By VITUS OZOKE, PhD

Boris Johnson's breezy dismissal of Nigeria's security crisis — "I feel perfectly safe here" — isn't just tone-deaf; it's also deeply offensive. It's a performance piece from a man who has turned shameless platitudes and convenient self-myths into a global brand and a private bank account. He stood on a stage in Owerri, Imo State, reassured investors and smiled past the headlines of mass abductions, massacres, and a national security emergency. That is not leadership. It is PR.

Let me be absolutely plain: Nigeria is not a fair-weather postcard to be used for photo-ops. The facts are brutal and recent — mass school kidnappings, hundreds abducted across regions, rising death tolls, and emergency security measures from Abuja. These aren't "negative reports"; they are human catastrophes documented by Reuters, Human Rights Watch, and multiple international monitors. For a one-time visitor to wave those realities away with a personal anecdote is an insult to grieving families and the tens of thousands living with daily insecurity.

Why does Johnson say this? There are two obvious, non-exclusive explanations: (1) he's profoundly ignorant of contemporary Nigeria — implausible for a former prime minister who once ran Britain's foreign policy and who, by dint of office, had access to classified security briefings; or (2) he's choosing to lie, to flatter an audience, or to smooth a path for private gain. Given Johnson's track record — the £350m Brexit bus myth, evasions and fines from the "partygate" era, and the torrent of reporting this year that shows millions in post-office speaking fees and questionable disclosures — his protestations of innocence ring hollow. He knows how to trade in reassurance; he knows how to monetize proximity to power.

Put bluntly: the man who helped weaponize misleading statistics (the Vote Leave bus), who presided over a government that flouted its own COVID rules, and who — since leaving office — has been exposed in leaked files as earning millions from paid appearances, is not entitled to the benefit of the doubt when he dismisses a nation's security crisis with a one-liner. Decades of public-facing performance have taught him that a confident quip can reset a narrative. But quips do not undo bullets, kidnappings, or the daily terror that Nigerian communities endure.

It's also convenient that Johnson's kind of reassurance is the very rhetoric corrupt local elites crave. Flattering local governors and investors with talk of "safety" and "the rule of law" can lubricate deals, mask governance failures, and provide cover for political actors who profit from opacity. That's why the optics matter: when a former Western leader — handsomely paid by global corporate actors and sometimes entangled with private advisory deals — tells foreign investors "it's safe," you must ask who benefits and what gets buried. This is not a conspiracy; it is a pragmatic skepticism. The pattern of paid speeches and lucrative consultancy work documented in the Boris Files shows how access and voice can be swapped for fees — and how that creates the perfect context for a cynical reassurance to travel well.

There are three practical questions: First, how much was Boris Johnson paid to make such a statement in Nigeria? There is no authoritative public disclosure – as of yet – that a specific fee was paid to Johnson for the Imo State Economic Summit appearance. However, journalistic investigations and leaked files have shown Johnson has earned millions from paid speeches and advisory work in recent years — a pattern that makes questions about fees reasonable.

Second, what business interests does Johnson have in Nigeria? Public reporting (including the investigative "Boris Files" coverage) documents Johnson's lucrative post-office speaking circuit and some advisory arrangements — global, not Nigeria-specific. That absence of publicly reported Nigerian holdings does not prove Johnson has none.

Third, how entangled is Johnson with Nigeria's political class? Johnson was hosted at the Imo State summit and greeted warmly by local officials — unsurprising for a high-profile ex-prime minister and a former foreign secretary with long links to Nigeria. But public reporting does not show evidence of deep, formal entanglement (e.g., secret advisory contracts with Nigerian politicians, direct ownership stakes in Nigerian enterprises) that has been documented and verified. What is documented, however, is the broader pattern: Johnson leverages his name and network for paid appearances, and Nigerian political actors — like those everywhere in the third world — cultivate connections to famous foreigners for prestige. Where the danger lies is when that cultivation becomes cover for graft or whitewash.

So, we can hold two things at once. First, Boris Johnson's public line about "feeling perfectly safe" in Nigeria is morally tone-deaf and politically irresponsible; at best, it is a gross misreading of a country battered by violence and mass kidnappings. Second, there is no publicly disclosed proof (as of today) that he was paid to say it, nor that he personally owns Nigeria-based businesses — though his broader pattern of lucrative engagements and opaque disclosures absolutely warrants scrutiny.

The proper response — from journalists, from watchdogs, and from anyone who cares about truth — is not to reflexively accept the comforting line of a charismatic ex-British Prime Minister. It is to demand transparency: who paid for the trip; what contracts or consultancies preceded or followed it; what promises, if any, were made to local politicians or investors; and whether those promises serve the Nigerian public or merely paper over insecurity for financial ends.

If Johnson's statement was innocent — a well-meaning attempt to encourage investment — then he should publish his itinerary, any fees or gifts received, and the briefings he had before travelling. If it was not innocent, then we deserve investigators and reporters who will follow the money and the meetings. In the meantime, the victims of Nigeria's insecurity deserve better than rhetorical sleight of hand from a man whose own record shows he is practiced in it.

Boris Johnson can feel "perfectly safe" all he likes. The rest of us must feel perfectly unafraid to call out the false comfort he sells — and to insist that politicians, ex or current, stop trading in reassurance when lives are at stake.

•Dr. Vitus Ozoke is a lawyer, human rights activist, and public affairs analyst based in the United States. He writes on politics, governance, and the moral costs of leadership failure in Africa.

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