Because as things stand, most Nigerians who stumble into positions of power do not go there to govern; they go there to harvest. Corruption in Nigeria has no borders, no brakes and no shame. It has moved from simmering to boiling point. Public office has become a fast-track investment scheme: enter poor, exit outrageously wealthy. No CV, no business, no inheritance—just overnight prosperity. Nobody asks questions because asking questions is now considered antisocial behaviour.
Corruption and impunity have eaten so deeply into our national DNA that honesty is now viewed as a character defect. In Nigeria, being honest is abnormal. Honest people suffer. They are punished daily for refusing to “play ball”. I have been advised severally—sometimes kindly, sometimes mockingly—that I alone cannot change Nigeria. That may be true. But let us at least agree on one honest fact: Nigerians ruined Nigeria. Not spirits. Not colonial ghosts. Nigerians.
Even the legal profession, which should be the last sanctuary of hope, has not covered itself in glory. In saner climes, the Bar and the Bench are lighthouses. In Nigeria, the light is flickering—sometimes completely switched off. Many clients now approach lawyers not for justice, but for contamination: “Pollute the stream for me.” It takes uncommon courage to refuse. Those who do are quickly labelled troublemakers, nonconformists, or fools who “don’t know people”. Integrity has become an exotic import, rarely found in governance or law.
Misconduct has become normalised. Nothing gets done without compromise, connection or contamination. Institutions that were designed to protect hope have instead perfected the art of dashing it. Take the Supreme Court for instance. When the apex court begins to selectively choose which grave constitutional issues deserve its jurisdiction—applying elastic principles that stretch or shrink depending on who is in power—reasonable people will inevitably speak of judicial capture.
How else do we explain the gymnastics? The Supreme Court had no difficulty assuming jurisdiction at the instance of the Attorney-General of the Federation on local government autonomy and the naira redesign policy. Yet when Attorneys-General of states challenge a declaration of emergency that strikes at the heart of constitutional democracy, suddenly they lack locus standi. Even more curious, an Attorney-General of a state cannot complain about withheld local government funds. To say this beats imagination is an understatement. It beats legal logic, common sense, and professional dignity.
Now let us talk about the Nigerian Bar Association. What exactly is the NBA’s value proposition beyond annual conferences and election drama? How has the NBA promoted the rule of law in practical terms? What has it done for the welfare of Nigerian lawyers beyond statements and sympathy? How has it confronted lawlessness within legal practice itself? How many errant judges have been meaningfully sanctioned because the NBA insisted? How many lawyers with valid judgments against government have been assisted to enforce them?
Is NBA politics today any different from Nigerian politics generally—where anything goes, principles are negotiable, and ambition trumps integrity? How accountable is the NBA to its members? Has it enforced its own rules with seriousness, or has it been busy measuring in minors while giants roam freely?
I am not making accusations. I am asking questions. Honest questions.
The truth is simple and painful: we resemble ourselves. Nigeria is not broken by accident; it is broken by choice, habit and convenience. So I ask again—who will help Nigeria become great?
Because at this rate, even iron is rusting in Nigeria.
Centre for Nigeria Progress 