Olu Allen
A strange condition defines Nigeria’s politics: when a leader appears financially prudent and personally accountable, the public does not celebrate, it suspects. We squint. We probe. We ask, “Where is the catch?”
This reaction is not madness. It is conditioning, the result of decades under leaders for whom public office often functioned less as service and more as private enterprise.
After generations of disappointment, cynicism has become our national reflex. Integrity, when it appears, feels abnormal.
Yet the uncomfortable truth is this: deviations from the corrupt norm have existed.
Not saints. Not perfect leaders. But individuals whose personal discipline complicates the easy narrative that all power must end in plunder.
The deeper question is why a society that claims to desire integrity often recoils when confronted with it
The Two Political Archetypes
Our cynicism is shaped by a familiar model.
On one side stands the politician Nigerians have come to expect: wealth expands mysteriously after office; governance is loud but hollow; accountability is treated as persecution.
Power here is performative. built on patronage, spectacle, and intimidation.
We understand this model so well that we plan for it. We even bake its expected corruption into our national calculations.
On the other side stands the politician who causes unease.
Their profile is disorienting. They may leave office with modest means, verifiable savings, or even personal debts.
Their governance is quiet, focused on audits, processes, and institutions rather than theatrics. They reject flamboyant displays of power.
This second model unsettles the public imagination.
In a system wired for extraction, a leader who refuses to extract appears suspicious, or worse, naive. Our discomfort is the sound of a political culture confronting behaviour it no longer recognises.
The Obasanjo Paradox
You do not have to admire Olusegun Obasanjo to grapple honestly with the contradictions of his legacy.
He is widely regarded as stubborn and often heavy-handed, and his administration faced serious allegations of high-level corruption and controversial policy decisions.
Yet compared with many contemporaries, accusations of direct personal treasury looting have been less clearly established against him.
More striking is the unusual posture he adopted toward personal accountability: requesting audits of his stewardship, publicly rejecting certain entitlements he considered unearned, and maintaining a personal financial life tied largely to private enterprise rather than public funds.
This does not sanctify him. It simply presents a paradox.
In a political culture where public office is often treated as the ultimate retirement plan, the absence of clear evidence of personal enrichment from state coffers places him in a small and uncomfortable minority. Nigeria often does not know what to do with such ambiguity.
We prefer our villains obvious and our heroes flawless. A complicated figure with elements of discipline confuses both instincts.
The Offence of Normality
Then emerged Peter Obi. and for a notable segment of the population, his style proved almost irritating.
His political brand revolved around what might be called the scandal of normality: modest personal presentation, emphasis on savings and fiscal prudence, and a consistent insistence on not spending beyond means.
His tenure in Anambra, documented through audits and public records, indicated a focus on financial discipline and institutional process.
To many observers accustomed to dramatic displays of power, this approach felt underwhelming. To others, it felt suspicious. In a nation long anaesthetised to grand corruption, restraint itself can look like performance.
Yet serious policy critiques of Obi exist and should be engaged, questions about whether extreme frugality can limit necessary public investment, or whether simplified economic messaging adequately reflects Nigeria’s complex structural challenges.
These are legitimate debates about governance models. But the deeper discomfort he generates often stems not from policy disagreements, but from the unfamiliar spectacle of a politician whose public image is built primarily on restraint.
The Commentary Class and Manufactured Cynicism
Nigeria’s distrust of integrity is not accidental. It is reinforced by a commentary culture where ideological positions shift with political winds.
Yesterday’s moral crusaders can become today’s defenders of power without explanation, while public debate is reduced to personality clashes rather than verifiable records.
This environment encourages citizens to outsource moral judgement to the loudest voices rather than to evidence. It turns political discourse into theatre, where consistency is optional and outrage is a renewable resource.
In such a climate, genuine accountability struggles to gain recognition, while familiar patterns of excess remain oddly reassuring.
When Cynicism Becomes Dangerous
The normalization of corrupt behaviour does more than produce bad leadership.
It erodes our collective ability to recognise and sustain good conduct when it appears. We begin to mock discipline as weakness. We label prudence as stinginess. We interpret transparency as performance.
Gradually, the culture shifts until integrity itself appears abnormal.
This reflexive cynicism has consequences. It discourages competent individuals from public service. It rewards spectacle over substance.
It creates an environment where voters, conditioned by disappointment, may feel more comfortable with familiar excess than with unfamiliar restraint. Over time, this becomes not merely a political problem but a national one.
The Uncomfortable Question
This is not a call to worship any individual. Leaders must always be scrutinised, policies debated, and records examined.
But a mature society must also learn to recognise and protect credible signs of character when they appear.
Nigeria’s tragedy is not the total absence of disciplined leadership. It is the growing number of citizens who, shaped by justified distrust, no longer know how to respond when confronted with it.
Evidence of alternative conduct has surfaced at different moments in our history.
The question now is not whether such leadership can exist. It is whether Nigerians, conditioned by years of disappointment, are prepared to accept it — or whether we still, deep down, prefer our corruption familiar and our politics comfortably predictable.
Our collective future may well depend on the answer.
Allen writes from Kano, on public affairs and promote good governance. He can be reached via oluallen1904@gmail.com.
