is exactly how a photograph becomes a verdict: not because any single publication said so outright, but because repetition without qualification eventually does the work an actual allegation never did.
Consider Hafsat Sahabi Dange. Hafsat is not merely a name on a website. She is a lawyer, entrepreneur and development advocate whose professional record predates this controversy by years. She previously worked with the Corporate Affairs Commission before building her own corporate services enterprise. She founded the Association of Northern Women Entrepreneurs and has been recognised for her work in entrepreneurship, women’s economic empowerment and community development. Her association with the project, according to her public statement, began when she was informed that she had been nominated for the proposed position of Sokoto State Coordinator.
She says she did not establish the project, create its structure, administer its affairs or determine its governmental status. She says she understood from the representations made to her that she was being considered for participation in a Federal Government initiative.
More importantly, she says that when she received correspondence concerning her nomination, she sought clarification about the appropriate governmental protocol in Sokoto rather than presenting herself as a Federal Government representative. She was subsequently informed that the Sokoto State Government did not recognise her nomination. She did not assume the position, did not exercise governmental authority and declined an alternative national position.
She further states that she did not collect money from the public, receive or administer public funds, enter contracts on behalf of the project, issue governmental licences or approvals, recruit personnel or otherwise exercise governmental or operational authority on its behalf. She says she received no financial or other improper benefit and remains willing to cooperate with investigators.
Those are her assertions, and the appropriate authorities should establish what the evidence ultimately shows. But if those facts are accurate, then what exactly is she guilty of? Being nominated? Being photographed? Being associated with a project that presented itself as legitimate? Those are not interchangeable things. Being deceived is not the same thing as being a deceiver.
Dange has since gone further, engaging counsel and commencing formal legal correspondence with publications she believes misrepresented her role, as part of what she describes as lawful steps to protect her reputation and her digital footprint. Whatever the outcome, the fact that a professional felt compelled to resort to legal process simply to correct the record says something about how far the reputational damage in this story has already travelled beyond what the known facts would justify.
And Hafsat’s case matters beyond Hafsat herself because it illustrates the central problem with treating every photograph as evidence of complicity. The public record may eventually establish different levels of involvement among the various people whose names appeared on the project. Some may have known more than others. Some may have done nothing beyond accepting a nomination. Some may have withdrawn. Some may have participated more actively. The investigation should establish those differences. Our commentary should not erase them. What makes this particularly troubling in the North is that several of the people now being tried by photograph are not marginal figures who suddenly appeared in pursuit of an impressive sounding title. Their records existed before this controversy.
In Kaduna, Abdulhaleem Ishaq Ringim is a public policy and economic governance professional whose work has included government and economic development responsibilities. His public profile and professional history existed independently of this project.
In Katsina, Dr Babangida Kabir Ruma has built a public record around enterprise development, technology, entrepreneurship and government. His professional profile includes his role as Director General of the Katsina State Enterprise Development Agency. These are not people who needed a mysterious Federal appointment to acquire relevance. Their records already existed. Their governments already trusted them. Their communities already knew them. Their professional networks already recognised them. And that is precisely why they could plausibly have been selected.
The same point applies to others among the Northern Nigerians whose names have circulated in connection with this controversy. Several have backgrounds in law, public administration, economic development, entrepreneurship, policy, tourism, technology and government. Their professional standing does not constitute a legal defence. But neither should it be erased from the story. Why did the States nominate them? Perhaps because they were considered suitable. Perhaps because they were trusted. Perhaps because they had demonstrated capacity. Perhaps because the proposed mandate, on its face, was entirely consistent with the kind of work they were already doing. In other words, the very qualities that made some of these people credible candidates may also have made the purported Federal initiative more convincing to them. That irony deserves attention.
There is another reason the question of reasonable reliance cannot simply be dismissed. In December 2024, the Federal Ministry of Information and National Orientation published a report on a Regional and State Coordinators Conference of Made in Nigeria in Abuja. The report was published on an official Federal Government website. It was not a social media post from an unknown organisation. The publication referred to Mohammed Sanusi Danjuma, then Permanent Secretary, Special Services Office and Supervising Permanent Secretary, Political and Economic Affairs Office in the OSGF, in connection with the conference. It also identified George Nwabueze as the National Coordinator of the Made in Nigeria Project under the International Organisation Department in the OSGF. That is significant. It does not, by itself, establish that the project was legally constituted. But it does establish something else: the appearance of legitimacy was not created solely by the people who were eventually listed as state coordinators.
It was reinforced by an official Federal Government communication. So ask yourself again. What reasonable person, receiving an apparently official request from a Federal project and seeing that same project represented through an official Federal Government communication platform, would automatically assume that the entire thing was fraudulent? This is not an argument that the project was therefore legitimate. It is an argument about reasonable reliance. There is a difference.
That reinforcement did not come from nowhere. Section 5(1)(a) of the 1999 Constitution vests the executive powers of the Federation in the President, to be exercised either directly or through officers in the public service of the Federation. Section 171 places the Secretary to the Government of the Federation among the offices the President appoints directly, alongside permanent secretaries and heads of extra-ministerial departments. The OSGF itself describes its own role as the frontline advisory institution of the Presidency, responsible for coordinating and monitoring the implementation of government policy across ministries, departments and agencies. None of that makes the Made in Nigeria project lawful; if the ICPC’s findings hold, it plainly was not. But it explains why correspondence that appeared to emanate from, or connect to, that office carried real institutional weight. Relying on what looked like an OSGF communication was not carelessness. It was exactly what the structure of Nigerian government trains people to do.
There is also the purported appointment letter reported by Premium Times, dated October 3, 2025 and said to have been issued on OSGF letterhead. The reported document purportedly appointed George Nwabueze as National Coordinator and Executive Director of the Made in Nigeria Project Office and referred to temporary office space within the OSGF complex. Premium Times was appropriately careful to state that it could not independently verify the authenticity of the document. That caveat must remain. But so must the document itself as an investigative question. If it is genuine, it raises serious questions. If it is not genuine, that too raises serious questions.
Who created it? Who signed it? Who authorised its use? Who received it? Who acted upon it? And how did such a document, if authentic, coexist with the position now being advanced that the organisation had no presidential authorisation?
These are not questions for social media. They are questions for investigators. There is a tendency in public discourse to collapse several very different things into one. Association becomes participation. Participation becomes knowledge. Knowledge becomes conspiracy. And conspiracy becomes guilt. That is not how justice works. Someone can be associated with an organisation without knowing that it is unauthorised. Someone can participate in a programme without knowing that the person presenting it has misrepresented his authority. Someone can accept an appointment without knowing that the appointment itself is defective. Someone can even be genuinely deceived. The law must establish where each individual sits on that spectrum. Not social media. Not WhatsApp. Not photographs. Not political enemies. Not people who simply never liked them.
There is another issue I cannot ignore. Across Northern Nigeria, many of these individuals have spent years doing things that do not make newspaper headlines. They have trained people.
Mentored young entrepreneurs. Supported students. Built businesses. Created networks. Worked in government. Advocated for women. Promoted enterprise development. Supported communities. Created opportunities. Some have done so with considerable personal sacrifice.
Where are the people who benefited from that work now? Where are the mentees? Where are the entrepreneurs who received support? Where are the young people who were trained? Where are the beneficiaries of scholarship and mentorship initiatives? Where are the people whose businesses, careers or opportunities were helped by these individuals? Why are we so quick to circulate a photograph that creates suspicion and so slow to speak about years of documented contribution?
This is not a call for people to manufacture testimonials. It is a call for balance. If we know someone’s record to be good, and we have no evidence that the person knowingly participated in wrongdoing, we should have the courage to say so. If we cannot say anything positive, perhaps we should at least have the restraint not to say something destructive. Silence is sometimes more responsible than reckless judgment. I know some will say that I am defending my friends. Perhaps. I know some of them. And I make no apology for knowing people whose records I respect. But knowing someone does not prevent me from demanding that the law apply to them. Indeed, knowing them gives me an additional reason to insist that the standard applied to them should be the same standard applied to everyone else. If they are guilty, let the evidence establish it. If they are innocent, let the evidence establish that too. If they were careless, let that be acknowledged. If they were deceived, let that be acknowledged. If governments made mistakes in nominating them, let governments own those mistakes. If Federal officials enabled the deception, let them answer for it. If the system failed, fix the system. That is not favouritism. That is accountability without hysteria.
A person’s reputation cannot be reduced to a photograph. And neither should a person’s innocence be manufactured simply because we happen to like them. The same standard must apply in both directions. Investigate. Verify. Establish. Distinguish. Then judge. That is what evidence requires. The evidence so far may tell us that something went seriously wrong. But it does not yet tell us that everyone whose photograph appeared on the project website was part of that wrongdoing.
The fraud, by every account so far, was Federal. Why, then, did the blame go local?
Suleiman writes from Abuja. He is a Management, Governance and Security Consultant, and an AI Policy and Governance enthusiast. He can be reached via [email protected].
