Anyone who passes through the four walls of a university might be forgiven for thinking Nigeria is divided into two moral species: the good men and women within the classroom, and the flawed actors outside it. Inside stand the lecturers, the custodians of knowledge, guardians of reason, sculptors of young minds. Outside roam the politicians and top government administrators, who are frequently cast as architects of dysfunction. It is a convenient binary, and like most convenient binaries, it is dangerously seductive.
This perception gains strength from the peculiar psychology of the university space. Young people, often between fifteen and eighteen, arrive at tertiary institutions at the very moment they are awakening to social consciousness. They encounter academics who critique power structures, dissect governance failures, and lament the widening gulf between Nigeria and the so-called developed world. In lecture halls, politicians are sometimes invoked as cautionary tales, citing examples of extravagance, incompetence, or moral decay. Academics, consciously or unconsciously, tap into public frustration: rising school fees, decaying facilities, underfunded laboratories, and a political elite perceived as detached from the suffering masses. In that setting, the lecturer easily becomes the moral counterpoint to the politician.
Over time, the image hardens. Academics are seen as symbols of discipline, moderation, intellect, and character, the best the society can produce, yet somehow denied the levers of real power. They enjoy not only empathy but sympathy, portrayed as victims of a broken system engineered by those in government. Ironically, many of those same politicians and administrators once passed through the same universities, shaped by the same institutions, mentored by the same professors. The difference, it appears, lies not in moral DNA but in occupational positioning, and perhaps in the higher certificates of PhD and the title of professor.
History complicates the narrative. When Goodluck Jonathan, Nigeria’s first PhD holder to become president, assumed office, expectations soared. Here was an academic at the helm. Yet he did not escape allegations of disappointment from critics, some of whom rated his performance below that of military rulers and non-academic leaders like Olusegun Obasanjo. Similarly, the emergence of Charles Soludo, a respected professor, as governor of Anambra State has not immunized him from public scrutiny or dissatisfaction. These examples suggest that the boundary between the saintly scholar and the flawed politician may be thinner than we like to admit.
Perhaps it is this anxiety, this fear of demystification that underlies the argument advanced by Professor Chinedum Nwajiuba, former Vice Chancellor of Alex Ekwueme Federal University, Ndufu-Alike. Speaking at Michael Okpara University of Agriculture, Umudike during a valedictory lecture titled “The Crimson’s Comb and the Contemporary Nigerian University,” he urged that universities and members of Academic Staff Union of Universities should refrain from electoral duties for Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC). Universities, he argued, are universal institutions devoted to learning and intellectual exchange, not appendages of electoral machinery. To conscript them into election administration, in his view, risks diluting their essence.
His concern is not trivial. In fragile democracies, perception is power. When elections are disputed, returning officers, many of whom are lecturers face threats, litigation, and reputational attacks. The aura of neutrality surrounding academia may be bruised by the bruising nature of politics. If the university is already grappling with declining standards, language deficiencies, and contested merit systems, as Nwajiuba lamented, should it also shoulder the weight of electoral controversies?
Yet there is a counter-argument that refuses to be silenced. Knowledge that never leaves the classroom risks becoming sterile. John Dewey once argued that education is not preparation for life; education is life itself. If that is so, then the test of scholarship lies not merely in publishing papers but in applying intellect to society’s most urgent problems. Electoral malpractice, leadership crises, and governance failures are not abstract themes for seminars; they are lived realities shaping millions of destinies. Strengthening the electoral process is arguably one of the most practical ways to improve leadership recruitment and, by extension, governance outcomes.
The law itself does not single out lecturers by name, but the Electoral Act 2022 grants INEC broad authority to appoint ad-hoc officials, including returning and collation officers, provided they meet neutrality requirements and take an oath. Under this discretionary power, academics perceived as relatively independent and educated have often been enlisted. The involvement of lecturers has, in several election cycles, been cited as enhancing credibility in a system where public trust is uneven.
Community service, after all, is a recognized component of academic appraisal. Research that never touches reality remains theory; theory tested in the crucible of national service becomes wisdom. To retreat from electoral participation for fear of reputational stain may preserve an image of sainthood, but it risks turning moral criticism into comfortable detachment. It is easier to be Mr. Good, Mr. Best, Mr. Who-Knows-It-All than to be Mr. Fix-It in a turbulent arena.
Good governance is not the exclusive burden of politicians. If politics is chaotic and messy, and everyone with principles withdraws to the safety of the ivory tower, then the field is surrendered to those less scrupulous. Civic engagement, including electoral administration, can deepen academics’ understanding of institutional weaknesses, generate real-world insights for research, and reinforce collective responsibility. Elections occur periodically, not perpetually; they need not suffocate teaching and research. In fact, the lived experience of navigating electoral logistics, pressure, and ethical dilemmas can enrich scholarship in political science, law, sociology, and beyond.
The dilemma, then, is not a simple choice between purity and participation. It is about designing safeguards such as clear legal protections, voluntary participation, transparent compensation, and strict neutrality, so that engagement strengthens both democracy and academic integrity. To imagine that academics remain morally superior simply because they are confined to classrooms is to mistake insulation for virtue. Character is not proven by distance from power but by conduct within it.
Lecturers as electoral officers may risk their aura of untouchable goodness. But perhaps that risk is precisely what makes their participation meaningful. A democracy in search of credibility may not need fewer conscientious actors at its core; it may need more.
Bagudu can be reached at bagudumohammed15197@gmail.com or on 0703 494 3575.
