On a humid Friday afternoon in Abuja, the air reverberated with questions. At a modest press room tucked behind the Federal Secretariat, journalists, social media influencers, and political analysts assembled for an interactive session on Nigeria’s much-discussed tax reforms. At the center of attention was Taiwo Oyedele, chairman of the Presidential Fiscal Policy & Tax Reforms Committee — a man now tasked with navigating the tension between policy ambition and public apprehension.
As cameras rolled and phones recorded, Oyedele delivered a line that caught many off guard: “Sex workers, agberos … everybody has the responsibility to self-declare.” These two words — “sex workers, agberos” — would soon dominate news cycles, ignite fierce debates, and force a reckoning over tax fairness, enforcement, and the limits of state reach.
The Statement That Sparked a Firestorm
To ordinary ears, “sex workers” and “agberos” might evoke social taboos or knee-jerk reactions. For the tax policy apparatus, however, their invocation was not rhetorical flourish — it was a clarion declaration. Oyedele’s purpose was explicit: no one earning income escapes moral scrutiny in the eyes of tax law. Whether informal or illicit, legal or not, income is income, and under the new regime, it must be declared.
His argument was grounded in a foundational claim: the obligation to self-declare is not new. Rather, he said, it has always existed under existing tax statutes — the recent reform simply reinforces what was already the law. “These new tax laws are not imposing taxes on anyone who was not taxable before,” he insisted, meaning the threshold of liability remains anchored in earlier legislation.
But he did not stop at abstractions. He drew comparisons to illustrate his logic:
“If I am an agbero, which is I am calling people to enter the vehicle and I get paid, how is that different from the waiter in this hotel? How is it different from an accountant? How is it different from a factory worker? So, we cannot now say that agberos are exempted from tax.”
By framing the role of the agbero — a person who directs traffic, assists with cars in congested spots, or helps passengers with entry — as functionally equivalent to service workers, Oyedele moved the debate into the domain of fairness and economic logic rather than morality.
He also addressed the inevitable backlash:
“I know the sex workers thing is being sensationalised.”
He argued that morality or legality cannot be the litmus test for taxation. In his view, if the law permitted exemptions for “immoral” or “illegal” income, loopholes would abound — “I will just make my work become illegal so I don’t pay tax.” He invoked a global principle: tax authorities do not ask whether income was earned legally or morally; they ask only whether the income exists. “Around the world, the tax authorities … tax you on your income, whether it is legal or not, whether it is moral or not.”
To underscore his point, he referred to practices elsewhere — notably the U.S. Internal Revenue Service’s requirement that even stolen income, if detectable, be declared for tax purposes.
The Policy Logic: Enforcement, Validation, and System Checks
Beyond the rhetoric, Oyedele sought to show that the new framework is not just aspirational — it is designed to enforce compliance through mechanisms of verification and validation.
He posed a challenge: suppose an agbero or journalist fails to self-declare their income. How would the government discover the omission? In his view, the answer lies in the nature of money flows. Every Naira earned must either be spent, saved, or invested, usually via channels involving third parties — banks, markets, sellers, contractors, or service providers. Because these flows leave digital or transactional trails, the system can cross-validate income claims.
“When you earn money, if you don’t tell us, you do three things with the money you earn. You either spend or you save or you invest. All of that you do with third parties, and it can be validated.”
In effect, the entire tax machinery under the new regime is being positioned not just to accept self-declaration but to challenge and verify it. The fiscal policy chairman doubled down: the new laws do not draw lines between “legitimate” and “illegitimate” sources — their focus is whether money was earned in exchange for goods or services.
He also reminded critics that court judgments globally uphold the principle that tax law is agnostic to morality or legality — a principle deeply embedded in jurisprudence.
Why Mention “Sex Workers, Agberos”?
Why did Oyedele choose to call out sex workers and agberos by name — a move sure to provoke headlines? The answer likely lies in strategy and symbolism.
First, both groups exist largely outside formal economic structures in Nigeria. Their transactions tend to be cash-based, informal, and opaque — characteristics that make them difficult for the state to tax under older frameworks. By naming them, Oyedele aims to send a message: no income class is beyond the reach of the tax net.
Second, invoking two socially charged groups forces a public conversation about equity and universality. If Nigerians recoil at taxing sex workers, is there a moral boundary to how far tax reach should extend? If they bristle at taxing agberos, what about other informal workers? By pushing the envelope, he forces citizens and critics to define where they draw the line.
Third, the sensationalism is almost unavoidable — and perhaps unavoidable by design. The media attention brings the new tax regime into focus, ensuring wide visibility. Oyedele himself hinted as much: he acknowledged that the “sex workers thing is being sensationalised.”
The Legal and Political Terrain
Oyedele’s stance arrives at a delicate intersection of law, public sentiment, and governance. The four tax reform bills signed by President Bola Tinubu on June 26 are slated to take effect January 1, 2026. Critics argue that the timeline is tight and that enforcement mechanisms are not yet mature.
Beyond logistics, there is the realm of resistance. Some Nigerians perceive the move as an overreach — taxing the poor, criminalizing the informal sector further, or punishing marginalized groups. Others see opportunity: perhaps greater revenue mobilization, fewer exemptions, and improved services. The political risk is real.
By zeroing in on sex workers and agberos — categories already burdened by social stigma and precarious livelihoods — Oyedele has invited sharp pushback. Detractors will ask: Is this a moral crusade cloaked as tax policy? Does the government have the institutional capacity to treat every sector equally? Will enforcement become selective or predatory?
Yet from the government’s vantage, these debates are necessary. If loopholes remain unaddressed, inequality widens, and revenue targets slip. The new tax laws aim to broaden the base, reduce exemptions, and reinforce accountability.
Voices from the Ground
While Oyedele’s rhetoric captures the national spotlight, the real test will be on streets, intersections, brothels, and ride-hailing queues.
What does an agbero think when told he must now pay taxes like a corporate worker? What does a sex worker feel when their livelihood is dragged into public debate? How many will resist, retreat into deeper informality, or complain that the state is reaching too far?
In many lower-income neighborhoods, the agbero roles are often born of necessity — attempting to eke out meager income from the margins. They lack formal registration, digital records, or banking relationships. If taxed, the process of assessing their income may become arbitrary or draconian. Will authorities use estimates, proxies, or default rates? What evidence will suffice?
Similarly, sex workers operate in a space where legality is contested, safety is precarious, and institutional trust is low. Forcing them into tax liability may expose them to risks — both from authorities and criminal elements. Will there be safe, discrete tax registration channels? Will the state guarantee confidentiality or non-prosecution in exchange for compliance? These are questions yet to be addressed.
Oyedele’s bold assertion — that “undelcared income can be traced” — assumes a level of transactional transparency many informal actors lack. If someone’s earnings never touched the banking system, never passed through third parties, can they be validated? And who bears the burden of proof — the state or the individual?
The Stakes and the Future
Taiwo Oyedele’s declaration is more than headline bait. It signals a paradigm shift: Nigeria is serious about extending the tax net into previously ungoverned spaces. But with that ambition come risks of public backlash, implementation failures, and legal contestation.
When the law takes effect in 2026, enforcement will begin — likely first in urban centers, business districts, and sectors with digital footprints. Gradually, the net may close around smaller actors. But for Oyedele, the target is not punishment — it is inclusivity in tax citizenship. All who earn must contribute.
To make that vision feasible, the government must invest heavily in capacity: digitized revenue agencies, data systems, mobile registration channels, taxpayer education, grievance mechanisms. Without those, the policy may be symbolic rather than substantive.
In the end, the question is this: can Nigeria build a tax regime that is universal but sensitive, assertive but fair, expansive but justified? Can it tax those at the margins without crushing them? Can it extend state reach without alienating the governed?
Oyedele’s invocation of sex workers and agberos is a gauntlet thrown down — a challenge inviting Nigerians to reconsider what tax obligation means in a modern state. It is less a provocation than a statement: no income too small, no person beyond reach, no excuse for invisibility.
As 2026 looms, the real test will be whether the rhetoric turns into systems, whether the marginalized can be counted, and whether the state can collect with equity — not just with force.
In that sense, his words are not the end but the opening note of a much larger national conversation. And in that conversation, the true measure of success will be not headlines, but fairness, trust, and the collective will to build a tax system that truly includes all.
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