Nigeria’s Politics In Practice: The Complete Opposite Of The Textbook -By Isaac Asabor

Anyone who ever sat through a Government or Politics class, whether in secondary school or at the university, knows the drill. Power is supposed to be exercised within rules. Leadership should be rational, restrained, and accountable. Institutions, not individuals, are meant to anchor governance. Democracy rests on consent, participation, checks and balances, respect for opposition, and the rule of law.

Now place these principles beside the daily conduct of Nigeria’s political class, and the contradiction is not subtle. It is embarrassing. This is as Nigeria’s politics operates as if Government and Politics textbooks are works of fiction, useful for passing exams, irrelevant to real life. What exists instead is a political culture that openly violates the basic logic of governance, and does so with confidence, swagger, and theatrical arrogance.

Textbooks define the state as a collective political organization governed by laws that apply equally to all. Nigerian politicians behave as if the state is a private estate acquired through elections. The politicians carry themselves as if Nigeria is a registered company called “Nigeria Plc”.  Governors casually refer to “my state.” Ministers speak of “my ministry.” Legislators treat constituencies like personal farms for patronage. Public funds are handled less as national resources and more as spoils of conquest.

Political theory is unambiguous: public office is a public trust. Nigerian political practice has replaced trusteeship with ownership. Once sworn in, many officials act like landlords, not stewards. The state becomes an extension of personal ego rather than a shared civic project.

One of the first lessons in any Government textbook is the rule of law: no one is above the law; laws apply equally; rights are protected; due process is guaranteed.

Given the backdrop of the foregoing views, it is unfortunate that in Nigeria, the rule of law survives mostly as a slogan. Court orders are obeyed selectively. Security agencies respond faster to political directives than judicial rulings. Anti-corruption agencies suddenly discover energy when political loyalty expires and lose it when alliances are restored. This is not ignorance. It is calculated contempt.

Textbooks warn that when leaders undermine the law, they destroy state legitimacy. Nigerian politicians appear unfazed by this warning. The law is treated as a hurdle to evade, not a framework to obey. Citizens, in turn, have learned that justice is not blind, it is partisan. Unfortunately, political theory insists on separation of powers to prevent tyranny. In Nigeria, that separation frequently collapses into executive dominance.

State assemblies often function as rubber stamps. Budgets sail through without scrutiny. Loans are approved with little accountability. Oversight becomes noisy theatre that ends in quiet compromises. The judiciary, under pressure or inducement, sometimes appears more attentive to political signals than constitutional clarity.

This directly contradicts everything taught about institutional independence. When lawmakers become cheerleaders and judges become cautious, democracy loses its spine. What remains is elective authoritarianism draped in constitutional language.

Textbooks describe political parties as ideological vehicles, platforms for policy choices, political education, and interest aggregation. Unfortunately, in Nigeria, most parties are hollow shells.

Defections are constant because ideology is absent. Politicians move across party lines without explanation because there is nothing to explain. Yesterday’s critic becomes today’s defender using the same arguments he once condemned.

This emptiness usually unashamedly been displayed by some of Nigerian politicians, no doubt, mocks textbook democracy, where parties offer voters real alternatives. In Nigeria, elections are contests between personalities, godfathers, and ethnic calculations, not competing visions of governance.

Political theory recognizes the value of a loyal opposition, actors who challenge government policies while remaining committed to democratic order. Unfortunately, Nigeria’s political class treats opposition as a problem to crush. Opposition figures face intimidation, selective prosecution, administrative harassment, or political isolation. Dissent is framed as sabotage. Criticism is treated as treason. This behaviour violates pluralism, a core democratic principle. A system without protected opposition is not a democracy; it is an autocracy in slow motion. Nigerian politicians understand this in theory and violate it in practice.

Textbooks define elections as mechanisms for translating popular will into leadership. In Nigeria, elections are treated like wars, do-or-die battles where victory matters more than legitimacy.

Vote buying, violence, judicial manipulation, and post-election bargaining have normalized electoral cynicism. Many politicians prepare lawyers more carefully than manifestos. Winning in court often matters more than convincing voters. Unfortunately, and in their foolhardiness, when elections lose credibility, citizens disengage. Voter apathy grows, not because Nigerians reject democracy, but because politicians have emptied it of meaning.

Perhaps the most humiliating departure from textbook politics lies in conduct. Political theory assumes leaders will behave as rational actors. Nigerian politics increasingly features public officials who behave like street toughs, issuing threats, hurling insults, pounding chests, and turning public engagement into spectacle.

Some dance aggressively at rallies like performers auditioning for relevance. Others make speeches that sound less like policy articulation and more like motor-park intimidation. This is not grassroots connection. It is political vulgarization. Government textbooks never imagined leaders threatening opponents on live television or boasting about crushing rivals. Politics, as taught, is competition through ideas, not intimidation through bravado.

In theory, the monopoly of violence belongs to the state and is exercised through law. In Nigeria, politicians often speak as if they personally own that monopoly.

Public threats to “deal with” opponents, “teach them lessons,” or “make places ungovernable” have become disturbingly routine. Some openly hint at deploying security agencies or loyal enforcers against rivals.

Textbooks warn that when authority merges with coercion, democracy collapses into raw power struggle. Nigerian politicians appear comfortable with that collapse, largely because consequences are rare.

Political theory treats politics as a serious business, deliberation, compromise, and policy choice. Nigerian politics increasingly resembles street theatre. Noise replaces nuance. Performance replaces policy. Drama crowds out substance. The public space is saturated with spectacle and starved of ideas.

Political communication, meant to educate and persuade, becomes entertainment or intimidation.

Textbooks frame leadership as service and sacrifice. Nigerian political culture frames leadership as entitlement, contrarily to the fact that respect is demanded, not earned. Loyalty is enforced, not inspired. Accountability is resisted, not embraced.

In fact, political theory predicted the result: protests, agitations, and widespread alienation from the state. Nigerian reality confirms it daily. This problem is not ignorance. Many Nigerian politicians are educated. Some even studied political science.

Given the foregoing view points, it is out of place to opine that the problem is incentives. The system rewards recklessness and punishes restraint. Institutions are weak. Enforcement is selective. Politics is tied to economic survival. When access to power determines access to wealth, discipline becomes a liability.

Without a doubt, the biggest casualty of this contradiction is the Nigerian state itself. Institutions weaken. Trust erodes. Governance becomes chaotic. Serious citizens withdraw from politics, leaving the field to those most comfortable with noise, threats, and intimidation.

Government and Politics textbooks were not written as academic decoration. They distil centuries of political experience designed to prevent exactly this kind of decay. Nigeria does not suffer from a lack of political knowledge. It suffers from an excess of political cynicism. So, until Nigerian politicians begin to act like leaders rather than touts, statesmen rather than dramatists, and public servants rather than warlords, democracy will remain cosmetic.

It is so paradoxical that they know the right things to do. This is as they know the rules. They passed the exams. They quote the constitution. Unfortunately, they just govern as if none of it matters.