By Stanley Ajileye
When Hon. James Faleke recently declared that former Governor Yahaya Bello could sit comfortably at home and still win a senatorial election because his achievements would campaign for him, I almost stood up to salute the ingenuity of the statement.
It is one of those political expressions that deserve preservation in the National Archives.
After all, if achievements can campaign, then failures too should be entitled to campaign. Democracy, like heaven, ought not to discriminate.
The statement immediately provoked a question in my mind. Which achievements exactly will be doing the campaigning?
Will they move from village to village with loudspeakers? Will they organize ward meetings? Will they print posters and distribute souvenirs? Or will they simply appear before the electorate and introduce themselves?
“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, I am the achievement called unpaid salaries. I worked tirelessly for several years. Please vote accordingly.”
Perhaps another one may step forward:
“My name is pension arrears. I represented hardship with uncommon dedication. I seek your support.”
Political humour aside, Faleke’s statement raises a serious issue. Every former governor continues to campaign long after leaving office. Some campaign through roads. Some campaign through schools. Some campaign through hospitals. Others campaign through memories their citizens would rather forget.
The tragedy of governance is that politicians often believe government records can be edited like WhatsApp messages. Unfortunately, citizens possess screenshots.
The ordinary civil servant may forget where he kept his employment letter, but he rarely forgets the years his salary refused to locate his bank account.
The pensioner may forget the date of his retirement, but he does not forget the government that converted his pension into a prayer point.
The market woman may not remember budget figures, but she remembers whether there was food on the table.
That is why political legacies are stubborn things. They refuse to obey press statements.
For many Kogi citizens, one of the loudest campaigners from the Bello years would undoubtedly be the civil service screening exercise. What began as a mission to fish out ghost workers gradually became a situation where many genuine workers began wondering whether they themselves had become ghosts.
Workers were screened and screened again. Some were screened so frequently that one would think government was preparing them for international airport security clearance.
Thousands of families endured years without salaries and pensions. Children dropped out of school. Homes collapsed under economic pressure. Pensioners who had spent their productive years serving the state were left to negotiate survival with fate.
If achievements truly campaign, these experiences will certainly demand campaign tickets of their own.
Then comes the issue of cattle colonies, another policy whose political afterlife continues to generate controversy.
The policy was presented as a modern solution. Like many government policies, it arrived wearing a beautiful suit and speaking excellent English.
Years later, many communities believe the consequences have been less elegant.
Today, kidnapping has become one of the defining security challenges across many parts of Kogi State. Highways have become routes of anxiety. Farmers approach their farmlands with caution. Families say prayers before journeys that should ordinarily require only fuel and a driver’s licence.
Many citizens now draw a direct line between the cattle colony experiment and the security challenges confronting the state. Whether one agrees with that conclusion or not, perception has a strange habit of contesting elections.
If the cattle colonies eventually decide to campaign, they may have to explain why many communities now sleep with one eye closed and the other eye monitoring strange movements in nearby bushes.
This is the burden of leadership. Every policy eventually writes its own autobiography.
Some policies become monuments.
Others become warnings.
Some become tourist attractions.
Others become exhibits in the museum of political miscalculations.
As election conversations gather momentum, supporters will remind us of achievements. Opponents will remind us of failures. Both sides will spend fortunes attempting to persuade voters.
Yet the most effective campaigners are neither politicians nor party agents.
They are lived experiences.
A good road does not require a press conference to convince motorists.
A functioning hospital does not need a media consultant.
Prompt payment of salaries rarely hires social media influencers.
Likewise, years of unpaid salaries need no publicity manager. Kidnapping requires no public relations officer. Hardship has never suffered from poor visibility.
Every government leaves behind witnesses. Some testify for the defence. Others appear for the prosecution.
The voters will listen to both sides before delivering their verdict.
And that, perhaps, is the real meaning of Faleke’s statement.
When the achievements of a former governor begin to campaign, the former governor no longer controls the microphone.
– Stanley Ajileye writes from Lokoja.
