Nigerian Political Activism And The Game Of Survival
One of the easiest titles to claim in Nigeria’s chaotic, anything-goes society is “activist.” Political activism here is less a noble calling and more a thriving, low-entry business venture—no special qualifications required. Simply adopt a rebellious posture, speak loudly, bark at authority like a stray dog on heat, and cry foul without offering a single coherent solution. For good measure, issue an ultimatum that something must be done—then quietly crawl back behind the cameras to grovel and confess that, well, it was all theatre. Let’s start from there.
In the build-up to the 2015 general elections, a curious assortment of Nigerian elites—from the entertainment industry to academia, religious circles to civil society—led the gullible masses to the altar of protest. Their cause? To rail against the “evil policies” of the Jonathan administration. Fuel subsidy removal led the charge, accompanied by cries over insecurity and economic stagnation. Fair enough—these were not baseless concerns.
Among the crusaders were Nobel laureate(s) Daddy G.Os from churches with more members than some countries, renowned journalists, career activists, lawyers, professors—people from every conceivable walk of life. Their collective outcry reached such a fever pitch that it triggered a political tsunami, sweeping Jonathan out and ushering in the now infamous Buhari era.
Naturally, one might expect the next question to be: How did Nigeria fare afterwards? Or more appropriately: How is Nigeria faring now? But then again, since when did Nigerians become keen on asking questions or keeping track of history? For all the noise and passion that filled the streets back then, has anything actually improved? No prizes for guessing.
From 2015 to 2023, we witnessed a horror show of insecurity, economic regression, and herders’ terrorism. Kidnappings became a daily affair; the naira did a nosedive; despair reached every household. And our beloved activists? They went silent. Vanished. Vanquished. Perhaps they’re still drafting strongly worded press releases that no one will read.
Even now, in the aftermath of the 2023 elections, we’re still clinging to the pipe dream of a “New Nigeria.” But remember those thunderous voices of 2014? The ones that demanded accountability and good governance from every rooftop? Well, they’ve been hushed. Permanently, it seems. Fuel subsidy has not just been removed—it has been buried without ceremony. And all we hear from some of the once-fiery clerics is a fresh call for bigger offerings and tastier meat at the altar.
As for the intellectuals of that protest era? Many are now dining at the same table they once condemned. Others have gladly accepted the awards and honours they once rejected on moral grounds. But who are we to be surprised? Only those naïve enough to think literary brilliance automatically translates into political wisdom would be disappointed. Truth is, some of our celebrated men of letters suffer from chronic ideological schizophrenia. Their political commentaries shouldn’t be taken more seriously than their fiction—because that’s what they are, really: fiction.
Of course, some will defend these activists, reminding us that they are “only human” and have a right to change their minds. That’s cute. But when one positions oneself as the “voice of the people,” the rules change. You don’t get to make reckless political choices under the guise of “personal conviction.” You are no longer just one of us. Your choices have ripple effects. Your credibility, not just your voice, shapes public opinion. And as the old saying goes, he who comes to equity must come with clean hands.
In all of this, let it be firmly said: the average Nigerian must understand that no one—absolutely no one—has their interest at heart when it comes to political activism. Every activist in today’s Nigeria has a price tag. And believe me, it’s not in dollars—it’s in influence, appointments, awards, or juicy contracts. Before you join the next mushroom movement, shouting down the heavens for a “better Nigeria,” ask yourself: Do I know why I’m here—or am I just following the noise?
Today’s activist against injustice may very well be tomorrow’s bootlicking passivist. And he won’t even have the decency to apologize.