Ambassador Hagher
Nigeria stands at a grave moral and political crossroads today.
For decades, citizens, scholars, clergy, and commentators have repeated one familiar explanation for the country’s decline: bad leadership. It is the phrase most often heard whenever our institutions fail, whenever violence spreads, whenever poverty deepens, and whenever public hope gives way to frustration. It has become the national shorthand for everything that has gone wrong with the Nigerian state.
But repetition is not always the truth. Sometimes a society repeats an idea so often that it stops questioning it. That is where Nigeria now finds itself. Our crisis is not simply one of bad leadership. It is also, and perhaps more profoundly, a crisis of followership. This is the harder truth, the less comfortable truth, and the truth many do not wish to confront.
To say this is not to excuse failed leaders, nor is it to deny the damage done by corruption, incompetence, greed, and indifference in public office. Rather, it is to ask a deeper question: how do bad leaders continue to emerge, survive, and even flourish in a democracy? Why do clearly underperforming public officials still enjoy loyalty? Why do politicians who preside over suffering continue to command applause? Why do citizens complain bitterly in private, yet defend failure in public?
The answer lies in the condition of followership.
Leadership does not exist in isolation. Leaders emerge from society and are sustained by the values, fears, prejudices, and expectations of the people around them. A society that rewards tribal loyalty over competence, emotional attachment over accountability, and patronage over public service will almost always produce leaders who reflect those distortions. Poor leadership is rarely a solitary act. It is often the final expression of a wider social and civic breakdown.
This truth has been acknowledged in leadership scholarship worldwide. Barbara Kellerman, one of the most influential scholars in leadership studies, reminds us that followers are not passive observers in the political process. They shape outcomes. They help to legitimise power. They can strengthen good leadership or enable destructive leadership. In simple terms, followers are not merely victims in the leadership equation. They are participants, whether by action, silence, compromise, or indifference.
That insight is especially relevant to Nigeria. Across the country, politicians facing corruption allegations, public disgrace, or records of glaring failure are still defended with astonishing passion. Some are welcomed as heroes in their communities. Some are celebrated because they share money at funerals, weddings, and political gatherings. Others are protected because they are seen as “our son,” “our brother,” “our church member,” or “our ethnic champion.” In this environment, public ethics become weak, civic standards collapse, and leadership is measured not by service but by sentiment and distribution.
The tragedy is that many citizens no longer demand development. They demand access. They do not ask whether schools are functioning, whether hospitals are equipped, whether roads are maintained, whether agriculture is protected, or whether communities are safe. They ask instead: what have I personally received? Has the leader settled my people? Has he shown us respect? Has he defended our group? Has he given us money? This is not citizenship. It is transactional followership. And wherever transactional followership thrives, accountable leadership dies.
Nowhere is this crisis more painfully visible than in Benue State.
When Rev. Fr. Dr Chief Hyacinth Alia assumed office in May 2023, he came into power at a moment of extraordinary public expectation. Benue had suffered prolonged insecurity, repeated attacks on rural communities, displacement of families, agricultural disruption, and deep economic decline. The people were tired, wounded, and desperate for renewal. Governor Alia arrived not merely as a politician but as a priest, clothed in moral symbolism and public hope. Many believed his emergence signalled a decisive break from the old order. He was expected to restore seriousness to government, bring compassion to power, and respond to insecurity with urgency and discipline.
But governance is not judged by symbolism. It is judged by outcomes.
Nearly three years later, many of those early hopes have not been fulfilled. Across parts of Guma, Logo, Kwande, Agatu, Ukum, Katsina-Ala, and other vulnerable areas, attacks have persisted. Entire communities have continued to suffer loss, fear, displacement, and uncertainty. The internally displaced persons camps remain symbols not only of violence, but of the inability of the state to guarantee dignity, security, and return. For thousands of families, peace is still a promise, not a reality.
The consequences of this insecurity extend beyond physical violence. They strike at the heart of Benue’s economic identity. Farmers, who form the productive backbone of the state, have in many places been unable to return fully to their lands. Agricultural output has suffered. Hunger has increased. Food insecurity has deepened. The once-proud “Food Basket of the Nation” has, in far too many respects, become unable to feed itself with confidence. This is a devastating indictment of governance failure.
And yet, in the face of this reality, what does one often see? Not disciplined civic outrage. Not a broad-based insistence on measurable performance. Instead, one sees rationalisation, excuse-making, blame-shifting, and propaganda. A scapegoat is found. A rival is accused. Abuja is blamed. Party elders are painted as enemies. Benefactors become conspirators. Political energy is consumed by struggles over influence, control, succession, and loyalty, while the suffering of displaced communities is pushed to the margins.
This is where the failure of followership becomes especially dangerous. A society that should be demanding solutions becomes distracted by elite quarrels. Supporters justify poor outcomes by saying, “He needs more time.” Others say, “The previous government was worse.” Some comfort themselves with the belief that “he will do better in the second term.” But governance does not improve through wishful thinking. People who keep postponing accountability will eventually normalise failure.
There are also growing concerns about the broader style of governance that has emerged: excessive centralisation, poor consultation, erratic decision-making, strained relations with institutions, and a troubling communication gap between government and the people, especially on matters of life, death, and security. Democratic government is not meant to operate like a court of personal loyalty. It must be transparent, responsive, and institutionally grounded. Once power becomes insulated from criticism, it begins to drift away from service and toward self-preservation.
This, too, is enabled by followers. Leaders are students of the societies they govern. They quickly learn what citizens will tolerate, what they will forget, and what they will defend. If image matters more than impact, leaders will master image. If factional victory matters more than public welfare, leaders will invest in factional warfare. If underperformance carries no real political consequences, then underperformance becomes sustainable. Power behaves exactly as it is permitted.
After the APC National Convention, Alia made a triumphant entry into Makurdi as a warrior who had defeated the SGF and now fully controlled the structure to succeed himself.
On April Fools’ Day, at IBB Square in Makurdi, Father Alia led a war dance and sang war songs, declaring the total eradication of the SGF and the Abuja politicians who are “broken old buckets.” It was eerie, macabre, and deeply disturbing. Never since the 1960s has any top administrative head incited, courted, and preached violence in the way the Rev/Chief has done. A motley crowd of supporters cavorted to these war dances. Alia has preached violence reminiscent of the Atem-tyo era. He glibly threatens to cut off the heads of anyone who dares challenge him. For a priest, this is a gross personality disorder.
That is why the crisis of followership is not secondary. It is central.
The people of Benue, like Nigerians more broadly, must recover the ethical meaning of citizenship. Citizenship is not cheering for politicians as if governance were a football match. It is not reducing democracy to emotional attachment, ethnicity, religion, or party identity. Citizenship means demanding performance. It means remembering the victims of violence. It means refusing to celebrate leaders while communities remain unsafe. It means resisting propaganda, questioning evasions, and rejecting the normalisation of suffering.
We must also learn that criticism is not hatred. Accountability is not sabotage. A citizen who questions power is not an enemy of the state. On the contrary, silence in the face of governance failure is what truly endangers society. Democracies do not die only because of ambitious leaders. They also decay because too many citizens become timid, divided, compromised, or exhausted.
Governor Hyacinth Alia, like every elected public official, must therefore be held accountable directly and without apology for the condition of Benue State under his watch. Governance must be measured by concrete realities: Are communities safer? Are displaced families returning home? Are farmers back on their land? Is hunger reducing? Are institutions stronger? Is the government communicating honestly with the people? Is power being used to serve or merely to survive? These are the questions that matter.
But beyond the governor, the people themselves must confront their own democratic responsibility. Even the most gifted leader can be weakened by a permissive civic culture that rewards loyalty over truth and applause over scrutiny. If the social environment celebrates power and excuses failure, even leaders who begin well may gradually surrender to the temptations of impunity.
Nigeria’s tragedy, then, is not only that it has suffered bad leaders. Its deeper tragedy is that it has often created the conditions in which bad leadership can survive. Until followership becomes principled, morally alert, informed, and demanding, leadership will continue to disappoint. Until citizens stop trading their voices for temporary favours, democracy will remain shallow. Until public memory becomes stronger than propaganda, national renewal will remain elusive.
Bad leadership is real. But bad followership is why it survives.
If Benue must recover, its people must become more vigilant than partisan. If Nigeria must rise, its citizens must become more ethical than emotional. The future will not be redeemed by leaders alone. It will be redeemed when followers become citizens in the fullest sense of the word: courageous, watchful, disciplined, and unwilling to reward failure.
Only then will leadership in Nigeria begin to change.
