Perhaps the most telling moment in the National Broadcasting Commission’s ban of rapper Eedris Abdulkareem’s track, “Tell Your Papa” is its acknowledgement that the song was already trending on social media. If they knew that many of us had already listened to the song, and we have almost endless means to access the track anytime we wanted, why did they impose a ban on it? Of what use is such a ban in a country where the reach of social media surpasses that of broadcast media houses? How many people get their news from the traditional media compared to those who rely on ubiquitous social media apps where materials like “Tell Your Papa” freely circulate? As much as I agree with observers who have challenged NBC on free speech, there is also more than a violation of democratic rights at work here. The NBC’s banning of a protest song they consider “objectionable” (to whom, anyway?) is telling of the analogue intelligence that runs this country, a realisation as frightening as the loss of fundamental human rights. This lack of organisational reflexivity and stimulation towards continuous self-reinvention explains why our society always seems to be stuck in the same spot. This is, of course, not to dismiss the aspect of fundamental rights. The ban is one of the countless instances of the assault on free speech under the present administration, a government ironically peopled by men who boast about their record of once “fighting for democracy”. Yet, nobody has done more to diminish democratic freedoms in Nigeria than these so-called activists. One of the instruments of their insidious warfare is, of course, the police. Currently, the police have made it their job to subvert free speech by elevating what should otherwise be inconsequential social exchanges to the level of “threat to public peace” and proceeding to act on it with unwarranted violence. This has become so recurrent that we are as good as inured to their excesses. The other weapon through which free speech is being corrupted is the activities of public administrations like the NBC. Several times in this column, I have raised issues with the NBC and its obsequious tendency to court the favour of the government in power by punishing media houses that give a voice to a dissenting part of the populace. There was a time the NBC would release a bulletin listing the names of electronic broadcast stations that said one or two things they found “objectionable” and fine them heavily. Once, Bayo Onanuga cried wolf because a broadcast on one of the television stations had gotten his feelings hurt and the next thing the NBC did was slam a fine on the media house. They are that openly partisan. Even basing its objection to “Tell Your Papa” on its supposed objectionable contents would have been entirely hilarious if this were a satire. How is a song composed to protest an oppressive government expected to be inoffensive? Funny, but only in the way a tragedy makes you laugh to keep from crying. What is really infuriating is that NBC is run by civil servants who probably have no serious idea what it takes to maintain a business in an economically hostile society like Nigeria. If they manage a backyard poultry, you can bet they will run it down. Those lacking an idea of what it takes to build an enterprise are more inclined to pursue aggressive tactics that threaten the survival of businesses. The NBC slams heavy fines on media houses that refuse to grovel before the powers that be, while conveniently forgetting that broadcast media are economic enterprises that must not only cater to an audience but must also make enough money to keep afloat. The civil servants in NBC have no such insights. Its job is to listen to the radio and television day and night, nitpick a few sentences they deem anti-government, and chase down the business with a fine. Thankfully, the court reined in its excesses by ruling on its fine as an administrative overstep. Now they are back in the public eye, seeking relevance by banning a song that gives voice to the many dissensions roiling contemporary Nigeria. Yet, one cannot help but wonder what relevance organisations like the NBC have in the digital age. Why does it still exist? First, we live in a world where communication can be said to be out of control. Global media systems have empowered us to act outside the limits of the nation-state, and those of us in underdeveloped countries under repressive governments have been prime beneficiaries of this technological advancement. There are no borders on the internet, thankfully. The capitalist forces that control the algorithms (the technology that determines the range of what we see on our social media pages) have no use for our petty Nigerian issues; they will not shut down social media because a Tinubu does not like a song. When I say the NBC ban on “Tell Your Papa” goes beyond the very vital matter of free speech, it is because I am sincerely perplexed by the failure of the NBC—and by extension, the Federal Government that funds it—to reinvent itself for a digital age. It is stubbornly stuck to the analogue means of managing the parameters of public discourse. While the world has changed significantly, it holds on to the illusions of a glorious past where it controlled the electronic media and, consequently, the range of public speech. NBC’s ineffective bans also reflect other larger systemic issues: the people running this country demonstrably lack the dynamism and flexibility to continuously reinvent and (re-) organise their administrative mandate to match social reality. This is a story of underdevelopment sponsored by the leaden-footedness of a leadership class that cannot cultivate its instincts to adjust to a world where the ground beneath its feet has long shifted. This failure to reposition themselves to confront the dictates of the new world speaks to the broader issues of leadership and management, a crisis of imagination that haunts us at many levels. Its effects are reflected in the recrudescence of our national crises, to which we respond by marshalling the same old arguments as we did the last time. Hardly anything ever changes, and when all we do is relive the former moments, we appear to be stuck in history. Things have gotten so repetitive that you know the best even the Presidency will do to address the recurring spate of killing orgies under his watch is to “condemn” the violence and then deflect the responsibility just like he did the last time and as his predecessor also did. There are no solutions, not because our problems are irresolvable, but because our leaders are bored and can no longer stimulate themselves to fresh, vivacious thinking. When the leadership fails to reinvent itself and falls back on the same old methods that once worked, they also lose the opportunity to infuse vitality into the polity. Everything will appear to be dead still. Finally, I do not know the extent to which Seyi Tinubu— the President’s son at whom the song was directed—influenced the media ban, but the NBC did him no favour. Even if the ogas at the top had pressured it to ban the song as a gesture of loyalty to Tinubu, there are more than enough contemporary experiences to which they could have referred to their paymasters to warn them that banning a song in the age of Twitter was a bad idea. What exactly did the song say that we do not say every day? Seyi, too, is not exactly a private citizen. He has been all over the place, ostentatiously lapping up the privileges that come with being the President’s son. So, why is someone like that beyond criticism? Does he have two heads, or why exactly does he deserve a pass? Even if this bad was a self-directed organisational decision by the NBC, the ban is still an imprudent one. Someone at NBC must really hate Seyi to have done this.