By Dr Kabiru Danladi Lawanti.
Some of us are compelled to remain onlookers in the power game of Nigerian politics. In that position, we increasingly find ourselves appreciating the enduring relevance of Niccolò Machiavelli, the Italian diplomat and political thinker. Machiavelli is perhaps one of the most misunderstood figures in political history.
His name has become shorthand for cruelty, deception, and ruthless ambition. Yet this caricature obscures the deeper intellectual project of his most famous work, The Prince. When the book was written, many assumed Machiavelli was offering a manual for villains.
In reality, he was presenting an unsentimental diagnosis of power as it actually operates. Read critically, The Prince is less a celebration of immorality than a warning about the dangerous gap between moral ideals and political reality.
As citizens and students of media studies, observing the Nigerian political environment often feels like watching a chapter of The Prince performed in real time. Politics here is not a moral arena. Our version of politics—competitive as it may appear—is a system shaped by fear, ambition, insecurity, and survival. Those who approach it assuming goodwill, fairness, or shared ethical commitments often become casualties of their own innocence.
In this, we see a replay of Machiavelli’s enduring relevance. He refused to disguise this reality in his writing, and today that same reality unfolds before our eyes. I will not cite specific examples; however, a careful reading of this essay should make the point unmistakably clear.
Daily, we witness the collapse of fairness as a governing principle, even among those we once assumed would uphold it. Fairness presumes reciprocity, restraint, and trust—conditions that are rarely stable in Nigerian political life. Nigeria’s political system exemplifies Machiavelli’s insight that rules do not restrain power equally; rather, they tend to protect those who already dominate. When circumstances change, rules are ignored, bent, or rewritten. Insisting on fairness within such a system is a form of structural vulnerability.
This explains why politicians move effortlessly from one party to another without conscience or principle. It is why Nigerian politicians “learn how not to be good.” In its literal sense, there is no “good politician.” As unsettling as this claim may sound, it challenges the comforting illusion that moral intention guarantees political success. In Machiavelli’s world, rigid virtue becomes a liability when others operate without restraint.
This realism is grounded in a sharp understanding of the average Nigerian psyche by the political class. Consider Machiavelli’s famous assertion that it is better to be feared than loved. Observe our politicians—from local councillors to the highest office in the land—and the pattern is unmistakable. Cruelty, at its most refined, is often on display.
For me, this behaviour reflects psychological calculation rather than moral endorsement. Love for politicians is voluntary and unstable. Many Nigerians refuse to love any politician at all; others merely pretend to. Love or hatred depends on sentiment, assumed loyalty, and gratitude—all of which fade under pressure. Fear, by contrast, is predictable. It structures behaviour even when emotions change.
Machiavelli does not advocate indiscriminate terror; he explicitly warns against hatred, recognising that fear without hatred preserves control, while hatred breeds resistance and eventual collapse. This distinction explains why Nigerian politicians obsess over “stability”—by aligning with the ruling party—rather than risking the chaos of opposition.
Equally modern is Machiavelli’s obsession with appearances. Long before mass media, he grasped a truth that defines contemporary politics: power does not need to be moral; it needs to appear moral. Most people judge leaders by outcomes, symbols, and performances rather than processes or intentions. We have seen how some governors, for instance, deploy this tactic—sometimes even for positive ends. Public rituals, religious gestures, patriotic language, and carefully managed reputations generate legitimacy even when private conduct contradicts public virtue. In this sense, Machiavelli anticipates modern political communication, propaganda, and image management. Reality matters less than perception, and perception itself becomes a form of power. This is particularly evident when one observes our governors, ministers, and representatives.
One of the most dangerous misinterpretations of Machiavelli is reading him as promoting a particular personality type—the ruthless strongman. This misses the structural dimension of his analysis. Machiavelli was less concerned with personal wickedness than with systemic pressure. Political systems reward certain behaviours and punish others. Where institutions are weak, loyalty replaces competence, survival overrides accountability, and power concentrates around individuals rather than rules. In such environments, ruthlessness is not a moral choice but an adaptation. Leaders who refuse to adapt are often removed by those who do. In this sense, Machiavelli resembles a sociologist more than a moral nihilist.
When you observe the average Nigerian politician—even those who have never heard of The Prince—you see a preference for loyalty, survival, and personal networks over abstract principles.
In Europe and North America, where institutions are stronger and more predictable, Machiavelli’s insights may appear excessive. This explains why Machiavellian thought resurfaces most vividly in fragile democracies, authoritarian states, and post-conflict societies. Where institutions are weak and power is personalised, his realism feels uncomfortably accurate.
Machiavelli thrives where law lacks enforcement and morality lacks protection.Incentives, rather than ideals, guide the average Nigerian politician. Whether in the PDP or APC, it is the structure of incentives—not personal virtue—that shapes political behaviour. Those who truly understand Machiavelli are not morally “evil”; they simply refuse to be naïve. Politicians who change parties or abandon their godfathers are not necessarily morally bankrupt—they have merely chosen survival over innocence.
Understand this, and you may find peace. In the political—and indeed life—chess game, if you cannot identify who is manipulating the board and only notice the expendable pawns being moved around, then you are one of the pawns.
#Happy new year 2026
Happy 2027 Campaign Year
