The Rules of Nigeria’s Internet Are Changing 

Right now, Nigerian social media is hot with arrests.

“Defamation” is the word of the hour. Social media users, particularly users on X, are learning in real time how defamation works within Nigeria’s  legal system. For years, Nigeria’s online space has operated as an unregulated public square; chaotic, sensationalist and often cruel. But recent arrests and prosecutions have signalled that the state is becoming increasingly willing to intervene in online conduct, particularly where reputational harm is involved.

The most recent case to dominate public conversation involved the prosecution and conviction of an X user Adeyeye, popularly called Swanky. He falsely declared a six-year-old child dead and carried out sustained online attacks against singer Adekunle Gold and his family.

The court considered the facts, including documented evidence of falsehoods and targeted harassment spanning from July 2025 until his arrest in March 2026. The court sentenced him to two years imprisonment on Count One under Section 24(1)(b) of the Cybercrimes Act 2024, and another two years on Count Two under Section 24(2)(i) of the same Act. Both counts related to cyberbullying, harassment, and the knowing dissemination of false information online.

He was also sentenced to one year imprisonment on Count Three under Section 375 of the Criminal Code Act for defamation, which remains a criminal offence under Nigerian law. The court further imposed an option of a ₦1 million fine and restrained the convict from engaging in any further conduct capable of harming the complainants.

The public reaction to the case has been fascinating, not because the conduct itself was defensible — it was not—but because many Nigerians appear genuinely shocked that online behaviour can attract serious legal consequences.

That shock perhaps says more about Nigeria’s digital culture than it does about the law itself.

Defamation, legally means communicating false statements that damage someone’s reputation. Under Nigerian law, it exists as both a tort and a crime, and may occur in verbal or written form. Verbal defamation is known as slander, while written defamation is referred to as libel. Both forms can happen online or offline.

In Nigeria, defamation is addressed through a combination of laws, including the Criminal Code, applicable in Southern Nigeria; the Penal Code, applicable in Northern Nigeria, the Cybercrimes Act, and common law principles. Criminal defamation can result in imprisonment, while civil defamation may lead to remedies such as apologies, injunctions, and monetary damages.

Online defamation, which usually takes written form, refers to defamatory statements made on the internet or social media platforms. For such claims to succeed civilly, a litigant must typically establish that the statement was false, that actual harm resulted from its publication, and that evidence of the defamatory publication exists.

Offline defamation, on the other hand, refers to defamatory conduct occurring through more traditional means such as print media or spoken communication outside cyberspace. Civil liability arises where a defamatory statement concerning another person is published to at least one third party. Criminal liability requires the prosecution to prove beyond reasonable doubt that the accused made or published the defamatory statement, that it referred to the complainant and that it injured the complainant’s reputation.

The fact that Nigeria possesses laws governing cyber conduct is, in many respects, a good thing.

It makes sense that online behaviour should, to some extent, be regulated by law, especially given the nature of Nigeria’s digital environment, where harassment, misinformation, and coordinated online abuse have become disturbingly normalised.

Online gender-based violence, for instance, remains widespread. Although Nigeria lacks legislation specifically tailored towards online gendered abuse, the Cybercrimes Act 2015 has been used in several cases involving cyberbullying and online harassment. Actress Eniola Badmus notably secured a three-year prison sentence against a TikTok cyberstalker, while actress Iyabo Ojo also pursued legal action against Lizzy Anjorin under the same law.

The legislation itself may not adequately account for the distinctly gendered nature of online abuse, which often includes sexual harassment, coordinated intimidation campaigns against women, and targeted hostility towards abuse survivors —but its existence still offers some degree of legal reassurance in an increasingly hostile digital climate.

And hostility is perhaps the defining characteristic of Nigeria’s online culture.

Gossip blogs, engagement farmers, and ordinary social media users routinely spread misinformation about public figures with little regard for accuracy or consequence. Entire platforms have been built around monetising outrage, humiliation, and speculation. Public trust is repeatedly exploited for virality and payouts.

One recent example was self-acclaimed relationship expert Blessing Okoro, popularly known as Blessing CEO, who became embroiled in controversy after posting emotional videos claiming she had been diagnosed with stage four breast cancer. Following widespread sympathy and donations reportedly amounting to about ₦13 million from well-meaning Nigerians, inconsistencies began to emerge regarding her claims, alongside allegations that she had forged and circulated another person’s medical results as proof of illness.

This is precisely why a cybercrime framework is necessary.

A digital culture built around misinformation, cyberbullying, gossip, and engagement farming cannot reasonably expect to exist entirely outside legal accountability. Nigerians have become accustomed to treating cyberspace as consequence-free terrain, and a society conditioned by years of sensationalist blogging and online hostility will naturally struggle to adjust to the reality that reputational damage carries legal implications.

While the existence of cybercrime legislation may be justified, Nigerians are also right to fear the possibility of abuse.

That fear understandably emerges from the Nigerian state’s long and deeply documented history of arbitrary arrests, police intimidation, and the weaponisation of legal processes against critics, journalists, and ordinary citizens. A significant amount of that concern centres on the Cybercrimes Act itself.

In 2023, the Act was used to facilitate the arrest of Chioma Okoli after she posted a review of Nagiko Tomato Mix, a product manufactured by Erisco Foods Limited. Erisco accused her of making “malicious allegations” against the brand, after which the police charged her with “instigating people against Erisco Foods Limited, knowing the said information to be false.”

That same year, journalist Daniel Ojukwu was arrested and detained by the police over allegations that he had violated provisions of the Cybercrimes Act and other laws relating to cyber offences.

Since the introduction of the Cybercrimes Act in 2015, at least 25 journalists have reportedly been prosecuted under the legislation, according to the Committee to Protect Journalists, and over time, that pattern of enforcement has expanded beyond media practitioners to ordinary Nigerians.

For years now, alarm has been raised over the vagueness of certain provisions within the Act, particularly Section 24, which critics argue is broad enough to be weaponised against citizens who offend powerful individuals, especially through criticism or dissent.

The same legislation was used in 2025 to prosecute Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan over statements concerning Senate President Godswill Akpabio and former Kogi State governor Yahaya Bello.

Evidently, the fears surrounding the abuse of the Cybercrimes Act are entirely valid. But even without the Act itself, defamation remains both a civil and criminal offence under Nigerian law. The principle behind that is not difficult to understand. Reputational damage can cause serious personal, emotional, and economic harm to individuals and businesses.

The existence of defamation law is therefore not the problem.

The real concern is what happens when broad legal powers exist within an already fragile justice system where influence frequently shapes enforcement, police power is often abused, and the law does not always operate equally across class or political lines.

Because even the best-intentioned laws can become dangerous in the hands of a broken justice system, and that is ultimately the anxiety sitting beneath Nigeria’s current discourse on online defamation. Nigerians are not merely reacting to arrests. They are reacting to the uncertainty surrounding who gets prosecuted, who gets protected, and who gets to weaponise the law.

In a country where institutions are already struggling with public trust, every cybercrime prosecution inevitably raises a larger question about power itself. Not simply whether the law exists, but who the law truly serves.