By Kachi Okezie, Esq
For decades, the Nigerian discourse has been a merry-go-round of finger-pointing. We blame the “ghost of Lord Lugard” for an uncomfortable 1914 marriage, the 1999 Constitution for its structural flaws, and a recycling bin of leaders for their lack of vision. Yet, as the years roll by and the same patterns repeat regardless of the regime or the law, a more uncomfortable truth emerges: Nigeria’s fundamental problem is not its systems, but the collective psyche and character of Nigerians themselves. If a machine fails to work regardless of who sits at the controls or which manual is used, one must eventually inspect the internal components. In the machinery of statehood, the citizens are the components.
This tragic reality is most evident in the way Nigerians cling to colonial history as a permanent disability check. We speak of 1914 as an insurmountable curse, yet a glance across the global landscape reveals a different story. Nations such as Singapore, India, and Vietnam endured the same, if not more brutal, colonial extractions. These nations transitioned from being colonial subjects to purposeful citizens, forging a national identity based on productivity and merit. In contrast, the average Nigerian has remained a “subject” in spirit, viewing the state as an alien entity to be looted rather than a commonwealth to be built. The problem is not that we were colonized; it is that we have refused to mentally decolonize and accept the burden of self-actualization.
Our obsession with “certifications” further masks a deep-seated lack of political education and human development. Nigeria boasts one of the most degreed populations in Africa, yet there is a cavernous void where civic responsibility should reside. We have millions of “highly schooled” individuals who use their intellect to navigate corruption more efficiently rather than dismantle it. True education manifests as a commitment to the rule of law, yet in Nigeria, the degree is often just a tool for social climbing. This intellectual disconnect explains why, despite having the mental capacity to build a superpower, we remain stuck in a loop of dysfunction. We are “certificated” but poorly educated in the basic tenets of civilization.
The endless debate over the 1999 Constitution is another masterful exercise in self-delusion. Many Nigerians decry the document as the source of all evil, forgetting that no constitution is a living being; it is always only a tool. The success of any governing document is a direct reflection of the quality and level of individual development of its operators. One only needs to look at the United Kingdom to see the ultimate rebuttal of our legalistic excuses. The UK thrives without a single written constitution, governed instead by an unbendable collective will to do what is agreed to be right. In Britain, a public official resigns out of shame for a minor breach; in Nigeria, we snatch ballot boxes and then hire senior advocates to prove why the law shouldn’t apply to us. If the operators are committed to subverting the rules, no amount of constitutional “perfection” can save the state. Even the nostalgic yearning for the 1963 Republican Constitution ignores the fact that it presaged a civil war within only three years of its existence. It is not the document that failed; it was the people. And it always is.
Perhaps the most pervasive myth of all is that “leadership” is the sole culprit of our stagnation. We speak of leaders as if they were an invading force from a distant galaxy, but they are, in fact, the distilled essence of our own society. A politician who steals from the public treasury is simply the average Nigerian who has been given a bigger opportunity. The same citizen who bypasses a queue, cheats on a tax return, or bribes a policeman is the same individual who eventually ascends to the governor’s mansion. We have cultivated a culture where “sharpness” is defined by how well one can circumvent the law, and then we express shock when our leaders prove to be the sharpest of all.
If the leadership were truly the only problem, the solution would have been found long ago. History shows that when a people truly reach their limit, they reclaim their destiny. We have seen it in Tunisia, Egypt, Sri Lanka, Kenya, and Senegal. In those nations, the masses moved as a collective force to demand accountability. In Nigeria, however, the masses are often the first line of defence for the corrupt, in true Stockholm Syndrome form. We allow ethnic and religious shielding to blunt the sword of justice. When a leader is called to account, his “kinsmen” rise up not to condemn his theft, but to defend “their son.” This indicates that the problem is not a lack of power in the hands of the people, but a lack of will and a fractured sense of ethics and morality among the people themselves.
Ultimately, Nigeria cannot be “fixed” by a new law, a new map, or a new set of leaders alone. It requires a fundamental revolution of the Nigerian psyche. We must move beyond being a collection of warring tribes and “certificated” opportunists to becoming a citizenry that understands that the common good is the only path to individual prosperity.
Until the average Nigerian decides that integrity is more valuable than a bribe and that the country is worth more than the tribe, we will continue to rotate on this merry-go-round of failure and cataclysm. The crisis is not in our stars, our history, or our laws; it is in ourselves.
