Last Friday, during the morning devotion before academic and extracurricular activities began, a student gave a brief talk on the true meaning of democracy. He discussed its definition and key features. After his talk, I felt compelled to contribute. I was particularly struck by Abraham Lincoln’s definition of democracy from his Gettysburg Address, delivered on November 19, 1863, during the American Civil War—a definition the boy at the assembly had also cited. Lincoln described democracy as “government of the people, by the people, for the people.” This, in theory, is the system we claim to operate under, with leaders accountable to the people and systems grounded in justice and fairness. But the reality around us often feels like a far cry from these ideals.
“Leadership in Democracy” by John Keane is an insightful book that explores the complexities of leadership within democratic systems. Keane, a respected political theorist, examines how democratic leaders differ from authoritarian ones, particularly because they operate within a framework of checks and balances, transparency, and accountability. He argues that a democratic leader’s strength lies in their ability to negotiate and build consensus. They must respect public opinion and respond to the people’s needs, requiring adaptability, empathy, and the capacity to inspire trust. Keane writes, “Democratic leadership is about constant negotiation, where power lies in the ability to persuade rather than to dictate.” Reflecting on Keane’s observations, it’s disheartening to see how Nigerian leadership, in practice, has strayed from this model. Rather than negotiating with the people, leaders often seem disconnected, governing in ways that sideline public interest for private gain.
Recently, I found myself listening again to Alhaji Agba Sikiru Ayinde Barrister’s album Questionnaire, which includes the track “Late Oba Oyekan” and the song “Oselu Nigeria.” Although released years ago, the song still resonates with Nigeria’s current political climate, with its reflections on governance failures, corruption, and the ongoing struggles of ordinary Nigerians. The fact that a song from years past still speaks to our reality says much about how little has changed. In the song, Barrister critiques Nigerian leadership and the disconnect between the ruling class and the people. His lyrics highlight the growing frustration, yet they also emphasize the resilience of Nigerians who have long adapted to a government that seems to demand sacrifice without offering much in return.
This resilience is something I see daily, as people adapt to rising prices, inadequate infrastructure, and policy shifts that often leave the masses worse off. For instance, the recent surge in fuel prices has had ripple effects on everything—from transportation to food costs—placing even greater strain on the average citizen. And yet, rather than revolting, Nigerians find inventive ways to cope. They adjust daily routines, taking alternative routes, walking further distances, or finding humor in their shared struggle. We tell ourselves that our “exercise” routine has simply increased, hiding the bitter truth that we’re adapting to hardships that should not be our reality.
One of the democratic principles discussed at the assembly was respect for basic human rights. But this principle often feels hollow when, in Nigeria, peaceful protests are met with violent dispersal tactics from security forces and an intolerant stance from leaders. Protests are one of the few avenues left for citizens to voice discontent, to gather and demand change. Yet the Nigerian government has often responded with hostility, turning a deaf ear to these calls for accountability. In this climate, many feel that it is not safe to express dissatisfaction openly, leading to a growing culture of silence. Still, some brave souls continue to speak out, demanding transparency and fair representation, reminding us that hope endures, even when the circumstances seem bleak.
My brother, Ayodele, recently shared his thoughts with me on the government’s new student loan scheme. He believes it’s a misplaced effort, given that what’s truly needed is adequate funding for the educational system. Instead of burdening students with debt, the government should focus on creating an environment where education is accessible and quality-focused. Ayodele’s perspective reflects a sentiment shared by many young Nigerians, who feel increasingly sidelined and skeptical about the government’s ability to prioritize their future. As he said, the student loan issue is likely just one chapter in a longer, more complex conversation about education, inequality, and the state’s responsibility to invest in its youth.
During my visit to Ayodele at UI on Friday, a tricycle driver taking us from the gate to SUB commented on the harsh state of affairs. He asked why no one could go directly to the president and explain the suffering people are enduring. His question underscored a shared frustration: many of us feel powerless to make our leaders understand the reality on the ground. Over time, we’ve become conditioned to accept this system, yet many of us struggle to articulate what type of governance we’re really under. Are we in a democracy? It hardly feels that way when leaders seem to be above the law and unresponsive to the public’s needs. This disillusionment is prevalent, as citizens find themselves bending to the hardships imposed upon them. Some of us turn to social media to vent frustrations, yet after we’ve finished, we go back to buying a congo of beans for 4,500 naira and a liter of petrol for 1,200 naira. I remember a time when bus fare was just 20 naira, and now that memory seems almost absurd, highlighting how far we’ve come—and not necessarily in the right direction.
In There Was a Country, published on September 12, 2012, Chinua Achebe wrote, “The trouble with Nigeria is simply and squarely a failure of leadership.” He further emphasized, “There is nothing wrong with the Nigerian land, climate, water, air, or anything else. The Nigerian problem is the unwillingness or inability of its leaders to rise to the responsibility.” Achebe’s words capture the heart of the issue we face: a government disconnected from the needs of its people, one that frequently prioritizes self-interest over collective good. At this point, it’s challenging to reconcile our proclaimed democratic values with the harsh realities of Nigerian governance. We claim to have a government of the people, by the people, for the people. Yet, in truth, it feels like the people are simply at the receiving end—bearing the brunt of policies that keep them marginalized, unheard, and struggling to get by.
In Nigeria, this gap between democratic ideals and our lived experience grows wider. The recently announced indefinite strike by SSANU and NASU is only one of many signs of a government that has lost touch with its people’s needs. Our leaders seem to find normalcy in opulent spending while neglecting urgent needs like paying salaries. The purchase of a 150 billion naira presidential jet and a 5 billion naira yacht underscores how far removed our government is from the true meaning of good governance. Leaders indulge in these luxuries while citizens grapple with survival, exposing a painful truth: in our so-called democracy, accountability often applies only to the governed, not the governors.
Ultimately, it feels like we’re left to wait, hoping for leaders who will recognize their role as public servants rather than rulers. Until then, we continue to find resilience in alternatives, a reminder of the strength that runs through the spirit of the Nigerian people. This spirit endures despite hardship, grounded in the hope that someday, true democracy might emerge—not as a promise but as a lived reality.
Aduwo Oluwatimilehin Daniel is a final year student of University of Ibadan. He writes from Ibadan, Oyo state.