If democracy were a marketplace, Nigeria would by now be running a premium boutique – entry strictly for those who can afford the price tag. With the All Progressives Congress (APC) reportedly fixing nomination fees at a staggering ₦100 million for presidential hopefuls and ₦50 million for governorship aspirants, the message is as loud as it is ironic: leadership is open to all, provided “all” can write very large cheques.
One might ask, in a country where millions grapple daily with economic hardship, what exactly these fees are meant to achieve. Party discipline? Administrative costs? Or perhaps a subtle screening mechanism to ensure only those already fluent in the language of financial gymnastics can participate. After all, governance in Nigeria has long ceased to be a call to service; it increasingly resembles an investment portfolio.
And like all investments, returns are expected.
It would be naive, almost charmingly so – to imagine that individuals who part with such sums do so out of sheer patriotism. The unspoken contract is clear: recover the “investment,” service political debts, and, if possible, secure a comfortable surplus. In this unregulated theatre, corruption stops being a vice and begins to look like a business model – efficient, predictable, and disturbingly normalized.
The tragedy is not just the exclusion of competent but less wealthy Nigerians; it is the institutional endorsement of a system that practically compels officeholders to prioritize personal recoupment over public service. When the cost of entry into politics is this prohibitive, the cost of governance inevitably becomes inflated – paid not by the politicians, but by citizens through poor infrastructure, weak institutions, and a persistent erosion of trust.
Of course, defenders will argue that such fees deter unserious candidates. But one wonders: since when did financial capacity become the gold standard for seriousness in public service? If anything, it risks filtering out integrity while rewarding those most adept at navigating, and benefiting from – the murky waters of money politics.
In the end, the real question is not who can afford to run, but who will pay the price. And as history has shown, it is rarely the politicians.
Until Nigeria redefines the value of leadership beyond bank balances, the ballot may remain less a tool of choice and more a receipt-signed, stamped, and paid for in advance.