“The Presidential Noah’s Ark: Even Noah took animals in pairs into his vessel. He did not take the entire animal kingdom, their political associates, personal assistants and support groups.”
I have just finished going through the membership of the Presidential Campaign Council of my party—or, more accurately, as much of it as human endurance would permit.
What a list!
At first, I thought it was the result of the latest national census.
Then I wondered whether the document was the passenger manifest of a ship evacuating the entire political establishment ahead of an approaching flood.
Only after reading further did I realise that it was merely a campaign council.
The Presidential Noah’s Ark and the large campaign council
The council is so large that it may require a campaign council of its own to coordinate the campaign council.
It has directors, deputy directors, coordinating directors, deputy coordinating directors, secretaries, assistant secretaries, advisers, mobilisers, coordinators and stakeholders.
There may even be a director in charge of locating other directors.
By the time the roll is called at the inaugural meeting, the election may already have been won—or lost. Refreshments alone could require a supplementary budget.
The published membership runs into hundreds and includes serving ministers, governors, legislators and other public officials assigned to numerous campaign directorates.
But size is not the most interesting feature of this ark. Like Noah’s original ark, it appears determined to accommodate every species.
There are saints and former sinners, the tried and the tired, reformers and those still awaiting reform. There are people whose names inspire confidence and others whose names inspire a quick check on one’s wallet.
The ark has room for everyone.
There are those who should ordinarily be serving all Nigerians but have now been handed whistles, banners and party jerseys.
Some occupy offices that require, at the very least, the appearance of institutional neutrality. But perhaps neutrality, like the fuel subsidy, has finally been removed.
There are also experts in the extractive industries. Some extract minerals from the soil.
Others, according to persistent public whispers, are more experienced in extracting value from the nation.
In a country where illegal mining, banditry and kidnapping sometimes appear to share the same forest address, one would have expected extra care in deciding who should be given a seat near the captain’s cabin.
Ah, Paris! The refund, the sharing formula and the mysterious mathematics by which public money develops wings somewhere between approval and arrival.
But let me not allow my mind to travel too far. This ark, after all, is meant for a national voyage, not an excursion to France.
This is politics, where due diligence sometimes means confirming that a person can deliver votes before asking what else he may have delivered—or to whom.
Then come those who have enjoyed the hospitality of our courts…
Some were accused, some were tried, some were convicted, some appealed, some sacked with ignominy and some emerged politically reborn.
Nigeria is a deeply religious country; we believe strongly in resurrection.
Once a politician crosses over to the appropriate side, old sins become youthful indiscretions. Yesterday’s charge sheet is converted into today’s certificate of political experience.
With sufficient political anointing, even a courtroom history can become evidence of persecution and resilience.
In Nigerian politics, there appears to be no sinner beyond redemption—provided he redeems himself into the ruling party.
The council also contains an impressive number of serving public officials. Evidently, governing Nigeria leaves abundant spare time for electioneering.
The roads may be waiting, hospitals may be struggling, schools may need attention and citizens may be wrestling with the cost of living, but democracy must not be allowed to suffer from a shortage of coordinators.
One wonders whether these officials will campaign on weekends, during annual leave or in that mysterious extra hour available only to public office holders.
Perhaps they have discovered a 25 hour in the day—a special hour reserved for governance, mobilisation and the occasional rally.
One also hopes that official vehicles, personnel, security details and public resources will understand the difference between government business and party business.
Nigerian petrol may be colourless, but public accountability should still be able to distinguish between the two.
The treasury, too, must remain politically neutral, even if some of its custodians have already collected campaign tags.
Let no one misunderstand me. I am a member of the President’s party. Membership of a political party, however, should not require the surrender of one’s eyesight at the party secretariat.
Loyalty is not blindness, and party discipline should not become a vow of silence.
A friend who sees a pothole and warns the driver is not sabotaging the journey. He may, in fact, be the only person trying to save the vehicle.
A campaign council is not merely a gathering of people who can win an election. It is also a public statement about the company a candidate is willing to keep and the character of the government he hopes to renew.
Names communicate values.
If a council contains people whose public reputations raise serious questions, those questions do not disappear because their names are printed beneath an impressive heading.
Ink does not wash reputations. Nor does appointment to a directorate constitute a certificate of innocence.
A campaign seeking the confidence of Nigerians should not appear to be offering political sanctuary to every controversial figure who can command a convoy, finance a rally or mobilise a forest.
Elections are important, but the means of winning them matter.
If the price of victory is to gather everyone—public officials whose offices demand restraint, characters shadowed by allegations of dangerous commerce, and veterans of prolonged encounters with the courts—then the ark may become too morally overloaded to float.
Even Noah took animals in pairs into his ark. He did not take the entire animal kingdom, their political associates, personal assistants and support groups.
There is still time to examine the passenger manifest.
The captain should ask whether everyone aboard belongs on this particular voyage.
Some may be excellent party supporters but unsuitable public symbols.
Others may need to clear the clouds around their reputations before being invited to preach the gospel of renewed hope.
And some public officials should simply be allowed to concentrate on the jobs for which Nigerians already pay them.
After all, the Nigerian people did not appoint them to government so that they could devote the working day to securing another four years in government.
A smaller council would be easier to manage. A cleaner council would be easier to defend.
A more carefully selected council would tell Nigerians that the party understands the difference between building a winning coalition and assembling a political lost-and-found department.
It would also reassure the public that the ark is intended to survive the flood, not to provide sanctuary from investigation.
For now, the ark is full. The drums are ready, the coordinators have been coordinated, and the mobilisers are preparing to mobilise one another.
The directors will direct the deputy directors, who will coordinate the assistant coordinators, who will mobilise the stakeholders, many of whom are already stakeholders in several other things.
Only one question remains:
When the flood of public scrutiny comes, will every passenger help the ark to float—or will some names prove heavier than the votes they were recruited to bring?
Let no one mistake scrutiny for disloyalty. It is precisely because we love both country and party that we must not lie about the company assembling aboard the ark.
A campaign council is not a refuge from accountability, and a party card is not a life jacket against public scrutiny.
Before I return to bed to rest my weary head, let someone sing me that old Wole Soyinka and Tunji Oyelana lullaby:
I love my country, I no go lie,
Na inside am I go live and die.
I know my country, I no go lie,
Na im and me go yab till I die.
And yab we must—not because we hate the ark, but because we do not want it to sink.
