Gaslighting Buratai: A Smear Campaign Dead on Arrival
By Jerry Adesewo
In Nigeria’s increasingly combustible political atmosphere, misinformation now travels faster than clarification. A headline appears online, screenshots circulate through WhatsApp groups, outrage follows almost instantly, and before facts can catch up, narratives begin to harden into assumed truth.
That was precisely the pattern behind the recent viral publication falsely claiming that former Chief of Army Staff, Tukur Yusuf Buratai, had endorsed an opposition coalition and declared that President Bola Ahmed Tinubu had failed Nigerians.
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The report, circulated through a Phoenix-linked platform and amplified across social media, was politically provocative by design. It attempted to construct a dramatic rupture between Buratai and the ruling All Progressives Congress (APC), portraying the retired general as a disillusioned insider supposedly turning against the government.
But there was one problem.
The narrative collapsed almost immediately under the weight of verifiable reality.
Buratai himself publicly dismissed the publication as fake, directly labelling the report “FAKE NEWS” in a rebuttal shared across his verified platforms. Yet beyond his denial lies an even deeper irony—one that exposes the fragility of the smear campaign itself.
At the very time the viral report sought to portray him as aligned with anti-APC interests, Buratai had remained visibly connected to the ruling party’s political activities.
Not only did he recently participate actively in the APC National Convention as a member of the convention’s security committee, but he has also openly endorsed the political aspiration of his son, who is currently pursuing a seat in the Borno State House of Assembly under the APC platform.
That context matters.
Because political alignments in Nigeria are rarely hidden. Particularly for someone of Buratai’s profile—a former military chief, diplomat, and influential northern figure—any genuine break with the APC would hardly emerge through vague anonymous publications and manipulated headlines. It would manifest through visible political distancing, strategic silence, or direct statements.
None of those indicators exist. Instead, what exists is continuity.
Buratai has maintained a carefully measured public posture since leaving military service. While he remains an influential national figure, he has largely avoided reckless partisan commentary, choosing instead to engage selectively on issues of national security, governance, and institutional stability.
This is what makes the smear attempt particularly revealing.
It was not simply an attack on Buratai’s image. It was an attempt to manufacture political symbolism—to create the impression that respected establishment figures are abandoning the APC ahead of future electoral contests.
In that sense, the fake report was less about Buratai himself and more about the psychological warfare of perception management.
Modern political propaganda no longer depends entirely on convincing people of truth. Often, it merely seeks to create confusion strong enough to weaken certainty. Once doubt is introduced, the objective is partially achieved.
But such strategies only work when there is enough ambiguity to sustain them.
In Buratai’s case, the contradiction was too obvious.
How does a man supposedly endorsing an opposition coalition simultaneously serve on the security committee of the APC national convention? How does someone allegedly abandoning the ruling party openly support his son’s legislative ambition under the same party banner?
The answer, of course, is simple: the narrative was constructed without regard for consistency.
And that is increasingly the danger of Nigeria’s digital political ecosystem. Speed has overtaken verification. Viral momentum now often substitutes for evidence. Screenshots become “proof,” repetition becomes “credibility,” and emotionally charged headlines become political weapons.
The Buratai episode therefore says as much about the current media climate as it does about politics itself.
It reveals a growing desperation within sections of the political communication space—a willingness to force narratives into existence, even when reality immediately contradicts them.
Yet the speed with which this particular claim unraveled also demonstrates something else: not every narrative can survive contact with verifiable public conduct.
Buratai’s recent activities speak louder than the headline manufactured around him.
And perhaps that is why the smear campaign failed so quickly. It was not defeated by sophisticated counter-propaganda or aggressive political defence. It collapsed because the facts were already visible in plain sight.
In the end, the attempt to gaslight Buratai became a case study in political overreach—a campaign so disconnected from observable reality that it arrived politically dead on arrival.