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The Greek philosopher Socrates long ago advanced that the true purpose of politics is the improvement of the moral character of its citizens. In this view, the pursuit of power, popularity, or personal wealth is not a legitimate goal. Leaders, he argued, must possess genuine wisdom and virtue, acting much like a doctor who makes decisions strictly in the best interest of a patient. To encounter Nigeria’s political landscape today is to witness a complete abandonment of this classical ideal. What is observed is not a scientific process of identifying the most capable individuals to advance the course of humanity, but a theatre of raw monetisation, collapsing internal party democracy, and the systematic marginalisation of women.
The most glaring evidence of this decay is the near total monetisation of the political process. Political aspirants in Nigeria are no longer assessed on the basis of their ideas or competence, but on the sheer volume of their financial resources. The Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) has raised serious concerns over this trend. In a recent lecture, the EFCC chairman, Ola Olukoyede, disclosed that some governorship aspirants spent between ₦20 billion and ₦30 billion to secure party tickets and contest elections. This astronomical sum is not an investment in service; it is a financial mortgage on future public office. The chairman warned that such huge expenditures increase the likelihood of corruption after elections, as politicians who spend such sums often feel pressured to recover their funds through unethical means.
This cancerous monetisation is most vividly captured in the cost of party nomination forms. For the 2027 presidential election, the ruling All Progressives Congress (APC) retained the cost of its Expression of Interest and Nomination forms at ₦100 million. A non-corrupt permanent secretary would need to save every naira of their salary for 13 years to afford this sum. This is the financial barrier erected even before campaigning has begun. The opposition has not fared better. The African Democratic Congress (ADC) initially set its presidential nomination form at ₦25 million in 2023. However, with its adoption as the coalition platform for 2027, the price reportedly surged to ₦90 million. This escalation of entry costs automatically filters out every citizen who does not have access to illicit wealth or powerful sponsors. A governorship aspirant may need to spend between ₦2 billion and ₦10 billion to run an effective campaign, while a presidential campaign could cost upwards of ₦50 billion.
The consequence of this financial barrier is a system of acute political exclusion. Elections that should be a contest of policies have become a criminal marketplace, a term aptly used by a former governor to describe a system where votes are bought and sold. The high cost has created an almost impenetrable barrier for many credible but financially disadvantaged candidates, effectively restricting political leadership to a wealthy elite. This reality runs contrary to the foundational idea of democracy, which demands that the best and brightest emerge to lead. When leadership is auctioned to the highest bidder, the nation is denied the potential contributions of its most talented citizens.
Contributing directly to this decline is the worsening state of internal democracy within Nigeria’s political parties. A political party should function as a school for civic values and a mechanism for sorting the great people among the populace. However, the current reality for most parties is a focus on personal interests over party supremacy, weak discipline, and a near total lack of ideology. This has led to a culture where blind loyalty and sycophancy are rewarded, while merit is ignored. As one observer noted, political parties are not managed in a democratic manner, and instead operate in a dictatorial fashion, which is an aberration to democracy.
This internal collapse has allowed the culture of monetisation to flourish. Without transparent and fair primary elections, the selection of candidates is often determined by money, not by a vote of the party members. A chieftain of the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) lamented the monetization of the political system where politicians who have deep pockets buy their way into leadership positions, recalling an instance where a presidential aspirant reportedly paid a sum of $23.2 million to bribe delegates. This practice is not limited to a single party. The same pattern of financial inducement is observed across the political spectrum, from the APC to the ADC and newer opposition platforms. The result is a leadership class selected not for its capacity to solve problems, but for its ability to raise funds.
Perhaps the most tragic consequence of this broken system is the growing disenfranchisement and abuse of women in politics. In a nation where women constitute a significant portion of the population, their presence in political leadership is negligible. At the beginning of 2026, women occupied less than 4 per cent of seats in the national assembly, one of the lowest rates in the world. This places Nigeria far below the regional average in Sub Saharan Africa, where women hold roughly 25 per cent of parliamentary seats. A coalition of women-focused civil society organisations has warned that the 2027 elections could deliver even worse representation than 2023, noting that only three women emerged as senatorial candidates in the party primaries, representing just 2.7 per cent of the senate’s 109 seats if elected. An analysis of political parties showed that female aspirant participation remains critically low, with the ruling APC recording only 10.4 per cent female aspirants, and some parties recording zero per cent.
The journey of women into politics is often marked by trauma and abuse, without any significant outcome for their constituencies. The high-profile case of Senator Natasha Akpoti Uduaghan, who accused the Senate President of sexual harassment, serves as a test case for this reality. After making her allegations public, she was suspended from the Senate for six months. Critics argued the move appeared retaliatory, punishing a complainant whose substantive allegations were yet to be investigated. This case demonstrates that sexual harassment in politics functions as a tool to discredit, shame, and silence women who dare to stake a claim in governance. The fear of such treatment has a chilling effect, deterring many qualified and passionate women from entering public life, thereby widening the gap in representation.
The path to redemption for Nigeria’s politics lies in recognising that the purpose of politics is not investment or selfish service delivery, but the advancement of the common good. The electoral system must be reformed to drastically reduce the financial barriers to entry. Political parties must be compelled by law and public scrutiny to practice genuine internal democracy, ensuring that candidates are selected based on competence and popular support, not on the size of their bank accounts. Most urgently, structural, institutional, and legal reforms are required to ensure that women are not just participants but leaders in the political process. As one advocate noted, progress requires legal reform, not just training or advocacy. Nigeria cannot hope to achieve sustainable development and economic growth by excluding half of its population from decision making. The doctor, as Socrates would have insisted, must act in the best interest of the patient. For the Nigerian political class, that patient is a democracy in critical condition.
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