How elites deflect blame and disempower the citizenry
There is a curious irony in the way many citizens across Africa, and particularly here in Nigeria, respond to governance failure. Instead of demanding accountability from elected officials, people often look inward, chastising themselves for not being “better” citizens or, even more paradoxically, declaring that the political class cannot drive change, because, supposedly, “we are all the same.”
This self-blame is not a mark of civic maturity. It is the symptom of a broken political economy and the result of generations of institutional betrayal. When citizens internalize dysfunction and absolve their leaders, what we are witnessing is not humility but a deep disempowerment that corrodes the foundations of democratic jurisprudence (Olowu, 2019).
At the heart of any democratic system is a social contract, derived from the liberal traditions of Hobbes, Locke, and Rousseau. The people confer authority upon the state in exchange for protection, justice, and welfare. This principle finds echo in Nigeria’s 1999 Constitution, which in Section 14(2) (b) affirms that “the security and welfare of the people shall be the primary purpose of government”. Yet, in practice, this covenant has long been breached. Nigeria has over 133 million multi-dimensionally poor people, according to the National Bureau of Statistics (NBS, 2022).
The state’s failure to provide basic infrastructure, secure lives, or guarantee a minimum standard of dignity reflects a systematic abdication of this duty. In a functioning constitutional democracy, such failure would provoke legal consequences, political reckoning, or mass civic mobilisation. But in our reality, it is often met with resignation, or worse, self-flagellation by the very people who suffer the consequences.
Across sub-Saharan Africa, similar trends persist. In Zimbabwe, public outrage against corruption and economic collapse is often deflected by state propaganda that accuses citizens of lacking patriotism or discipline. In Kenya, where the cost of living crisis has triggered protests, leaders have responded by criminalizing dissent rather than addressing structural inequality (Human Rights Watch, 2023).
These tactics mimic the same pattern: elite failure, followed by citizen blame.
The political economy of Nigeria and much of sub-Saharan Africa is structured around elite capture. Public institutions have been co-opted into mechanisms for wealth accumulation and patronage, not service delivery (Ibeanu, 2007). Political parties have become ideological husks, mere electoral vehicles for the rentier class. In such an environment, elites are not incentivized to reform.
They rely on three tools: fragmentation, fatalism, and false narratives. Fragmentation keeps the masses divided, by ethnicity, religion, or region. Fatalism tells the citizen that things have always been this way, and always will be. False narratives spread the lie that “we are all the same,” thereby diffusing blame and protecting incumbents. The cumulative result is a polity where governance failure is collectivized, and accountability is individualized. In effect, as one analyst puts it, “a disoriented citizenry is the most effective insurance policy for elite impunity” (Abah, 2021).
There is no doctrine in constitutional or administrative law that transfers the personal responsibility of elected leaders to the electorate en masse. Our courts have repeatedly emphasized the duty of officeholders to act in the public interest, whether in procurement, budgeting, or use of executive discretion (Yusuf, 2016). In Fawehinmi v. Akilu (1987) 4 NWLR (Pt. 67) 797 and related landmark cases, Nigerian jurisprudence has recognized the principle that public office is a public trust. It is not held on behalf of “Nigerians in general,” but in fiduciary capacity, with specific legal and moral duties. To blur that distinction is to betray the very architecture of the rule of law.
So when citizens say, “We are the problem,” they are not only misplacing blame, they are erasing the legal boundaries that keep power accountable.
Globally, best practices affirm this stance. Scandinavian countries, particularly Norway and Denmark, have demonstrated that public trust is built when leadership is transparent, accountable, and delivers on core obligations (OECD, 2020). These systems function not because their citizens are inherently superior, but because their institutions incentivize integrity and enforce consequences. The lesson here is clear: the problem lies not with the citizen, but with systems that enable unaccountable power.
The political elite have perfected the language of civic manipulation. “Attitudinal change,” “moral reawakening,” “national orientation”, these are often smokescreens to distract from their own inertia. When people internalize these narratives, they unwittingly allow leaders to escape scrutiny. The citizen becomes both the governed and the scapegoat.
This misplacement of moral burden is not harmless. It destroys hope. It delegitimizes protest. It breaks the political imagination. And it reinforces the very status quo that constitutional governance was designed to dismantle. According to Afrobarometer (2021), nearly 70 percent of Nigerians believe they must be cautious when criticizing the government. In Uganda, civic space has been systematically shrunk through restrictive laws and police repression, while public narratives place blame on “youth indiscipline” rather than political repression (CIPESA, 2021). This chilling effect on dissent is not simply the result of authoritarian tendencies, but also of a population conditioned to question their own legitimacy before questioning power.
We must reclaim the language, and logic, of accountability. Citizens are not perfect, but they are not the ones with budgetary allocations, coercive power, or constitutional authority. Civic education must include political economy: not just how the government works, but who benefits when it does not. Public discourse must move beyond moralism to structural analysis.
Judicial activism must continue to reaffirm that leadership is a duty, not a mirror of society’s flaws. Narrative change must resist elite propaganda and reinstate the citizen not as a moral object, but a constitutional subject with enforceable rights.
Civil society organisations and the media must serve not just as watchdogs, but as institutions that educate and empower citizens to engage power constructively. Initiatives like South Africa’s Section 27, which uses legal action to enforce socio-economic rights, offer replicable models.
Democracy is not a reflection of who we are, it is a mechanism to check who we might become if left unchallenged. When the people begin to blame themselves for leadership failure, the republic is in peril. We must not confuse humility with submission. To critique power is not cynicism, it is citizenship.
