Pantami: Serving the two publics — by Gimba Kakanda

Some of you here may be familiar with Peter Ekeh’s fascinating theory of our allegiances as Nigerians. His argument, broadly, is that we demonstrate two forms of allegiance: one to our primordial public, rooted in ethnicity, kinship, religion, and community; and another to the civic public, represented by the nation-state. The tragedy, he observed, is that the former often overrides the latter. His theory may now be dated in some respects, especially as newer forms of allegiance have emerged, but it remains relevant because it helps contextualise our development dilemma.

Every public officeholder in Nigeria lives in the prison of his origin, the first public. No matter the grand words of the oath of office, many are perceived first as representatives of their people before they are seen as servants of the Republic. Their people, in turn, see them as their meal ticket at the national kitchen. They know your family house, and they will not hesitate to appear there, even to stone you metaphorically or literally, if you do not perform as expected. To them, performance means prioritising them in job racketeering, showering them with money and Hajj seats procured from sources they prefer not to question, sponsoring weddings and lifestyles, donating generously to the community, servicing the pockets of traditional rulers and religious clerics, renovating neglected public institutions that should ordinarily be the responsibility of local government chairmen and governors, and so on.

What is rarely asked, in this burden of expectation, is the source of such money. And while I sincerely sympathise with public officeholders who are accounting officers, I believe that no person or group, however dear to you, should ever compel you to violate your sacred oath of office to “be faithful and bear true allegiance to the Federal Republic of Nigeria.”

The other day, I had to tell a friend running for the House of Representatives that he would not be able to do everything his community expected of him, because our people’s idea of lawmaking is public welfare. I remember marking Eid in Sokoto with my good friend, Abdussamad Dasuki, and watching the resources he expended in attending to people’s needs. It was enough to show that unless one is already well-to-do before entering public service, that burden is almost impossible to sustain.

This also applies to Bello El-Rufai’s public welfare scheme as a lawmaker. Many mock those who are not doing the same as failures, but it is not Bello’s income as a lawmaker that funds those scholarship opportunities. He comes from a family and social network that make it possible for him to raise the capital required, and he has said so himself. Another striking example is Senator Sani Mohammed, 313, from Niger State, whose overseas scholarship slots are notable. He is able to do this not simply because he is a senator, but because he was wealthy before assuming office.

I am not saying people do not make money from these offices. Far from it. These offices offer access, protection, and favours. But the point is that, for those who are not there to bend the rules for selfish interests, these expectations can only be fulfilled if they choose to become the very thing we claim we do not want them to be: rogues.

Unfortunately, Nigerians prefer their Robin Hoods. And despite the faux outrage, it is hardly an audacity for a politician to say on national television that he secured job slots for his primordial public and concentrated federal projects in his home state. It is the reality of the system we have enabled through our own conduct. Nigerians may attack Dr. Isa Pantami as viciously as they wish, but deep down, he is the very kind of public servant many of them desire: one who services the interests of his origin without too many questions asked.

Those insulting you for not tampering with the public resources at your disposal to service their interests will not be there when you are answering tough questions as an accounting officer, or when your political foes dust off your ledgers and decide to make you pay for your crimes. You are better off being despised by your community for refusing to commit a financial crime than having your family name indexed forever in the databases of anti-graft agencies.