The new tax law scheduled to take effect on Thursday, January 1, 2026, was introduced as a bold attempt to fix one of Nigeria’s most persistent weaknesses: poor revenue mobilisation. On paper, the objectives are sound. Nigeria’s tax-to-GDP ratio is among the lowest in the world, and government cannot sustainably fund roads, schools, hospitals and security by borrowing endlessly. A broader tax base and a more efficient system are not optional; they are necessary. Yet what should have been a moment for sober national consensus has instead been thrown into controversy, following allegations that the Bola Tinubu administration altered the law after it was passed by the National Assembly.
This controversy goes far beyond tax rates and revenue targets. At its core is a question of process. Democracies do not survive on good intentions alone; they survive on respect for institutions and due process. The allegation that provisions were inserted into the law after legislative passage strikes at the heart of constitutional governance. Lawmaking belongs to the legislature, not the executive. Once that line is crossed, even for seemingly “good” reasons, the rule of law begins to wobble. In governance, how a policy is made matters just as much as what the policy seeks to achieve.
The social implications of the alleged insertions are particularly worrying. Reports that the Nigeria Revenue Service has been granted sweeping enforcement powers—ranging from arrest to freezing accounts without court orders—have understandably unsettled the public. Nigerians live daily with the reality of power abuse. Against a backdrop of insecurity, rising prices and shrinking incomes, a tax regime that looks heavy-handed will only breed fear and resentment. People comply with tax laws when they trust the system, not when they feel hunted by it.
Economically, the reported lowering of reporting thresholds raises red flags. Pulling individuals earning ₦25 million and businesses with ₦100 million turnover into a stricter tax net may look good on a revenue spreadsheet, but it risks choking a fragile economy. Many small and medium enterprises are barely surviving energy costs, currency instability and weak consumer demand. Burdening them further could slow growth, discourage formalisation and push more activity underground. A tax system that weakens productivity ultimately undermines the very revenue it seeks to generate.
Perhaps the most troubling allegation is the introduction of a 20 per cent pre-appeal deposit before taxpayers can challenge an assessment. This strikes at the foundation of access to justice. Tax assessments are not infallible, and disputes are often complex. Forcing citizens to pay first and argue later effectively punishes them before guilt is established. For many small businesses and individuals, such a requirement may shut the door to justice entirely. In legal terms, this tilts the scales dangerously in favour of the state.
Equally alarming is the reported removal of legislative oversight provisions. In any constitutional democracy, taxation and accountability go hand in hand. Oversight is not a luxury; it is a safeguard. Weakening the National Assembly’s ability to scrutinise revenue agencies concentrates power in the hands of bureaucrats and the executive. History shows that unchecked fiscal authority often leads to abuse, corruption and public backlash. Efficiency without accountability is not reform; it is regression.
Beyond the legal and economic arguments lies a deeper issue: public trust. Taxation is more than a legal obligation; it is a moral contract between citizens and the state. People are more willing to pay when they see fairness, transparency and value for money. Allegations of post-legislative tampering reinforce a long-held belief that laws are flexible for those in power and rigid for ordinary citizens. That perception weakens civic responsibility and fuels quiet, and sometimes open, resistance.
For President Tinubu’s administration, this is a particularly sensitive moment. Nigerians have already been asked to endure painful reforms—fuel subsidy removal, currency adjustments and tighter monetary conditions—with the promise that the pain will eventually yield gain. Trust is the government’s most valuable asset in this period. Any suggestion that laws are being manipulated behind closed doors risks eroding that trust, perhaps irreversibly. Reform without credibility is reform built on quicksand.
Legally, the stakes are high. If the allegations are proven, the law could face serious judicial challenges. Courts may strike down disputed provisions, throwing the tax system into uncertainty and damaging investor confidence. Investors value predictability and respect for the rule of law more than lofty reform rhetoric. Nigeria cannot afford policy chaos at a time when it is trying to stabilise its economy.
Ultimately, the new tax law presents Nigeria with a clear choice. The country can build a modern, efficient tax system grounded in consent, accountability and legality, or it can pursue revenue at all costs through coercion and procedural shortcuts. The government must urgently clarify the discrepancies, release certified copies of the law, and, if necessary, return to the National Assembly for open and transparent amendments. Nigerians are not opposed to paying tax; they are opposed to being governed unfairly. In taxation, as in all public policy, legitimacy is everything. Na waw indeed—but this is one “waw” Nigeria cannot afford to ignore.
