As economic hardship bites and the state fails to curtail the problem of insecurity, people rue their decision to vote for Bola Tinubu as president in 2023. This angst seems to be coming from every corner of the country; people frequently denounce this administration’s failure to provide relief from the years of deprivation. From the politicians who either lost out in the power game of the 2023 general election or were sidelined in the sharing of the spoils of office to Yoruba Nollywood, where actors such as Ebun Oloyede (aka Olaiya Igwe), Ibironke Ojo-Anthony (aka Ronke Oshodi Oke), Bukky Raji (Aminatu Papapa), and Ganiu Nafiu (Alapini) had publicly apologised for campaigning for Tinubu last elections, there seems to be a lot of regret being circulated.
The case of the Nollywood actors joining the lamentation chorus is interesting, as it is curious. For these Yoruba actors to publicly apologise for supporting a Yoruba politician without fear of pushback from fellow Yorubas who will expectedly be protective of their own, it must mean their lamentations resonate with a section of the populace. Was it not just a mere couple of years ago that anyone who was not seen supporting Tinubu’s presidential ambition was labelled with indecorous names? The hand of hardship must have descended on so many people that the tribal sentiment that drove the censure has given way to collective frustration and rage.
Yet, apart from satisfying the schadenfreude of folks (like me) who warned that Tinubu would be a monumental disaster if elected, does any good ever come out of people’s electoral regrets? The political coalition seeking to unseat Tinubu come 2027 alludes to voter regret as a factor that would drive their electoral success, but is it even worth capitalising on? Unfortunately, without serious polling and sensible statistical analysis, one cannot really determine the extent to which these supposed announcements of voter regret matter. Do voters regret their choices enough to defect from him, or are they merely expressing a momentary feeling that will dissipate in the face of other calculations?
While we do not have the figures to divine the true nature of the feelings, there is enough precedent to assert this: in Nigeria, no president ever wins or loses because of their administrative competence and performance quality. You win in spite of—never because of—what you do. Muhammadu Buhari, for instance, was booed and stoned at various times during his presidency, but that did not stop his party from winning those same states. The politics of religion and ethnicity, the driving ideologies of our democracy, are far too strong for the incompetence of a mediocre to matter.
Hardly anyone ever admits they overlook leadership performance in making their electoral choices. Yet, to borrow the insight of famous anthropologist Margaret Mead, “What people say, what people do, and what they say they do are entirely different things.” So, yes, while we make so much of leadership acumen in Nigeria, is it ever the primary driving motivation for our electoral decisions? People frequently allude to previous performance milestones in publicising their voting choices (and we saw much of that last election), but do they also not abjure all evidence that contradicts the ideal image they hold in their minds about their candidate? The truth is that a lot of people make their decisions based on the identity politics of religion and ethnicity; the supposed fact of performance merely provides a sturdy rational ground to justify their voting choices.
To admit that one’s electoral decisions are based on consideration of religion and ethnicity is to give oneself away as sentimental and even irrational. When such people put forward performance as a factor in their voting decisions, it is a logical and moral shield and not necessarily a deal breaker.
That, of course, brings me to the crux of the issue: the problem of little to no expectations from our politicians. To a great extent, we do not select leaders based on the expectation that our lives will be transformed. We choose to select mostly because—and in a perennially divided polity such as ours—we want to beat down the other guys competing with us for symbolic resources. Those who voted for Tinubu in 2023 because of his religion did not do so because they expected that their lives as Muslims would be any more transformed, but to keep Christians out of power (and vice versa). The same goes for those who voted because of ethnicity—they did not (and still do not) expect their Yoruba lives to be improved, but are at least satisfied that the tribe they dislike is not near power. I know some people presently anguished by Tinubu’s presidency but will vote for him again for no other reason than one-up on his main nemesis, Peter Obi (and his followers, of course). Some might find it amusing (or even distressing) that civic participation could be animated by sheer dislike for the other side rather than an objective improvement of one’s life, but that is how politics unfold when people have lost sight of how else they can live.
Our politics reflect our cynicism. At the back of the mind of everyone who wants their tribe or religion to be vindicated through electoral victory is the hopelessness that the country can ever be better. No matter who wins, much will remain the same and we might as well settle for defeating the other team as our dividend of democracy. There is no time that we do not shout the same agonising cries of “water! light! food! house! yeparipa o!” When Olusegun Obasanjo was president, it was hard. When Umaru Yar’Adua took over from him, hardship was still prevalent. When Goodluck Jonathan came to power, it seemed we would be squeezed to death. Then Buhari came and turned the face of the country to the midnight sun. He could not even muster enough willpower to be a basic decent human. Those who thought he was at the peak of disaster have realised that with Tinubu, there is always a “next level” incompetence and ineffectiveness with our leaders.
With each cycle of failed leadership, hopes are dashed, and the bar of expectations is lowered six feet into the ground. What options remain for people who want to lash out and redeem some meaning from a process that has become an essentially meaningless pseudo-democratic arrangement, other than claiming symbolic victories?
We can already hazard a guess at how the game will be played next election. Muslims will be mobilised to prevent Christians from getting to power, and Christians will be asked to push back vigorously to assert their strength. Yorubas will be driven to the polls when they are wound up to fight against entitled “Hausa-Fulani” who want to collect their hard-won Aso Rock from their hands; other ethnicities will be driven to fight against the “awa lokan” spirit that has accrued so much power in the hands of Yoruba elites (so they can transfer it to their own elites). Same politics, different seasons.
That is why regretful voter choices can make the news but hardly matter in the calculations that translate to voting choices. The fact that people regret their choices does not mean they will not repeat them. Voter regret gets attention but is hardly bankable. Those who have something to offer in 2027 had better not be surprised that the hardship induced by the present administration did not sway minds.
Punch
