When I first explored the tussle between the NBC and the satellite channel Arewa24 in “Arewa24, NBC and the Courts: Untangling Jurisdictional Knots”, I highlighted how a state-level censorship board in Kano attempted to ban one of Arewa24’s drama series — despite the channel operating under an NBC licence and broadcasting nationwide. That clash underscored a persistent confusion over who regulates what in Nigeria’s media world.
Since then, the confusion has deepened — shifting from satellite TV to the ever-expanding realm of digital broadcasting. A recent incident involving journalist Dan’Uwa Rano in Kano, who was detained under allegations of operating a YouTube channel without NBC approval, has reignited the debate: does the NBC have legal authority to licence or regulate online broadcasting platforms?
At first blush, the NBC certainly seems to think so. A commentary on the legal platform Lexology quotes the position that “Internet radio and broadcasting streaming signals from and into Nigeria require a licence from NBC.” It goes on: “In practice, most of the internet radio stations operating in Nigeria already have a radio (or another broadcast) licence issued by NBC.” On its face, this suggests that if one is streaming audio or visual content to or from Nigeria, the NBC expects some form of approval or licence.
But the legal reality is far less clear. The NBC’s regulatory powers come from the National Broadcasting Commission Act and the Nigeria Broadcasting Code, both crafted in a pre-internet era. They talk about the “transmission of sound or vision for reception by the general public through cable, radio, satellite, or any other means of wireless diffusion.” They do not explicitly mention online platforms, YouTube channels or streaming over data networks. The internet is not a frequency-spectrum resource like radio waves. It is private data infrastructure — servers, broadband, apps — which fall under the wider regulator, the Nigerian Communications Commission (NCC).
So even though the NBC asserts that a radio or TV station licence gives it control over online extensions, having a terrestrial or satellite licence does not automatically equate to approval for entirely independent online content or new platforms. And lacking that licence does not currently amount to a clear breach under the law. Moreover, when in 2021 the NBC issued a directive to online “broadcast service providers and social-media platforms operating in Nigeria,” telling them to register with the Commission, it opened a new front in the battle over regulation. But that directive was administrative, not backed by fresh legislation. No court has upheld that circular as constitutionally valid, and the NBC Act remains silent on licensing purely online broadcasters.
Beyond the question of law, there is also the question of capacity. The Commission’s technical infrastructure is weak, and its staff strength is too small to keep pace with the speed of digital communication. Beyond that, social media platforms are global corporations, operating beyond Nigeria’s jurisdiction. Their servers, algorithms, and decision-making structures are outside NBC’s control. Even if the Commission identifies harmful content, it has neither the legal authority nor the technological reach to compel global platforms to take action swiftly. Without modern tools such as automated monitoring systems, artificial intelligence-based content analysis, and international cooperation, the NBC cannot effectively regulate social media. Attempting to do so with its current structure would be like trying to catch rain with a basket.
I had touched on these issues in my recent piece “NBC, YouTube and the Boundaries of Media Regulation in Nigeria”, where I argued that streaming platforms embody a new media landscape that cannot be shoe-horned into old laws. What the Lexology commentary and the NBC directive reveal is not a settled regulatory framework — but a claim of authority by the regulator, pushing at the limits of its legal reach.
And so when the case of Dan’Uwa Rano unfolds, the question is not just about a single journalist in Kano. It is about digital press freedom, regulatory clarity, and the rule of law in a changing media environment. The police’s insistence that Rano must “produce” the fictional character in his programme before release — a demand that is absurd on its face — only underscores the distortions that flow from confusion or misapplication of regulatory roles.
What remains firm, however, is this: broadcasting on assigned frequencies is regulated by the NBC and the NCC; online streaming sits in a grey zone until the National Assembly updates the law. Until then, claims that running a YouTube channel requires NBC approval remain assertions, not settled legal fact. If Nigeria’s democracy is to thrive, then regulators must respect legal boundaries, online creators must be protected from arbitrary enforcement, and the conversation must move from executive decrees to legislative clarity.
In the end, the NBC’s authority correctly extends to radio and television broadcasting under its enabling Act. The state censorship board in Kano has power over film exhibition within the state. But neither body currently holds a clear, legal mandate to licence or regulate independent online broadcasters. Recognising that distinction is not just legal housekeeping — it is about safeguarding the freedom to speak, stream and publish without fear.