By Adaobi Obiabunmuo
Are we angry enough as Nigerians to collectively acknowledge that corruption and its Siamese twin, impunity, have dealt a devastating blow to us as a nation? Or have we become so accustomed to both that outrage has given way to resignation? Could it be that our priorities are shifting? As the world becomes increasingly competitive and the struggle to survive grows more intense, have instituted personal survival as a danger to collective well-being?
Perhaps, in the process, we have quietly embraced the Machiavellian mantra that “the end justifies the means” where achieving our desired outcome matters more than the principles or methods employed to get there or the long-term preservation of the public good
If this is indeed the case, then corruption is no longer merely a problem of a few individuals exploiting the system. It becomes a reflection of a society in which the boundaries between right and wrong are increasingly blurred, and where impunity thrives because too many people have accepted it, benefited from it, or simply lost the will to challenge it.
From public offices to negotiation tables and polling units on election day, Nigerians constantly hear citizens re-echo their desire to have a share of the so-called “national cake.” Unfortunately, while we demand our share of the cake, few are prepared to talk about how to contribute the ingredients needed to bake it.
One decade ago, Stephen Ellis demonstrated in his book This Present Darkness, that the history of corruption in Nigeria well precedes independence. The scale of the malaise has merely grown as the country’s revenues and population have grown since then. So also, it appears, has tolerance for or resignation to it.
One of the major reasons cited for the military coup and subsequent takeover of government in January 1966 was the widespread allegations of corruption and abuse of office during the First Republic. Nearly one decade after that, in July 1975, the regime of General Yakubu Gowon was overthrown because the scale of corruption became worse with the onset of the Oil Boom. More than two decades later, during the military regime of General Ibrahim Babangida between 1985 and 1993, Nigeria experienced a significant increase in oil revenues following the 1991 Gulf War. During that period, it was estimated that Nigeria generated revenue from oil to the tune of $12.4 billion which was unaccounted for.
The country was still grappling with the consequences of financial mismanagement when the regime of General Sani Abacha followed. The Abacha years became synonymous with large-scale plunder. The UN Office of Drugs and Crime (UNODC) estimates that Abacha stole the equivalent of 2%-3% of Nigeria’s GDP in each of the four and a half years during which he was in power. Investigations into the Abacha regime have led to the recovery of some of the looted funds both within Nigeria and abroad, while efforts to recover additional funds continue.
One would have thought that these painful experiences, and the opportunities lost as a result of the diversion of public resources, would have compelled Nigerians to reject corruption in all its forms and collectively protect the national treasury. Alas, the opposite has often been the case. Rather than developing a stronger resistance to corruption, we have continued to find ways to justify it, sometimes recruiting more people into the culture and normalising practices that should ordinarily attract public condemnation.
The country has not merely grown to normalize corruption and impunity for it; ethnic and political groups have now instituted competitive narratives to make corruption a natural ally of the capture of power. Since the return to civil rule in 1999, this competitive normalization of corruption in Nigeria has grown with successive administrations in the country. It is arguable that in the current administration, it has found its apotheosis. This relationship between impunity for corruption and political competition deserves closer attention.
Nigeria transitioned to civil rule after the Abacha era in 1999, and since then, we have witnessed an increasing degree of corruption and ethnocentrism in the conduct of elections and the recruitment of political leadership. This has progressed to the point where those who benefit from an administration are often perceived to be directly linked to the ethnicity of the person at the helm of affairs. Some people who share the same religious or social affinity with the leader and are willing to identify with and benefit from the administration even go as far as changing their mode of dressing as a way of demonstrating their identification with the rulers of the moment.
As uncomfortable as it may sound, many Nigerians no longer view corruption through the lens of accountability, transparency and fiscal responsibility. Instead, it is seen through the prism of competitive ethnicity. When a politically exposed person from our ethnic group faces allegations of corruption requiring the person to be brought to account, many of us no longer worry about the strength of the evidence. Rather, the question is whether there is federal character in who is or is not charged.
Whenever people are charged with corruption, attention quickly shifts to their ethnic group, and we begin to ask whether members of other ethnic groups have also been charged. For instance, when an individual from the West is charged with corruption, the question becomes, “Why is nobody from the North or the East being charged?”
The question is no longer whether the alleged crime is credible or whether the allegations are sustainable on the available evidence. This is how competitive ethnicization of corruption is conducive for the capture of political power. Corruption is increasingly seen as an essential tool in the service of the capture of political power.
For instance, Sen. Adams Oshiomhole, former National Chairman of the All Progressives Congress (APC), told new defectors at a rally in 2019 that once they joined the APC, their sins would be forgiven.
Last August, the APC released its list of members of the 2027 Presidential Campaign Council. Interestingly, the list is populated by individuals many of whom are suspects in pending cases with the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC). One could almost be forgiven for thinking that having a pending corruption allegation is a basic qualification for membership of the council. We are waiting for other political parties to release their own campaign council lists to find out whether this apparent “federal character” of individuals facing corruption allegations is unique to the APC or whether it cuts across the political parties.
Nigeria’s key sectors are characterized by optimal dysfunction, with citizens constantly complaining about the poor state of public services and corruption implicated in many of these challenges. The 2027 general election will once again present Nigerians with an opportunity to correct some of the leadership failures that have contributed to the persistence of corruption and bad governance.
How will the pendulum swing? What are the variables that the majority of voters will consider as they turn out to cast their votes? Will they allow primordial sentiments and pecuniary interests to cloud their sense of judgment, or will they set these aside and support candidates (federal, state, and national assemblies) who are genuinely committed to ending impunity for corruption?
What is the disposition of the candidates towards corruption, whistleblowing, accountability, fiscal responsibility, and transparency? What are they saying about these issues, and more importantly, what does their track record tell us?
I am not in a position to tell anyone who to vote for or how. We can be assured, however, that if we as Nigerians fail to organize, critically interrogate the candidates, their programmes and manifestoes, and ultimately end up making the wrong electoral choices, corruption, bad governance and impunity will be guaranteed to strangulate the country.
In Igbo cosmology, there is a saying: “A dighi agwa ochi ntị na agha esu.” It means: a deaf person has no need to be informed that war has started.
The warning signs have long been with us. The question is whether we are willing to listen, interrogate the issues and make informed choices.
Dr. Obiabunmuo is Programmes Manager with Primorg
The views expressed by contributors are strictly personal and not of Law & Society Magazine.
