Nigeria Is Bleeding, But Politicians Still Fear Losing Votes More Than Losing The Nation -By Isaac Asabor

Nigeria is bleeding, slowly, persistently, and in full public view. From rural communities ravaged by bandits to highways turned into hunting grounds for kidnappers, from farms abandoned to fear to villages emptied by violence, the signs of national distress are everywhere. Yet, in the face of this unrelenting crisis, a troubling pattern persists: many Nigerian politicians appear more afraid of losing votes than of losing the nation itself.

This is not an exaggeration. It is the logical conclusion drawn from years of half-measures, evasive rhetoric, and political hesitation in the face of widespread insecurity. While citizens bury their dead and flee their homes, those entrusted with power often retreat into electoral calculations, weighing every security decision against its potential impact on future elections. In this warped calculus, ballots are prioritized over blood, and political survival eclipses national survival.

Political scholars such as V.O. Key have long maintained that public opinion is not noise; it is a signal. It is the collective articulation of what citizens suffer and what they expect their leaders to fix. In Nigeria today, that signal is loud, consistent, and unmistakable: insecurity has spiraled out of control. Yet, despite the clarity of this message, government response remains hesitant, fragmented, and deeply political.

Across large parts of the country, from Benue to Plateau, from Niger to sections of Kogi, Kwara and Nasarawa, communities are living under siege. Banditry, kidnapping, communal violence, and organized criminality have become defining features of daily life. Farmers can no longer farm safely, traders travel at great risk, and parents fear sending their children to school. Mass burials, once shocking, have become routine. Still, the state often responds with press statements, condolence visits, and promises that evaporate with the news cycle.

The critical question is why. The uncomfortable answer is not ignorance or lack of information. Nigerian leaders are fully aware of the scale of the insecurity. Security briefings are constant. Intelligence reports are plentiful. The problem is willpower. Too many politicians fear that decisive action against insecurity could alienate certain voting blocs, offend powerful interests, or destabilize fragile political alliances. As a result, insecurity is treated not as a national emergency to be defeated, but as a political problem to be managed. This is the deadly logic of survival politics.

Against the backdrop of the foregoing no-hold-bare view, it is not an exaggeration to opine that public opinion in Nigeria consistently ranks insecurity among the country’s most pressing concerns, alongside economic hardship and unemployment. Nigerians are not confused about their priorities. What confuses them is why their leaders appear paralyzed at the very moment decisive action is required.

In theory, public opinion should guide policy, legitimize difficult decisions, and define the boundaries of acceptable governance. In practice, Nigerian leaders often weaponize public opinion selectively. They embrace it when it flatters them and discard it when it demands courage, sacrifice, or political risk.

Nowhere is this selective listening more evident than in the North Central region. Politically sensitive, ethnically diverse, and electorally competitive, the region has become a theatre of hesitation. Every serious security decision is filtered through a single, corrosive question: “How will this affect our chances in the next election?” That question has become more important than “How many lives will this save?” This is not leadership. It is political cowardice dressed up as strategy.

By refusing to confront insecurity head-on, the government creates a cycle of avoidance that deepens the crisis. Violence persists, communities lose faith, and criminal groups grow emboldened. The longer the state hesitates, the more authority it cedes, not just territorially, but morally.

Regrettably, the consequences of this hesitation are profound and dangerous. First, it erodes legitimacy. A government that cannot guarantee basic safety loses moral authority, regardless of how many elections it wins. Citizens may continue to vote out of habit, fear, or ethnic loyalty, but trust quietly evaporates. Authority without legitimacy is brittle, and once it cracks, no amount of propaganda can hold it together.

Second, it fuels voter apathy. Insecurity already disrupts elections through violence, displacement, and fear. When this is combined with perceived government indifference, democracy begins to feel hollow. People disengage, not because they are apathetic, but because they feel abandoned.

Third, and most dangerously, it entrenches criminal power. Armed groups interpret government hesitation as weakness. Bandits, militias, and criminal networks expand their influence, impose taxes, enforce their own rules, and determine who lives or dies. In some communities, the state exists only in name. This is how nations decay, not through collapse, but through sustained neglect and avoidance.

To many patriotic Nigerians, the argument is blunt but unavoidable: if losing elections is the price of saving lives, then it is a price worth paying. Democracy was never meant to shield incumbents from accountability. It was not designed as a guarantee of perpetual power. The primary duty of government is not to win elections, but to secure lives and property.

Yet, Nigeria’s political class often behaves as though power retention is the highest public good. Hard decisions are postponed. Tough reforms are diluted. Security challenges are tiptoed around so as not to offend voters, godfathers or regional interests. This obsession with comfort explains why office is pursued with ferocity but exercised with caution.

True patriotism in public office requires something far rarer: courage. It demands leaders who are willing to confront criminal interests, disrupt entrenched networks, and absorb short-term political backlash in service of long-term national stability. Leadership is not the art of pleasing everyone. It is the courage to do what is right when it is unpopular.

Ironically, Nigerian politicians consistently overestimate the political cost of decisive action and underestimate the long-term cost of inaction. History offers no mercy to leaders who choose convenience over conscience. Public opinion can be manipulated, but insecurity in Nigeria is not a social media illusion. It is a lived reality, measured in graves, displaced families, and abandoned farmlands.

Listening to public opinion does not mean pandering to ethnic sentiment or sectional pressure. It means recognizing that Nigerians are exhausted by excuses. They want results, not rhetoric. When governments act decisively, strengthening intelligence coordination, equipping security forces, holding perpetrators accountable, and supporting victims, public confidence grows. Legitimacy is reinforced, not weakened. Stability is built, not threatened.

The reluctance to confront insecurity decisively exposes a deeper problem in Nigeria’s governance culture: a political class more obsessed with power retention than responsibility. This same mindset sustains corruption, weakens institutions, and normalizes mediocrity in public service.

Whether elected or appointed, too many officials treat governance as a transactional opportunity rather than a moral obligation. Budgets become spoils. Offices become personal estates. Institutions are bent to protect individuals. Patriotism is reduced to ceremony and slogans, not action.

However, governance was never meant to be comfortable. It is a moral contract between leaders and citizens. When leaders violate that contract, by valuing votes over lives, the nation bleeds.

If a ruling party loses power because it chose to protect lives over votes, that loss is not a failure. It is democracy functioning as intended. What is truly catastrophic is winning elections over mass graves.

Years from now, history will not ask Nigerian leaders how many elections they won. It will ask a more damning question: “Did you act when people were dying?” “Did you lead when it was difficult, or did you hide behind political calculations while the nation bled?”

Nigeria does not need a government that merely interprets public opinion for convenience. It needs one that understands when to follow public sentiment and when to lead it, firmly, decisively, and without fear.

Until Nigerian politicians confront insecurity without electoral calculations, until they value the nation more than their next victory, Nigeria will continue to bleed. In addition, no number of votes will ever justify that.