“Dr.” From where and in what field?

Last week, the Federal Government moved to end a charade that has gone on for too long. The ban on using the “Dr.” title for honorary degree holders is not an attack on academia. It is a belated attempt to rescue meaning from a culture that has turned titles into costumes.

The warning by the Minister  of Education, Tunji Alausa, is clear: honorary degrees are honors, not qualifications. To parade them as academic credentials is fraud. To allow universities that have not “come of age” to keep minting them is worse—it turns higher education into a title shop where status is for sale.

Nigeria has a documented appetite for titles. Check any wedding invitation, funeral programme, or business card and you will see the pattern: Engr., Barr., Hon., Chief, Alhaji, and now, falsely, Dr. The doctorate, once a mark of years of research, original contribution, and intellectual rigour has been flattened into a prefix you can acquire in a two-hour ceremony after a donation and a speech.

The damage is not symbolic. When the title is abused, the public stops trusting real expertise. A man with an honorary doctorate from a weekend ceremony sits on panels beside someone who spent six years in a lab. Both are introduced as “Dr.” The patient, the student, the policymaker cannot tell the difference. That confusion erodes the very idea of earned authority.

Why did we get here? Part of it is history. In a society where access to power and respect was once tied to colonial rank and certificates, titles became shorthand for legitimacy. Part of it is insecurity. In a system where competence is often ignored, the title becomes armor—a way to demand attention and deference that merit alone cannot guarantee. And part of it is institutional failure. Some universities, eager for funds and visibility, have cheapened their own insignia by awarding degrees to anyone with a chequebook and a microphone.

The government’s intervention is necessary, but it is not sufficient. A circular alone will not kill the craze. Much has been said in the past about this disturbing trend to no avail. Enforcement must follow this time around if the government and the society truly meant to end this circus. The National Universities Commission needs to publish a clear list of universities licensed to award honorary degrees, and sanction those that operate outside it as the government has indicated. Regulatory bodies for medicine, engineering, and law must actively prosecute the misuse of professional titles. And media houses must stop printing “Dr.” for persons unless the holder can produce a thesis and a transcript.

More importantly, Nigerians must confront the vanity at the root of this. A title does not make you competent. It does not make you wise. It does not make you a leader. If anything, insisting on a title you did not earn broadcasts the opposite: that you need borrowed weight to stand upright.

There is a healthier path. Honorary degrees should remain what they were meant to be—public recognition of service, philanthropy, or cultural contribution. The recipient should receive it with gratitude, not relabel themselves as an academic. Universities should be proud enough to protect the value of their awards. And citizens should learn to ask a simple follow-up question when they hear “Dr.”: “From where, and in what field?”

A society that confuses ceremony with substance will keep mistaking noise for leadership. The government has drawn a line. The rest is up to the citizens.

This newspaper believes that If we want a country that works, we have to start by calling things by their real names. A doctor is someone who healed, researched, or taught you something hard. Everyone else is just a guest of honour.