We could all be Bwala, Nafiu, Amupitan, or even Tinubu, if only we are honest enough to confront the shifting mirrors of our own convictions.
There is a growing belief that Nigeria’s democracy stands on a fragile edge, threatened not just by the weight of incumbency under President Bola Ahmed Tinubu (BAT), but by the subtle and sometimes blatant partisanship of state institutions that are expected to remain neutral arbiters. The accusation is familiar: the opposition is being treated unfairly, and those entrusted with objectivity appear increasingly entangled in loyalty. Yet, beneath this narrative lies a deeper, more unsettling question: are these failings truly unique to those in power, or are they reflections of a broader human condition?
In recent times, the outspoken and controversial Daniel Bwala has become a symbol of inconsistency, a man accused of speaking from both sides of his mouth, and in doing so, he has been cast as a convenient villain, a caricature of the “typical Nigerian without a base.” Then emerges Nafiu Bala Gombe, swiftly categorized as another antagonist, allegedly a puppet of the ruling party, much like past political figures accused of undermining their own camps. Professor Joash Amupitan is drawn into the same web, labeled an installed agent for a hatchet job, while Tinubu himself is recast, from pro-democracy NADECO figure to a perceived threat to the very system he once fought to protect.
But what if this entire gallery of villains is, in fact, a distorted reflection of ourselves?
Political psychology and social identity theory offer a compelling lens here. Scholars like Henri Tajfel have long argued that individuals derive their sense of self from group affiliations, often leading to in-group favoritism and out-group hostility. What this means in practice is simple yet profound: our judgments are rarely neutral. They are shaped by where we stand, who we stand with, and what we stand to gain or lose. Time, role, responsibility, emotion, and perception do not just influence judgment, they redefine it.
Seen through this lens, the characters we criticize are not anomalies but case studies. They embody what behavioral scientists describe as “motivated reasoning”, the tendency to fit facts into pre-existing beliefs or evolving interests. Research in political behavior consistently shows that individuals are more likely to justify contradictions when it benefits their side, while condemning similar actions from opponents. In essence, we are all susceptible to becoming Bwala in our rhetoric, Nafiu in our alliances, and Amupitan in our shifting standards of objectivity.
Consider how perspectives on zoning and merit have evolved. Many who now argue passionately for open competition once defended zoning when it served their interests. Constitutional arguments suddenly gain prominence when informal agreements lose their utility. This is not hypocrisy in isolation; it is a pattern explained by cognitive dissonance theory, where individuals adjust beliefs to align with changing realities rather than confront inconsistency.
Even the controversial statements attributed to Amupitan illustrate this tension between personal opinion and institutional responsibility. What may pass as a personal viewpoint becomes problematic when filtered through the expectations of public office. Yet, how many of us, in our private spaces, have made sweeping generalizations, labeling entire political groups as villains, only to soften or reverse our stance when someone close to us crosses into that same group? The distance between condemnation and justification is often just a change in proximity.
We see similar patterns in how political figures are perceived over time. Governors once praised as exemplary suddenly become subjects of criticism after shifting political alignments. Political godsons are rarely criticized until alliances fracture.These are not isolated incidents but manifestations of what scholars describe as “elite cue theory,” where public opinion is heavily influenced by signals from political leaders and group affiliations rather than independent evaluation.
Perhaps the most striking example lies in the debate over fuel subsidy removal, one of the defining policies associated with Tinubu. Today, it is condemned in many quarters as a grave misstep. Yet, not long ago, there was broad consensus across political divides that subsidy removal was inevitable. Prominent figures across the spectrum supported it in principle. The shift is not merely about policy outcomes; it is about perception. As John Maynard Keynes famously noted, “When the facts change, I change my mind.” But in politics, it is often not the facts that change, it is our position relative to them.
This raises an uncomfortable truth: inconsistency is not the preserve of leaders; it is a human trait. The same electorate that holds leaders accountable today often overlooked similar shortcomings yesterday. Promises made and broken by past administrations were rationalized, defended, or ignored, only for similar patterns to be condemned with renewed intensity. This cyclical outrage suggests not just political dissatisfaction, but selective memory.
It is easy to point at Bwala for defending today what he criticized yesterday, or at Nafiu for aligning with shifting interests, or at Amupitan for navigating the tension between opinion and office. But the harder task is introspection. How often do we recalibrate our principles based on convenience? How often do we excuse in allies what we condemn in opponents?
In everyday life, these patterns are even more visible. Friendships and alliances thrive on shared interests, only to unravel into bitter revelations when those interests diverge. People tolerate flaws in those they benefit from, only to weaponize those same flaws when relationships sour. A gift once celebrated becomes a burden in hindsight. The facts do not change, only the emotions attached to them.
This is the essence of the argument: democracy is not only shaped by institutions and leaders; it is shaped by the behaviors of its citizens. When public discourse is driven by double standards, when narratives are molded by group loyalty, and when objectivity is sacrificed for convenience, the system itself becomes vulnerable. Groupthink replaces critical thinking, sentiment overrides substance, and hypocrisy becomes normalized.
So perhaps the real danger to democracy is not just “them”, the politicians, the appointees, the so-called villains, but “us.” Because in our own small ways, through selective judgment, shifting principles, and unexamined biases, we participate in the same patterns we claim to oppose.
To admit that we could all be Bwala, Nafiu, Amupitan, or Tinubu is not an act of defeat, it is an act of clarity. It is the beginning of a more honest engagement with politics, one that recognizes the fluidity of human judgment and the responsibility that comes with it. Only then can we begin to hold others accountable without losing sight of our own reflection in the process.
Bagudu can be reached via bagudumohammed15197@gmail.com or 07034943575.
