There comes a time in the life of a nation when silence becomes betrayal—not just of the truth, but of the millions who suffer under the weight of hardship. That time, for Nigeria, is now.
I watched in disbelief—no, in horror—as videos surfaced of prominent politicians and corporate leaders gathered at an extravagant birthday party in Abuja. Men and women who claim to lead our people were seen dancing with questionable characters, throwing foreign currency in the air, and celebrating like teenagers, while 95% of our fellow citizens go to bed hungry. Truly hungry.
These are the same individuals who will, come 2027, expect us to campaign for them, to defend their character, to convince our communities that they deserve another term or a promotion in public office. But how can anyone who witnessed such gross insensitivity believe that these people care about the nation’s pain?
To celebrate publicly, to display such decadence in a time of national trauma, is not just poor judgment—it is a betrayal of leadership. When you are in the public eye, when you are a role model to millions of struggling youths, you do not have the luxury of indifference. Leadership is not a title. It is a burden of conscience.
I can never—and will never—campaign for anyone who associates with the very characters whose wealth raises more questions than answers. I will not lend my voice to sanitize the image of those who, in the face of national hunger and despair, choose to throw parties instead of solutions.
Even in the world’s most capitalist society, the United States, the richest among them know better. When Elon Musk turned 50, there was no circus, no show of excess, no dollar rain. American politicians understand that public image is sacred, especially in moments of national difficulty. Why, then, do ours feel no shame?
We must begin to demand more. Not just in competence, but in character. We must stop normalizing vulgar displays of unearned wealth. We must teach our children that leadership is about sacrifice—not celebration in the midst of mourning.
Until then, we will remain a broken people governed by individuals whose hearts have grown cold to the cries of the people they swore to serve.