In the grand theatre of Nigerian politics, where irony is the unwitting playwright, recent events have provided a spectacle worthy of the most acerbic satire. Here, the rulers, cloaked in the guise of benevolent leaders, have taken the stage with a series of anti-people policies that could only be described as economic contortionism.
The citizens, tired of being marionettes in this vicious cycle, have risen to demand a reversal of these absurd decrees. Civil rights organisations, playing the chorus of this farce, have led peaceful protests, only to be met with the clumsy violence of state security—a performance so predictable it could lull even the most ardent critic into a state of cynical indifference.
In a country blessed with an abundance of resources, one might expect policies designed to uplift and empower the citizenry.
Yet, in an act of bureaucratic wizardry, the Nigerian government has managed to concoct policies that turn gold into dung. These policies, cloaked in the language of voodoo economic reform, have achieved the miraculous feat of impoverishing the many to enrich the few. Prices of essential commodities have soared, fuel costs have skyrocketed, and the average Nigerian is left wondering if this is some elaborate hoax at their peril.
The architects of these policies seem to reside in an ivory tower, far removed from the gritty realities of daily life. One can almost imagine them, ensconced in their air-conditioned offices, crafting “decrees” with the detachment of chess players moving pawns on a board. They seem to have forgotten that these pawns are people—people with families, hopes, and dreams. But in this blast furnace called Nigeria, the show must go on, regardless of the suffering it inflicts.
Enter the pressure groups of various shapes and sizes, the unsung heroes in this wonderland. These groups have taken to the streets with placards and chants, embodying the spirit of peaceful protest. Their demands are simple: reverse the policies that are turning citizens into paupers. They seek dialogue, not discord; solutions with no trace of _baala blue and bulaba_.
Yet, in the theatre of the Nigerian politics, even the most peaceful protests are seen as acts of rebellion. In some states, the government, in its infinite “wisdom”, has chosen to respond with the iron fist of state security. The sight of unarmed protesters being attacked by heavily armed security forces is a tableau that has played out far too often. It is as if the scriptwriters of this farce believe that if not _baala blue or bulaba_, violence is the only language the state can speak.
The security agencies, those guardians of public order, have outdone themselves in their latest performance. With pockets of exceptions, of course. They have turned peaceful protests into scenes of chaos, all the while maintaining the straight-faced pretence of protecting public order. And when the dust settles and the cameras roll, they point fingers at the protesters, blaming them for the very violence inflicted upon them. It is a masterstroke of absurdity, a performance worthy of the highest accolades in the theatre of the absurd. A kind of performance that will no doubt make Charlie Chaplain turn blue with envy.
In the grand scheme of this farce, the government clings to the illusion of legitimacy. They believe that by not giving a damn or worst still; by suppressing dissent, they can maintain control. Yet, true legitimacy is not derived from the barrel of a gun, but from the consent of the governed. A government that ignores the cries of its people, that responds to peaceful protest with violence, forfeits its claim to legitimacy.
*To regain legitimacy, the government must engage in genuine dialogue with the citizenry. It must listen to the voices of the people, not just the echoes of its rhetoric. This requires a willingness to admit mistakes, to roll back harmful policies, and to adopt a more inclusive approach to governance. But such acts of humility and responsiveness are rare in the corridors of power.*
Nigeria’s history is a tapestry woven with threads of tyranny and oppression. The scars of past dictatorships serve as a grim reminder of the dangers of unchecked power. In the current act of this ongoing play, the government must consciously reject the tyrant’s script and embrace the principles of good governance.
Good governance is not a mere performance; it is a lived reality, characterized by active participation, protection of civil liberties, and adherence to the rule of law. Any deviation from these principles transforms the government from a servant of the people into an oppressor, a tyrant and a despot. Every citizen must resist such transformation, and demand that the government return to the path of good governance.
As the curtain falls on this act of the Nigerian political theatre, the need for a new narrative is clear. The current script, with its focus on unpopular policies and undemocratic responses, has run its course. It is time for a new act, one that centres on dialogue, inclusivity, and genuine and humane policies.
Civil rights organizations and the broader citizenry must continue to hold the government accountable. Their peaceful protests and advocacy are essential in shaping a new narrative. Ultimately, the path to a prosperous and stable Nigeria lies in a government that listens to its people, respects their rights, and governs with transparency and accountability.
In this new act, let the government remember: the true measure of its legitimacy lies not in the force it can muster, but in the trust it can earn. And trust, once broken, is not easily restored.
