Between the politicians and the non-politicians lies a perennial dilemma for elected leaders in Nigeria. How can they strike a balance between the politicians—those who secure electoral victories through tireless mobilization—and the wider electorate made up of civil servants, traders, professionals, and technocrats who demand efficient governance? It is a tug-of-war that often stretches the imagination of governance itself.
At the lower rungs of political office—councillors, legislators, or senators—the dilemma is minimal. These officials hardly feel direct pressure from civil servants or competing interest blocs. But the higher the office, the hotter the fire. Governors and presidents find themselves perpetually torn between the politicians who want recognition and compensation, and the non-politicians who call for prudence, efficiency, and the reduction of waste.
This confusion plays out vividly in decisions about cabinet size, ministries, commissioners, ministers, and special advisers. Expand the cabinet to reward supporters, and critics accuse the leader of waste and extravagance. Keep it lean, and the politicians who risked life, resources, and reputation to ensure victory complain of betrayal. Political scientist Max Weber once observed that politics is “a strong and slow boring of hard boards”—and perhaps nowhere is that drilling more excruciating than in balancing reward with responsibility.
Consider the irony: some governors have appointed thousands of aides, while even councillors are now reported to have “political aides” in their hundreds. For lawmakers, this might pass without much controversy, as they are closer to the grassroots politicians who demand patronage. But when governors or presidents expand their aides, civil servants rise in protest, calling for cost-cutting and better welfare. The result is a clash of two legitimate but competing truths.
This is where the conversation about cutting the cost of governance becomes entangled with the politics of reward. Citizens want smaller cabinets to save money, but as Aristotle reminded us, “nature abhors a vacuum.” When politicians who invested heavily in campaigns are sidelined, resentment fills the vacuum and destabilizes governance itself. Politicians are not simply “jobless people,” as some claim. Their sacrifice, time, and devotion are immense. Party executives strategize, resolve conflicts, move across towns, and sustain campaigns long before the civil servants take notice. I once observed how supporters on political WhatsApp groups posted motivational prayers and campaign materials daily with near-religious zeal. They erected billboards, coordinated logistics, and poured their energy into a candidate’s victory. To dismiss their effort as inconsequential is to misunderstand the very architecture of democratic politics.
Thus, rewarding politicians is not mere patronage—it is, in part, a recognition of partnership. To deny them completely is to lack empathy and fairness. Civil servants cannot be ignored, but neither can the foot soldiers of democracy who keep the political engine running. As Machiavelli suggested in The Prince, politics is about managing competing interests, not eliminating them.
The debate over cabinet size echoes this paradox. Buhari’s merger of ministries under Fashola as “super minister” of Works, Power, and Housing was defended as a cost-saving measure. Yet the tangible benefits of those savings remain debatable, while the burden of centralized authority was visible. What, then, is gained when savings on paper fail to translate into real infrastructure or economic improvements? Citizens rightly ask why fuel subsidy removal and payroll reforms like IPPIS have not curbed borrowing or recurrent expenditures.
At the same time, survival realities complicate the debate. In today’s economy, where ₦1,000 barely feeds a person in a day, the need for “stomach infrastructure”—popularized by Ayodele Fayose—becomes more urgent than abstract promises of future projects. Political aideships, stipends, and patronage may not provide permanent solutions, but they give immediate relief in a climate where businesses are struggling and self-reliance remains elusive. As scholars of political economy argue, social legitimacy in fragile economies is often secured through short-term welfare, even at the expense of long-term efficiency.
So, where does this leave us? On the one hand, a lean cabinet appeals to the logic of fiscal discipline and economic growth. On the other hand, expanding the political tent accommodates loyalty, survival needs, and the recognition of sacrifice. Neither side is wholly wrong. The truth lies in managing expectations and ensuring that whatever cost-saving measures are taken genuinely translate into visible public benefits.
In the end, elected leaders cannot hope to sustain favorable public sentiment by simply chanting “cut the cost of governance” while failing to show results. Politicians remain indispensable architects of victory, and citizens demand both bread and bridges—jobs to survive today, and infrastructure to dream of tomorrow. The task of leadership, then, is not to choose one over the other, but to master the delicate art of balancing both without losing legitimacy in the process.
Bagudu can be reached at bagudumohammed15197@gmail.com or on 0703 494 3575.
