POLITICS: Service or Slavery?

Politics: Service or Slavery?

By Umar Aliyu

In the heat of every political season, accusations and counter-accusations dominate the airwaves. It is not unusual to hear critics say, “They have jumped ship. They no longer care about the cause they once campaigned for. They were only in it for appointments, contracts, or scholarships that never came their way.”

But when I hear such accusations, I cannot help but pause and ask a fundamental question: Is politics slavery?

Because if politics is about eternal subservience to individuals, then it has lost its essence. If politics means surrendering one’s dignity and being perpetually bound to the whims of a few privileged elites, then we are no longer practicing democracy we are running a plantation.

Politics, at its very core, is supposed to be a platform for collective progress. It is meant to be a tool for societal transformation—a channel through which leaders can deliver developmental projects, create opportunities for employment, empower the youth, support education, and uplift communities from poverty and hopelessness.

When many of us joined politics, we did not do so to become slaves to personalities. We did not do so to reduce ourselves to sycophants clapping for crumbs. Rather, we came with a conviction: that politics must serve the people.

Let me make this plain: I am not in politics to serve any one individual. I am in politics to fight for my people, to ensure their voices are heard, to plead on their behalf, and to make sure their lives are positively impacted by the leaders they entrust with power.

This is why during campaigns, we go to the grassroots. We persuade our mothers, fathers, youth, and elders to vote. We stake our credibility and reputation, convincing people that this politician or that party will deliver. In doing so, we put our communities on the line. Yet, when victory comes, we the very people who labored day and night are sidelined, and those we spoke for are forgotten.

This cycle of betrayal is not new in Nigerian politics. From the First Republic to today, we have seen politicians mobilize with fiery promises of change, only to abandon both their foot soldiers and the electorate the moment they attain power.

Take the case of Chief Obafemi Awolowo, a man remembered not because he enriched his allies but because he invested in free education, healthcare, and infrastructure in Western Nigeria. He understood that politics is not about enslaving loyalists but empowering citizens.

Contrast that with the numerous leaders across our history who, after elections, became inaccessible. They forget the roads that led them to power, abandon the same villages that gave them overwhelming votes, and turn their backs on the campaigners who staked their sweat and blood for their success.

In more recent times, the story has not changed much. The “Change” mantra of 2015 was powered by millions of Nigerians who hoped for economic revival, security, and prosperity. But for many, those promises remain unfulfilled. Grassroots mobilizers who put their lives at risk were left behind, while a select inner circle enjoyed the rewards of power.

The same can be said at state levels. Campaign promises of water, electricity, youth empowerment, and agricultural development often vanish after inauguration. Those who carried the message to the electorate, convincing them with passion and tears, are treated like liabilities once victory is secured.

This brings us back to the central question: is politics slavery?

If loyalty in politics means you must remain silent even when the people are suffering, then what we are practicing is not democracy. If politics requires that you clap for failed policies because you want to remain in the good books of those in power, then what we are running is not leadership it is servitude.

Democracy thrives on accountability. And accountability demands that we speak truth to power, even if it makes those in authority uncomfortable. Politics should be about partnership between leaders and the people, not about enslaving those who gave you their trust.

During campaigns, the foot soldiers are celebrated. They are called “our strong men,” “our grassroots,” “our mobilizers.” Politicians share late-night meals with them, make promises, and even kneel to beg for support. But once victory is attained, those same men and women are left behind.

This is a betrayal not just of political loyalty but of democratic principles. For what does it profit a leader if he gains victory but loses the trust of his people?

History teaches us that the neglect of foot soldiers and the masses has consequences. The fall of the Second Republic in 1983 was fueled by public disillusionment. People felt abandoned by the leaders they had elected. Corruption, arrogance, and insensitivity created the vacuum that military adventurists exploited.

Today, we risk repeating the same mistakes. When people are used and dumped, resentment builds. When the promises of development are broken, frustration takes root. And when frustration festers, the legitimacy of leaders erodes.

Let us remember the words of Nelson Mandela, who said, “A leader… is like a shepherd. He stays behind the flock, letting the most nimble go out ahead, whereupon the others follow, not realizing all along that they are being directed from behind.”

Mandela did not enslave his people. He sacrificed for them. He showed that politics at its highest calling is about service, sacrifice, and accountability.

In Nigeria too, leaders like Aminu Kano built legacies not because of personal enrichment but because they invested in the talakawa—the ordinary people. They understood that the true measure of politics is not how many contracts you give to cronies but how many lives you touch with policies.

The bitter truth is this: time will come when everyone will answer his father’s name. Power is temporary. Appointments will expire. Titles will fade. Contracts will end. But the people will remember. They will remember who stood with them and who betrayed them. They will remember who fought for their dignity and who reduced them to slaves.

Politics is not slavery, and it must never become one. Politics is service, and until Nigerian politicians embrace that simple truth, our democracy will continue to wobble.

The task before us is clear: to reclaim politics from the hands of those who see it as personal property, to restore it to its rightful purpose as a tool of development, and to ensure that those who labor for victory are not discarded but carried along in the journey of governance.

Until then, the question will remain: are we truly practicing politics of service, or have we allowed ourselves to be chained in politics of slavery?