The recent interview between Daniel Bwala and journalist Mehdi Hasan should not merely be remembered as a tense television moment. It should be studied as a cautionary case study in how not to speak for a government. In attempting to defend the administration of Bola Ahmed Tinubu on an international platform, Bwala inadvertently shifted attention away from the policies he was meant to defend and onto his own credibility. In political communication, that is the first sign that the mission has already gone wrong.
The first and most damaging error was the decision to deny statements that already existed in the public domain. Political actors are not prisoners of their past opinions; positions evolve, alliances change, and new realities often produce new conclusions. What the public finds difficult to forgive, however, is the denial of verifiable facts. When a spokesperson rejects his own recorded statements only to be confronted with them moments later, the debate ends instantly—not because the interviewer has won an argument, but because credibility has evaporated in real time.
The second mistake came after the interview itself. Bwala reportedly suggested that he had not been informed that he would be confronted with his past statements. That response revealed an even deeper misunderstanding of how serious journalism works. Appearing before an experienced interviewer like Hasan almost guarantees a confrontation with the historical record. Any spokesperson who steps onto such a platform expecting a friendly conversation rather than forensic questioning misunderstands the terrain entirely.
There is also a broader lesson in the contrast between different styles of political communicators. Figures such as Reno Omokri have demonstrated a different instinct when confronted with past positions: they acknowledge the record and then attempt to justify the change. One approach wrestles with the archive; the other attempts to deny it. In the digital age, denial is rarely a winning strategy. The archive almost always wins.
What the episode ultimately exposed was not simply a bad interview performance but a deeper absence of strategic communication discipline. Anyone who speaks for a government must understand a simple rule: every public statement becomes part of a permanent record. The words spoken today may resurface years later under very different political circumstances. Strategic communicators therefore avoid absolutist declarations and remain conscious that the roles of critic and defender can easily reverse.
For that reason, the damage from such moments extends beyond personal embarrassment. A spokesperson does not merely represent himself; he carries the credibility of the administration he speaks for. When the spokesperson appears evasive or unprepared, the audience begins to question not only the messenger but also the message. In this sense, the failure becomes institutional rather than individual.
The advisory for present and future government spokespersons is therefore straightforward. Never deny what can be verified. Assume your past statements will surface. If your position has changed, acknowledge it openly and explain why. Political evolution can be defended; public denial of the record cannot. In an era where every word is archived and every interview can be replayed indefinitely, the first rule of speaking for a government is simple: never argue with the evidence of your own past.
Prof. Emma Chike Onwe
Communication Strategist
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