Elijah Adeyeye: Hayatu-Deen and radical power of a simple question

Every election cycle in Nigerian politics, a candidate often says something ordinary, yet it feels almost radical because of the context in which it is delivered.

I felt that when Mohammed Hayatu‑Deen issued a straightforward challenge to his fellow aspirants in the African Democratic Congress presidential race. He asked them to publicly affirm their commitment to the party’s Governance Principles and Code of Ethics, the Orange Book.

That was all. No grandstanding, no insults, no ethnic signaling, no manufactured outrage. Just a simple proposition: if leadership matters, ethics should not remain private. They should be declared openly before power is attained, not after it is abused.

And yet, in Nigeria, that feels startlingly uncommon.

The Orange Book itself is fascinating, not because political parties lack constitutions or manifestos, but because it attempts something Nigerian politics has avoided for decades: moral specificity.

Most political language in the country is intentionally vague. Candidates promise “development,” “security,” “prosperity,” and “change,” words so elastic they can survive any contradiction. What Hayatu‑Deen highlighted was different. The Orange Book names things directly: rejection of corruption, opposition to vote‑buying, resistance to godfatherism, commitment to merit, accountability, discipline, and service over entitlement.

That level of clarity matters.

One of Nigeria’s enduring tragedies is not merely that leaders fail to perform. It is that the standards by which they should be judged are often left undefined until after disappointment arrives. We debate personalities instead of principles. We obsess over political arithmetic instead of political character.

Hayatu‑Deen’s intervention quietly shifts the focus.

His challenge to figures like Atiku Abubakar and Rotimi Amaechi is significant not because it creates confrontation, but because it introduces accountability before a candidacy matures into inevitability. It asks an uncomfortable question that Nigerian politics rarely asks early enough: what exactly are you committing yourself to?

There is a sentence in his statement that lingers long after reading it: “I am a public servant, not a ruler of Nigerians.”

That line matters because it collides directly with the unwritten culture of power in Nigeria. Too often, public office operates less like stewardship and more like inheritance. The language of democracy exists, but the psychology of feudalism remains. Leaders arrive in office surrounded by ceremony, insulation, and entitlement. Institutions become extensions of personalities. Public service mutates into personal privilege.

So when a presidential aspirant insists that leadership should be measured by “completed, purposeful, and people‑centred action,” he is not merely reciting ethics. He is challenging the operating assumptions of Nigerian power.

And perhaps that is why voters should pay closer attention to Hayatu‑Deen.

Not because he is the loudest figure in the race. He is not. Not because he commands the biggest political machinery. He likely does not. But because integrity in politics often reveals itself first in what a person chooses to normalize.

Most politicians normalize excuses. Hayatu‑Deen is attempting to normalize standards.

That distinction is important.

Nigeria’s crisis today is frequently described in economic terms—inflation, unemployment, currency instability, debt, insecurity. But beneath all these sits a deeper issue: the collapse of public trust. Citizens no longer merely doubt whether leaders can solve problems; many doubt whether leaders genuinely see public office as an obligation to serve at all.

Once trust erodes at that level, institutions weaken. Cynicism becomes rational. Corruption becomes expected. Elections become transactions instead of civic decisions.

What Hayatu‑Deen appears to understand is that rebuilding a country requires rebuilding moral expectations first.

And this is where his background becomes relevant. Economists tend to think in systems. They understand that outcomes are often products of incentives, rules, and institutional culture. Nigeria has spent years trying to solve structural problems while leaving political culture untouched. But culture shapes conduct. Conduct shapes institutions. Institutions shape nations.

You cannot sustainably reform governance while treating ethics as optional decoration.

This is why the Orange Book matters beyond the ADC itself. Whether or not the party ultimately wins power is almost secondary to the precedent being proposed: aspirants should publicly bind themselves to measurable ethical commitments before Nigerians entrust them with authority.

Imagine if this became normal political practice across parties.

Imagine if Nigerians demanded ethical declarations with the same intensity they demand campaign promises. Imagine if refusal to commit to anti‑corruption standards became politically costly. Imagine if voters evaluated not merely charisma or patronage networks, but demonstrated willingness to submit oneself to moral accountability.

That would represent a genuine political evolution.

Of course, cynics will say codes of ethics are meaningless because politicians routinely break promises. They are not entirely wrong. Documents alone do not transform nations. But cultures do not change without symbols, expectations, and public rituals that reinforce new norms.

And that is precisely what Hayatu‑Deen is attempting to create.

A political culture where integrity is not assumed quietly in private conversations, but affirmed publicly and tested collectively.

In a country exhausted by leadership failures, that is not a small thing.

It is the kind of signal voters should notice early, before the noise of campaigns drowns out the quieter indicators of character.

—Adeyeye writes from Osun State.