HASSAN AHMAD
On June 12, as millions of Nigerians endured hunger, insecurity, and despair, the nation’s elected representatives gathered under the full glare of cameras and chanted songs in praise of the President: “On your mandate we stand.” It was meant to be a celebration of democracy, but what many of us saw was an insult to the blood, sweat, and suffering of ordinary citizens. We watched with tears in our eyes and pain in our hearts, not because we do not understand democracy, but because the democracy we see today is no longer about the people. It is about the survival of a privileged few who live in comfort while the rest of us perish.
How can any sensible person celebrate when children are being kidnapped on their way to school? How do you sing songs of praise while mothers are widowed daily, and entire communities in Sokoto, Zamfara, Katsina, Kebbi, and Kaduna are sacked by bandits and terrorists? What is there to rejoice about when 100,000 naira, which used to buy basic food items, can now barely purchase a ram for Eid sacrifice? Are our politicians so disconnected from reality that they think chanting and dancing will distract us from the tragedy unfolding across this land?
Let us be clear: democracy is not a song. It is not a parade. It is not a carefully staged television performance in the hallowed chambers of the National Assembly. Democracy is a system of government built on accountability, service, and the will of the people. If our leaders truly understand democracy, they should know that June 12 is a day for solemn reflection, not shallow celebration.
The Nigeria of today is not the Nigeria envisioned by MKO Abiola, whose sacrifice we claim to honor on June 12. Abiola died for a dream: that power must come from the people and work for the people. Today, that dream is being mocked by the very leaders who claim to defend it. We have elections, but no security. We have a National Assembly, but no national vision. We have leaders in agbadas and sirens, but no leadership in action.
Ask the people of Isa or Rabah in Sokoto State. Ask the displaced villagers of Zamfara or the orphans of Birnin Gwari in Kaduna. Ask the hungry masses in Yauri or Argungu. Democracy to them is just a word. The ballot has given them no bread. Their votes have brought no water, no schools, no clinics, no peace. What democracy are we celebrating when citizens are forced to choose between being killed at home or dying in the bush?
Farmers can no longer access their lands. Markets are unsafe. Schools are shut. Even security officers, our last line of defense, are being attacked and killed. And yet, instead of mourning, we celebrate. Instead of demanding answers, we applaud those who have failed us.
This June 12 should have been a moment for leaders to look Nigerians in the eye and say: “We have failed, and we will do better.” But humility is scarce in Nigeria’s corridors of power. Rather than service, they offer spectacle. Rather than solutions, they offer songs. And what is worse, they do so while the nation bleeds.
We must ask ourselves: is this democracy sustainable? Can any nation survive when its government is so clearly detached from its people? Can we call ourselves a republic when the cries of the hungry are drowned by the cheers of the elite?
June 12 has become a symbol — not of freedom, but of betrayal. It reminds us that we fought for democracy, only to be handed a system where the people are seen only during elections and forgotten afterwards. The National Assembly, which should be the conscience of the nation, has become a theater of sycophancy. The state governments, instead of defending their people, issue empty statements while the ground is burning.
We cannot continue this way. If there is any meaning left in our democracy, it must begin with truth. And the truth is that Nigerians are angry. We are tired. We are broken. We are asking questions that deserve answers: Why are our communities not safe? Why is there no potable water in 2025? Why are we paying more but receiving less? Why do our leaders live like kings while the people sleep in fear?
Democracy must return to its roots — to the people. It must be built on justice, equality, and empathy. Leadership must mean service, not ceremony. Our elections must not be the end of engagement, but the beginning of responsibility. We must reawaken the moral conscience of our leaders, or else this democracy will collapse under the weight of its own hypocrisy.
To those in power, know this: Nigerians are watching. The tears of the poor may not make the headlines, but they are sacred. The cries of the displaced may be ignored in Abuja, but they echo in heaven. One day, the reckoning will come — and history will not forgive those who chose praise-singing over problem-solving.
Let June 12 be a wake-up call. Not a song.
