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...
There is an unofficial curriculum in Nigerian politics, one that is not written in any constitution, not taught in any classroom, yet faithfully observed across party lines and generations. It is the making of the “ideal political youth.”
Step one is simple: stop thinking, start clapping.
Not metaphorically. Literally. Because in the evolving architecture of political survival, independent thought has become an inconvenience, too sharp for comfort, too honest for negotiation, too unpredictable for loyalty. And loyalty, not ideology, is the true currency of the realm.
Many young Nigerians with promising political futures now find themselves in an unusual role: defending systems they once had the potential to reform.
Across successive republics, they are often positioned not as challengers of the old order, but as its most energetic reinforcement.
What is frequently misunderstood is that modern Nigerian politics is less about ideology and more about interest management. It is a marketplace where alignment is rewarded more than argument, and where conviction often loses to convenience.
The mistake many make is trying to interpret this reality through Western political frameworks ideology, left or right, progressive or conservative. But here, the lines are not ideological; they are transactional, fluid, and deeply adaptive to survival.
In this system, ideology is quietly shrinking.
What is growing instead is a preference for politically useful youth: those who can mobilize crowds without asking too many questions, those who can speak to market women, rally community support, and echo policies with confidence rather than critique.
Smartness is not always an advantage. In some rooms, it is treated like a disruption. Brilliance is not necessarily celebrated, it is managed, redirected, or politely sidelined.
And so, a silent instruction emerges for the ambitious youth: be visible, but not too vocal; be useful, but not too independent.
It would be misleading, however, to ignore the economic backdrop shaping this reality.
In the absence of sufficient job creation and accessible opportunity structures, many young Nigerians have turned toward entrepreneurship, not always out of passion, but often out of necessity. Survival has become a substitute for structure.
In such conditions, political participation becomes uneven. Many young people are described as “too broke to lead” ,not in ability, but in access. The system quietly demands a financial threshold for ambition, and those who cannot meet it often become supporters rather than contenders.
This is how the machinery sustains itself.
Young people become instruments of political expression rather than authors of political direction. They are mobilizers, foot soldiers, digital amplifiers, important roles, but rarely decision-making ones.
Meanwhile, career politicians remain firmly anchored, with transitions often dictated not by democratic renewal, but by age, health, or internal rearrangements. Across much of Africa, political longevity is still more rewarded than political succession.
And yet, the irony remains.
Those who once entered politics through activism sometimes find themselves absorbed into the very structures they sought to question. Not always by betrayal of principle, but often by the architecture of access itself. The demand to be seen, to be heard, to remain relevant, longer than the system’s patience allows becomes its own form of negotiation.
The queue for political recognition is long. Longer than ambition. Longer than ideology. Longer than patience.
And in that queue, many learn the same survival lesson:
Clap when necessary. Question when safe. Think carefully, but not too loudly.
So yes, in the informal manual of political grooming, Step One still stands:
Stop thinking. Start clapping.
Because in the theatre of power, applause is often mistaken for participation, and silence carefully maintained is sometimes the price of entry.
Abioye Tosin Lawrence,
Publisher Oriontimes Online Newspaper
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