Why I Am Disrespectful

Because respect is their armor. And I am here to strip it.

By Mike Arnold

I get asked this question at least once a week.

“Mike, why are you so disrespectful to President Tinubu?”

“Why do you talk about the Sultan like that?”

“These are leaders. You should address them with the dignity of their office.”

Fine. Let me answer this once, for the record, so I never have to answer it again.

I am disrespectful to Bola Ahmed Tinubu and the Sultan of Sokoto because they are presiding over genocide, mass displacement, industrial-scale mineral theft, total impunity for killers, and the deliberate denial of aid and recognition to more than ten million displaced human beings.

They deserve no respect. They deserve scorn. And I will continue to heap it on them — publicly, creatively, and with great enthusiasm — until THEY repent or are displaced.

I have said I wish Trump would Maduro Tinubu and Ayatollah the Sultan. And by the time you finish reading this, I hope you do too.

Big Man, Small Conscience

Let’s talk about what respect means in Nigeria. Because this is the heart of the matter.

Nigeria runs on titles. “His Excellency.” “His Eminence.” “His Royal Highness.” “The Distinguished Senator.” “The Right Honorable.” Every big man wrapped in a cocoon of praise-singers, sycophants, and hangers-on who prostrate at his feet and tell him he is wonderful. Fifty-vehicle motorcades. Private jets. Palace visits where grown men lay flat on the ground to greet another grown man sitting in a chair.

This is not culture. This is control. The title is the armor. The deference is the shield. The praise-singing is the defense system. As long as everyone bows, the big man is untouchable. You cannot indict a man everyone is busy worshipping. You cannot question a man everyone is busy flattering. The entire architecture of Nigerian power depends on one thing: that nobody laughs.

Well. I am laughing.

Because behind “His Excellency” is a man who cannot walk across a stage without stumbling, who cannot form a coherent sentence without a teleprompter, and who has presided over more displaced Nigerians than any leader in the nation’s history — and somehow still expects you to stand when he enters the room.

Behind “His Eminence” is a religious leader who attends interfaith dialogues and peace summits while the territory under his spiritual authority burns. Who smiles for cameras in Abuja while Fulani militias clear Christian villages in the Middle Belt. Whose entire career has been one long performance of moderation — while the system he leads produces war, displacement, and death on an industrial scale.

These men are not big. They are small men in big chairs. And the chairs are built on bones.

The Prophets Had No Chill

Let me speak to the Christians who think I should be more measured.

Open your Bible. Show me one prophet who was polite to a wicked ruler.

Elijah stood before the prophets of Baal on Mount Carmel and when their god didn’t show up, he mocked them. “Shout louder,” he said. “Maybe your god is asleep. Maybe he’s on a journey. Maybe he’s using the toilet.” The prophet of the living God, in front of the whole nation, made a lavatory joke at the expense of the religious establishment. In public. On purpose. With a grin on his face.

Nathan walked into King David’s palace — the most powerful man in Israel, a man who could have had him killed with a word — and didn’t bow. Didn’t flatter. Didn’t “engage constructively.” He pointed his finger and said: “You are the man.” Finished. No preamble. No “with all due respect, Your Majesty.”

Jesus called Herod “that fox” — the equivalent of calling a sitting head of state a crook on national television. He called the Pharisees whitewashed tombs — beautiful packaging, full of rot and dead men’s bones. He braided a whip and flipped tables in the Temple — the religious establishment’s own house. He did not submit a formal complaint. He did not schedule a stakeholder meeting.

The prophetic tradition is not diplomatic. It is fire aimed at the face of power. And it does not ask permission. It does not modulate its tone. It does not worry about “constructive engagement.”

If you want a diplomat, call the UN. I am here to tell Pharaoh to let my people go. And I am not particularly concerned about Pharaoh’s feelings.

Their Own Book Condemns Them

Now let me speak to the Sultan in a language he claims to understand.

The Quran — his book, not mine — says this:

“O you who believe, stand firmly for justice, as witnesses to God, even if it be against yourselves, your parents, or your kin.” — Quran 4:135

The Sultan has not stood for justice. He has sat in silence while justice was butchered.

“Do not let the hatred of a people prevent you from being just. Be just; that is nearer to righteousness.” — Quran 5:8

Has the Sultan been just? Has he called for justice for the Christian communities cleared from their ancestral lands? Has he condemned the killers? Has he demanded recognition of the displaced? He has not. His own book condemns him.

“And when it is said to them, ‘Do not cause corruption on the earth,’ they say, ‘We are but reformers.’ Unquestionably, it is they who are the corrupters, but they perceive it not.” — Quran 2:11-12

Read that again. “We are but reformers.” That is the Sultan at every peace conference. That is Tinubu at every economic summit. Reformers. Peacemakers. Statesmen. Meanwhile, the earth is soaked with blood and the camps are hidden and the displaced are dying and the minerals are disappearing into private accounts.

The concept of fasad fil-ard — corruption and mischief in the land — is among the gravest sins in Islam. Mass displacement. Stolen land. Looted minerals. Impunity for murderers. Denial of aid to the starving. That is fasad on a national scale. By the standards of the Sultan’s own faith, these men are not leaders. They are criminals.

I don’t need the Bible to condemn them. Their own book does it for me.

Salt on a Slug

Here is something I have learned from a lifetime of confronting powerful people who profit from the suffering of the powerless.

They can handle opposition. They can handle criticism. They can handle international condemnation — they’ve been ignoring it for years.

What they cannot handle is mockery.

Humor is kryptonite to the big man. Scorn is salt on a garden slug. You can write a hundred policy papers about Tinubu’s failures and he will never lose a minute of sleep. But one meme — one perfectly crafted, savagely funny, widely shared meme — will send his entire communications team into a panic.

Because mockery does something that policy papers cannot: it strips the armor. It removes the title. It takes “His Excellency” and turns him into a punchline. And once a man becomes a punchline, he can never fully recover. The mystique is gone. The fear is gone. The big man is suddenly just a man — and not a very impressive one.

Nigerians understand this instinctively. Nigerian social media is the most creatively savage on earth. The meme game is undefeated. “Baba go slow.” The shaking videos. The stumbling compilations. The photoshopped images. Nigerians have been doing this for years — they just haven’t been given permission to aim it where it matters most.

I am giving that permission now.

A Field Guide to Disrespect

Let me model what I mean.

Tinubu likes to be called “Jagaban.” The Lion of Bourdillon. The national leader. The man who built modern Lagos.

Here is what I see: a man who can barely stand at his own inauguration, propped up by handlers, reading speeches written by people who know he won’t remember them by dinner. A man whose “reform agenda” has produced the highest food prices in Nigerian history while minerals are looted from the territories his government refuses to secure. Jagaban — the lion who hides from his own displaced. The national leader of a nation he is dismembering.

His Excellency cannot excel at standing upright. But he excels at hiding camps.

The Sultan likes to be called “His Eminence.” The spiritual leader. The voice of moderation. The bridge-builder.

Here is what I see: the most powerful Muslim leader in Africa attending yet another interfaith breakfast while churches burn within his sphere of influence. A man whose “moderation” consists entirely of smiling for photographs while saying nothing of substance. A bridge-builder whose bridges only run in one direction — from Christian land to Muslim control. His Eminence is eminent at exactly one thing: silence at the right moment.

His Eminence’s greatest sermon is the one he never preaches.

These are not great men fallen short. These are small men elevated beyond their character, protected by titles they have not earned, shielded by a culture of deference they exploit, and sustained by an international community too lazy or too cowardly to look behind the curtain.

Pull back the curtain. That’s all I’m asking.

Memers Unite

I am one man. I can write columns. I can give speeches. I can stand in Abuja and deliver an indictment that reaches three billion people.

But I cannot meme this alone.

That’s your job. And you are better at it than anyone on earth.

Nigerian creatives — memers, cartoonists, video editors, satirists, comedians, Twitter warriors, WhatsApp generals — hear me. You have the most powerful weapon on the planet in your hands. You have phones and data and the most savage sense of humor God ever gave a nation.

Use it.

Every time Tinubu appears on television looking like he just woke up from a nap he didn’t plan, make a meme. Every time the Sultan poses at a peace conference while Southern Kaduna burns, make a meme. Every time a government spokesman says the IDPs are being “taken care of” while ten million people live in conditions that would make a refugee camp look like a hotel — make a meme.

Strip the titles. Mock the motorcades. Laugh at the praise-singers. Make it so socially expensive to defend these men that their own allies start to distance themselves.

This is not cruelty. This is the most Nigerian thing you can do. Nigerians have survived every injustice in their history with two weapons: faith and humor. The faith sustains you. The humor disarms your enemies.

Aim both at the men who are starving your brothers and sisters. And do not stop.

The Serious Part

Let me be clear about something before I close.

This is not entertainment. It is not trolling for sport. It is not petty vengeance.

There are more than ten million displaced Nigerians who have no voice. Widows. Orphans. Farmers who lost everything. Children who have never known a home that wasn’t a camp. They cannot speak for themselves because speaking gets you beaten — or killed. A young man in New Kuchingoro was nearly beaten to death in 2014 for writing a letter to the editor about conditions in his camp.

These people — your people, Nigeria — are invisible because powerful men have decided they should be invisible. And those powerful men remain in power because nobody challenges them publicly, personally, and relentlessly.

I will challenge them. I will mock them. I will strip their titles and expose their failures and make their names synonymous with the suffering they have caused. Not because I enjoy it — though I confess making the Sultan’s headgear look like a toilet seat makes me laugh — but because ridicule is the one weapon they have no defense against.

I will be kind to the broken. Patient with the confused. Gentle with the suffering.

But to the men who cause the suffering? I will be as disrespectful as the day is long.

And I invite every Nigerian with a phone, a conscience, and a sense of humor to join me.

To everyone who thinks I should be more polite: these men will one day stand before a Judge who does not care about their titles. On that day, “His Excellency” will not help Tinubu. “His Eminence” will not help the Sultan.

But maybe — just maybe — if enough people had been disrespectful enough, loud enough, and funny enough to strip the armor and expose the truth while there was still time — they might have repented.

I’m giving them that chance. Loudly. Publicly. Relentlessly. And with great joy.

You’re welcome, gentlemen.

Rise.

#EarthShaker

Mike Arnold is the author of EPICENTER: Nigeria, Radical Islam, and the War for Global Order (#1 Amazon Bestseller) and founder of Africa Arise International. He has made sixteen trips to Nigeria since 2010 and operates schools serving more than 600+ children displaced by terrorism.