Re-election and the fantasy that performance is enough — by Bamidele Johnson

There is a view that seems to be gaining quiet currency in our public discourse. Twice in and as many weeks, I have seen two real-life friends push it. I have also seen a few virtual friends push it. At first hearing, the view sounds tight and valid.

To cut to the chase, it goes thus: a president, governor, senator, House of Reps member, state legislator or local government chairman persuaded he has performed well in office need not campaign much or at all for re-election. His or her record, goes the argument, should speak for him or her. Very loudly, perhaps deafeningly.

The argument seems to cast the electorate as composed of formidably rational beings possessed of eyes and memory that make them naturally reward diligence at the polls. On this reasoning, campaigning with vigour is what mediocrities do to compensate for the absence of achievement. Seductive, this. Very much so. However, it is an argument whose legs are easily cut off.

What are campaigns? I have asked because there appears to be some foundational confusion about what they actually are. A campaign is not just a man or woman standing at Eagle Square, TBS or other campaign cathedrals in the country boasting that he built roads, schools, hospitals et al. It is a deliberate and effort to reach voters where they are, explain what has been done, outline what remains to be done, rebut misinformation and persuade supporters (existing and prospective) that showing up on election day will be worth the sacrifice.

Governance and campaigning are, therefore, not substitutes for each other. They serve different purposes. The former delivers, while the latter explains. The incumbent who refuses to campaign because he or she thinks his or her work speaks loudly is, in practice, assuming that facts are self-executing. They are not. They require interpretation, context and repetition.

A government may build roads, schools and hospitals, but voters may still differ sharply in their perceptions of the significance, impact or even existence of those projects. Political communication exists because reality does not automatically organise itself inside people’s minds.
There is also the small matter of how human memory actually works.

People do not walk around with a live mental ledger of government interventions, updated monthly or quarterly and available to be pulled up and used rationally at election time. People remember what they feel, the last thing that went wrong and what an opponent said about the incumbent last week when he or she was too confident to campaign.

Studies on retrospective voting are remarkably consistent on this point. Voters often place disproportionate weight on recent events, emotionally salient experiences and the narratives available to them at the moment of decision. An incumbent who built 25 top-tier hospitals, 200 schools over four years but spent the final six months battling ASUU and doctors’ strikes as well as widespread insecurity, for example, is competing against his actual record as much as how opponents may want to frame less savoury elements of his about-to-end tenure. Neglecting to campaign does not elevate a politician above politics. It merely leaves the field to opponents to shred him.

There is also a practical political reality that should be obvious. Elections are not won solely by persuading undecided voters. They are won by mobilising supporters. The politician who declines to campaign energetically is not simply failing to attract new voters. He or she is failing to motivate existing ones. Enthusiasm is not self-sustaining. It requires nurturing. A supporter who is not engaged, not spoken to and not reminded why an election matters may simply stay home or buy the narrative of opponents. A record, no matter how impressive, cannot drive people to polling units. Roads and hospitals do not vote. It is people who do.

This brings me to a second idea that is no less flawed. It holds that public office holders deserve no credit, no gratitude and certainly no electoral reward for providing social services because they are merely doing their jobs. After all, they are not spending their own money. They are spending public money.

Like many fashionable ideas, it contains a grain of truth. Citizens should not treat the routine discharge of public responsibilities as an act of personal charity. A governor who fixes streetlights is not owed a monument. Public officials are elected to govern and should be expected to perform.

But the conclusion drawn from this premise is absurd. Human societies routinely distinguish between doing a job poorly, doing it adequately and doing it exceptionally. A doctor is paid to save lives. We still celebrate outstanding doctors. Teachers are paid to educate children. We still honour exceptional teachers. Nobody responds to acts of diligence by saying, “That is what they are paid for.” Recognition is not a charitable donation. It is a social signal that competence matters.

Indeed, the fact that public officials work with public funds makes competent performance more impressive, not less. Public funds do not allocate themselves. Budgets do not execute themselves. Projects do not supervise themselves. The existence of public resources does not guarantee sterling outcomes. Those outcomes depend on judgment, discipline, administrative nous and political will.

The money may belong to the people, but the decisions do not make themselves.
More importantly, the argument proves far too much. If using public funds for public purposes creates no legitimate claim on public approval, then using public funds for private enrichment should create no legitimate claim on public disapproval. One cannot logically preserve accountability’s downside while abolishing its upside.
The same citizens who insist that politicians deserve no credit for success are often the first to demand that politicians bear full responsibility for failure. Both success and failure arise from the same office, the same powers and the same public resources. If an office holder can be blamed for incompetence, waste and corruption, he can also be commended for efficiency, prudence and results. Importantly too, only philanthropists use their own funds for interventions, not elected officials.

Democracy requires judgment, not cynicism.
Voters should neither worship politicians nor pretend that competence is irrelevant. They should be capable of holding two thoughts simultaneously. They are that public officials are expected to perform and some perform better than others. What both of these views share, beneath their surface respectability, is a discomfort with the messy reality of democratic persuasion. They imagine politics as a Computer Based Test in which marks are awarded objectively and the highest score automatically wins.

Democracy does not work that way. It is a continuous negotiation between leaders and citizens, which rewards those who understand that performance and communication are partners rather than competitors. The politician who governs well but refuses to explain himself or herself has misunderstood the assignment every bit as much as the politician who explains brilliantly but governs badly.

A politician’s work will not knock on doors for him or her. A politician’s legacy will not answer allegations from opponents. His record will not persuade disappointed supporters to leave their homes and vote. Only the politician can do those things. If he or she will not, then he or she cannot pretend that losing is a triumph of principle, but simply a failure to understand how democracy works.