The enduring strength ofMNI versus MNIPR in NIPSSlies not in its recounting of institutional disagreements but in its demonstration that resilience can transform disappointment into lasting contribution… The closing reflection captures this beautifully: “Institutions may grant opportunities, but they do not own ideas. Once knowledge becomes a mission, it acquires a life of its own. No withdrawal letter can take that away.”.. That single sentence summarises not only Chapter Nine but also the relationship between the memoir and its companion volume on artificial intelligence.
When I received copies of MNI versus MNIPR in NIPSS: Tackling Institutional Bullying and AI in Crisis Communication in Nigeria: Challenges and Prospects, both authored by Yushau A. Shuaib, managing director and chief executive officer of Image Merchants Promotion Limited (IMPR), I expected two very different books. One appeared to be a memoir of institutional conflict; the other, an academic work on emerging technology and crisis communication.
Having read both, I discovered they are, in many respects, companion volumes. Together, they tell the story of how personal adversity can become intellectual opportunity, and how an interrupted academic journey can ultimately produce work of lasting national and international significance.
As Associate Editor of Spokespersons Digest — the publication behind the National Spokespersons Awards — I was naturally drawn to Chapter Eight of the memoir, “The NIPR Betrayal” in MNI versus MNIPR in NIPSS, spanning pages 139 to 161. Having covered the activities of the Nigerian Institute of Public Relations (NIPR) for several years, I approached the chapter with professional curiosity. What I found was an emotionally compelling account that raises broader questions about institutional relationships, professional loyalty, and the delicate balance between organisational discipline and support for members.
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According to the memoir, shortly after his withdrawal from the Senior Executive Course (SEC) 47 at the National Institute for Policy and Strategic Studies (NIPSS), Kuru, Shuaib was invited to appear before the Ethics Panel of the NIPR Council over actions arising from the dispute.
For someone whose professional life had been closely intertwined with the Institute for more than three decades, the experience was understandably painful.
Shuaib traces his relationship with the NIPR back to his undergraduate days at Bayero University, Kano, where he specialised in Public Relations and, in 1992, became the first recipient of the NIPR President’s Prize for the Best Graduating Public Relations Student. Three years later, he was honoured as the Kano/Jigawa Chapter’s Public Relations Person of the Year.
His career subsequently expanded beyond Nigeria through advanced studies, including a Master’s degree in Public Relations from the University of Westminster, London, professional research in online public relations, and affiliations with international organisations such as the Chartered Institute of Public Relations (CIPR), the Public Relations Society of America (PRSA), and the International Public Relations Association (IPRA). Under his leadership, IMPR also earned multiple international recognitions, including the SABRE Awards Africa and IPRA Golden World Awards.
Against this backdrop, one seemingly minor incident in the memoir becomes symbolically significant. The invitation from NIPR reportedly addressed him as “ANIPR” rather than “MNIPR,” the professional designation he had used for many years and which, according to him, had previously appeared in official correspondence from the Institute.
At first glance, it appears trivial. Yet anyone familiar with public relations understands that titles, professional designations and institutional language often carry symbolic meaning. They communicate recognition, identity and belonging.
Shuaib writes that after drawing the Registrar’s attention to the issue, another invitation was issued, this time omitting any professional designation altogether.
Whether intentional or not, the incident deepened his perception that his decades of contribution were no longer receiving institutional acknowledgement.
Equally striking is the memoir’s account of the National Spokespersons Awards.
The book explains that the initiative was conceived in 2019 during the tenure of Mallam Mukhtar Sirajo as President of the NIPR. Its inaugural edition was independently organised by IMPR in 2021, with the Institute’s endorsement, before both organisations entered into a formal partnership through a Memorandum of Understanding in 2023.
The awards have since grown into one of Nigeria’s foremost platforms for recognising excellence in strategic communication; honouring spokespersons, public information managers, corporate affairs practitioners, military communicators and crisis communication professionals.
According to the memoir, however, the partnership was terminated before the expiration of the agreement by the Ike Neliaku-led NIPR.
What surprised me further was when the institute, following the termination, introduced another awards platform under a different name.
Reflecting on the episode, Shuaib writes: “Organisations can withdraw endorsements. Partnerships can be terminated. Titles can be withheld. But one’s name — carefully built over decades — must remain answerable first to conscience, history and truth.”
That statement captures the emotional centre of Chapter Eight.
If that chapter represents the wound, Chapter Nine — “A Blessed Disappointment” — represents the healing. In my view, it is the memoir’s most inspiring chapter.
Rather than dwelling on conflict, it chronicles how an interrupted academic journey became the catalyst for some of the author’s most significant professional achievements.
Shuaib begins by acknowledging the personal toll of the crisis. The combined effects of the NIPSS withdrawal, the NIPR investigation, and the ensuing legal battles, resulted in something he had never previously experienced — hypertension.
His opening reflection is both simple and profound: “As someone who had spent decades helping individuals and institutions navigate reputational crises, I suddenly found myself at the centre of one.”
Yet, the chapter is far from a catalogue of grievances. Instead, it documents how adversity redirected his energy towards new opportunities.
One source of encouragement came from his family, whose support inspired him to take a restorative vacation in Canada. Equally moving were the visits and messages from graduates of the Young Communication Fellowship, many of whom travelled long distances simply to encourage their mentor.
These moments reinforced one of the book’s enduring messages: “True success is not measured by certificates, titles or institutional recognition. It is measured by the positive impact one leaves in the lives of others.”
The memoir also recounts how the NIPSS experience unexpectedly strengthened his vision for expanding the Young Communication Fellowship.
Inspired by the residential model at NIPSS, he developed plans for hostel facilities at the PRNigeria Centres in Kano and Ilorin. During a visit to the Kano Centre, Professor Adamu Abubakar Gwarzo, President of MAAUN, asked whether similar facilities existed in Abuja.
When Shuaib explained that such a project was beyond his financial capacity, Professor Gwarzo donated a large building in Lugbe, Abuja, to serve as a training and residential centre for the Fellowship.
It is an extraordinary example of how one setback unexpectedly created room for another opportunity.
Perhaps the chapter’s most compelling narrative, however, concerns the research project that eventually became AI in Crisis Communication in Nigeria: Challenges and Prospects.
Originally approved as a research proposal during SEC 47 at NIPSS, the study was titled “Artificial Intelligence and Crisis Communication in Nigeria’s Public Sector: An Assessment.”
Following his withdrawal from the programme, the institutional framework supporting the research disappeared. Many scholars would understandably have abandoned the project.
Shuaib chose otherwise. Driven by professional conviction and encouraged by colleagues at the Centre for Crisis Communication, he completed the study independently within three months.
The findings proved remarkably relevant. The research identified what he describes as Nigeria’s “awareness-adoption gap.” While many communication professionals are increasingly familiar with artificial intelligence, institutional use remains largely limited to drafting documents, monitoring media content, and generating reports.
More advanced applications — including predictive analytics, crisis forecasting, sentiment analysis and misinformation detection — remain significantly underutilised.
The study also highlights a “trust paradox.” Although AI improves speed and efficiency, communication professionals remain cautious about relying on it during crises because of concerns over deepfakes, misinformation, algorithmic bias, and the irreplaceable role of human empathy and judgment.
Its central conclusion is both balanced and timely: artificial intelligence should enhance human decision-making, not replace it.
Beyond diagnosis, the research identifies structural barriers to AI adoption, including inadequate digital infrastructure, inconsistent electricity supply, limited broadband penetration, shortages of specialised expertise, weak institutional coordination, and underdeveloped policy frameworks.
Importantly, the work did not remain confined to academia. It informed discussions at the Centre for Crisis Communication and the National Information Technology Development Agency (NITDA), contributing to the National Symposium on Artificial Intelligence and Crisis Communication held at the National Defence College, Abuja, in November 2025.
One outcome of that symposium was the establishment of the Crisis Communication Hub (CCHub), a multi-stakeholder platform aimed at improving crisis management and combating misinformation in Nigeria.
The research subsequently evolved into the 200-page book AI in Crisis Communication in Nigeria: Challenges and Prospects, endorsed by NITDA Director-General, Malam Kashifu Inuwa Abdullahi; Major General Chris Olukolade (Rtd); Professor Abdalla Uba Adamu; and Professor Abiodun Adeniyi.
Its most remarkable achievement came when the book was shortlisted as a finalist for the 2026 International Public Relations Association (IPRA) Golden World Awards in Athens, Greece.
There is considerable irony in this outcome. A research project interrupted within one institution ultimately gained wider relevance beyond it.
Had it remained solely an academic exercise at NIPSS, it might have concluded as another research paper in an institutional archive.
Instead, it became a national symposium, a published book, a catalyst for policy conversations, and an internationally recognised work.
That is perhaps the memoir’s greatest lesson. Institutions undoubtedly create opportunities. They nurture ideas, shape careers, and provide platforms for scholarship. But ideas, once fully developed, often transcend the institutions that first gave them life.
The enduring strength of MNI versus MNIPR in NIPSS lies not in its recounting of institutional disagreements but in its demonstration that resilience can transform disappointment into lasting contribution.
The closing reflection captures this beautifully: “Institutions may grant opportunities, but they do not own ideas. Once knowledge becomes a mission, it acquires a life of its own. No withdrawal letter can take that away.”
That single sentence summarises not only Chapter Nine but also the relationship between the memoir and its companion volume on artificial intelligence.
Together, they tell the story of an interrupted journey that ultimately reached destinations far beyond where it first began.
Kabir Abdulsalam is Associate Editor of Spokespersons Digest. He can be reached via [email protected].