“I Remain Loyal”: Beyond the slogan and rethinking loyalty in Nigeria’s politics(3), by Usman Sarki

2026-02-17 - 23:27

“All things are possible in politics”— Douglas Reed After two weeks of examining the language and practice of loyalty in Nigerian politics, one conclusion stands out with unsettling clarity: the phrase “I remain loyal” has become both a confession and an indictment. It confesses the fragility of conviction in our political culture and indictes a system that rewards expediency over principle. Yet if democracy is to survive and mature in Nigeria, loyalty itself must be rescued from cynicism and hollowness and restored to meaning. The core problem is not loyalty as a value, but misplaced loyalty. Nigerian politics has trained its actors to pledge allegiance upward—to godfathers, party leaders, presidents, and governors—rather than outward to institutions or downward to citizens. This inversion has destroyed accountability. When loyalty is owed to individuals, the rule of law becomes negotiable, criticism is rebranded as betrayal, and conscience becomes a political liability. This explains why public officials who clearly fail or abuse office are often defended with remarkable ferocity—not because of performance, but because loyalty demands silence and solidarity. In such an environment, governance suffers and impunity thrives. Strong democracies are anchored on strong institutions but even then as we have seen of late in the United States, the creeping ogre of “I remain loyal” has began to erode this supposed strength of that country’s democracy. In strong democracies, loyalty is owed to offices, rules, and procedures—not to personalities. In Nigeria, however, institutions remain weak precisely because they are constantly subordinated to personal loyalties. Civil servants serve ministers rather than ministries; legislators defend party leaders and those in the executive branch rather than the constitution; security agencies are often perceived as loyal to power rather than to the state. This distortion carries grave consequences. When institutions lose autonomy, they lose credibility. When credibility erodes, public trust collapses. Democracy then becomes a hollow ritual—elections without substance, laws without enforcement, and promises without consequence. Nigerians are not oblivious to this reality. Their cynicism is not innate but painfully learned. Over decades, citizens have watched politicians swear loyalty, defect shamelessly, reconcile conveniently, and repeat the cycle without embarrassment. The result is a quiet revolt of disbelief and revulsion. Many citizens now participate in politics reluctantly, convinced that nothing fundamental will change. Others retreat into ethnic, religious, or regional loyalties, believing—sometimes correctly—that national politics offers no moral anchor. This erosion of faith is perhaps the most dangerous consequence of utilitarian cynicism, because democracy cannot survive without belief. No serious attempt to rescue the idea of loyalty in Nigerian politics can ignore the role of the media. As the principal intermediary between power and the people, the media does not merely report politics; it frames it, interprets it, and ultimately legitimizes certain behaviours while delegitimizing others. Regrettably, much of Nigeria’s media ecosystem has—often unintentionally—helped normalize cynical loyalty. Declarations of “I remain loyal” are frequently amplified without interrogation. Political defections are reported as tactical brilliance rather than moral failure. Praise-singing is treated as news, while principled dissent is sometimes framed as rebellion or ingratitude. The media often ignores the failings and foibles of those in power depending on where they originate from. In this way, the media has contributed to the distortion of loyalty—presenting it as obedience to power rather than fidelity to principle. Yet the media also possesses immense corrective power. At its best, it can redefine political vocabulary and reset public expectations. It can ask the questions politicians would rather avoid: Loyal to what values? Loyal to which mandate? Loyal at what cost to the public interest? A responsible media must therefore move beyond stenography and reclaim its watchdog role. It must resist romanticizing proximity to power and insist on accountability. Declarations of loyalty should no longer be reported as virtues in themselves, but interrogated in light of conduct, consistency, and consequence. Equally important is the media’s educative function. Through editorials, investigative reporting, and sustained analysis, it can help citizens distinguish between loyalty to democracy and loyalty to domination; between commitment and convenience; between principle and patronage. When politicians defect, the media should not merely ask where they are going, but why. When officials pledge loyalty, journalists should ask to whom and at whose expense. Over time, such framing can reposition loyalty where it belongs: not as submission to individuals, but as accountability to institutions and service to the people. In societies where democracy has taken root, the media played precisely this role—challenging false loyalties, exposing opportunism, and elevating principled politics. Nigeria’s media must rise to that historic responsibility. Silence, after all, is also a form of loyalty—and the media must decide what it chooses to be loyal to. If Nigeria is to be rescued from its cycle of political cynicism, loyalty must be reimagined. The question is not whether politicians should be loyal, but what they should be loyal to. First, loyalty must be anchored in the constitution—defended even when inconvenient and upheld even when costly. Second, loyalty must be owed to institutions, not individuals. Public office must be understood as a trust, not a reward for loyalty rendered. Third, loyalty must ultimately be to the people—expressed through consistency, courage, and the willingness to stand by citizens even when it carries political risk. Political parties must also bear responsibility. As long as parties remain ideologically hollow and internally undemocratic, loyalty will remain personal rather than programmatic. Parties must become communities of ideas, not shelters for ambition and opportunism. Finally, this transformation demands moral courage. It requires leaders willing to resist patrons, endure short-term losses, and place credibility above convenience. History teaches that societies progress not because leaders were loyal to power, but because they were loyal to principle. Until such a transformation occurs, “I remain loyal” will continue to provoke knowing smiles and quiet mockery. It will remain a phrase that says more about political insincerity than political virtue. But loyalty, properly anchored, need not be a joke. Reclaimed and redefined, it can once again become a democratic strength rather than a political punchline. The future of Nigerian democracy may well depend on whether loyalty is finally relocated—from personalities to principles, from patrons to the people, and from cynicism to conscience.