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In Part 2, the column delves deeper into the generational divide in evaluating leadership. It emphasizes why young Nigerians question current policies, how succession and inclusion affect their perspective, and what meaningful leadership should look like to bridge the gap between past experience and present reality.
Today’s column is written by Onyia Chidera Melissa. She does not support the previous article. In fact, her piece is a response to it – a thoughtful critique from a younger generation observing governance and leadership from the realities of daily life, rather than from decades of political memory. She writes to question assumptions, challenge conclusions, and share a perspective that is often missing from the national conversation.
Disagreement is not rebellion. It is not an attack. It is not a lack of respect. It is simply part of being human, especially when we are talking about leadership and politics. Every generation interprets leadership differently because every generation experiences its consequences differently.
There was a time when succession was almost a sacred idea. The older generation prepared the younger generation to take over. In business, in community leadership, even in politics, there was a culture of mentorship and continuity. Leaders understood that real success was not just about how long they stayed in power, but about what they left behind and who they prepared to continue the journey. Dr. Newton Jibunoh once said that the real test of leadership is succession that leaving behind a path others can trade on and go further than you could ever go is the true definition of success. That statement carries wisdom, especially coming from someone who has watched Nigeria evolve over decades.
At 88, Dr. Newton Jibunoh has seen political seasons come and go. He has observed leaders from their early formation years through their peak influence. When he writes about Bola Ahmed Tinubu, he writes from memory and proximity. He remembers the coalition-building years in Lagos. He remembers the alliances, the strategies, the patience, and the long game. That kind of perspective is valuable. It adds depth to public conversation.
But perspective is shaped by where you stand.
I am 24 years old. I did not witness the Lagos political structure of the 1990s. I was not present when alliances were formed behind closed doors. I did not see the early strategist at work. My political awareness did not begin with history; it began with reality. As a teenager, politics did not interest me. Like many young Nigerians, I thought governance was distant from my everyday life. But adulthood in Nigeria quickly removes that illusion. When fuel prices rise suddenly, when transportation costs double, when food becomes more expensive each month, and when finding stable employment feels like chasing the wind, politics stops being abstract. It becomes personal.
So when Dr. Jibunoh distinguishes between the leadership styles of Bola Ahmed Tinubu and Donald Trump, he is speaking from decades of observation. He is not doing public relations; he is offering testimony. He believes he understands the man behind the office. That is fair. Every writer speaks from what they know.
However, his reflection does not fully capture the lens of my generation. For many of us in our early twenties and even for Nigerians in their thirties and forties raising families in today’s economy, the question is not how strategic a leader has been over forty years. The question is what those strategies mean for us now. We are not dismissing history. We are asking how history translates into present relief.
When the current administration removed fuel subsidies, it was presented as a necessary reform. Economists explained why it had to be done. Analysts described it as bold and courageous. But for many ordinary Nigerians, the immediate experience was hardship. Transport fares increased. The cost of goods rose sharply.
Small businesses struggled with higher operating expenses. Salaries did not rise at the same speed as prices. These are not theoretical debates; they are daily realities.
To my generation, President Tinubu appears less as a historical political architect and more as a reform-driven administrator who makes firm decisions without much emotional appeal. He seems calculated and confident in structural changes, even when those changes are painful. Perhaps that firmness is required. Perhaps history will one day judge these policies as necessary steps toward long-term stability. But history is not what young Nigerians are living right now. We are living the transition, and transitions are rarely comfortable.
This is where generational distance shows itself. Older Nigerians often speak the language of patience. They have seen military rule, structural adjustment programs, recessions, and recoveries. They compare today’s challenges to darker chapters in the past and conclude that the country has survived worse. Younger Nigerians compare their lives not only to Nigeria’s past but to the global present. Through social media and technology, we see how other economies function. We see opportunities elsewhere. We see peers in other countries building careers and accessing systems that work. Our expectations are shaped differently.
When elders speak about a leader’s long political journey, they are evaluating character and consistency. When young people speak about leadership, we are evaluating impact. Both approaches are valid, but they do not always align.
There is also the issue of succession itself. We talk about passing the baton, but many young Nigerians feel that the baton is not within reach. Leadership spaces often seem closed or heavily guarded. Young people are energetic, educated, and politically aware, yet they are frequently told to wait their turn without being shown the path forward. At the same time, some older leaders appear unwilling to step aside or create structured pathways for generational transition. This tension feeds frustration.
If leadership is truly about legacy, then it must include preparing the next generation not just with speeches but with opportunities. It must involve listening to young voices, not only during elections but during policymaking. It must create systems where youth participation is normal, not exceptional.
None of this is written to dismiss Dr. Jibunoh’s experience or to reduce President Tinubu’s decades of political influence. It is written to explain why many young Nigerians interpret the present differently. We did not grow up watching the formation of today’s political structures. We inherited them. We met this administration at a time of economic pressure. Our first conscious political memories of this presidency are tied to rising costs and uncertainty.
That does not mean reforms are wrong. It means their effects are being felt in real time. Generational disagreement is not disrespect. It is distance created by lived experience. An 88-year-old who has watched political chess for decades will naturally see continuity and strategy. A 24-year-old trying to build a future in a volatile economy will naturally focus on immediate stability and opportunity. Both perspectives are rooted in concern for the country.
What my generation is saying is simple: leadership cannot be judged only by biography. It must also be judged by how people are living under it. Past achievements are important, but they do not automatically cushion present hardship.
Respect for history should not silence honest conversations about current realities.
Nigeria stands at a point where bridging generational understanding is necessary.
Older leaders and commentators must recognize that young people are not being rebellious when they question policy outcomes. They are reacting to lived conditions. At the same time, younger Nigerians must acknowledge that governance is complex and that reforms sometimes require painful adjustments.
But listening must go both ways.
A leader’s legacy may be built over decades, but a generation’s judgment is formed in the present. Young Nigerians are not ignoring history; we are asking that history produce visible progress. We are not asking for perfection; we are asking for relief, opportunity, and inclusion.
If disagreement is handled with maturity rather than defensiveness, it can strengthen democracy. It can open space for honest dialogue about what is working and what is not. It can encourage leadership that is not only strategic but also responsive.
In the end, both generations want the same thing: a Nigeria that works. The difference lies in what each generation is currently carrying. One carries memory.
The other carries immediacy. Bringing those two together, rather than setting them against each other, may be the real challenge of leadership today.
