Nigeria's President Still Doesn't Need It

Femi Akintunde-Johnson

Four years ago, during the heated and chaotic period before the 2023 elections, I tried to describe the kind of president Nigeria did not need. At that time, the political environment was already saturated with noise, rehearsed promises, elite conspiracies, emergency defections, and the usual carnival of manufactured hope that accompanies our electoral cycles.

Today, in 2026, one uncomfortable truth confronts us: the faces may change, the slogans may mutate, the party logos may be redesigned, but the political culture remains stubbornly familiar.

Nigeria still suffers from an elite recycling programme cleverly disguised as democracy. The same actors migrate from one platform to another with astonishing flexibility. Yesterday’s sworn enemies become today’s strategic allies. Men who once accused one another of corruption now exchange warm smiles at political conventions and thanksgiving services. Defections are announced with the emotional weight of football transfers, while supporters are expected to defend these ideological somersaults with straight faces.

In Nigeria, political memory is deliberately short because amnesia is profitable. The tragedy is not merely that politicians defect. Democracies survive defections. The tragedy is that many defections in Nigeria are completely empty of philosophical conviction. There is hardly any ideological centre holding the major parties together beyond access to power, patronage, contracts and influence.

Our politicians switch camps so frequently that ordinary citizens now struggle to remember who insulted whom last year. And somehow, everyone suddenly claims to be “acting in the national interest.”

The “national interest” in Nigeria usually appears shortly before elections and disappears immediately after swearing‑in ceremonies. Meanwhile, the citizens continue carrying the burden of elite experiments and political opportunism.

That is why Nigerians must become more careful about the type of leadership they romanticise. We have repeatedly mistaken noise for vision, arrogance for strength, propaganda for competence, and ethnicity for qualification.

A politician speaks aggressively and supporters scream, “Strong man!” Another shares money recklessly and crowds shout, “Man of the people!” One quotes scripture fluently and suddenly becomes “God‑fearing.” Another speaks polished English on television and is immediately crowned “brilliant.”

Yet governance is far more demanding than public performance. Nigeria has suffered repeatedly from leaders who campaigned like revolutionaries but governed like bewildered tenants trapped accidentally inside Aso Rock.

That is why the country still does not need another president obsessed primarily with power acquisition rather than institutional transformation. We do not need another leader surrounded entirely by praise‑singers, image launderers and professional excuse manufacturers masquerading as advisers.

We certainly do not need another government addicted to propaganda while citizens drown in economic and psychological exhaustion.

There is a dangerous tendency among sections of the Nigerian political class to confuse public relations with governance. Once criticism emerges, the machinery activates instantly: statistics are weaponised, critics are insulted, social media warriors are mobilised, and carefully edited videos suddenly appear explaining why citizens should actually be grateful for their suffering.

But hunger is stubbornly difficult to gaslight. Transport fares do not reduce because of motivational speeches. Market prices do not collapse because hashtags are trending. Citizens cannot cook press statements for dinner. And Nigerians are increasingly tired of governments that appear more emotionally invested in defending perceptions than confronting realities.

Perhaps even more dangerous is the growing normalisation of mediocrity in public leadership. Standards have fallen so low that basic administrative competence is now celebrated as extraordinary brilliance.

A governor pays salaries consistently and is treated like Nelson Mandela reborn. A public official answers journalists coherently and citizens almost organise thanksgiving services. We have become so traumatised by dysfunction that normal governance now feels miraculous.

Yet Nigeria’s problems are too serious for ceremonial leadership and cosmetic reforms. The country still does not need a president imprisoned by provincial thinking and sectional anxieties. We cannot continue reducing a complex federation of over 200 million people into an endless tribal arithmetic competition where competence becomes secondary to ethnic negotiations.

Every election season, political merchants dust off the same emotional weapons: “It is our turn.” “Protect your own.” “They want to dominate us.” “Our region has been cheated.”

And millions of suffering citizens, united by poverty but divided by sentiment, begin fighting one another emotionally while the elite negotiate comfortably behind closed doors.

The rich politician from the North and his wealthy counterpart from the South often share far more common interests with each other than with the poor citizens screaming online in their defence. But ordinary Nigerians continue inheriting elite quarrels that never improve their living conditions.

That is one reason the country still does not need leaders who deliberately exploit division as political capital. Nigeria’s fragile condition demands bridge‑builders, not identity merchants profiting from tension and suspicion. Nor do we need another president emotionally disconnected from the daily struggles of ordinary people.

One of the recurring tragedies of Nigerian governance is the frightening distance between official comfort and public suffering. Citizens battle inflation, insecurity, unemployment and collapsing purchasing power, while sections of the political elite carry on with astonishing extravagance.

Convoys grow longer. Government luxuries expand. Public officials speak casually about hardship from air‑conditioned podiums protected by armed escorts and imported comforts. And then they ask citizens to “be patient.”

Patience is easier to preach when your generator never goes off. This is why empathy matters in leadership. Not performative empathy. Not staged market visits for cameras. Genuine understanding of how policies affect human beings beyond spreadsheets and economic briefings.

A country already battling deep distrust cannot afford leadership that appears emotionally absent. And then there is the matter of courage.

Nigeria still does not need another hesitant leader paralysed by political calculations while urgent national problems deteriorate. The country has suffered enough from delayed decisions, timid responses, selective outrage and endless committees established mainly to postpone accountability.

Leadership requires the courage to confront entrenched interests, even when politically inconvenient. But courage is scarce where political survival becomes more important than national survival.

Perhaps the most worrying reality today is that many Nigerians are becoming psychologically detached from democracy itself. Elections no longer inspire excitement in the way they once did. Citizens participate, yes – but often with diminished expectations.

Too many people now approach politics like disappointed football fans watching a familiar match‑fixing scandal.

They vote cautiously. Hope cautiously. Trust cautiously. And sometimes, not at all. That emotional withdrawal should alarm every serious political actor in Nigeria. Because democracy weakens dangerously when citizens stop believing their participation can meaningfully shape outcomes.

Still, despite everything, one cannot completely dismiss the quiet awakening happening beneath the frustration. Young Nigerians are more politically aware than previous generations. Citizens question power more aggressively. Information travels faster. Propaganda faces stronger scrutiny. Public conversations are no longer controlled entirely by traditional gatekeepers.

The establishment notices this. That is why political messaging has become more aggressive, more sophisticated and more emotionally manipulative.

The struggle for Nigeria’s future is no longer merely about winning elections. It is increasingly about controlling perception, emotion, fear and attention. And that is why Nigerians must think more deeply before the next electoral cycle gathers full momentum.

The country does not merely need another “electable” figure. Nigeria needs leadership with discipline, clarity, emotional intelligence and institutional seriousness. Leadership that understands governance is not revenge, not conquest, not compensation for years spent chasing office. Leadership that sees power as responsibility rather than entitlement.

Most importantly, Nigeria still does not need another president who treats citizens as spectators to governance rather than stakeholders in nationhood. Because after decades of squandered opportunities, exhausted promises and recycled political theatre, Nigerians are no longer searching for perfection.

They are simply searching for evidence that their country can still be governed with honesty, competence, fairness and urgency. And that should not be too much to ask of a nation so richly blessed, yet so tragically mismanaged.