It is quite ironic that a lot of Nigerians complain and languish under the current political and economical climate but if given the opportunity to hold office for a day, it is doubtful that any would act in a way that benefits the general public.
By Olumuyiwa Aderemi
Following the aftermath of the suspension of Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan of Kogi State from the National House of Assembly, various groups and organisations came out to publicly tarnish her image. However, one striking characteristic they share is that they are made up of individuals who are unaware of the very reason for which they are protesting, leading many to believe that these groups and protests are not aimed at seeking out the truth of the matter as they claim.
For example, the emergence of the group known as The United Women For Good Governance, a group with no social media profile or registration number with the Corporate Affairs Commission (CAC), but can give input on matters of national importance, is proof of this. This group appeared, spoke, and vanished, leaving behind the familiar scent of state-sponsored theatre. The swiftness of the backlash against Senator Natasha said more about Nigeria’s political culture than about the senator herself to reveal a larger truth: in Nigeria, power often speaks in the people’s voice without their consent.
In a functioning democracy, the voice of the people is expected to be a moral compass guiding the actions of the elected officials. However, in Nigeria, the people’s voice has become a megaphone rented by power, which is simply the ability to influence or direct the actions of others and is more concerned about achieving its own aims than being swayed by the courts of public opinion.
This is perhaps how most Nigerians view power, especially those at the helm of policy and law-making. Additionally, this has created an ‘every-man-for-himself’ climate in Nigeria. The goal is no longer “we the people”, it is now “we the government”. This distortion is possible because many Nigerians have come to see power not as a collective trust but as a divine inheritance of a few.
Though leaders owe their followers accountability in a democratic regime, the current state of the Nigerian political landscape views its leaders as the ones to whom the citizens owe their accountability, giving the country’s leaders all powers that the citizens are meant to exercise in a democratic society.
This raises the following salient questions: what are the dynamics of power between the Nigerian people, why do Nigerians assume their leaders are above their accountability, and how can Nigerians rethink power dynamics to remove the veil of almightiness attributed to the government?
Before Nigeria gained its independence on the 1st of October, 1960, our affairs were determined by the British. Colonised Nigeria was not designed to serve Nigerians. Rather, the British government set up the current structure of the Nigerian government to vest all power in the hands of the government. Thus began the entrenched belief in the supremacy of the government, which continued well after independence, as evidenced by the scramble for power by the military pre-1999.
These takeovers were supposedly inspired to root out the political corruption that the military perceived to have pervaded Nigeria’s political arena from the period of 1966 to 1993. Independence in 1960 did not dismantle this architecture but merely exchanged overseers. The belief to anchor government on the needs and opinions of the public manifested via political assassinations, cultural and ethnic riots, militarisation of the civil space … and rise in armed or militia groups.
Even when democracy returned in 1999, it was dressed in the habits of militarianism. Civilian rulers governed like commanders. Citizens obeyed like subordinates. The form changed, but the philosophy remained.
Additionally, the military regime showed that they were more interested in securing political profit. By arbitrarily arresting prominent Nigerians to silence pro-democratic movements and establishing political alliances, the military regime created a system of government that shared political offices among its members only, thus maintaining a strong hold on political power and leaving behind any interest in unification of the country. Though extinct, the activities that took place within that period forever shaped governance and the perception of power in Nigeria.
Long before being colonised, Nigerian societies had their own versions of sacred authorities where traditional hierarchies reinforced the structures of power. The Yorubas, one of Nigeria’s dominant ethnic groups, are ruled by the Alaafin of Oyo. Together with the Oyomesi (the king makers), they formed the head of the Yoruba government, with other leaders like the Obas, Chiefs, and Baale answering to the Alaafin.
Traditional leaders were seen as those chosen by deities or gods to lead the people. This mandate is seen as a divine one. Anything they demanded was given priority. Though checks and balances existed, they were unable to fade away the high level of omnipotence attributed to traditional leaders.
This signals a belief that most Nigerians viewed everything as within the domain of their traditional leaders to control, including the people themselves. Nigerian culture believes in power being structured, and this has been preserved in such a way that a leader must be accorded power.
That is why modern politicians are able to easily borrow the aura of traditional rulers, hosting elaborate coronations, demanding salutations, and invoking the age-old “respect your elders” phrase as a shield against being accountable. Cultural continuity is now a source of political confusion, weaponised by leaders.
But culture alone does not explain the people’s complicity in donning their leaders in garbs of almightiness. Ignorance, civic and educational, sustains it. According to Businessday, in 2022, 69% of Nigerians were regarded as literate, while 31% were illiterate. In this context, literacy goes beyond the ability to read and write. Rather, it translates to knowledge. Of the 69% that are literate, not many may be aware of various legislations that protect civil rights, or the fact that they have the power to challenge such laws.
Add the incidence of poverty in Nigeria, and the equation becomes more toxic. According to a 2024 report from the World Bank Group, 47% of Nigerians earn less than $2.1,5, which represents the international poverty line. This figure indicates that a majority of Nigerians are struggling to make ends meet and have become economically dependent on government patronage to survive on a daily basis.
This is why a Nigerian citizen below this poverty line would readily accept #1,000 or #2,000 to betray themselves for the government as it has been revealed via news platforms where statements by anti-#EndHunger protesters showed that most, if not all, were promised an incentive if they rallied together to disrupt peaceful protests by well-meaning Nigerians who sought to call out their government for the hardship the country was going through. This is how the illusion of almightiness is maintained, keeping citizens too distracted to question and too dependent to resist.
The seizure of the 750 luxury apartment estate built by former Central Bank of Nigeria governor, Godwin Emefiele, using public funds, and the indictment of former Kogi State governor, Yahaya Bello, by the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission for laundering money that belongs to the public treasury, are proof of a culture that confuses access with achievement. Even when exposed, public officials hardly face moral exile because moral judgment itself has been anesthetised by years of repetition of the performance of power; Nigerians are rarely shocked by corruption but simply fatigued by it.
The history of repression and human rights abuses experienced at the hands of government officials is another reason why most Nigerians believe the government has more power than the citizens. But the events in Nepal earlier this year stand as a striking reminder that governments, no matter how entrenched, are not above the will of their people.
Triggered by public outrage over political corruption and a social media ban, Nepalese citizens took to the streets in defiance of suppression. In just five days of sustained, peaceful protest, the prime minister resigned and a non-partisan interim government was formed. The swiftness of this outcome was not only political but cultural, demonstrating a society that had internalised the principle that governance exists to serve, not to subjugate.
In stark contrast, Nigerian youths, under the #EndSARS movement, mobilised to demand an end to police brutality and systemic injustice, the government’s response revealed a deep cultural fracture in the nation’s understanding of power. Rather than dialogue or reform, the state met peaceful protest with military force.
On October 20, 2020, at the Lekki Toll Gate, soldiers opened fire on unarmed citizens, revealing how deeply Nigeria’s political culture fears the awakening of its people. This is fear born from decades of treating governance as divine authority rather than delegated power. Where Nepal’s citizens reclaimed their voice, Nigeria’s were reminded of their place. In rethinking power dynamics, it is important to understand why and find an answer to what benefits can be derived from such, the most important of which is that the actions of our government reflect those of the citizens.
It is quite ironic that a lot of Nigerians complain and languish under the current political and economic climate, but if given the opportunity to hold office for a day, it is doubtful that any would act in a way that benefits the general public. The fight for independence came after all structures had been developed by the British, which favoured them only.
Inheriting them without being guided on how to make them work for Nigerians has left us so confused to the point where we simply coast along. Those in government have noticed this lacuna and capitalised on it. If the citizens believe their country is beyond repair, why should their government of the citizens believe otherwise? There is also the fact that many Nigerians opine that the hierarchical structure of the government possesses unchecked authority.
When citizens understand that the government is meant to represent their participation in national and international affairs, it shows interest in civic engagement and collective bargaining to create something meaningful for everyone to benefit from, particularly those not in government.
It also shows political activism, checks the government into acting solely for citizens, and accords legitimacy to elected officials to exercise the powers of their office without the need for their fellow citizens to feel afraid of their elected representatives or belittle whatever positive strides the few among them have made in office.
Senator Akpoti-Uduaghan’s suspension is simply a footnote in the larger story of the citizens of a country that remains haunted by its past and unsure of its power. Ultimately, the government is not as powerful or invincible unless the citizens make it so. A balance of power between the people and the government can create a transformative country that is ready to incubate, nurture, and help its citizens.
It also creates trust in the government. But this cannot take place if the citizens are not ready to educate themselves on holding their government accountable for their actions and, more importantly, quiz their own (the citizens) personal activities and attitudes to know if they represent qualities they expect from those that lead them.
Olumuyiwa Aderemi is a culture writer exploring the nuances of culture and its influences – both from the past and those still shaping us today. Through his work, he hopes to uncover overlooked aspects of culture that he missed while growing up and inspire others to do the same, ultimately becoming agents of change. Connect with him on Instagram (@gocrazymag) and X (@muyiwavstheopp).
Cover photo credit: Stephen Tayo for GQ