On this Democracy Day, I had intended to rest my pen. I wanted to leave the fate written on the walls of history to speak for itself. I thought perhaps the sacrifices of those who fought for democracy were enough testimony. Yet, in the final hour, a thought stirred within me, compelling me to write a message to all of us who have come together to form this sovereign nation called Nigeria. My message is particularly for those who believe that the business of Nigeria lies in the hands of a powerful few. Perhaps they are influenced by what the German sociologist Robert Michels described as the "Iron Law of Oligarchy" ,the tendency for power to concentrate in the hands of a small elite. Looking at our politics, our institutions, and our economy, one may be tempted to believe that the destiny of Nigeria is determined only by those who occupy powerful offices and influential positions. But history tells a different story. Nigeria does not belong to any president, governor, politi...
....political ambition looks like a funeral procession
For Oriontimes
The road to the Bola Ige House in Osun begins with a price tag that could echo through a small town: ₦50 million for a nomination form.
An amount heavy enough to fix roads, revive failing schools, or transform a youth enterprise, yet it is merely the entry fee for anyone daring to dream of governorship.
A governor is expected to serve, but before service comes the screening question:
“How loud is your pocket?”
Not your vision.
Not your competence.
Not your connection to the people.
This is why many young Nigerians quietly walk away from the idea of leadership.
Not because they lack ambition,
but because the system kneels on their necks and whispers:
“You’re too broke for this dream.”
And when a generation realizes the door is locked, they respond in the only language they know: satire.
They turn politicians into characters for social media skits,
slice them into two with editing tools,
fry their images in pans,
and laugh, not because the issues are funny,
but because humour is the only affordable form of protest they have left.
Across the sea, Number 10 Downing Street tells a different story.
To run for Prime Minister in the UK:
You don’t need ₦50 million.
You don’t need ancestral assets.
You don’t need a political godfather standing behind you with a cheque.
You need ideas, party support, grassroots engagement, and competence.
Their system is demanding, yes, but accessible.
A 40-year-old can rise, contest, debate, and possibly win,
without first auctioning his future to afford the dream.
In Nigeria, a 40-year-old is told to “wait for his turn,”
a turn that rotates through the same hands for decades,
like a wheel refusing to touch new ground.
In the UK, political ambition is a process.
In Osun, political ambition looks like a funeral procession,
you count the cost before you start the journey.
The Two Doors: A Stark Comparison
Number 10: Entry is rigorous but not gold-plated.
Bola Ige House: Entry is financially fortified.
Number 10: Youth participation is encouraged.
Bola Ige House: Youth participation is admire from afar.
Number 10: Leadership is a service job.
Bola Ige House: Leadership is a premium product.
And here lies the global irony
When African leaders demand a permanent seat at the United Nations,
the world quietly wonders:
“If young people can’t even access leadership at home,
what future are you fighting to represent abroad?”
The danger is not the cost of governance.
It is the cost of entry.
A democracy where ambition requires millions is a democracy that silences millions.
Until the gate is lowered,
the gifted will remain spectators,
the system will remain narrow,
and leadership will remain an auction house,
not a service centre.
Abioye Tosin Lawrence is the publisher of Oriontimes Online Newspaper and author of Voices From The Fire: My Journey Through a Hollow Empire
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