I remember it as if it were yesterday. Twenty-seven years ago, I sat in a cramped bus traveling from Abuja to Yola. My seatmate was a young woman, a student at the University of Abuja, bright-eyed and articulate. As we navigated the pockmarked roads, our conversation drifted toward the systemic rot of corruption. I spoke with the fiery idealism of a student unionist, convinced that our generation would be the broom that swept the house clean.
She looked at me, not with malice, but with a chilling pragmatism. “Nothing can stop it,” she said. “I am only waiting to finish school so I can get my own share of the national cake.”
I shuddered. In that moment, I realized we were in “hot soup.” My fears were later confirmed when I watched my own comrades, men and women who once stood on barricades shouting for transparency, get elected to the National Assembly, become Deputy Governors, and Ministers. Instead of changing the narrative, they didn’t just join the bandwagon; they drove it. The light we thought would outshine the darkness was effortlessly swallowed by it.
The recent “funfair” welcome accorded to the immediate past Attorney General of the Federation and Minister of Justice, Abubakar Malami, alongside his family, after being granted bail, is a sobering reminder that corrupt leaders do not exist in a vacuum.
When kinsmen roll out the drums and red carpets for individuals facing grave allegations of betraying the public trust, they are sending a clear message: “Steal, as long as you bring some of it home.”
This is not a new phenomenon. I recall the 2007 return of the former Governor of Bayelsa State, Diepreye Alamieyeseigha. Despite jumping bail in the UK and being impeached for money laundering, he was welcomed back by a massive crowd of supporters as a “hero.” Similarly, when James Ibori returned to Delta State after serving time in a UK prison for money laundering, the celebration was nothing short of a state banquet.
As Nigerians, we often shout about “leadership failure,” but we rarely examine “followership failure.” We aid and abet corruption through three primary behaviors:
Ethnic and Religious Shielding: We treat “our” thief better than “their” saint. When a leader is accused of embezzlement, the first line of defense is often that they are being “persecuted” because of their tribe or faith. This tribal solidarity provides a bulletproof vest for looters.
The “National Cake” Mentality: Like my bus companion from decades ago, many citizens view public office not as a place of service, but as a lottery win. We pressure our relatives in office for money, scholarships, and contracts, fully aware that their official salaries cannot fund such lifestyles.
The Monetization of the Vote: During elections, we sell our future for a bag of rice or a five-thousand-naira note. According to various electoral surveys, poverty has weaponized the vote, but by accepting these “paltry sums,” we lose the moral right to demand accountability.
If we are to break this cycle, we must move beyond the rhetoric of the PVC as a magic wand. The PVC is a tool, but the hand that holds it must be guided by a new mind.
De-personalizing Loyalty: We must stop treating politicians like deities. Our loyalty should be to the Constitution and the delivery of public goods, not to individuals who throw crumbs at us from the wealth they stole from our children’s hospitals and schools.
Social Ostracization: Instead of funfairs and traditional titles, we must shame those who cannot explain their wealth. If the community stops cheering, the looter loses the “soft landing” that makes corruption attractive.
Ideological Politics: We must demand televised debates and clear party manifestos. As it stands, there is no ideological difference between our major parties; they are merely vehicles for power.
We must realize that a leader who buys your vote for five thousand naira has already calculated how to steal five billion naira to recoup the investment. Until we stop being accomplices in our own robbery, we will continue to get exactly the leaders we deserve.
Comrade Godwin Anyebe is a Journalist and a Rights Activist.
