When a government loses the trust of its people, it loses the moral compass to lead. The latest figures from the Africa Polling Institute (API) are not just alarming; they are a loud cry from a weary nation gasping under the weight of broken promises, worsening poverty, and a leadership that seems dangerously disconnected from reality. With 83% of Nigerians declaring they have little or no trust in President Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s administration, the writing is not just on the wall—it is painted boldly in red across every corner of the country.
It is often said that trust is earned in drops and lost in buckets. But in the case of the Tinubu government, it seems that trust was squandered like confetti at a political carnival. Nigerians hoped, prayed, and voted for a new dawn. Instead, what they got was a never-ending eclipse. This is not opposition politics. It is a candid reflection of the pain that echoes from the lips of the man on the street to the hearts of struggling mothers and jobless youths.
The 2025 Social Cohesion Survey reveals a country teetering on the edge. Fifty-three percent of respondents said they have “no trust at all” in the Tinubu administration, and another 30% said they have “little trust.” That means only a meagre 17% of the population sees any reason to still believe. In a democracy, that figure is not just poor—it is catastrophic. A government that fails to command the trust of its people is like a ship adrift without a captain—directionless and doomed.
Trust is not a luxury; it is the lifeblood of governance. It is what fuels compliance, patriotism, and national sacrifice. Without it, everything collapses like a house of cards. The government can chant slogans and roll out policies until the cows come home, but if the people do not believe in the intentions behind those policies, nothing will change. A staggering 82% of citizens say they do not trust the National Assembly under Senate President Godswill Akpabio and House Speaker Tajudeen Abbas. What then is left of democracy if both the executive and legislative arms are viewed with such cynicism?
The judiciary, which should be the last hope of the common man, fares no better. Seventy-nine percent of Nigerians say they have little or no trust in the courts. Justice, they say, is blind—but in Nigeria, it seems justice has been gagged, bound, and auctioned to the highest bidder. When citizens no longer believe that the courts can protect them, what recourse do they have? They retreat into silence, or worse, they revolt.
API attributes the erosion of trust to economic hardship, perceived corruption, and unfulfilled campaign promises. The truth is, Nigerians are not asking for the moon. They are not asking for utopia. They are simply asking to live with dignity—to eat three square meals a day, to send their children to school, to afford transport fare without sweating bullets, and to sleep at night without the fear of being kidnapped. Is that too much to ask from a government that promised renewed hope?
Hope, it seems, has been renewed only for a few—the privileged political elite who feast while the masses famish. The streets are littered with the corpses of dreams killed by inflation, insecurity, and joblessness. The nation is bleeding, yet those at the top speak in tongues of deceit, chanting economic recovery while the stomachs of the poor growl louder than government announcements.
How did we get here? The answer lies in leadership that is long on promises and short on delivery. From subsidy removal that triggered an economic avalanche, to currency reforms that left millions stranded in banking halls, this administration has danced on the graves of its own goodwill. It takes a special kind of indifference to watch citizens drown and still ask them to clap.
But perhaps the saddest part of this crisis is not the government’s failures—it is their refusal to listen. When 83% of your people say they do not trust you, a serious leader would pause, reflect, and recalibrate. But what do we get instead? More propaganda, more public relations gymnastics, and more photo ops with international investors who never stay.
Let this serve as a wake-up call. No government survives long-term on borrowed credibility. No amount of security crackdowns or media censorship can stop a people whose patience has run out. The time to act is now. Rebuild the bridges of trust, not with words, but with results. Cut down the cost of governance, fight corruption with sincerity, empower the judiciary to be truly independent, and place the welfare of citizens above political calculations.
President Tinubu must understand that the presidency is not a throne—it is a responsibility. And trust, once broken, is hard to glue back. Nigerians are watching, waiting, and hoping against hope that this administration will not go down as another chapter in the growing book of failed promises.
Because at the end of the day, it is not about party politics. It is about human lives. It is about that mother selling firewood to send her child to school. It is about that graduate riding okada with a first-class degree. It is about the child who goes to bed hungry every night. These are not statistics—they are stories. They are the pulse of a nation desperate to breathe again.
Let this not be another call falling on deaf ears. If trust is gone, the foundation is gone. And if the foundation be destroyed, what can the people do?
Stanley Ugagbe is a seasoned journalist with a passion for exposing social issues and advocating for justice. With years of experience in the media industry, he has written extensively on governance, human rights, and societal challenges, crafting powerful narratives that inspire change. He can be reache
d via stanleyakomeno@gmail.com
