The question of whether Nigerian civil servants should enjoy the right to participate in partisan politics is no longer just a dry constitutional debate. It has become a riveting national conversation, almost like a football derby where loyalties are fierce, emotions are raw, and the stakes are high. This latest spark was lit by the Head of the Civil Service of the Federation (HoS), Mrs. Didi Esther Walson-Jack, who, as the drums of the 2027 elections beat louder each day, reminded civil servants of their duty to remain neutral and warned against political involvement. Her message echoed like a referee’s whistle in a heated match: play your role, don’t cross the line.
Her warning came against the backdrop of a Supreme Court ruling that many have interpreted as granting civil servants the constitutional right to belong to political parties. In fact, the ruling has been making the rounds on social media, recycled and reshared, almost like highlight reels of an old but unforgettable goal. Concerned about misinterpretations, Walson-Jack clarified that while civil servants can indeed carry party cards to protect their freedom of association, this freedom does not extend to openly partisan conduct. “We all know a civil servant is supposed to be non-political,” she insisted. “You serve the government of the day with neutrality.”
But just when it seemed the referee had spoken, the Nigeria Labour Congress (NLC) stormed the pitch with a fiery counterattack. In a press statement signed by its president, Comrade Joe Ajaero, the NLC dismissed the HoS’s warning as an error and insisted that the Nigerian Constitution, particularly Section 40, clearly guarantees every citizen — civil servants included — the right to freely associate, join political parties, and even contest elections, provided they resign 30 days before the polls. The NLC invoked the words of the late Chief Justice Mohammed Lawal Uwais in the landmark case of INEC vs AGF, who had ruled that Section 40 was meant for “every person” without exception. To the labour leaders, the matter is not up for debate: civil servants have a constitutional green light to play the political game.
Prominent voices such as Femi Falana (SAN) have since reinforced this position, further fueling the debate. Yet the storm is not merely legal; it is profoundly moral, political, and even psychological. Can the civil service — the supposed backbone of government neutrality — survive if its members carry the passions of political parties like fans clutching club scarves? Is it possible for a card-carrying member of the opposition to genuinely serve a government he or she privately hopes to see fail?
This is where the analogy of football fandom becomes instructive. Politics, like football, is rarely about reason alone; it is about loyalty, passion, and identity. Social psychologists like Henri Tajfel remind us in Social Identity Theory that once people adopt a group identity, their sense of loyalty and hostility becomes deeply ingrained. Imagine a Manchester United fan behind the wheel of a taxi who discovers his passenger is an Arsenal supporter — would he be tempted to drop him off halfway out of spite? It sounds absurd, but stories abound of fans taking their allegiances so seriously that it spills over into their daily lives. Replace United and Arsenal with APC and PDP, and the danger of bias in the workplace becomes less of a joke and more of a genuine democratic concern.
The scenario becomes even more troubling when the stakes involve not football games but national governance. Picture a civil servant who is also a loyal opposition member working in a sensitive ministry. Can such a person resist the temptation to leak information, delay implementation, or subtly sabotage government projects — not out of professional incompetence but out of partisan solidarity? As Max Weber, the father of modern bureaucracy, warned, the strength of the civil service rests on its impartiality. Once loyalty shifts from the state to party colours, bureaucracy risks becoming, in Weber’s words, a “tool of political spoils.”
Defenders of civil servants’ political freedom argue that partisan restrictions are outdated and unfair. They say allowing experienced civil servants to enter politics earlier in their careers could enrich leadership quality, instead of leaving governance to individuals with fewer professional credentials. They point to advanced democracies where approaches vary: in India and the UK, political neutrality of civil servants is enforced with near-religious zeal, while France and Germany adopt more flexible systems, permitting political expression provided impartiality in the workplace is preserved. What unites these countries, however, is not the degree of freedom but the emphasis on clear boundaries and mechanisms to manage conflicts of interest.
Nigeria, unfortunately, thrives in ambiguity. Without clear guidelines, the Supreme Court ruling may produce a class of workers who by day serve the government and by night campaign for its downfall. The risks are obvious: suspicion, mistrust, and the slow corrosion of confidence in public institutions. A leader may hesitate to entrust sensitive responsibilities to a staff member known to be active in the opposition, while colleagues may perceive favoritism toward those who share the ruling party’s sympathies. Over time, this corrodes morale, efficiency, and the very spirit of neutrality the civil service is meant to embody.
Of course, it is tempting to dismiss such fears as exaggerated. After all, civil servants already differ in ethnicity, religion, and regional loyalties, yet the system somehow manages to survive. Federal character principles, for instance, help balance representation and reduce suspicions of conspiracy. But political partisanship carries a more aggressive energy than ethnic or religious identity, because politics is not just who you are, but who gets to rule. And in the zero-sum nature of Nigerian politics, losing is rarely accepted with grace.
Yet, to be fair, there are undeniable benefits to loosening the restrictions. Civic engagement could deepen. Representation could broaden. The dominance of professional politicians with little administrative experience could be challenged by technocrats stepping into the arena. Still, the danger remains: without safeguards, the civil service risks becoming less of an impartial referee and more of a rowdy fan base, booing or cheering depending on which side holds power.
That is why clarity is urgently needed. The Constitution and Supreme Court ruling may have opened the door, but without guidelines, we risk turning ministries into stadium terraces where rival chants drown out the sober work of governance. If unchecked, the passions of political partisanship could infiltrate spaces meant to be neutral — just as Messi vs. Ronaldo rivalries sometimes poison friendships or as Arsenal vs. Manchester United loyalties can end cab rides in awkward silence. Nigeria cannot afford a civil service that plays opposition football by night and government football by day.
Democracy thrives on both robust opposition and a professional, impartial bureaucracy. Confusing the two is like asking referees to wear club jerseys while officiating. The result is not just a biased match but chaos. Until Nigeria resolves this tension with clear, enforceable rules, we may continue watching the civil service transform from disciplined public servants into something less predictable — soccer fans in a never-ending political derby.
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