Nigeria stands at a crossroads, like a traveler torn between two paths—one leading to accountability and progress, the other to corruption and decay. Too often, governance in Nigeria resembles a banquet where public officials feast while the people watch from outside, hungry and forgotten.
EFCC Chairman Olanipekun Olukoyede recently laid bare this reality: “We see governance here as a means to make wealth, and that is why the rate of public corruption is so high.”
His words are an indictment of a system where leadership has been reduced to looting, while in successful democracies, governance is a solemn duty, not a cash grab. The lesson from Europe and the United States is clear—strong institutions, transparency, and decentralization are the pillars of a government that serves the people rather than exploits them.
Accountability is the guardrail that keeps governance from veering into corruption. In the United States, even presidents have faced impeachment, and in Germany, ministers resign over the smallest ethical breaches.
As James Madison warned, “If men were angels, no government would be necessary.” But in Nigeria, impunity thrives. Anti-corruption agencies exist, but their leashes are held by the same politicians they should be investigating. Femi Falana, a prominent legal advocate, put it bluntly: “You cannot succeed without an alliance with the people, the victims of corruption.” Until Nigerians refuse to defend corrupt leaders out of ethnic loyalty or political favoritism, accountability will remain an illusion.
Nigeria’s rigid centralization is another roadblock to good governance. Imagine a tree where every branch waits for instructions from the trunk before growing—this is Nigeria’s federal system. In contrast, America’s states craft policies tailored to their needs, and in Sweden, local governments control education and healthcare. Nigeria’s local governments, however, are mere shadows, stripped of autonomy and held hostage by powerful governors. Chinua Achebe once wrote, “The trouble with Nigeria is simply and squarely a failure of leadership.” Real federalism—where power and resources flow to the people, not just the powerful—could transform governance from a distant mirage into a lived reality.
Transparency is the sunlight that exposes corruption’s shadows, yet Nigeria’s leaders prefer to govern in darkness. In Estonia, every government transaction is digitally tracked; in the U.S., the Freedom of Information Act ensures public access to government records. Nigeria passed a similar law in 2011, but enforcement is weak, and government secrecy remains the norm. Olukoyede urged Nigerians to ask themselves: “Can you defend everything you have now legitimately?” A culture of secrecy breeds corruption, but when governance is conducted in the open, public trust grows. The people deserve to see where their taxes go, how contracts are awarded, and why billions disappear overnight.
A nation without an independent judiciary is like a house without a foundation—inevitably, it will collapse. In Germany and the U.S., courts check executive excesses, ensuring no one is above the law. Nelson Mandela once said, “No one is above the law, and no one is below it.” Yet in Nigeria, the judiciary is often shackled, its hands tied by politics. Cases drag on for years, and high-profile corruption trials often end in acquittals or weak sentences. Justice delayed is justice denied, and until Nigeria’s courts dispense justice swiftly and impartially, corruption will remain a profitable enterprise.
Nigeria’s governance crisis is not written in stone; it is a script that can be rewritten. Like a phoenix, the nation can rise from the ashes of corruption and inefficiency—if it chooses reform over rhetoric. History shows that nations thrive when institutions are strong, leaders are accountable, and the people demand more than empty promises. The question is simple: Will Nigeria embrace the path of governance that builds or continue down the road of looting that destroys? The choice, as always, rests not just with its leaders, but with its people.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah, Igalamela/Odolu
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