Almost every day on social media, Nigerians vent their frustrations at the political class, especially at elected representatives who, in the eyes of the people, consistently fail to meet their expectations. Amidst this storm of grievances, one comment recently caught my attention and introduced a refreshing perspective. He declared: “If the wise ones refuse to aspire for the position of leadership, they will be led by the wisdom of fools.” The remark electrified the conversation, evoking nods of approval, strings of emojis, and an air of vindication among many who feel betrayed by those in power.
Yet, another voice challenged this seemingly profound observation, retorting that “the wise ones hardly have the money to win elections in Nigeria.” The sharpness of this counterpoint made me interject, half-sarcastically, with a question: “Does this mean that all the rich are foolish and all the wise are poor? Is wisdom now a monopoly of the broke?” His response, shallow and unconvincing, compelled me to reflect more deeply on the assumptions behind these kinds of sweeping statements.
I began to write down my concerns. I am deeply uncomfortable with the arrogance of claiming superior morality, intelligence, or character simply because one is outside the corridors of power. Yes, there are individuals of extraordinary academic brilliance and moral conviction who are not in politics, but leadership is not merely an academic exercise. Integrity and character are not products of university degrees, and Nigeria offers painful evidence: professors have been implicated in election rigging, scholars in corruption, and academics in the same moral compromises we criticize in politicians. If the ivory tower cannot cleanse itself, what moral authority do its members have to cast stones at others?
The real question, then, is this: on what basis do we presume that those outside government are inherently wiser than those within? To me, this reeks of misdiagnosis. The challenge in Nigeria is not a moral inferiority of individuals in power, but a defective structure—a social orientation and political system so corrupt that even the best of us risk being tainted once inside it. It is less about the personal failings of leaders and more about the values, expectations, and pressures that define leadership in our society.
But human beings are rarely guided by structural logic alone. We lean on emotions, stereotypes, and simplistic dichotomies, such as “wise outsiders” versus “foolish insiders.” These binaries are seductive because they flatter the powerless with a sense of superiority while demonizing those in authority. Yet, they are superficial, petty, and incapable of advancing the conversations we desperately need about governance, transformational leadership, and the eradication of corruption and poverty.
The claim that politicians are dull while outsiders are smart overlooks a crucial reality: Nigeria has produced some of its finest minds in politics—individuals gifted not just with book knowledge but with political acumen, conflict resolution skills, and an uncanny ability to navigate the complexities of governing a diverse, divided society. Many of these competencies are not taught in classrooms or corporate offices but acquired through experience, community engagement, and the bruising rigors of politics itself.
I often find myself respecting politicians more than the average netizen is willing to admit. Consider this: despite the torrents of insults, malice, and inflammatory rhetoric that define our social media and marketplace debates, Nigerian politicians somehow keep the country together. Take, for instance, the highly divisive Tax Reform Bill that stirred regional rivalry and digital warfare between “South” and “North.” While online warriors sharpened their ethnic knives, politicians, in their own messy way, managed to compromise and move the nation forward. Compare that to the hostility and lack of civility between the camps of Peter Obi and Bola Tinubu supporters online, where insults replaced dialogue and ethnic loyalty substituted for reason. If the self-proclaimed “wise” are so enlightened, why is social media often the least civil and most toxic arena?
Even the metric we often use to define wisdom—formal education—is deceptive. Intelligence and insight are not the exclusive property of those with certificates. Many clerics, traditional rulers, and grassroots leaders without university degrees display moral clarity, intellectual depth, and wisdom far surpassing that of professors and PhDs. Ironically, it is not uncommon for politicians and academics alike to seek counsel from these same “uneducated” clerics, proof that wisdom cannot be monopolized by any single social group.
The much-cited quote about the wise refusing leadership also echoes Plato’s “Ship of Fools” allegory in The Republic, where he warns of the dangers of governance without expertise. Plato argued that when the wise refuse to take charge, society risks being governed by incompetence. The statement is compelling in its warning, yet also flawed in its elitist undertone, implying that wisdom belongs only to a few. Modern leadership theory suggests otherwise: effective leadership requires empathy, communication, adaptability, and the humility to serve—not just abstract wisdom. Concentrating power in the hands of “the wise” without accountability risks authoritarianism, just as democracy’s weakness lies in its tendency to favor popularity over competence.
Octavia Butler, in her prophetic way, captured the dilemma well when she wrote: “Choose your leaders with wisdom and forethought. To be led by a coward is to be controlled by all that the coward fears. To be led by a fool is to be led by the opportunists who control the fool.” Her insight reinforces the stakes of leadership, while reminding us that the qualities we need go far beyond academic accolades or moral self-praise.
What troubles me most is how educated Nigerians often weaponize these arguments to demean the so-called “illiterates” who dominate electoral outcomes. They forget that democracy, by design, prioritizes popularity, influence, and collective validation over self-proclaimed wisdom. It is one thing to be right in theory and another to be accepted by the majority. To sneer at the masses as “fools” is to misunderstand both democracy and humanity itself. Intelligence is relative; every individual possesses a unique gift worthy of respect. To arrogantly assign foolishness to whole groups of people is less a sign of wisdom than of conceit.
At its core, Nigeria’s crisis of governance is not about whether the “wise” or the “fools” hold power, but about a society whose standards and values are fundamentally broken. Leaders and followers alike are entangled in a culture that glorifies wealth over integrity, celebrates power over fairness, and pressures those in office to bend principles in exchange for loyalty and legitimacy. Communities themselves often demand favors that violate fairness, while mocking civil servants who remain poor as victims of “karma.” Under such conditions, even the noblest leader is forced to swim against a tide of systemic corruption.
Perhaps, then, the real wisdom is not in merely condemning leaders as “fools” or glorifying outsiders as “wise,” but in collectively interrogating the system that corrupts us all. Wisdom is not the monopoly of the classroom or the corridors of power, but a shared responsibility—a resource that society must nurture, respect, and demand at every level if we are ever to see true change.
Mohammed can be reached at bagudumohammed15197@gmail.com and 07034943575
