By Tony Edemenaha
There is a peculiar theatre that unfolds in Nigeria during every election cycle: a well-rehearsed liturgy of praise, loud enough to drown out the cries of struggling citizens.
We gather in air-conditioned halls in Abuja, unveil manifestos, and announce with solemnity the distribution of hundreds of thousands of rice bags, youth empowerment schemes and newly commissioned projects.
Stakeholders applaud, traditional rulers acknowledge the presentations, and civil society representatives offer commendations. Meanwhile, beyond the conference halls, ordinary citizens continue struggling with rising living costs and inadequate public services.
This is not cynicism; it is sobriety. And sobriety, in these circumstances, is perhaps one of the most revolutionary acts of responsible citizenship.
We have perfected what might be described as psychedelic praise-singing: a political commentary in which every appointment becomes inclusion, every camera-friendly road repair becomes transformation, and every agricultural photograph signifies revolution.
Governance is increasingly presented through carefully managed spectacles rather than measured against conditions experienced by ordinary people. The louder the applause, the easier it becomes to overlook uncomfortable realities.
Let us pause, remove our rose-tinted glasses and examine the situation through the clear, unsentimental lenses of introspection.
What, then, is compassion, if not measured by the actual relief it brings? Removing fuel subsidies may be defended as necessary economic surgery, but its consequences demand scrutiny.
No serious economist would dispute the need for fiscal adjustments. However, the uncomfortable question remains: what is the ultimate purpose of reform, and who bears its immediate consequences?
A surgeon who successfully removes a diseased limb but fails to save the patient has completed a procedure without achieving healing. Economic reform must similarly deliver tangible improvements.
When government savings are not sufficiently translated into better public services, affordable transportation and improved living conditions, citizens may reasonably question who ultimately benefits from the sacrifices.
The Greeks told the story of Narcissus, who became so captivated by his reflection that he eventually drowned. Nigerian governance sometimes risks a similar obsession with self-presentation.
We have become enamoured with press releases, policy announcements and official commendations, while the realities confronting citizens receive insufficient attention. Announcing a policy is not the same as delivering results.
A policy announcement is merely the clearing of the throat before the actual speech. That speech must be delivered through affordable food, safer roads, reliable electricity and improved livelihoods.
What, then, of the familiar promises of empowerment and palliatives? On television, smiling beneficiaries displaying oversized cheques create compelling images of government intervention and social responsibility.
Yet the real test of such programmes lies beyond their publicity. Their effectiveness must be measured by accessibility, fairness, transparency and the lasting benefits they deliver.
What value does a digital payment offer a woman without a functional phone or reliable network access? What impact does a food distribution programme achieve without transparent beneficiary selection?
How meaningful is poverty alleviation if it cannot reduce the cost of basic foodstuffs, improve farmers’ access to markets or make transportation safer and more affordable?
We have become remarkably proficient at counting beneficiaries, but considerably less rigorous in measuring the actual value and sustainability of the benefits delivered to them.
Consider the recurring spectacle of stakeholder engagements. Citizens are invited to participate in discussions, sometimes after major policy decisions have already been announced and implementation arrangements substantially established.
When participation merely seeks endorsement rather than genuine contributions, it risks becoming an exercise in manufactured consensus. Citizens deserve opportunities to influence policies affecting their livelihoods.
Real civic engagement is not simply a traditional ruler describing a government programme as commendable. It also requires communities to question decisions and demand explanations without intimidation.
Likewise, genuine civil society engagement requires the freedom to challenge government policies, demand accountability and identify unintended consequences, even when such interventions prove uncomfortable for those in authority.
An old governance argument holds that citizens should not destroy infrastructure provided by government. Yet perhaps the deeper question concerns how citizens develop ownership of public assets.
People are more likely to protect infrastructure they recognise as belonging to them and serving their collective interests. Community participation must therefore extend beyond ceremonial consultations and announcements.
When public infrastructure is vandalised or neglected, criminal responsibility must be established. However, government should also examine whether inadequate community ownership, maintenance and public engagement contribute to the problem.
Here lies an uncomfortable truth requiring intellectual honesty: we have increasingly confused governance optics with governance itself. The distinction between announcing achievements and delivering measurable outcomes must be restored.
We count the bags of rice distributed, but seldom examine how many households remain food-insecure. We announce billions saved, without adequately explaining their measurable impact on ordinary livelihoods.
We celebrate appointments, flyovers and government investments, but must equally confront the economic frustrations driving many young Nigerians to seek opportunities beyond the country’s borders.
The pedestrian logic that must disappear from governance measurement is the assumption that announcements automatically constitute achievements and that public applause necessarily demonstrates successful implementation.
A new fleet of official vehicles, for instance, cannot independently establish effective representation when constituents continue struggling with access to affordable education, healthcare and other essential public services.
This is the gilded cage: impressive in appearance, celebrated in official presentations, yet incapable of delivering meaningful freedom when the people remain trapped by economic hardship.
What, then, should be done? The answer is not necessarily less reform, but more purposeful reform. Economic restructuring must be accompanied by institutional accountability and moral responsibility.
We need policies that balance public finances without sacrificing human dignity. A government may achieve fiscal stability, but the ultimate measure of success remains improved conditions for its citizens.
Our national conversation must move beyond partisan arguments about whether one political party is superior to another or whether particular economic policies deserve unquestioning praise or condemnation.
The more fundamental question is this: who ultimately benefits from these reforms? If national accounts improve while citizens remain economically distressed, policymakers must reassess their priorities and implementation strategies.
We must return ordinary citizens to the centre of public policy. The street should not be regarded merely as a place requiring control, but as society’s most immediate accountability platform.
The street is where the price of rice is debated, transportation costs are calculated, electricity shortages are experienced and government promises are measured against everyday realities.
Stakeholder engagements should therefore extend beyond conference halls and formal gatherings. Government representatives must listen in markets, farms, workshops and communities where public policies have their greatest consequences.
Let the next consultation reach the marketplace in Birnin Kebbi, the cassava farms in Orerokpe and the mechanic workshops in Nnewi, where citizens can describe their experiences directly.
Policy discussions should also move beyond technical jargon. Government must communicate in accessible language, including Pidgin English and local expressions, so citizens can understand commitments and monitor implementation.
Governance must ultimately be measured not by the number of palliative programmes announced, but by the extent to which interventions relieve hardship and restore human dignity.
Until governance moves beyond the chorus of praise-singers and begins responding meaningfully to the pulse of ordinary citizens, Nigeria will continue building magnificent clubhouses.
The Nigerian people, meanwhile, will remain outside the gates, watching the celebrations and wondering when the promised dividends of governance will finally become their shared reality.
