By Chibuike Nwabuko
In Nigeria’s long and often turbulent democratic journey, a worrying trend has taken root and matured: the self-serving culture of political elites who, after manipulating democratic institutions at the state level for personal gain, have now taken their strategies to the national stage.
These individuals, recall, many of them former governors, crafted laws to secure lifelong pensions and lavish benefits for themselves while in power. Today, they dominate Nigeria’s federal executive and legislative arms and continue to institutionalize the same practices on a national scale.
This issue was recently brought to the fore by former President Olusegun Obasanjo, who publicly condemned the practice, describing it as “outright abuse of power” and “an affront to democratic principles and the suffering masses.” Speaking at a public event recently, Obasanjo didn’t mince words as he lambasted the current political elite for legalizing corruption and turning democracy into a self-enrichment scheme. More damning, however, was his assertion that many of the individuals currently holding key positions in Nigeria’s political leadership ought to be behind bars, not in public office.
In sane climes, those who manipulated the system to secure these outrageous pensions for themselves should be in jail. But instead, they are in the Senate, in the ministerial cabinet, and even occupying strategic roles where they continue to feed fat on the commonwealth.
Recall that the phenomenon began in the early 2000s when several governors across Nigeria, toward the end of their tenure, began pushing through life pension laws with the cooperation or coercion of their respective State Houses of Assembly. These laws often guaranteed former governors access to state-funded houses, fleets of cars, domestic staff, and millions in annual allowances, all at taxpayers’ expense.
Critics at the time raised concerns about the morality and legality of these benefits, especially in states struggling to pay civil servants’ salaries. But those concerns were largely ignored. In many cases, legislators, some allegedly induced with monetary incentives, passed these pension bills with little to no debate.
Fast forward to today, many of the same former governors who authored or benefited from these controversial pension laws now hold key positions in Nigeria’s National Assembly or federal executive. They wield considerable influence in shaping national policy and increasingly, in determining their own pay and perks.
Of Nigeria’s 109 senators in the 10th National Assembly, nearly 20 are former governors. Many others are ex-deputy governors or former state assembly speakers who helped rubber-stamp those very pension laws. Some now chair influential Senate committees overseeing finance, appropriation, or constitutional amendment—positions from which they can help institutionalize similar reward systems at the federal level.
“It’s a tragic cycle,” says Dr. Chika Onuoha, a political analyst based in Abuja. “These politicians used state legislatures like personal rubber stamps to legalize greed. Now, they’re at the center of national policymaking, doing the same thing, just with bigger budgets.”
Former President Obasanjo’s remarks were not just a criticism; they were a searing indictment of a political culture that enables impunity. According to him, a significant number of those who now occupy leadership positions have cases that should have landed them in prison, were Nigeria’s justice system functioning as it should.
“It is a shame that we call them leaders today. Some of these people have looted their states dry, crippled institutions, and instead of paying for their crimes, they are rewarded with higher offices,” Obasanjo lamented.
He pointed out that the practice of using legal frameworks to institutionalize personal benefits while the majority of Nigerians live in hardship is both morally and democratically bankrupt.
Although some civil society organizations have taken the matter to court and even secured favorable judgments declaring these pensions illegal,implementation remains elusive. In 2021, a Federal High Court in Lagos ruled that such pension laws were unconstitutional and ordered state governments to stop payments. Yet many states, such as Lagos, Akwa Ibom, and Rivers, continue to fund these packages, emboldened by the political clout of their beneficiaries.
Even in states where the laws were repealed, such as Zamfara and Imo, reversals came only after public outrage or changes in political leadership. But without a national policy or enforcement mechanism, the problem persists.
The irony of Nigeria’s situation is hard to ignore: the same politicians who strangled state legislatures to secure lifelong privileges now lead the charge in Abuja to define what federal lawmakers and political appointees should earn. In doing so, they perpetuate a system where public office becomes a ticket to perpetual luxury, while infrastructure crumbles and unemployment soars.
Public outcry over these entitlements often falls on deaf ears. And with no strong legislative opposition or executive check—given the elite camaraderie within the corridors of power, reform remains a distant hope.
Therefore, as the 2027 general elections draw closer, the question facing Nigeria is not just who will lead, but what values those leaders will bring. Will they continue the tradition of self-reward and entitlement? Or will there be a shift toward accountability, public service, and sacrifice?
“The future of Nigeria depends not on what politicians take, but on what they are willing to give,” says Dr. Onuoha. “We need a new generation of leaders who see public office as service, not as spoils of war.”
Until then, Nigeria remains caught in a loop—a democracy in name, but one where the lines between public service and personal enrichment grow ever more blurred.
