By Uzu Okagbue
There is something fundamentally misplaced in the way we sometimes discuss public leadership in Nigeria: we turn the record of government into a morality tale in which a politician must present himself as having done everything right, left nothing unfinished, incurred no meaningful obligation and handed over an administration with every conceivable account perfectly settled.
That is not how government works.
Political office is legitimately sought by people with different kinds of records. Some come with extensive public-sector experience. Others come from business, professional life, academia or other fields without having previously occupied elective office. Neither category is inherently disqualified from seeking office. The real democratic question is what each person has done, what each has learnt, what each proposes to do differently and what capacity they can demonstrate for the responsibilities they seek.
But there is an important distinction between having a record one is proud of and presenting oneself as a record without mistakes. The latter is not a serious standard of public leadership.
Every substantial administration encounters unfinished projects, competing priorities, contractual commitments, inherited obligations, fiscal constraints and decisions that, with hindsight, could have been made differently. That is not necessarily evidence of failure. In many instances, it is simply evidence that government is a continuing institution operating in an imperfect world.
Indeed, one of the most basic principles of government is continuity.
A state does not begin again every four or eight years because a new person occupies the Government House. Government assets remain government assets. Contracts properly entered into remain obligations of government. Projects do not automatically lose their legitimacy because their initiator has left office. Debt contracted lawfully for public purposes does not become the personal debt of the former office-holder simply because another administration inherits the responsibility for servicing it.
This is why the political language surrounding “outstanding obligations” and “loans” requires considerably more sophistication than the slogans usually employed around it.
There is a world of difference between reckless borrowing, improperly incurred liabilities and legitimate public borrowing undertaken to finance infrastructure or other government purposes.
There is also a difference between an unpaid obligation and a debt that is being serviced according to an agreed repayment schedule. There is a difference between money borrowed for a productive public purpose and money borrowed without a credible economic justification. And there is a difference between cash sitting in an account and the fiscal position of an entire government. These distinctions matter.
The current controversy over what was inherited at a particular gubernatorial handover illustrates precisely why absolute political claims deserve scrutiny rather than applause. The former governor has disputed allegations that his administration left outstanding debts and obligations, while the present administration has maintained that it continues to service obligations inherited from previous governments. Those are competing factual claims that should ultimately be resolved through financial records, loan agreements, audited accounts, payment schedules and other documentary evidence; not through the theatrical certainty of political declarations. And this is where the logic of the argument becomes particularly interesting.
If someone says, in effect, “I left sufficient funds, incurred no outstanding obligations and everything was settled,” then the obvious question is not merely whether the statement sounds impressive. The obvious question is: What exactly happened to the obligations that subsequently had to be serviced?
If sufficient unrestricted funds were genuinely available at handover, and if there were legitimate outstanding obligations, why were those obligations not settled from those funds where doing so was legally and fiscally appropriate?
Conversely, if the funds were legally restricted, earmarked for particular projects or otherwise unavailable for general expenditure, then that should be explained clearly. A government cannot simply take money designated for one public purpose and retrospectively treat it as a general-purpose cash balance.
This is why serious public financial analysis requires more than announcing a figure for “savings” or declaring that there was “no debt.”
What was the cash position? What were the committed funds? What were the contingent liabilities? What loans existed? What were their purposes? What were their repayment terms? What had already been paid? What remained payable? Which obligations were legally due at the point of handover? Which funds were restricted? Which projects were ongoing? And what did the audited financial records actually show?
Those are the questions that matter. Not the volume of the declaration.
And certainly not the extraordinary suggestion that the discovery of a contrary financial fact years after leaving office would somehow justify abandoning a presidential campaign.
That is where political rhetoric begins to become almost comic.
A presidential campaign is supposed to be a proposition about the future of a country: how the candidate intends to govern, what lessons previous experience has produced, what policies will change, what institutions will be strengthened, how resources will be allocated and how the candidate proposes to produce better outcomes.
It should not become a wager on whether an individual can construct a narrative of governmental perfection around a previous tenure.
No serious administrator can reasonably claim that every obligation encountered during an eight-year administration was settled, every project conceived was completed, every policy decision was optimal, every financial commitment disappeared and every possible problem was resolved before leaving office.
That is not the standard by which functioning governments should be judged.
The more credible standard is considerably harder, and much more intellectually respectable:
What did you inherit? What did you accomplish? What did you fail to accomplish? What did you get wrong? What did you learn? What obligations did you leave? Why did you leave them? Were they legitimate? How were they documented? And, most importantly, what would you do differently with greater authority and experience?
That is how mature democracies interrogate leadership.
A politician who previously held office should not be required to prove that his administration was flawless. He should be required to explain its record honestly.
A newcomer should not be required to manufacture an immaculate history. He should be required to demonstrate capacity, judgment and a credible programme for governing.
And neither should be allowed to hide behind slogans.
The real contest in 2027 should therefore not be about who can make the most absolute claim about yesterday. It should be about who can provide the clearest account of yesterday and the most convincing explanation of tomorrow. *Because government is not a photograph taken on the day of handover*. It is a relay.
One administration receives institutions, assets, projects, revenues, debts, contracts, problems and opportunities from another. It makes choices with them, creates new obligations and leaves another administration to continue the process. That is the nature of the state.
Therefore, legitimate government obligations inherited by a succeeding administration are not, by themselves, evidence of the failure of the preceding administration. Equally, the mere existence of such obligations does not automatically make them legitimate or prudent. They must be examined according to their origin, purpose, legality, utilisation, repayment structure and effect on the public finances.
That is the adult conversation.
Anything less reduces the extraordinarily complicated business of governing a state to a contest of declarations.
And perhaps that is the most important lesson from this entire episode:
Public leadership is not made more credible by claiming never to have made a mistake. It becomes more credible when a leader can account for the decisions made, acknowledge the limitations encountered, explain the unfinished business and demonstrate why the next opportunity to lead would produce a better result.
That is a far more demanding test than saying, “Find anything contrary and I will stop campaigning.”
The presidency of a country, or even the governorship of a state; is too consequential to be reduced to such a wager.
The electorate deserves something much more serious: evidence, accountability, institutional understanding and a coherent plan for what comes next.
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