Curiously, many presidential aspirants seeking to replace Tinubu are not openly campaigning to reverse the central pillars of his reforms. None advocates for restoring fuel subsidy. None proposes returning to a tightly controlled forex regime. None suggests halting rail expansion, airport modernisation, or major infrastructure renewal.
Nigeria’s democracy suffers from a dangerous addiction: emotional voting.
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Every election cycle, millions retreat into ethnic, religious, and regional camps to choose a president for over 200 million people. We often vote not for who can govern best, but for who “belongs to us,” who speaks our language, shares our faith, or represents a historical grievance.
Then reality arrives.
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Inflation does not recognise ethnicity. Bad roads do not ask for your tribe before destroying vehicles. Unemployment does not discriminate between North and South. A weak naira has no ethnic identity.
Nigeria cannot continue to vote emotionally and expect rational outcomes.
The question every election should provoke is simple: Who possesses the ideas, courage, administrative depth, and political sophistication to govern one of the most difficult countries on earth?
That question becomes particularly relevant when evaluating the presidency of Bola Ahmed Tinubu.
Love him or hate him, one reality is becoming harder to dismiss: President Bola Tinubu may well be the most consequential president since the beginning of the Fourth Republic in 1999.
Not necessarily the most popular. Not necessarily the most loved. But arguably the most consequential.
That distinction matters.
For decades, Nigeria’s national refrain remained painfully repetitive: poor roads, weak rail systems, neglected ports, collapsing airports, unstable power, and policy paralysis. Every administration diagnosed the problem. Few were willing to apply painful solutions.
Successive governments often preferred political comfort to structural courage. Then came Tinubu.
Within days of assuming office, he removed fuel subsidy, a policy long described as economically unsustainable but politically untouchable. He also moved toward forex liberalisation, dismantling a system that many believed had become distortionary and vulnerable to abuse.
The consequences were immediate: inflation, hardship, and public anger. But here lies an uncomfortable truth that many citizens avoid: serious economic reform is rarely painless. No nation has undertaken major structural reform without periods of hardship.
That raises an important democratic question: If the core policies remain, what exactly is the alternative being offered? Is the disagreement about direction or simply about who occupies Aso Rock?… Another uncomfortable truth Nigerians must confront is this: regardless of political leaning, the scale of infrastructure renewal underway is difficult to ignore.
China’s transformation under Deng Xiaoping did not produce prosperity overnight. Economic liberalisation first brought disruption before unleashing one of history’s greatest economic expansions. India’s 1991 reforms equally came with hardship before decades of accelerated growth followed. Even Eastern European economies endured painful transitions before long-term stability emerged.
Economic resets hurt before they heal.
This does not excuse government from criticism. Nigerians have every right to question inflation, implementation failures, weak safety nets, and the pace of relief measures. But criticism must also be intellectually honest.
Citizens must distinguish between hardship caused by reform and the accumulated consequences of decades of postponed decisions.
The question should not simply be: “Are Nigerians suffering?” Clearly, many are. The deeper question is: “What realistic alternative exists?”
Curiously, many presidential aspirants seeking to replace Tinubu are not openly campaigning to reverse the central pillars of his reforms. None advocates for restoring fuel subsidy. None proposes returning to a tightly controlled forex regime. None suggests halting rail expansion, airport modernisation, or major infrastructure renewal.
That raises an important democratic question: If the core policies remain, what exactly is the alternative being offered? Is the disagreement about direction or simply about who occupies Aso Rock?
Another uncomfortable truth Nigerians must confront is this: regardless of political leaning, the scale of infrastructure renewal underway is difficult to ignore.
For decades, poor roads remained one of Nigeria’s most persistent complaints. Governments promised transformation, but few pursued infrastructure ambitious enough to reshape economic activity.
Today, Nigeria is witnessing a road construction drive comparable only to the Gowon era during the oil boom. From the Lagos-Calabar Coastal Highway to the Sokoto-Badagry Superhighway, the scale is arguably unprecedented in the Fourth Republic.
More importantly, this is not confined to one region or political base. Across the North, South, East, and West, federal road projects are ongoing. There is hardly any state or region today without visible federal road intervention.
Beyond roads, rail expansion initiated under the previous administration continues, while airports are undergoing significant upgrades. Murtala Muhammed International Airport, for the first time since its commissioning in 1976, is witnessing major reconstruction aimed at repositioning Lagos as a leading aviation hub in Africa.
The larger democratic question therefore becomes unavoidable: If many of those seeking power are unlikely to reverse the reforms already implemented or discontinue ongoing infrastructure renewal, what exactly distinguishes their offering beyond political ambition?
At the subnational level, regional development commissions are also emerging as long term economic catalysts. With substantial takeoff funding, these institutions possess the potential to drive infrastructure and regional economic integration in ways previously unseen.
Critics may question costs, implementation, transparency, or sustainability. Such scrutiny is necessary in a democracy. But it is difficult to deny that something structurally significant is taking place.
The larger democratic question therefore becomes unavoidable: If many of those seeking power are unlikely to reverse the reforms already implemented or discontinue ongoing infrastructure renewal, what exactly distinguishes their offering beyond political ambition?
Democracy should not merely replace faces. It should offer competing visions.
Politics in Nigeria, however, has often been driven by identity. Many citizens understandably desire broader regional inclusion in leadership. Such aspirations deserve respect in a diverse federation like Nigeria.
But democracy becomes dangerous when symbolic representation completely overshadows competence, ideas, and governing capacity. A president is not a cultural trophy.
A president is the chief executive of a fragile nation. Nigeria is too complex for sentimental politics. We need voters who ask harder questions:
Who understands economic complexity?
Who possesses institutional competence?
Who can manage Nigeria’s contradictions?
Who has the political sophistication to implement difficult reforms?
Who can absorb pressure without surrendering to populism?
In the end, elections end. Emotions fade.
But consequences remain.
Kayode Adebiyi, a PR professional and public affairs commentator, resides in London.
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