In the run-up to Nigeria’s 2023 presidential election, then-vice presidential candidate Kashim Shettima dismissed the idea of moral virtue as a prerequisite for effective leadership. “Nice men,” he claimed, “are good for selling popcorn and ice cream.” His words resonated, not just because they were brazen, but because they struck a chord in a society where political survival is often associated with ruthlessness, not righteousness.
Shettima’s statement was more than political posturing. It reflected a deeper anxiety that runs through many postcolonial democracies: is morality a liability in leadership? Must political effectiveness always come at the expense of personal virtue?
This is not merely a philosophical question. It has direct consequences for how societies govern, how power is distributed, and how leaders are held accountable. In Nigeria and arguably in many parts of the world, we are witnessing a crisis of belief: a creeping skepticism that goodness and governance can coexist.
The Evolution of Leadership: From Virtue to Strategy
Historically, the idea of leadership has always been entwined with morality. Ancient societies often conflated rulership with divinity. Egyptian pharaohs were seen as gods. Chinese emperors governed with the “Mandate of Heaven,” a moral license that could be revoked by corruption or tyranny. In these frameworks, a leader’s legitimacy depended as much on ethical conduct as on administrative competence.
Even in secular traditions, moral philosophy was central to political leadership. Plato’s ideal ruler was the “philosopher-king”: wise, just, and selfless. Aristotle argued that good leadership required virtue, both in private character and public duty. The Greeks, of course, did not always practice what they preached, but the ideal persisted.
With the rise of modern statecraft and Machiavellian realpolitik, however, the paradigm shifted. Leaders were judged less on virtue and more on results. Military strength, political stability, and economic growth. In Machiavelli’s world, it was “better to be feared than loved,” and ends often justified means.
Today, we see this tension play out in democracies struggling with populism, corruption, and authoritarian creep. In places like Nigeria, where institutions are weak and political power often trumps legal or ethical norms, the tension becomes even more acute.
Goodness vs. Competence: A False Dichotomy
In public discourse, particularly in the Global South, there is a recurring narrative that moral politicians are either ineffective or short-lived. They are seen as naive, idealistic, or out of touch with the brutal realities of governance.
But this narrative presents a false dichotomy: that one must choose between being good and being competent. History offers several counterexamples.
Nelson Mandela was deeply moral, but also politically shrewd. His leadership in post-apartheid South Africa combined forgiveness with institutional reform. Mahatma Gandhi mobilized millions through a moral vision of nonviolence, yet he was also a strategic communicator and master of symbolic politics. Even Winston Churchill, hardly a saint, understood the moral stakes of leadership during the Second World War and used rhetoric not just to persuade, but to inspire moral clarity in a time of chaos.
Goodness in leadership, then, is not weakness. It is a form of competence, a capacity to lead not just through force or cunning, but through integrity, vision, and public trust.
Why Morality Struggles in Nigerian Politics
And yet, in Nigeria, morality in politics is often viewed with suspicion. Leaders who attempt to act ethically are perceived as either powerless or performative. Part of this stems from the country’s political culture: a post-colonial elite that inherited a system of extraction and patronage rather than democratic accountability.
Over time, political office became a means to wealth and influence, not service. In such a system, moral restraint is not rewarded, it is punished. Elections are won through alliances, not ideals. Legislatures serve as bargaining chambers, not custodians of the public interest. Under these conditions, to be moral is to be vulnerable.
This is compounded by a public that is often disillusioned. When governance fails repeatedly, citizens recalibrate their expectations. Instead of demanding integrity, they look for competence, even if it is tainted. “At least he gets things done,” becomes a more powerful slogan than “he is a good man.”
The Case for Moral Leadership
But this resignation is dangerous. When we strip leadership of moral expectations, we normalize impunity. We excuse abuses of power in the name of efficiency. We erode public trust.
The irony is that moral character can be a stabilizing force in volatile democracies. A leader who is seen as honest is more likely to command legitimacy. A leader guided by fairness can bridge ethnic or religious divides. A leader committed to justice can build institutions that outlast them.
Moreover, moral leadership is not incompatible with political savvy. It does not mean perfection. It means a conscious effort to place public interest above personal gain; to lead with empathy, humility, and accountability.
As Nigerian writer and philosopher Chinua Achebe once said, “The trouble with Nigeria is simply and squarely a failure of leadership.” That failure is not just about capacity, it is about character.
Reclaiming the Moral Imagination
In an age of cynicism, the call for moral leadership may sound naive. But democracy itself is built on idealism, the belief that societies can choose better, demand better, and be better. If we abandon that belief, we reduce politics to a mere contest of predators.
What is needed is not a return to utopian thinking, but a more holistic definition of leadership: one that sees virtue not as a liability, but as a core strength. One that understands that good governance is not just about roads and bridges, but about justice, equity, and dignity.
In the end, the question is not whether good men belong in politics. The question is whether we can build a political culture where they can survive and thrive.
Until then, we will keep mistaking ruthlessness for strength, and in doing so, keep choosing leaders who win elections but fail the people.
Eyesan Toritseju is a graduate of Civil Engineering from Covenant University turned serial entrepreneur and corporate strategist. Passionate about society and the cultural ideologies that shape us, he explores how these forces propel or inhibit progress through his writing. In his column, Cosmopolitan Nigeria, Eyesan examines how young Nigerians navigate the complexities of culture, religion, and identity in a rapidly evolving world.
