Happy birthday Martin Ohwo. Many happy returns of the day.

The United Nations at 80: Democracy or Hypocrisy.

As the United Nations marks its 80th General Assembly, one would expect a moment of sober reflection, a chance to celebrate global cooperation, reassert the values of human dignity, and renew the commitment to universal dialogue. Instead, the event has been overshadowed by glaring contradictions that strike at the very heart of what the UN is supposed to represent. The denial of entry to leaders from Colombia and Palestine, and the continued chokehold of the Security Council veto, force us to ask an uncomfortable but necessary question: is the UN truly democratic, or has it become an institution that enshrines inequality under the guise of internationalism?


The most immediate controversy at this year’s Assembly was the exclusion of certain leaders by the host nation, the United States. While the UN Charter guarantees equality among member states, the reality is that the host country enjoys de facto control over who is physically allowed into the General Assembly hall. When Washington denies visas to heads of state or foreign ministers, it does more than inconvenience individuals; it undermines the sovereignty of their nations and strips millions of people of their right to be represented on the world stage.

This practice, though not unprecedented, has always been controversial. During the Cold War, Soviet diplomats were occasionally restricted in their movements within the United States. More recently, Iranian leaders have complained of delays or denials of entry. But what we see now is more blatant; attendance at the UN has been reduced to a political privilege, dispensed according to the interests of the host rather than the universal principles the UN claims to embody. The symbolism is devastating. If some nations can be silenced at will, what message does that send about the supposed equality of all states?

The problem is structural. By locating the UN headquarters in New York, the world effectively gave one nation, the United States of America, the power to serve as gatekeeper of global deliberation. That power has now been weaponized, turning the UN into a stage where the script is influenced not by the collective will of humanity but by the political calculations of a single government. The issue is not whether the United States has the right under domestic law to grant or deny visas; it is whether the global community can tolerate such a fundamental distortion of what is meant to be a neutral space of dialogue.


If the host nation’s control over attendance is troubling, the veto power of the Security Council’s permanent members is catastrophic. For 80 years, the veto has functioned as an instrument of impunity, shielding powerful nations and their allies from accountability while nullifying the voices of the majority.


The UN Charter’s architects, in the aftermath of World War II, sought to prevent future global conflicts by vesting exceptional powers in the victors; the United States, the Soviet Union (now Russia), China, the United Kingdom, and France. The logic was brutally pragmatic: without special privileges, the great powers might not participate at all. Yet what was conceived as a safeguard against paralysis has itself become the source of paralysis.


Consider the record. Efforts to condemn apartheid South Africa were repeatedly blocked by Western vetoes during the Cold War. More recently, Russia has vetoed resolutions concerning Syria’s civil war and its invasion of Ukraine. The United States has consistently vetoed resolutions critical of Israel’s treatment of Palestinians. Each veto has the same effect: it renders the majority will meaningless. Ninety or 180 countries may agree on a course of action, but if just one permanent member objects, the matter is dead.


This is not democracy; it is oligarchy on a global scale. Worse still, it is an oligarchy that enshrines wartime power dynamics from 1945 as eternal truths. The populations of Africa, Latin America, South Asia, and the Middle East, home to the majority of humanity, remain excluded from permanent representation at the Security Council table. The message is unmistakable; your voices count only until they collide with the interests of the five.


The twin issues of exclusion and veto lead to a disturbing conclusion. When the votes of 188 nations can be nullified by one of five of the permanent seat members of the Security Council, and when leaders representing millions are denied even the right to speak, what is being communicated is that not all humanity is equal. The citizens of countries outside the permanent members are implicitly treated as less human, their voices less legitimate, and their interests expendable.


This is not a rhetorical exaggeration. In moments of planetary crisis, climate change, pandemics, and nuclear proliferation, the decisions of the few carry consequences for all. Yet billions find themselves disenfranchised at the global level. The irony is bitter; at a time when democracy is championed as the universal political ideal, the world’s foremost international institution operates on principles that would be considered unacceptable in any democratic society.



The UN Charter famously begins with the words “We the Peoples.” But eighty years on, those words ring hollow. What we have is not the voice of the peoples but the dominance of a few states. The General Assembly, where every nation has one vote, is often celebrated as the democratic heart of the UN. Yet its resolutions are non-binding, symbolic gestures that can be ignored at will. Real power lies in the Security Council, where democracy ends and hierarchy reigns.

Even the General Assembly itself is compromised by the politics of attendance. If the host nation can deny entry to certain leaders, then the “parliament of humanity” becomes little more than a managed show. It is a bitter irony that the world’s only universal gathering of states can be reduced to a selective club meeting.



The need for reform has long been acknowledged, but progress remains elusive. Proposals to expand the Security Council, abolish the veto, or relocate the UN headquarters have been discussed for decades. None has gained serious traction, precisely because any reform requires the consent of the very powers who benefit from the status quo. The foxes will not redesign the henhouse.


Yet the urgency of reform has never been greater. Climate change is a test of collective action that will not wait for diplomatic games. Pandemics spread without regard to veto politics. Wars and refugee crises demand global solidarity, not selective interventions. If the UN continues to function as a stage for great power rivalry, it risks irrelevance in the very moments it is most needed.


We are confronted with the urgent need to strip the host nation of unilateral power over attendance by creating a binding international protocol that guarantees entry for accredited leaders. History shows that we cannot even campaign for voluntary restraint of the veto, as some nations have suggested in cases of mass atrocities. At the end, the deeper question is whether humanity can continue to tolerate a system that enshrines permanent inequality.




The UN was born from the ruins of global war, animated by the hope that humanity could govern itself with justice and equality. Eight decades later, that hope remains unfulfilled. Instead, we see hypocrisy, the rhetoric of equality alongside the reality of hierarchy, the promise of inclusion alongside the practice of exclusion.


The denial of entry to Colombian and Palestinian leaders may seem a procedural issue, but it is emblematic of something larger. It shows how fragile the notion of universality really is, how quickly principles give way to politics. Combined with the veto system, it reminds us that the UN is not the parliament of humanity but the preserve of the few.


If the UN is to remain relevant, it must confront this hypocrisy head-on. It must reform itself, even against the inertia of the powerful. Otherwise, it will become what many already suspect it to be; a theatre where lofty speeches mask the fact that global democracy has never truly existed.


Eighty years on, the question is unavoidable; do we still believe in “We the Peoples,” or have we resigned ourselves to “We the Powerful”? Until the answer changes, the UN will remain not a symbol of humanity’s common voice, but of its silenced majority.

Dr. EK Gwuru writes from Nkolo Ikembe.

Nigeria 2027: Why the Future Belongs to the Youth.

Nigeria is once again on the cusp of another defining moment. As 2027 approaches, the familiar drumbeats of electioneering grow louder. Bola Ahmed Tinubu, the incumbent president, will predictably stand on the platform of the All Progressives Congress (APC), a party whose two terms in power have left the nation reeling under economic hardship, institutional distrust, and a crushing sense of disillusionment. On the other side, the opposition appears to be preparing a coalition of familiar names: Atiku Abubakar, Rotimi Amaechi, and Peter Obi.

But here lies the crux of the matter: Nigeria cannot afford to return to the era of recycled politicians whose resumes are long on promises and short on delivery. For the generation that is young, digitally connected, and restless for change, the only viable candidate is Peter Obi.

A Generation Betrayed, Yet Unbowed
Young Nigerians today have grown up in a country where poverty is normalized, insecurity is rampant, and governance is an elite sport played at the expense of ordinary citizens. From the bloodied cries of EndSARS protesters in 2020 to the dashed hopes of the 2023 elections, the youth have learned, painfully, that Nigerian politics is designed to resist their aspirations. Yet, they refuse to be silenced. The Obidient Movement did not fade after 2023, it has matured, deepened, and built a consciousness that politics must be reclaimed by those who suffer its failures the most.


Peter Obi represents that reclamation. He is not perfect, but his record and message resonate with the urgency of this generation: prudence in governance, integrity in public service, and a vision that aligns with the realities of the 21st century. He speaks the language of accountability, not entitlement. Unlike Atiku Abubakar or Rotimi Amaechi, whose political careers are defined by shifting alliances and old-guard politics, Obi offers the possibility of a clean break.


The Fallacy of “Experience”
The establishment will argue that Atiku or Amaechi brings the “experience” needed to govern Nigeria. But what kind of experience are we speaking of? The experience of participating in decades of misrule? The experience of entrenched patronage networks that have impoverished millions while enriching a select few? The youth know better. We are tired of leaders who confuse longevity with leadership, who mistake surviving in Nigeria’s toxic political environment for competence.


Peter Obi’s experience is different. It is the experience of fiscal discipline in Anambra, where he prioritized education, infrastructure, and savings over the flamboyance of office. It is the experience of being underestimated, mocked, and resisted, yet still delivering. It is the experience of facing the Nigerian political machine in 2023 and showing the world that a third force is possible.


The Youth Factor in 2027
In 2023, despite systemic barriers, voter suppression, and widespread cynicism, millions of young Nigerians came out to vote for Peter Obi. They mobilized without the billions that oil-soaked politicians routinely pour into campaigns. They organized with creativity and resilience, transforming social media platforms into political battlefields. That energy has not vanished. If anything, the failures of the Tinubu administration; rising inflation, collapsing naira, worsening insecurity, will only sharpen the determination of young voters in 2027.
The question is not whether the youth will participate, but whether the opposition will give them a candidate they can rally behind. Atiku and Amaechi cannot ignite that passion. They represent the very politics the youth reject. Peter Obi alone commands the trust and moral authority to unite this demographic into a decisive force.


A Coalition or a Concession?
The talk of a coalition in the opposition is, on its face, a welcome development. Nigeria’s presidential elections are rarely won in isolation; coalition-building is necessary. But coalitions built around old faces, and broken promises are nothing more than concessions to the status quo. If the coalition sidelines Peter Obi, it will not be a coalition of change but a coalition of compromise, and young people will see through it.

Instead, the coalition must recognize the obvious truth: Peter Obi is the only candidate with the credibility, youth support, and grassroots energy to challenge Tinubu’s APC. A coalition that positions Obi as its flagbearer will not only consolidate the opposition but will also electrify the electorate, bringing millions of disenchanted Nigerians back into the democratic process.


The Future Cannot Wait
Nigeria’s future cannot wait for another cycle of recycled politicians. Atiku had his chance, and the optics of zoning does not favour him. Amaechi has had his. Tinubu is currently squandering his. What Nigeria needs now is a leader who embodies the hunger for a new political order.

The youth are not asking for miracles. They are asking for leaders who are accountable, who govern with transparency, who understand that public office is service, not a prize. Peter Obi may not be a saint, but he is the closest thing Nigeria has to a leader who embodies these values.
2027 must not be another exercise in choosing the “lesser evil.” It must be the moment Nigeria decisively turns the page. For the young, the choice is clear; the future belongs to Peter Obi.

Dr. EK Gwuru writes from Nkolo Ikembe.

The $100,000 Barrier: How Trump’s Visa Fee Could Reshape America’s Talent Economy and Supercharge Global Outsourcing.

When President Donald Trump signed his latest executive order, few expected the shockwave that followed. With the stroke of a pen, the White House declared that companies must pay a $100,000 annual fee for every skilled worker visa holder they employ. The measure, justified under the familiar banners of “protecting American jobs” and “ending abuse of the H-1B system,” promises to be one of the most consequential labour-market interventions in U.S. history. Its implications extend well beyond Silicon Valley boardrooms and into the very foundations of America’s global competitiveness.

At first glance, the order appears simple; tax companies heavily for relying on foreign talent. But beneath its surface lies a tangled web of economic, social, and geopolitical consequences that could dramatically alter the trajectory of the U.S. economy, the global tech industry, and the dreams of millions of skilled workers around the world.


For decades, the United States has thrived on a singular advantage: its ability to attract and retain the best minds from around the globe. The H-1B visa program, while flawed, has been the lifeblood of this system. Nearly 70 percent of U.S. tech companies employ foreign-born engineers, scientists, or researchers, and immigrants have founded more than half of America’s billion-dollar startups. From Google’s Sergey Brin to Tesla’s Elon Musk, America’s story of innovation is inseparable from its story of immigration.
The new fee threatens to sever this lifeline. At $100,000 per year, employing a skilled foreign worker would cost more than the average U.S. salary in many STEM fields. Even giants like Amazon, Meta, and Microsoft, who collectively sponsor thousands of H-1B workers annually, would face staggering costs running into the billions. Smaller startups and mid-sized firms, the very companies that drive job creation, would be priced out entirely.
In practice, the order is not just a tax. It is a deterrent, designed to discourage companies from sponsoring foreign workers at all. And if that deterrent works, the consequences for America’s talent economy will be profound.


Supporters of the order argue that it will “protect” American workers, ensuring that U.S. citizens and permanent residents get first access to high-paying tech jobs. There is some truth here. In the short term, fewer H-1B workers would mean reduced competition for domestic talent, leading to higher wages and stronger bargaining power for American engineers and developers.
But this short-term gain carries a long-term cost. The reason companies rely on H-1B workers is not just cheaper labour; it is availability. In cutting-edge sectors like artificial intelligence, cybersecurity, and semiconductor design, there simply aren’t enough qualified Americans to fill demand. The National Foundation for American Policy estimates that there are over two STEM job openings for every unemployed STEM worker in the U.S. Cutting off the pipeline of global talent doesn’t fix this shortage, it worsens it.
The inevitable result, without doubt, will be slower innovation, fewer startups, and an America less competitive on the world stage.


While U.S. policymakers may celebrate the order as a victory for American workers, one group is quietly cheering louder: global outsourcing firms.
For decades, companies like Infosys, Tata Consultancy Services (TCS), Wipro, and Cognizant have built empires by supplying skilled workers to U.S. firms, both onshore and offshore. Traditionally, they relied heavily on H-1B visas to place workers inside the U.S. at client sites. The new fee obliterates this model. However, rather than spelling their demise, it forces a transformation; one that works squarely in their favour.
Instead of sending Indian engineers to the U.S., these firms will keep them in Bengaluru, Hyderabad, or Pune, delivering services remotely. American companies, unable to afford $100,000 per visa, will have no choice but to shift more projects overseas. The result is a massive acceleration of offshoring.
In effect, Trump’s order exports not just workers, but entire industries. By making it impossible to bring talent to America, the policy incentivizes American companies to take their projects abroad. The irony is stark: a policy framed as “America First” may, in practice, deliver “India First,” “Poland First,” or “Brazil First,” and, even, “Nigeria First.”


America’s loss will be another nation’s gain. For years, Canada has positioned itself as a friendlier alternative to the U.S. for skilled immigrants, offering expedited visas and a welcoming environment. In 2022, Canada launched a special work permit program for H-1B holders stuck in U.S. visa limbo. Within days, it hit its quota of 10,000 applicants. With a $100,000 annual fee looming in the U.S., Canada’s appeal will soar.
Europe, too, stands to benefit. Countries like Germany, Ireland, and the Netherlands have been aggressively courting tech talent to fuel their digital economies. Australia and Singapore are also likely winners, offering stable markets and clear immigration pathways.
The outcome is predictable: the global talent that once funnelled into Silicon Valley will be redistributed. Instead of America attracting the best and brightest, it will watch them head elsewhere. The “brain drain” once feared by developing countries may become a self-inflicted wound for the United States.


Perhaps the most alarming consequence of the order is its chilling effect on innovation. Many of America’s greatest technological breakthroughs have come not from Fortune 500 firms, but from scrappy startups fuelled by immigrant founders and employees. Research shows that immigrants are nearly twice as likely to start companies as native-born citizens, and their ventures disproportionately drive job growth.
If the $100,000 fee stands, these startups face a stark choice: pay a prohibitive cost to sponsor talent or build their companies abroad. For many, the decision will be easy. A founder in San Francisco may decide to relocate to Toronto or Berlin, where talent is cheaper and immigration rules friendlier. A graduate student in AI may accept a job in Toronto instead of Mountain View. The long-term effect is a steady erosion of America’s status as the global hub of innovation.


Faced with talent shortages and higher costs, U.S. companies will inevitably turn to automation. Artificial intelligence, robotics, and low-code platforms will become substitutes for human workers. On paper, this aligns with Trump’s promise to make America more technologically competitive. But in practice, automation is not a perfect substitute for skilled labour. Machines can replace repetitive tasks, but they cannot replace the creativity, intuition, and problem-solving capacity of skilled human engineers.
Moreover, an overreliance on automation risks hollowing out the very workforce the policy aims to protect. If American companies are forced to choose between hiring a $250,000 domestic engineer, a $100,000 visa-holder plus fee, or a suite of AI tools at a fraction of the cost, many will choose the machines. The result could be fewer jobs for everyone, American and immigrant alike.


Investors are acutely sensitive to talent availability. Venture capitalists back companies based not just on ideas, but on whether the teams behind them can execute. If talent becomes too expensive or inaccessible in the U.S., investors may shift capital to markets where the ecosystem is healthier.
This capital flight could reshape the geography of innovation. Silicon Valley, once the unquestioned epicentre of global technology, risks losing its dominance. Cities like Toronto, Berlin, Lagos, and Singapore may rise in its place. For the U.S. economy, this would represent not just a loss of jobs, but a loss of prestige and strategic advantage.

Beyond economics, the order carries profound geopolitical implications. In the global competition between the U.S. and China, talent is the ultimate currency. China has invested billions in STEM education and actively recruits overseas talent through programs like the Thousand Talents Plan. By shutting its doors, the U.S. effectively cedes ground to its greatest rival.
The message to the world is clear; America no longer wants your best and brightest. For countries competing with the U.S., this is an opportunity. For America’s allies, it is a warning that the country may be turning inward at the expense of shared prosperity.

The executive order may be framed as a populist measure, a bold stand for American workers against a global system that exploits them. But in practice, it is less a solution than a surrender. By pricing out skilled immigrants, America risks weakening its own economy, empowering its competitors, and undermining the very workers it seeks to protect.
The $100,000 question policymakers must ask is simple: Can America afford to shut itself off from the world’s talent at a moment when innovation determines global power? If history offers any lesson, it is that walls, whether physical or bureaucratic, rarely lead to greatness.
America became an economic superpower not because it feared the world’s talent, but because it embraced it. To forget that is to risk trading a future of leadership for a fleeting illusion of protection.


Dr. EK Gwuru writes from Nkolo Ikembe.

The Parable of Okeite, Onye Akpili, and the People of Ikembe.
It was in the year 1853 that the land of Ikembe prepared for its great end-of-year Assembly. This Assembly was not like other meetings; it was the market day of destiny. Drums were polished, kola nuts were broken, and the people of the six villages gathered to choose the next President General of Ndi Ikembe.

The post was like the tortoise’s shell: whoever wore it carried both pride and burden. By ancient custom, it rotated from village to village, so that no one hand would grasp the yam and the knife forever.

But men are restless creatures. When the moon stays too long in the sky, the stars begin to grumble.

The Plot of Ewu Kanbia
The incumbent, Ewu Kanbia, was a man who had sat too long on the stool of power. He was stern, slow to listen, and tighter than the lid of an oil jar. Instead of honouring the rotation, he sought to plant his cousin on the stool after him.

“Does he think we are blind goats tethered to a stump?” the people asked in whispers. “Even yam tendrils know how to find new ground.”

It was then that Okeite, the fox of Ikembe politics, sharpened his mind. Years ago, he had helped Ewu Kanbia seize power, but loyalty is like rain: once it falls and dries, the ground seeks the next shower.

Okeite called his circle of streetwise men. They met in the corner where the lamp never reached, and their whispers were louder than market noise to those who knew how to listen.

“Okeite,” one of them said, “Ewu Kanbia wants to cheat the rotation. Shall we fight him in the open square?”

Okeite shook his head slowly. “The lizard that jumped from the high iroko tree said it would praise itself if no one else did. Let us instead use another man’s greed to open the gate for us.”

The Foolishness of Onye Akpili
So they turned their eyes to Onye Akpili, the treasurer of Ikembe, keeper of the people’s purse. His chest was broad, but his eyes were always fixed on the next title.

“Okeite,” another of his men said, “that one is like a goat following the scent of palm leaves. Entice him with the dream of the stool, and he will walk straight into the trap.”

They invited him under the guise of friendship. Okeite himself spoke:
“Brother, the Assembly needs new blood. Why should you not be President General? You hold the purse; you hold the key. Stand with us, and the stool shall be yours.”

Onye Akpili’s eyes widened like a child offered roasted yam. He rubbed his hands and said, “If the toad jumps into the water, it must have seen something. I will not refuse this chance. Count me in.”

He even ran to Ewu Kanbia, puffing up his chest: “Know this, I too seek the stool. Let the game begin!”


But Okeite and his men only sought silver, not loyalty. They demanded heavy payment. Onye Akpili opened the treasury like a cracked pot, and his cousin Akujala of Ikembe Journal stood as guarantor. The money was given. Then silence. The river swallowed the stone, and no ripple returned.

The Trick of Currency
When Onye Akpili discovered the deceit, he staggered to Ewu Kanbia like a man who drank palm wine without food. Together they hatched a plot crueller than harmattan wind: “Let us declare,” said Ewu Kanbia, “that the very money he has taken, and every currency in Ikembe, is no longer money!”

And so, it was. Overnight, the wealth of Ikembe turned to dry leaves. Traders at the market wailed. Mothers could not buy salt. Grooms postponed their bride-price. Confusion spread like bushfire.

Onye Akpili laboured to bring a new currency, hoping to starve Okeite’s war chest. But Okeite was no ordinary man. He smiled and said, “When the drum beats change, the dancer must change his steps.”

The Midnight Proclamation
On the night of the Assembly, Okeite struck again. The umpire, keeper of the people’s voice, was ambushed. At the ghostly hour of 2 a.m., while the cock still slept, the umpire proclaimed: “Hear, O Ndi Ikembe! Okeite is your new President General!”

The town erupted like a pot of boiling soup. Cries rose: “This is fraud! This is trickery!” The people ran to Nnanyi Ogwugwu, the oldest man in Ikembe, whose wisdom was said to pierce even the dark of a clay pot.

“Nnanyi,” they cried, “see what has been done to us! Judge this matter!”
But unknown to them, Okeite had already knelt at Nnanyi Ogwugwu’s shrine with kola and palm oil before the Assembly.

The old man peered into his bag, muttered incantations, and then declared: “I see nothing.”

The people sighed. “When the elder eats all the meat, the children must chew the bones.” And they returned home, bitter and broken.

From that day, Okeite sat as President General of Ikembe.

The Fall of Onye Akpili
But Onye Akpili’s troubles had only begun. One dawn, guards seized him. The charge? That he had supplied two cutlasses to louts who troubled Ikembe long before he became treasurer.

Month after month, he was dragged before courts. New charges sprouted like mushrooms: theft, conspiracy, even the absurd claim that he secretly owned a whole village!

People whispered, “When a man who dreamed of becoming king is now accused of owning villages, the gods are laughing.”

Onye Akpili, once proud treasurer, became the town’s scapegoat, paraded and shamed until even children mocked his name.

Reflections in Ikembe
The parable became a lesson told under the moonlight:
• On ambition: “The chick that leaves its shell too early will meet the hawk.” Onye Akpili’s hunger blinded him; his dream of the stool turned to ashes.
• On power: “The hand that gives kola can also seize the knife.” Okeite showed that power bends customs, elders, and even truth itself.
• On justice: “When the cock crows at midnight, it is not crowing for the farmer.” The midnight proclamation proved that in Ikembe, rules are written by those who hold the stick.
• On the people: “When two elephants fight, it is the grass that suffers.” It was Ndi Ikembe who bore the hunger, the confusion, and the shame.

And so, the elders of Ikembe would end the tale with a sigh:
“Let us pray that our yam and knife never fall into the hands of men who see us as pawns. For if the lizard of the homestead cannot protect its tail, who shall protect it?”

Finally, the youth chant x3:
Ikembe, Ikembe, land of six villages…
If we do not guard our stool, strangers will sit on it.
If we do not guard our yam, the clever fox will eat it.
And the elder ends: “Let the story be told, lest we forget.”

Dr. EK Gwuru writes from Ikembe.