To flush the filth that stains the nation’s name,
Let truth and justice torch their ruthless game.
What might be the endgame of 2027—and what must we do?
In Nigeria, some of the loudest critics of the political system are often its quietest beneficiaries. By day, they denounce government failures; by night, they profit from the very institutions they condemn. They shout against corruption—except when they are its beneficiaries. Policies that do not serve their personal interests are quickly labelled “anti-people”. Their loyalty is not to principle but to opportunity.
These same individuals wave the banner of reform yet continue to thrive in the decaying system they decry. Real change is ridiculed or resisted the moment it threatens their comfort or influence. In such a climate, outrage becomes transactional. Truth is buried beneath noise, and public opinion is manipulated. They do not seek justice—they seek access. What they defend is not democracy, but self-preservation.
As a result, public institutions have been hollowed out. Rampant looting, inflated contracts, and phantom projects have drained public trust. Security votes disappear into untraceable accounts while orchestrated chaos spreads across the land. Insecurity is often no accident—it is engineered to serve political and financial interests. Armed groups thrive not just from neglect, but with the silent complicity of the powerful. Terrorism—from Boko Haram to ISWAP—persists, fuelled by both external forces and internal betrayal. This is not merely a failure of governance—it is a collapse of moral will.
The political elite shelter behind religious slogans, ethnic divisions, and patronage networks. They recycle the same broken promises under new party labels. Nigeria is not short of laws or institutions—it is starved of sincerity, courage, and ethical leadership.
Religion, which should offer moral guidance, has too often been corrupted. Across traditions—Shia Islam, Sunni Islam, and Christianity—faith calls for justice, duty, and accountability. In Shia Islam, leadership lies with the Imamate, a line of divinely guided, morally upright figures. Imam Husayn’s martyrdom at Karbala stands as an eternal symbol of resistance against tyranny. In modern Shia thought, Wilayat al-Faqih entrusts jurists to guide society in the absence of the Hidden Imam.
In Sunni Islam, leadership is based on community consensus. Though the caliph may be flawed, he must uphold the sharīʿah and safeguard societal harmony. Even imperfect leaders are tolerated if they prevent greater unrest. Christianity, especially in its early teachings, views political authority as temporary and secondary to divine rule. Christ’s instruction to “render unto Caesar” acknowledges state power but affirms ultimate loyalty to God. Thinkers such as Augustine and Aquinas developed a political ethic grounded in peace, virtue, and the moral accountability of rulers.
Though these traditions differ in form, they all agree: power must serve righteousness, not self-interest. Yet in Nigeria, these sacred ideals are routinely exploited. Leaders invoke God to gain legitimacy but govern for personal gain. Faith becomes theatre; sermons become tools of propaganda. Public prayers hide private greed. The pulpit no longer calls the powerful to conscience—it consoles them. Morality is preached—but rarely practised.
Many who hold religious or moral authority are entangled in the very injustices they condemn. Their true allegiance is to status and privilege, not to truth or the people. What should be a prophetic voice becomes performance art.
Worse still is the repeated cycle of betrayal: those once oppressed quickly become the new oppressors. Without inner renewal, power simply changes hands—not character. Liberation without reflection breeds domination in another form.
Among this crowd are those who wear the mask of activism but seek only attention. Their causes are curated for applause, not impact. Their message bends to popularity. In chasing relevance, they dilute truth and exploit real suffering. They offer not liberation—but distraction.
Yet the greatest deception is not of others—it is of the self. To justify betrayal, sanctify corruption, or dress ambition as service is to corrode the soul. No human being—however eloquent, powerful, or spiritual—has the divine right to dictate another’s destiny. That right belongs only to the Supreme Being, whose justice is beyond our politics, platforms, and pretence.
If Nigeria is to heal, it must return to its moral centre. That will not come from slogans or surface reforms, but from a deep reckoning with our values. It requires courage to question allegiances, challenge idols, and resist tribal comfort. It means choosing truth over tribe, principle over profit, and integrity over access.
A great nation is not built by roads and budgets alone. It is built by character. For Nigeria to rise, it must do more than vote—it must think, remember, and reform. The future depends not only on what we build, but on who we choose to become, and the system we allow to lead us.