The Influencer as Oracle: How Nigeria Learned to Overrate the Loudest Voices in the Room
If I were to pick the most misused word in Nigeria, it would have to be the term “influence.” For some strange reason, we seem to think that a strong online presence means an individual is worth listening to. So, we appear to believe that someone trending with a social media post is a thought leader, and that insulting and mocking elected leaders makes one an activist. To the extent that these are obvious errors, we must ask the hard questions – what really motivates the people whom we have collectively promoted as influencers? What do they actually believe? And do we err by continuing to listen to them?
Recent events – including the public exchanges between Babatunde Kolade Otitoju of TVC and Kayode Ogundamisi – provide the perfect context for a critical look at the broad issue of media, influence, and politics. Taken in isolation, the Otitoju and Ogundamisi matter had everything in a media controversy bordering on the vexed subject of “paid influence,” with people rushing to take sides. However, and probably as evidence of what the “influencer economy” has become, there was little or no substance in all the noise. Were arguments emotive? Yes, but was there hard evidence of one media personality being a paid hireling? No, even if the noise suggested something different.
Still, it forces us to rethink the critical question of whom we can crown as opinion moulders. Even if we misapply the term, we at least must respect the intellectual history behind the concept. In its more classical application, the term is used to describe those whom society collectively trusts to interpret information and who have earned credibility in the process. However, in the social media era, visibility is rewarded instead of credibility. We won’t be too far from the truth to say that reaching millions is a result of algorithmic amplification, not trust. A piece of content trending is not confirmation that people believe. Social media platforms reward outrage.
Just a few examples will do. Japhet Omojuwa, arguably one of the “most visible commentators of his generation,” in 2013, tweeted a dismissive response to Goodluck Jonathan’s invitation to ring the closing bell at the New York Stock Exchange: “Jonathan is ringing the closing bell at the NYSE I think on Monday. One of these lowlives is expecting us to applaud him for that. LOL.” Yet in 2023, when President Bola Tinubu was asked to attend a similar ceremony at the NASDAQ, his response was markedly different as he tweeted: “US Chamber of Commerce invites Tinubu to ring NASDAQ closing bell Sept 20 | Nigeria’s President Tinubu is shaping up to be the darling of Corporate America. I know every Nigerian is excited about this.”
If this pattern were isolated, it would not be worrying, but his tendency for situational positioning appears more pronounced than at first glance. In 2012, Omojuwa was at the forefront of the #OccupyNigeria protests against fuel subsidy removal, in the aftermath of which I actually interviewed him for my MA thesis titled, “Social Media and Political Activism in Nigeria: A Marriage Made in Heaven or Just a One Night Stand?”. His tweet then, “It cost us 75% of our wealth to run the government and 25% to run the country. THIS MUST CHANGE!,” is at variance with his arguments in 2016, when the Buhari administration increased petrol prices. His argument that Jonathan’s subsidy removal was corrupt while Buhari’s was economically necessary might sound coherent, but it raises questions about any fixed principle guiding his commentary. Let’s be sure: Once “opinion moulders” have to explain their shifting positions, then there is a likelihood that they are merely navigating power and which government to support.
One more example here. In the run-up to the 2023 election, Reno Omokri was one of the most dramatic in his criticisms of Bola Tinubu, repeatedly describing him as a “KNOWN DRUG LORD” who was “not a fit and proper person to occupy the office of the President of Nigeria.” He claimed to have obtained court documents from Chicago proving his allegations. In his words, electing Tinubu “will have a very negative effect on our economy.” Remarkably, after Tinubu’s victory at the polls, Omokri sounded totally different, tweeting that Tinubu was “turning out to be one of the most progressive Presidents in our recent history.” From describing Tinubu’s reforms as an “economic miracle” to declaring that “President Tinubu is not, has never been, and will never be a drug lord,” Reno’s volte-face was complete. His acceptance of a nomination as a non-career ambassador after previously stating that working for Tinubu was “against my principles” and “never going to happen” only confirmed that this was a careerist abandoning principles at the first appearance of an opportunity.
The fact that he “admits” that his allegations were based on dubious information does not mask the deeper issues with people like him. If you describe the same person as a “known drug lord” and, four years later, as “the best thing for Nigeria,” your political analysis loses any claim to credibility. Sadly, the more we interrogate this issue, the more confounding it seems. The penchant of people like Reno to shift positions based on questionable motivations appears to be the logical endpoint of an influencer economy in which commentary is a service that can be bought, sold, and repackaged. An investigative story by BuzzFeed News into a shady campaign in support of Alex Saab, a Colombian businessman charged with money laundering and accused of helping the Venezuelan government evade sanctions, and the sleazy roles of about 40 Nigerian influencers, strengthens this feeling.
Fronted by Alpha Reach, the PR firm with links to Omojuwa, the influencers were said to have been paid between $6.50 and $15 per tweet in support of the #FreeAlexSaab campaign. The report quoted Omojuwa as saying he was not involved but acknowledged that it was “possible” his team worked on it. Twitter suspended more than 1,500 accounts for manipulating the hashtag. The campaign is not an outlier but a normal business model for the influencer economy. Nigerian influencers, presenting a public image as civic voices but moonlighting as PR and publicists for shady causes. Tweeting for a cause for which you have been paid with no full disclosure of either payments or the interests behind the campaign is not just dubious but criminal. Social activism has long been exploited by smart crooks in a similar fashion in the past. Trade union leaders used the same format of selfless crusaders fighting for the people to negotiate their ways into lucrative political appointments. The influencer economy functions the same way, with clout serving as a form of social capital to be accumulated and later converted into political appointments, media contracts, NGO funding, and international fellowships.
If we were to be honest, the model is not inherently corrupt, but it perverts the claims to activism because the incentives are questionable. When personal gains are the principal motivation, there is a tendency to remain ideologically flexible, because flexibility increases marketability. In itself, that is a big problem, as the absence of a coherent ideology guiding many so-called influencers means they lack any foundation in a set of beliefs about how society should be organised. Opposing a policy in one administration and tweeting in support of the same under another is not hypocrisy, which in fact requires a standard to betray. Nigerian influencers are mostly transactional; they will tweet for the highest bidder. The problem is that Nigerians have confused “smooth” influencers with public intellectuals for too long. Where the latter helps a society understand itself, the former helps itself to attention.
Where does this lead us? From where I stand, it looks like the question is easier to ask than to answer. Even if enforcement would be difficult, we need to begin canvassing for disclosure of paid political content. While that would be a starting point, it’s reached the point where the media industry collectively stops treating influencers as authoritative sources. For the gullible followers, it’s high time they started to ask critical questions: Who is paying for this post? Is this influencer personally benefiting from this post? What do they actually believe
These are straightforward questions that we have collectively failed to ask because choosing a side and defending it is the path of least resistance. The Otitoju–Ogundamisi controversy won’t last. As I finalise this, the Lere Olayinka-Rufai Oseni feud is already big on social media. There will always be trending hashtags to push as one more influencer being hailed as an opinion moulder, an activist, and a voice for the people. What won’t go away is the sad reality that we have built serious public discourse on paid tweets and borrowed outrage. Perhaps that is the point. The noise is not a by-product of the influencer economy. It is the product. Unfortunately, for as long as we don’t learn to listen past it, the loudest voices will continue to be mistaken for the wisest.
