The Godfather Who Mistook Democracy for Personal Ownership
By Murtala Muhammed Rijiyar Zaki Democracy is, at its most essential, an act of trust. Citizens go to the polls, cast their votes, and place in the hands of an elected individual the authority to govern on their behalf. That authority is borrowed, not given. It is conditional, not absolute. It belongs, in the final and irreducible sense, to the people who granted it, and it must be exercised in their interest, not in the interest of whoever helped engineer its acquisition. This elementary principle, the very foundation upon which every credible democracy in the world is constructed is the principle that Rabi’u Musa Kwankwaso has spent the better part of three decades systematically, deliberately, and quite unapologetically violating. His violation of it is not accidental. It is not the product of ignorance or misunderstanding. It is the logical expression of a political philosophy that has always placed personal ownership above democratic accountability, and godfather authority above the sovereign will of the people. To understand the full weight of this charge, one must first understand what godfatherism actually means in the Nigerian political context, and why it is not merely an inconvenient feature of our democracy but a fundamental corruption of it. Read Also: APC Founded to Drive Change, Reduce Poverty — Tinubu APC Unveils Full NWC List as Yilwatda, Basiru Retain Top Positions Why Engr. Abba Ganduje is Still Needed in Dawakin Tofa Federal Constituency A political godfather, in the Nigerian tradition, is a figure who uses his resources, his organization, and his influence to install candidates in elective office, with the understanding that those candidates, once elected, will govern not primarily in the interest of the electorate but in the interest of the godfather. The elected official becomes, in this arrangement, less a representative of the people and more a proxy for the man who put him there. The voters, in this model, are not principals whose mandate the elected official is obligated to honor. They are a mechanism, a crowd to be mobilized and demobilized at the godfather’s discretion. This is the model that Kwankwaso has perfected, refined, and deployed with extraordinary effectiveness across his political career. He did not invent godfatherism in Nigerian politics. But he has practiced it at a scale, with a sophistication, and with a degree of institutional embedding that sets him apart. Kwankwasiyya is not simply a network of political supporters. It is a parallel governance structure, a shadow system that has operated alongside formal government in Kano State. In this system, real decisions, appointments, and policy directions are filtered through one central authority. The most instructive way to understand this model is to examine what happens when loyalty gives way to independence. The case of Dr. Abdullahi Umar Ganduje is perhaps the most telling. Once a trusted deputy and successor, his decision to govern independently triggered a prolonged political conflict that destabilised Kano’s political environment. That conflict consumed years of political energy, distorted governance, and deepened divisions within the state. Now, the same pattern appears to be repeating itself with Abba Kabir Yusuf. Having risen through the Kwankwasiyya structure, his emergence as governor came with expectations of loyalty and alignment. But governance demands independence and that independence has again been interpreted as betrayal. Yet, what is described as betrayal is, in reality, democracy functioning as it should. The people of Kano did not elect a movement. They elected a man. That mandate belongs to the electorate not to any political benefactor. Kwankwaso’s reaction reflects a deeper issue: the confusion between influence and ownership. When influence begins to demand obedience, democracy begins to erode. To claim betrayal in such a context is to suggest that public office is privately owned, a notion fundamentally incompatible with democratic principles. The scholarship programme, often cited as a major achievement, must also be viewed within this framework. While it delivered real educational benefits, it also created a structure of political loyalty and expectation. Beneficiaries were not just students, they became part of a political machinery, bound by obligation as much as opportunity. There is also the broader impact on governance. Where loyalty to a political patron outweighs accountability to the people, decision-making becomes distorted. Appointments reflect allegiance rather than competence. Policies serve networks rather than citizens. Over time, these distortions accumulate into systemic underdevelopment. Kano’s structural challenges ranges from unemployment, industrial decline, and dependence on federal allocations, cannot be separated from this governance model. They reflect the long-term consequences of a system that has been accountable to the wrong authority. True political mentorship offers a different model. A mentor builds leaders who can stand independently, govern effectively, and serve the public interest without external control. By that standard, the pattern observed here reflects not mentorship, but dependency. The people of Kano have a right to leadership that is accountable solely to them. They have a right to a governor whose primary obligation is the mandate they granted at the ballot box. Anything less undermines the very essence of democracy. Governor Abba Kabir Yusuf’s insistence on governing independently is not a betrayal. It is a reaffirmation of democratic principles. It is the system working as it should. For decades, Kwankwaso has built a political movement, but in doing so, appears to have mistaken that movement for a mandate. Organisational strength is not the same as democratic legitimacy. Mobilising support is not equivalent to owning authority. Nigeria’s democracy remains under pressure from forces that seek to convert public office into private control. But each assertion of independence by elected officials represents a step away from that model. Kano does not belong to any individual. It belongs to its people. And the continued insistence on that truth is what will ultimately define the state’s democratic future.
