27 Aug 2006 |
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Politics And Common Attitudes By Reuben Abati The politics of a nation is the sum total of the character and attitudes of its people. Human character is a product of situations, experience, and the process of socialisation in a particular environment. Character as referent is however mercurial because human beings have the capacity to adapt to new situations, shed old attitudes and adopt new ethos, work out new arrangements and as they do, their national outlook and modes of internal organisation evolve. It is for this reason that a reliance on stereotypes for analysing a people may not convey eternal truths but only a reflection for a particular moment in history. Still, when you look at nations closely, it is possible to make certain deductions about the attitudes of the people and to jump from this to attempt an analysis of their ways. A character analysis of national politics falls more into the realm of cultural anthropology, not exact science, but it remains nonetheless, a strong tool of formulating perceptions and rules of engagement in international and national relations. This much is evident in the relationship of the West with the Middle East, Asia, and with Islam, even in routine circumstances such as airport security screening. It is assumed that individuals from certain nations are likely to behave in certain ways, or that national attitudes are easier to understand through the vehicle of cultural analysis. There are pitfalls here, but my concern here is Nigeria and its internal politics, and some of those things that we do in ordinary circumstances which impact so greatly on our national life, the common attitudes which are fed into the politics of socio-political organisation. In the wake of the anticipation of the 2007 electoral process, we have all seen again, that something is terribly wrong with the way Nigerians play politics, and our attitude to the public sphere. Nigerians repeat the notion that "politics is a dirty game", as if it were a divine truth. And so anyone that goes into politics does so with the determination to participate in a "dirty game". When the "dirt" becomes evident in form of violent deaths, murder, thuggery and sheer brigandage, we the people, the onlookers, the "non-politicians" express our usual frustration and anxieties, we lament how the politicians have refused to learn the right kind of lessons, how nothing has changed in our lives since independence, we troop to the homes of the victims of the dirty game to mourn with their survivors, and please note that the more photo-ops that the tragedy provides, the longer the queue of mourners! But deep within us, there is virtually no Nigerian who is surprised; if anything, every case of political violence deepens our conviction that "politics is indeed a dirty game", and it is with complete confidence that we announce in every situation that surely there will be more killings, and more corpses in the graveyard. We accept political violence with the same existential resolution with which the people of the Middle East accept guns, bombs and sudden death as given landmarks in their lives. When a politician is killed, the meaning of our response does not really lie in our protests about the failure of the police and other security agencies, but in that question, often phrased matter-of-factly: "Who's next?". Stripped down to its essential details, the confusion in Nigerian politics has its roots in the our common attitudes, if not character; in the people's historical and moral circumstances, and it is this that limits our sense and feeling of outrage. The politicians who play a "dirty game", the assassins who are hired to do the "dirty job", the close associates of the victim who provide information to the enemy; the political associates who immediately seek to benefit from the tragedy even before their colleague is buried, the family members who quarrel over the estate of the deceased, each in his or her own way gives expression to aspects of the Nigerian character as defined by prevalent attitudes at this particular moment in history. Invariably, our guilt is collective, for there is something about each one of us in contemporary circumstances. But who is the Nigerian? The Nigerian, that I know, is hardworking, ambitious, resilient; he is driven not by despair but possibilities, he is eternally optimistic, he has no inferiority complex, he is bold and assertive, he nurses a natural rebellious streak and scepticism about authority and authority figures. He considers himself superior to every other group of black human beings on the surface of the earth, and if allowed, he could in fact be patronising towards other Africans. He wants to be seen; he wants to be heard; Nigeria is perhaps the only African country where you cannot see any trace in the people's psyche that white people once ruled the country. The Nigerian is loud, boisterous, showy and vain. He enjoys upstaging other people who are noted for their intelligence or ability. But beneath all this, there is a dark side to the Nigerian character, a darkness that overshadows the better qualities and which proves problematic when the Nigerian is in his or her own land. Relatively, Nigerians tend to behave better when they are abroad; when they find themselves in a country that is well-organised with given rules and regulations, they tend to adjust, and focus on their strengths, and they excel when they do so. But the moment a Nigerian enters the Nigerian space, he or she is re-conditioned to behave in a peculiar manner. The crisis point lies in the connection between individual and country. There are a good men and women in our midst, but the majority consists of those average Nigerians whose character has had more impact on the public sphere. This average Nigerian loves power; well, all human beings love power, since the instinct to dominate is natural to the human species. But the average Nigerian loves to abuse power; he will do anything to grab power, and use it over others. It is not the size or scope of the power that matters; just any form of power will do. When this Nigerian tells you "I am in charge", he is invariably saying: should you fail to recognise that he or she is in charge, he would have no option but to remind you of the powers attached to his or her status. This "I-am-in-charge syndrome" is a major social problem. The President, Governors, Ministers, Commissioners etc leave no one in any doubt that they are in charge in their spheres of influence. There is a cyclical pattern of power oppression that flows down hierarchically. The Nigerian Presidency is a throne, with near-divine rights or pretensions to that effect. The entire state grinds to a halt, whenever the Governors travel out of their stations. The Deputy Governor would not dare exercise any initiative, lest he or she is accused of disloyalty. You better believe Nigerians when they boast that "Power is sweet." The sub-text is that the average Nigerian will do anything to taste that power. To get up, he is ready to pull the next man down, into the ditch if he can. In politics, in the office environment, gossip, character assassination, petition writing, physical combat are some of the tools that are deployed in this murderous, maniacal struggle for power. Nigerians don't respect other people if they don't have to. A waiter in a restaurant can delay your meal, just to assert herself, the fact that you are going to pay for the food means nothing. Everyone must have heard of the saying that it is not good "to burn one's bridges." This admonition is meant to guide people to act with moderation, to show loyalty to other people and respect their feelings. But in typical Nigerian circumstances, people are interested in the present, not the past, not the future. When you advise our typical Nigerian not to burn bridges, not to be mean towards other people who may have been his or her benefactor, the standard response is: "when we get to that bridge, we will cross it." So, Nigerians don't think twice before they stab you in the back. Housemaids sleep with their bosses' husbands. Husbands sleep with their sisters-in-law and even put them in the family way. Friends snatch their friends' wives. And truly, they always manage to cross the bridge. They don't feel any guilt whatsoever. This is why politicians find it so easy to move from one party to the other. When they get to the other side, they throw stones at their former colleagues in the other party. They use the information that they had acquired on the other side to negotiate advantages in the new party. Nigerian politicians don't waste time to remind whoever cares to listen, that "in politics, there are no permanent friends, no permanent enemies, there are only permanent interests." The meaning of this is that they do not consider principles to be of any use in politics. These same Nigerians also love and worship money. The source of their wealth really does not matter: fraud, prostitution, armed robbery, theft... as long as they can flaunt wealth and stand out from the rest of the community, others will worship them, decorate them with garlands and look up to them for assistance. When a stupid man suddenly manages to get rich, the whole community forgets his folly, he becomes the wisest man in the community. As a rule, rich Nigerians don't expect anyone to argue with them. If you are poor, you are automatically denied the right to the freedom of expression. If you are too self-assertive, you would be reminded of your own vulnerability: "if you are so intelligent, so why are you poor?". Or such sayings as: "a poor man says he has brilliant ideas, where would he get the money to execute those ideas?" Participation in politics in Nigeria brings you closer to wealth. If you end up in a public office, it is taken for granted that you can never be poor again in your life, except you mismanage your loot. People go into politics so they can get an opportunity to influence the sharing of the proverbial national cake, to become important, to gain power, to have a voice, to be in a position to peddle influence. Anybody who stands in the way of that aspiration is considered an enemy who must be eliminated. This is the root of the oft-repeated conviction that in Nigeria, politics is a "do-or-die business". If you try to preach sermons about an elevated purpose of politics, you will be told that "money is trapped in the mouth of the lion, to get a share of that money, you must be a man of courage." And so everyone who goes into Nigerian politics begins his or her career by setting up defence and attack mechanisms, because again, it is generally believed that "politics is war." Politicians will readily confess that in Nigerian politics it helps to learn the art of deception, ambush, self-defence and how to contain and eliminate the enemy. This is the same pattern in society generally. In addition, many Nigerians are naturally suspicious; they do not trust other people, particularly if there is a difference of religion or ethnicity. The average Nigerian is insecure. He feels protected when he is surrounded by people from his village, his church, his mosque, and so office vacancies are filled with friends, kinsmen and relations of the man that is in charge. In politics, associates of the self-appointed "man in charge" or the Godfather as he is otherwise known are required to swear to oaths in shrines, covens and temples. Whoever is not part of this covenant is treated as an outsider, as an enemy who can be eliminated if the need arises. Thus, the human element is the biggest source of problem in Nigerian life and society. The irony lies in the gap between private and public morality. When you meet Nigerians privately, they all have an idea of what is proper, a sense of right and wrong; they understand their obligations as citizens, as members of a human community. But unfortunately, people do not practise what they profess. There are so many Christians and Muslims in this country, people who swear by the Holy Books and who can quote religious passages with the ardour of a parrot. Yet, our typical Nigerian, priest and congregation, believes that to survive in this country, you have to be wise and smart, you must learnt to beat the system. "Every man for himself, God for us all", is a common saying. This absence of a sense of community has promoted the rise and spread of anomie. We probably share these traits not necessarily because we are peculiar but because we are human, too human. But if Nigerians would "do unto others as they would wish them do in return", if they would learn to be altruistic, to be less self-seeking, this will be a different country indeed, our politics will also be so different. "Is there one word which can serve as the guiding principle for conduct throughout life?", Tzu-Hung once asked Confucius. "It is the word altruism", Confucius replied. Perhaps, that is what we need in our politics and elsewhere: a culture of altruism.
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