There is so much skepticism in the land, so strong, so present, so forceful you can feel it with a feather. Nigerians have learnt to doubt everything. They have no faith in the idea of government. They do not trust politicians. They are convinced that civil servants are thieves. They are cynical about public service. Over time, they have resolved themselves to the fact that anyone who claims to be acting on their behalf is actually interested in himself or herself. This attitude is not restricted to the public sector; even in private situations, the average Nigerian does not believe that there can be standards or norms of human conduct. He lives, he imagines, in the midst of enemies masquerading as doves, who may suddenly transform into wolves.
And so, every day, the Nigerian prepares his mind to doubt everything, to live in a constant state of denial and suspicion, and it is this that governs human relationships within the country, and more importantly the relationship between the people and the government. This is at the root of the country's failure to develop and make progress; it accounts for the distrust among ethnic groups and communities; it explains why it is so difficult to put a light finger on the value of Nigerian citizenship. Countries grow and stand out because the people have a sense of ownership of the development process.
In countries where the people have a sense of ownership, where a person sees himself or herself as a part of the whole, where citizens willingly submit themselves to the idea of the nation, such countries record phenomenal success because they operate at near optimal capacity reflecting the fullness of the human potential at their disposal. Singapore. China. Japan. America. Canada. And so on. But in those countries where the people see themselves primarily as victims, as outsiders, as helpless things of fate, as prisoners in a chamber of death, those countries are bound to be recursive: they take two steps forward and four steps backward. Nigeria is such a country. Nigerians have learnt to disbelieve everything including their own existence and future. Everything that happens around them: the open gutters, the unkempt environment, the continuing failure of government, the malicious conduct of public officials, the inefficiency of public institutions, the inhumanity of man to man in private situations, the general lack of civility, the cut-throat competitiveness of individuals, the increasing population of evil persons, the uncertainty that pervades everything else, all these push them into private zones of selfish desire, with the only certainty being the ambition of the self. The root of this is historical. The grounds for it were prepared by specific experiences which early in the country's life damaged its potential for collective, participatory growth. The intervention of the military in Nigerian politics: This is an experience that will forever define the Nigerian nation or non-nation as it were. The military threw up all the divisive elements of the Nigerian federation and turned them into eternal issues of contention. Ironically, the same soldiers who sowed the seeds of anomie are the beneficiaries of the historical process. The civil war: after 1970, Nigeria was already a damaged country. One fellow was explaining to me the other day why the South East cannot or rather, should not, produce a Nigerian President in the nearest future. According to him, "it took the American South more than 100 years before producing an American President, after fighting a civil war". He thinks Igbos should wait for at least 100 years too, and that they should count themselves lucky for having produced a Vice President so soon after the civil war. That fellow may not be alone. He was in fact reporting the resolution at the meeting of a privileged political group. He didn't even need to offer a report. The truth is that the civil war in Nigeria never ended. After 1970, it merely assumed different shapes in form of ethnic and religious conflicts in various communities. Each time there is religious or ethnic violence in any part of the country, what is being tested is the idea of Nigeria. Each time, one ethnic group excludes the other on the grounds of religion or indigeneity, what is being said is that Nigeria is not yet a nation. Each a time a group, ethic militants or armed area boys or religious fanatics or political thugs throw stones or shoot guns or explode bombs against symbols of the Nigerian state, they remind us all over of the doubt that pervades our existence as a nation. International reports on Nigeria continue to affirm this on an annual basis: the latest of such reports is the current 64-page Human Rights Watch Report on Nigeria which draws attention to the crisis of disunity and the dilemma of citizenship. Although we claim to be a nation, certain Nigerians are denied citizenship because they live or seek opportunities in other parts of the country, even if the Constitution forbids any form of discrimination. The Human Rights Watch Report tells us what we already know: that we need to rebuild our nation around a set of commonly shared core values, and reconstruct the Nigerian identity. Other reports have pointed to widespread corruption, failure of institutions and mass poverty amidst galloping oil wealth. But it is all so sad that this is the case in 2006. When Nigerians fought for and achieved democracy in 1999, they had great hopes that the exit of the military and the advent of civilian rule, against the backdrop of history, would provide them an opportunity to reform their lives, reinvent the collective spirit and build a new nation afresh. They thought that with democracy, they would gain the opportunity to define a new social contract that will be binding on all the federating units. In seven years of democracy, this has not happened. It is like old times all over again. In the past few months, the events of our daily lives have only shown us that it is not civilian rule that moves a nation forward but the spirit of the people and their level of faith, the quality of humanity that they bring to the public and the private space. The common good continues to suffer in our land and we all seem so helpless. We are a nation without citizens. We are a nation of cynics. And so history continues to repeat itself, it continues to beat the same ugly rhythms, without respite. Last week, bombs exploded in the streets of Port Harcourt claiming lives and property. The same thing happened under similar circumstances in the days of General Sani Abacha. Another fellow told me that it not impossible that those bombs are being exploded by the agents of government to create an atmosphere of instability and a corresponding notion that a Third term is inevitable so that such problems may be addressed by one man who seems to have a bigger stake in Nigeria than the rest of us. In Kano, the President's convoy was reportedly stoned. In the days of Abacha, Presidential visits had to be cancelled because there were fears that Abacha could be attacked. It is sheer madness to attack the convoy of a Presidential convoy. It does not matter what the convictions of the President or his Deputy may be; the Presidency is the primal symbol of democracy; when it is exposed to ridicule, it is the nation itself that is threatened. But this Presidency must also accept the blame for the spread of cynicism in the land. It has placed politics above service. It has turned individual ambitions into issues of urgent national importance. In its last moments, it has reduced the Nigerian interest and the substance of democracy to a single issue, popularly known as "third term", a euphemism really for the personal ambitions of a few. The effect is that a government that could have enjoyed much goodwill and expression of gratitude in its twilight season is now the target of organised protest and simulated anger. Third term politics reaffirms the people's doubts about their own future and place in the Nigerian arrangement. It throws up fresh fears about the workability of the workability of the Nigerian contract. It ignites primordial passion and anxieties. Sadly, it provides for all kinds of aggrieved person an umbrella under which they can register their dissatisfaction with Nigeria. It makes its promoters vulnerable in the same manner in which it made the King of Nepal so vulnerable, he had to succumb to the people's will. In Nepal, the impeding chaos was prevented only because the King succumbed to the popular will. He may end up losing his throne. Those who want the third term desperately are victims of doubt. They are not sure of tomorrow. They do not trust other Nigerians who may succeed them. They have created a rich foreign reserve running into $30 billion, up from a miserable $2 billion: what if a renegade government takes over and blows all that money in three months? They have set in place a reform programme which is yet to bear all its fruits: what if a government of adventurists and speculators turns up and reverses all the initial gains? And if they leave power, these "Third termers", what will happen to them, having offended so many people with their general conduct? An extension of tenure will allow them to buy time to make amends? The opposition is also pushed by its own doubts. Governors who have stolen public funds and who are being told that there would be no immunity clause in the Constitution to protect them any longer are afraid of going to jail. The lawmakers are equally interested in the arguments for the sake of personal profit. And so in the end, this is all about Nigeria: its character and future. We have remained in the same spot because we are yet to find the will to work together as a people. The politics of Third term is a symptom invariably of Nigeria's original sin.
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