The famous line, “We have met the enemy, and he is us,” attributed to the American comic strip character Pogo, captures a truth that societies often resist confronting. It is easier to blame external forces for our decline—colonial legacies, global conspiracies, international institutions, or geopolitical manoeuvrings—than to face the uncomfortable reality that sometimes the greatest threat to a nation’s progress comes from within.
In Nigeria today, one of the most corrosive internal threats is the steady erosion of truth. Truth, once regarded as a moral anchor and the foundation of leadership, has become negotiable. Integrity has become transactional. And the line between political loyalty and national patriotism has been blurred beyond recognition.
In this new environment, those who speak inconvenient truths are vilified, harassed, or silenced. Meanwhile, those who bend facts, revise their past statements, and weaponise propaganda are rewarded with proximity to power.
The tragedy is not merely that this is happening; it is that increasingly, many Nigerians appear willing to accept it and defend it.
When Truth Becomes Optional
Public discourse in Nigeria has always been mostly noisy, but what we are witnessing today is something deeper than disagreement. It is the normalisation of intellectual dishonesty. Facts are not debated; they are dismissed. Evidence is not interrogated; it is replaced with slogans. And those who dare to point out contradictions are labelled enemies.
The recent media rounds by a certain presidential spokesperson illustrates this troubling phenomenon. Once known for his fiery criticism of the current administration while serving in opposition ranks, he now finds himself defending policies and positions that he previously condemned.
Political realignment is not unusual. Politicians change camps all the time; alliances shift, and ideological flexibility is hardly new. But what unsettled many Nigerians during the interview was not merely his political migration; it was the categorical denial of statements that remain widely documented in the public domain.
In an era where the internet rarely forgets, watching public figures insist they never said what they clearly said has become a kind of theatre of the absurd. Yet the deeper issue is the broader culture that allows such contradictions to pass without consequence. In fact, rather than being disqualified by these inconsistencies, individuals who demonstrate this remarkable elasticity of truth often find themselves elevated into positions of influence.
Another one has built a formidable online presence over the years, combining commentary, political advocacy, and social media mobilisation. But critics argue that his brand of political engagement often thrives on selective facts, shifting narratives, and the relentless framing of opponents as enemies of progress.
Again, political advocacy is not inherently problematic. Democracies require passionate defenders of ideas and policies. But when advocacy consistently bends reality to suit political convenience, it contributes to a broader erosion of public trust. And that erosion has consequences.
When citizens cannot distinguish between genuine information and partisan propaganda, public discourse becomes polluted. Policy debates become personality contests. National priorities become subordinated to factional loyalty.
Truth becomes merely another casualty of political warfare.
When Patriotism Becomes Partisanship
Perhaps the most worrying development in Nigeria’s public space is the gradual conflation of patriotism with political allegiance. To question government performance is increasingly framed as hostility toward the state. To highlight failures is interpreted as sabotage. And to demand accountability is dismissed as political opposition.
But patriotism is not blind loyalty to those in power. It is loyalty to the country itself, its people, its institutions, and its future. A society where citizens are punished for pointing out problems is a society that has chosen denial over progress.
We saw a troubling illustration of this recently in Lagos, when a young woman posted a video highlighting the poor state of transport infrastructure in parts of the city. Rather than sparking a constructive conversation about urban mobility and public service delivery, the video triggered a wave of online and physical harassment.
Instead of addressing the issues raised, critics focused on discrediting the messenger. Her motives were questioned. Her identity was scrutinised. Her audacity to speak publicly was framed as an attack on the government. The message was unmistakable: silence would have been safer.
The danger of this environment is that it slowly trains citizens to self-censor. People begin to weigh the personal cost of honesty. They calculate the risks of speaking out versus the safety of remaining quiet. And gradually, public conversation becomes dominated by those who are willing to say whatever serves their interests.
In such a climate, truth tellers become isolated voices, while professional propagandists multiply. But the damage does not stop there.
When a society rewards those who manipulate facts and punishes those who present them, it creates a distorted incentive structure. Young people watching the system learn a powerful lesson: integrity is optional, but loyalty to power pays.
That lesson, once internalised, becomes difficult to reverse.
Reclaiming the Courage to Tell the Truth
Nigeria’s political crisis is often framed in terms of institutions—weak governance, electoral manipulation, corruption, or policy inconsistency. All of these are important. But beneath them lies a deeper crisis: a moral erosion of public life.
Societies do not collapse only because of bad policies; they collapse when truth itself loses value.
When leaders can deny their own words without consequence, when citizens are harassed for pointing out basic realities, and when propaganda is rewarded with influence, the foundation of democratic accountability begins to crack.
Truth is not merely a philosophical concept; it is the currency of trust in public life. Without it, institutions become hollow. Elections become rituals. And governance becomes a performance rather than a responsibility.
The question then becomes: how does a society recover from this erosion? The answer does not lie solely with politicians. It lies with citizens, journalists, civil society actors, and institutions that must collectively defend the value of truth.
Media organisations must resist the temptation to treat obvious falsehoods as just another “side” of the story. Civil society must continue to document contradictions and hold public figures accountable. And citizens must reject the culture of intimidation that silences honest voices.
Most importantly, we must reclaim the distinction between patriotism and political loyalty. A citizen who points out broken roads, failing hospitals, or poor infrastructure is not an enemy of the state. They are often its most committed defender.
Progress begins with acknowledging reality.
Looking in the Mirror
Ultimately, the phrase “we have met the enemy, and he is us” is not an accusation directed at a single individual or political camp. It is a mirror held up to society; and a society that refuses to face its own reflection risks losing sight of the truth.
It asks whether we, as citizens, are willing to confront uncomfortable truths. Whether we are prepared to challenge misinformation even when it comes from those we support. Whether we value integrity more than proximity to power.
Nigeria’s future will not be determined solely by the individuals who occupy public office. It will also be shaped by the standards we collectively choose to tolerate.
If we reward dishonesty, we will attract more of it. If we punish truth-telling, fewer people will risk it. But if we begin to insist that facts matter, that integrity matters, and that patriotism requires honesty, the culture can begin to change.
The views expressed by contributors are strictly personal and not of Law & Society Magazine.
