By Lawrence Egede
Politics is supposed to be noble. In its truest sense, it is about service, order, and the pursuit of the common good. But in Nigeria, politics has mutated into something else—an industry of survival, the quickest route to wealth, the only ladder to relevance. Ours is a society where politics is not just a system of governance, but the entire lifeline of living.
This obsession is what I call our frenetic political mentality. It is a state of mind where everything begins and ends with politics. Whether you are a graduate seeking employment, a trader in the marketplace, or even a young artisan trying to innovate, you are constantly reminded that nothing works in Nigeria unless it passes through politics.
I write not merely to complain, but to admonish. As the Scriptures remind us in 1 Corinthians 10:11: “Now all these things happened unto them for examples: and they are written for our admonition, upon whom the ends of the world are come.” It is within this spiritual duty of admonition that I raise questions that Nigerians must confront questions about how we live, what we value, and why we have allowed politics to overshadow every other path to progress.
Have you ever heard of a country where politics thrives, yet hard work struggles to pay?
Have you seen a society where dissenting voices are treated as enemies of the state?
Have you lived in a nation where civil servants spend the best years of their lives working, only to retire into poverty on wages that insult their sacrifice?
These questions may sound rhetorical, but they are Nigeria’s lived realities.
We are a people governed by leaders who boast of achievements even when the masses can hardly afford basic living. A country where electricity remains epileptic despite decades of promises. A nation where hospitals lack drugs, yet politicians travel abroad for routine check-ups. Where schools struggle for chalk, while leaders build mansions in Dubai.
Our leaders are comfortable; the masses are distressed. Yet, when the distressed dare to complain, they are branded “opposition” or “enemies of progress.”
In most societies, young people dream of careers in science, business, sports, or innovation. In Nigeria, they dream of politics. Not because they want to serve, but because they see politics as the only road to financial security.
Ask the average graduate what he desires. His answer is not about building a career, but about “connection” to someone in power. The artisan who repairs phones dreams not of building his craft into a global business, but of securing an appointment that will free him from daily struggles. The farmer who toils under the sun knows that without political patronage, his produce will rot.
In short, politics has become Nigeria’s only profitable enterprise. And like every enterprise, it has gatekeepers—the “masters of fat pay packets,” those who reap while others watch. The rest of society survives on crumbs, hoping that one day, they too will be “connected.”
This mentality is worsened by our taste for foreign goods. Ninety-seven percent of the technology and products we consume are imported. Our leaders, the supposed champions of “buy Nigeria,” are the biggest culprits. They ride imported cars, wear imported suits, and use imported furniture while local industries collapse.
Every imported phone drains our liquidity. Every foreign medical trip weakens our hospitals. Every abandoned Nigerian product tells our youths their efforts are not good enough.
Instead of supporting homegrown innovation, our leaders prefer to patronize foreign industries, deepening dependency. The irony is that these same countries we admire invested in their people and industries for decades before reaping today’s benefits. Nigeria, however, has chosen the shortcut of politics over the hard road of productivity.
The cost of this obsession is visible.
1. An economy trapped in dependency: Instead of building industries, we borrow recklessly. We mortgage tomorrow’s resources, saddling generations with debts.
2. Youths abandoned: The most creative demographic of our society—the youth are left to waste. Those who innovate receive little support, while those who chant political slogans are rewarded.
3. Public wealth hijacked: Projects funded by taxpayers are paraded as personal achievements of politicians. A road built with public funds becomes a campaign song. A borehole dug with state funds becomes evidence of “philanthropy.”
4. Erosion of values: Success is no longer defined by honesty, creativity, or hard work. It is measured by the political office one holds or the contracts one wins. This is why corruption flourishes: the goal is not service, but survival in a political jungle.
Nigeria was not always this way. In the early years after independence, agriculture was the backbone of our economy. Cocoa in the West, groundnut in the North, palm produce in the East—these were industries that gave us global recognition. But with the discovery of oil and the expansion of political patronage, we shifted away from productivity. Oil wealth became an easy stream of revenue, and politics became the easiest route to access it.
From the 1970s onward, military and civilian elites alike discovered the goldmine in politics. Elections became do-or-die contests, not because of ideology, but because political office guaranteed access to the national cake.
Today, the legacy of that shift remains. Our economy shrinks, but the appetite for political offices grows. More political parties emerge, including the coalition of the opposition parties today, not to promote new ideas, but to serve as platforms for bargaining.
One of the greatest contradictions of our system is the gulf between leaders and citizens. Politicians earn millions monthly in allowances, while civil servants earn wages that can barely feed a family. Legislators enjoy foreign medical care, while the poor die in overcrowded hospitals. Governors retire into mansions with lifelong pensions, while pensioners wait endlessly for arrears.
This contradiction breeds anger, yet it persists because politics has become normalized as the only source of survival. Those outside the circle of power watch in frustration; those within it defend it as a reward for “service.”
The critical question remains: When will Nigerians minimize their frenetic political mentality?
The answer lies not only in government reforms but also in cultural reorientation.
Revalue honest labour: We must teach that dignity lies in work, not in politics. A teacher who shapes minds deserves as much honour as a lawmaker. An inventor who creates technology should be celebrated more than a political appointee.
Support local industry: Nigeria must deliberately reduce import dependency. We must invest in local manufacturing, reward creativity, and build confidence in Nigerian-made products.
Respect dissent: Criticism must not be criminalized. Every developed nation grew through debate and questioning. Branding dissenters as enemies only perpetuates mediocrity.
Youth reorientation: Our youths must be shown examples of success beyond politics. From Nollywood to fintech, Nigerians have already proven capable of global impact. The challenge is to make these industries more attractive than political patronage.
Nigeria stands at a crossroads. The advanced world has surged ahead through science, technology, and innovation, while we remain trapped in political obsession. We cannot continue this way.
Politics must return to its rightful place—a tool of service, not a business empire. We must minimize this frenetic mentality and rediscover the power of productivity, creativity, and honest labour.
Until then, we will remain a nation where politics is everything, and everything else is nothing.
To God be the glory forever. But to us belongs the responsibility of change.
