By: Chukwudi George Ozalla
“Nothing encourages crime and criminality like the hope of escaping judgment and punishment.”
— Ozalla CG
In Nigeria, that hope has quietly matured into a political culture.
The most dangerous threat to any democracy is not the loud criminal, but the confident one. The man who buys votes in broad daylight and smiles at cameras. The operative who distributes cash beside polling units without the slightest fear of arrest. The political actor who manipulates procedure and trusts that nothing will happen afterward. When impunity becomes predictable, misconduct becomes routine.
Vote buying, once whispered about, now stands almost normalized within our electoral process. It is executed with coordination, defended with cynicism, and rationalized as strategy. Party agents move from corner to corner with envelopes. Voters are reduced to negotiators of their own civic worth. The ballot, meant to be sacred, becomes transactional.
Security operatives are frequently present. Yet presence is not enforcement. Too often, they watch. Sometimes they stroll past. At critical moments, they look away. The signal this sends is unmistakable. There are no consequences here. When the guardians of order appear indifferent, disorder thrives.
The role of the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) deserves scrutiny as well. Recurring administrative lapses, logistical confusion, delayed arrival of materials, malfunctioning technology, and inconsistent enforcement of guidelines have combined over time to weaken public trust. Elections are not merely about casting ballots. They are about confidence in the process. When polling units open late or accreditation systems falter, participation suffers. When procedures appear selectively enforced, suspicion deepens. Disenfranchisement does not always require dramatic exclusion. Sometimes it is accomplished quietly through inefficiency and poor preparation.
The recently concluded local government elections in the Federal Capital Territory (FCT) Abuja offer a telling pointer. Reports of low turnout, muted public enthusiasm, and familiar allegations of inducement reflect a troubling pattern. Local elections should be closest to the people. They should energize grassroots democracy. Instead, they often expose the fatigue of a citizenry that no longer believes its vote will alter outcomes in any meaningful way.
Elections in Nigeria increasingly resemble war. The language is combative. The mobilization is aggressive. The stakes are framed as life and death. In some instances, they become exactly that. Violence, intimidation, and bloodshed have stained processes that ought to reflect the calm will of the people. When a democratic exercise begins to mirror battlefield strategy, something fundamental has gone wrong.
Part of the distortion lies in the enormous rewards attached to public office. Political positions in Nigeria carry remunerations and privileges that are wildly disproportionate to the average living standard of the citizens who vote. Salaries, allowances, security votes, official residences, fleets of vehicles, and a culture of entitlement have transformed leadership into a high stakes investment. When the benefits of office are extravagant, desperation follows. When desperation sets in, ethics collapses.
It is only when the remunerations and paraphernalia attached to elected offices are moderated, drastically reviewed downward, and stripped of excess that we may begin to witness altruistic leadership. Public office must return to being service, not acquisition. The contest for leadership must cease to be a scramble for personal elevation and revert to a sober call to responsibility.
It was John Quincy Adams who once observed, if your actions inspire others to dream more, learn more, do more and become more, you are a leader. Leadership is influence anchored in example, not domination secured through inducement.
Voter apathy has deepened the crisis. Many citizens no longer see elections as meaningful interventions. Some stay home. Others participate only to secure immediate benefit. A bag of rice or a few thousand naira becomes sufficient to trade away four years or more of governance. Yet democracy demands more than periodic complaint. It requires vigilance. It demands discipline from the electorate as much as it demands integrity from institutions.
There is also the uncomfortable truth that Nigeria’s political structure does not consistently reward competence. It does not reliably elevate the most prepared, the most thoughtful, or the most capable candidates. Instead, it often advantages those with financial muscle, entrenched networks, and the capacity to manipulate systems. The consequence is predictable. Governance underperforms. Policy lacks depth. Vision becomes secondary to survival.
When elections are skewed by money, shielded by passive enforcement, weakened by institutional lapses, and greeted with public indifference, the outcome is rarely the true reflection of collective will. The brightest minds retreat to private enterprise or foreign opportunities. Those who master the mechanics of political survival dominate the public space.
Nigeria must decide whether it wants competitive elections or constructive governance. The two are not automatically the same. A country can hold elections regularly and still suffer democratic decay if accountability is absent. Without credible enforcement of electoral laws, without institutional courage, and without civic responsibility, democracy becomes ceremonial.
Nothing encourages crime and criminality like the hope of escaping judgment and punishment. That principle applies beyond street crime. It applies to electoral misconduct, administrative negligence, and civic irresponsibility. When political actors believe they can buy votes without arrest, intimidate opponents without consequence, or manipulate procedures without sanction, the cycle tightens. When institutions fail to correct such behavior, they silently validate it.
Nigeria cannot afford to sink deeper into a dysfunctional leadership cesspit. The cost is already visible in failing infrastructure, weakened public services, and growing distrust between citizens and the state. Reform must begin with restoring consequences to misconduct, reducing the excessive attractions of office, strengthening institutional integrity, and reawakening voter consciousness.
Democracy is not self sustaining. It survives on accountability, restraint, and moral clarity. When those pillars weaken, the system tilts. When they are restored, hope returns.
Publisher and Editor-in-Chief, NEWSCOUNT
zalchukz@gmail.com
