ABUJA, NIGERIA — In the rough and tumble of Nigerian public discourse, few figures have attracted as much commentary as Nasir el-Rufai, the former Minister of the Federal Capital Territory and former Governor of Kaduna State. On this page, I have praised him for his work in the FCT, where he left an indelible mark on the capital’s infrastructure and urban planning.
But praise, like criticism, must be measured. The same el-Rufai who bulldozed illegal structures and restored order to Abuja is the same el-Rufai who has, in recent years, become a lightning rod for controversy, his rhetoric often outpacing his accomplishments and his alliances shifting with the political tides.
The phrase “eating them young” captures something essential about how Nigeria treats its political leaders. We elevate them to dizzying heights, celebrate their every achievement, and then, with equal fervour, tear them down. It is a cycle that has claimed countless careers and left the political landscape littered with the wreckage of once-promising leaders. El-Rufai is merely the latest in a long line of figures who have experienced both the warmth of national adulation and the chill of public opprobrium.
Yet there is a deeper issue here than the fate of one man. The tendency to “eat them young” reflects a broader immaturity in our political culture. We lack the institutional memory to assess leaders on the basis of their full record, rather than their most recent headline. We confuse criticism with condemnation, and praise with canonisation. We demand perfection from our leaders while tolerating mediocrity in our systems.
El-Rufai’s tenure in the FCT was marked by bold, sometimes controversial decisions. He demolished illegal structures, reformed land administration, and sought to impose order on a city that had long resisted it. For these efforts, he earned both admiration and enmity. His critics accused him of high-handedness and insensitivity to the plight of the poor. His supporters praised him for his courage and vision.
Both perspectives contain elements of truth. That is the nature of governance in a complex, rapidly urbanising society. What is missing is the willingness to hold these contradictions together, to acknowledge that a leader can be both effective and flawed, both visionary and imperious.
The same complexity applies to el-Rufai’s tenure as governor of Kaduna State. He pursued ambitious reforms in education, health, and infrastructure, but his approach often alienated key stakeholders and deepened political divisions. His rhetoric, particularly on issues of ethnicity and religion, sometimes inflamed tensions rather than calming them.
None of this is to excuse or condemn. It is simply to observe that the “eat them young” approach to politics serves no one well. It discourages talented Nigerians from entering public service, knowing that their reputations will be shredded the moment they stumble. It rewards those who play it safe and punishes those who take risks. And it leaves the electorate with a binary choice between saints and villains, when the reality is almost always more complicated.
Perhaps the greatest challenge facing Nigerian democracy is not the quality of its leaders but the maturity of its citizens. Can we learn to judge our leaders on the basis of evidence rather than emotion? Can we hold them accountable without demonising them? Can we celebrate their achievements without overlooking their flaws?
These are not easy questions. But they are the questions that will determine whether Nigeria’s democracy matures or remains trapped in a cycle of adulation and vilification. For now, el-Rufai remains a case study in the perils of Nigerian politics: a man who has been both praised and pilloried, and who will ultimately be judged by history, not by the fleeting passions of the moment.
