NIGERIA AT 65: OUR POLITICAL JOURNEY

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 By Idowu Precious (Babosha)

Sixty-five years have passed since Nigeria first hoisted her green-white-green flag in triumph, stepping into the family of independent nations and declaring an end to colonial rule, marking the beginning of self-leadership. The day, 1 October 1960, carried within it the weight of dreams and renewed hope and also, both relief and expectation. Relief, because the chains of colonial rule had finally been broken. Expectation, because independence was not an end in itself but a gateway to something greater: dignity, justice, prosperity, and unity for a people long subdued.

Sixty-five years later, as the nation celebrates this milestone, one lingering question must be asked: what have we done with our freedom? Nigerians must keep asking: have those promises been fulfilled? Have the sacrifices of the freedom fighters been justified? Have we, in truth, been better at handling our destiny better than our colonial rulers? Or have we destroyed the inheritance of our independence, thus betraying all those who fought for it?

Since independence in 1960, Nigeria has never lacked men and women who promised to lead it to greatness. What the country has lacked, however, are leaders who kept faith with the people and showed acts true to their words. Again and again, leaders emerged with pledges of transformation, and again and again, those pledges dissolved into disappointment. In sixty-five years of freedom, Nigeria has lived through a cycle of hope, betrayal, and unfinished national projects that continue to haunt its politics.

The story begins with the First Republic. When the British Union Jack was lowered, our founding fathers; Nnamdi Azikiwe, Obafemi Awolowo, Ahmadu Bello, and Abubakar Tafawa Balewa, were hailed as statesmen of vision. They had brought together their regions, negotiated our independence, and raised expectations that Nigeria would take its place among the world’s leading democracies. Yet, beneath their triumph laid cracks: fierce regionalism, fragile coalitions, and the absence of a unifying national ideology. What began as celebration soon soured into rivalry. A couple years later, a few months shy of the sixth Independence anniversary, the first parliamentary democracy collapsed under the weight of ethnic rivalries, corruption, regional tensions and electoral manipulation. Thus, what was once promised to the people got broken. The military, presenting itself as a saviour, marched into power in 1966 with Major General Johnson Aguiyi Ironsi, ushering in a new era of betrayal.

The coups and counter-coups that followed not only shed blood but also shattered trust in the very idea of leadership. The Biafran War (1967–1970) turned citizens and tribes against one another, consuming over a million Nigerian lives and leaving behind deep scars that remain politically relevant to this day. When General Yakubu Gowon declared there would be “no victor, no vanquished,” many Nigerians wanted to believe him. However, corruption, oil wealth mismanagement, and an endless transition that never materialised revealed a pattern: lofty words, empty actions. General Murtala Mohammed, though assassinated in 1976, is remembered for his bold anti-corruption drive and attempts at civil service reform. General Olusegun Obasanjo, who succeeded him, presided over a transition that handed power to civilians in 1979.

Civilian rule returned in 1979 with Shehu Shagari’s presidency. Nigerians voted, once again, with hope. Unfortunately, the Second Republic was marred with corruption as oil boom revenues were squandered causing the nation to grow increasingly weak. By 1983, the military reappeared at the gates, this time under Muhammadu Buhari, promising “discipline” and a war against indiscipline and corruption. Nigerians welcomed the stern soldier as he looked promising but instead of renewal, they were gifted repression. His rule witnessed the shrinking of civil liberties, jailing of journalists and silencing of political activists. 

However, if Buhari ruled with an iron fist, his successor, General Ibrahim Babangida, ruled with a velvet glove over one. Babangida perfected the art of manipulation. He created and dissolved political parties, made and unmade promises, and in June 1993, presided over what is still regarded as Nigeria’s freest election, only to annul it. The vote that should have ended Nigeria’s cycle of betrayal became another turning point in its deepening distrust of leadership. Moshood Abiola, the presumed winner, was denied the mandate, and this tore the nation apart once more. 

The military’s final years under General Sani Abacha were a study in authoritarian excess. With brazen corruption, political assassinations, and an iron grip on dissent, Abacha embodied betrayal in all thinkable form. By the time democracy returned in 1999, after Abacha’s sudden death, Nigerians were politically battered but still hopeful that the Fourth Republic might finally mark a disconnection with the horrible political past.

Then, came Olusegun Obasanjo’s presidency (1999–2007). A former military head of state returning as a democrat, he spoke the language of reform and renewal. He talked the talk and walked the walk by restoring Nigeria to the international fold, securing debt relief, and initiating key economic changes. But his tenure, like his predecessors, became marred by allegations of corruption and the infamous “third term agenda” that nearly tore the polity apart. We were reminded once again: promises are easy; fidelity to them is rare.

Subsequent administrations reinforced the cycle. Yar’Adua entered office with a reputation for modesty and integrity. His Seven-Point Agenda hinted at focused reform. Nigerians' hope for a bright future was reignited. Unfortunately, poor health snatched him away before he could prove himself, and the succession crisis that followed exposed once more the fragility of Nigeria’s political settings. Goodluck Jonathan, who rose to power thereafter, spoke the language of humility and opportunity. His era saw economic growth on paper, but it was equally a period of unchecked corruption and the unchecked rise of Boko Haram with killings here and there plus the constant kidnappings of our girls. Again, Nigerians cried out for change, they turned once more to Muhammadu Buhari returning him in 2015, this time no longer in khaki but in agenda.

Buhari’s democratic presidency promised to end corruption and secure the country. Yet by the time he left office in 2023, insecurity had spread, the economy had weakened, and many Nigerians concluded that the man who once carried the aura of a disciplined soldier had left behind a trail of unmet expectations. Today, under President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, the cycle remains unresolved. His administration began with bold economic reforms, but their immediate effect of soaring fuel prices, rising inflation, and worsening poverty has left citizens questioning yet again whether Nigeria can ever find leaders who do not betray.

Across these decades, a single thread ties Nigeria’s political history together: the gap between promise and reality. Each new administration has arrived with vows of transformation and cries of change, often cheered into power by citizens desperate for a turnaround. But again and again, Nigerians have watched those vows fade into corruption and nonchalance. It is not that the country lacks talent, vision, or opportunity. Our citizens have excelled too well in other countries for that to be the case. Instead, it is that those who reach the seats of power rarely resist the temptations and pressures that erode their bond with the people, if said bond ever existed in the first place.

Nigeria’s politics continually faces the struggle to close the gap between leadership and trust, between hope and betrayal and until that gap is closed, until leaders treat promises as sacred commitments rather than disposable slogans, the cycle is doomed to repeat. And Nigerians, as they have done since 1960, will continue to wait for the leaders who will not betray.