By Thomas Danjuma Abu
In the 1980s and early 1990s, civic knowledge was a natural part of growing up. Children could name presidents, governors, and ministers as easily as they recited the months of the year. Leadership was visible, discussable, and treated as something worth understanding. Civic awareness was not political indoctrination; it was citizenship training.
Beyond textbooks, leadership was physically present in children’s lives. When a president, governor, or other public office holder visited a town for an official function, primary and secondary school pupils were often lined up as young receptionists, waving national flags. That simple act inspired many children. It silently told them that leadership was real, honourable, and attainable, preparing young minds to imagine themselves as future leaders.
Today, that experience has largely disappeared. Ask many teenagers to name three serving governors or senators and you will often get uncertainty. Ask them about popular music artists, and the answers come instantly. This contrast is not about intelligence but relevance. Young people disengage from what no longer inspires them.
A recent viral video illustrates how early civic perceptions now form. A young child, asked what she wanted to become, said she wanted to be a police officer. When asked what police officers do, she replied: “They block the road and collect money from keke.” It sounds humorous until the implication settles in. That description did not come from imagination but from repeated observation. Children define authority not by official job descriptions but by daily encounters.
The law itself is clear. The Police Act, 2020 establishes the police to protect lives and property and to uphold the rule of law. The 1999 Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria (as amended) places accountability and public welfare at the heart of public service. Yet when daily practice contradicts written statutes, children learn the practice, not the paragraph.
This pattern extends beyond policing. Some young people openly express interest in illegal ventures, not out of ignorance but calculation. When society appears to reward misconduct more visibly than integrity, ethical behaviour begins to look impractical. As Aristotle warned, “What we repeatedly do, we become.”
Scripture reinforces this concern. Proverbs 22:6 urges society to train children in the right way, while Romans 12:17 cautions against doing wrong in the open. Matthew 18:6 issues a stern warning about causing children to stumble. Moral instruction loses authority when public behaviour contradicts it.
This explains why values today often feel trapped in textbooks—well written, well examined, but poorly practiced. Values that exist only on paper are not values; they are decoration. The Child Rights Act (2003) recognises a child’s right to proper moral and social development, yet that right is undermined when institutions model the opposite in public view.
If meaningful change is desired, alignment is unavoidable. Parents must name wrongdoing clearly, not excuse it as normal. Institutions must enforce standards consistently, not selectively. Public officials must remember that every visible abuse of power becomes a civic lesson. As Nelson Mandela noted, “There can be no keener revelation of a society’s soul than the way it treats its children.”
Our concern, therefore, is not trivial. The image of leadership forming in young minds today has long-term consequences for trust, governance, and national development. When children know entertainers better than institutions, shortcuts better than statutes, and power better than purpose, the issue is not cultural laziness—it is systemic contradiction.
Our children are watching.
And whether we like it or not, they are learning—from us.
Post a Comment