There was a time in Nigeria when leadership meant something solid — integrity, competence, and the quiet confidence that comes from serving people well. These days, it sometimes feels like the real qualification for public office is not experience or character, but the number of followers on social media.
Welcome to the age where being famous for anything can open doors meant for those prepared to serve millions. Governance is beginning to look less like public service and more like a reality show, where the loudest voice, the trendiest personality, or the most controversial figure wins the spotlight — and sometimes, the appointment letter too.
If you can dance into a viral moment, coin a catchy phrase, or survive a scandal that kept everyone glued to their screens, you may already be halfway to becoming an ambassador of something important. Your past record? A minor detail. In fact, the more dramatic the story, the more “relatable” you are said to be. Nigeria, it seems, now loves a good redemption arc — even when no real redemption has happened.
It would be funny if it were not so serious. Because when public offices become stages for personal branding instead of platforms for public good, a quiet lesson spreads across the country. Young people are watching closely. They are learning that integrity is negotiable, but visibility is priceless. In this new equation, being notorious can look more rewarding than being noble — and that is a dangerous message for any society to teach its future.
This shift is more than a cultural trend; it is a slow thinning of our moral backbone. The real danger is not only who gets appointed, but what we begin to accept as normal. When popularity outruns principle, corruption stops looking like a disgrace and starts looking like a simple public-relations challenge. A press statement here, a smiling photo-op there — and the story moves on.
So we must pause and ask uncomfortable questions. When did character lose its place at the table? When did public trust become a consolation prize for celebrity status? And when we applaud these choices, are we unknowingly applauding our own decline?
Fame fades. The spotlight always moves on. But character — real character — is what keeps a nation standing when applause dies down. Nigeria can survive without more celebrities. What it cannot afford to lose is integrity.
And perhaps the real revolution we need is not louder voices or brighter lights, but quieter, steadier leaders who do the work even when nobody is watching.
