Introduction
Nigeria has perfected a ritual
that feels suspiciously like a parody of the sacred. A politician long burdened
by allegations suddenly “sees the light,” crosses over to the ruling party, and
emerges reborn. Their sins are forgiven. Cameras flash! Party elders beam! President’s
MANDATE booms in National Assembly! A press statement declares the defector a
“man of integrity,” as though integrity were a garment one acquires at the
point of entry.
This is not politics. It is a
misconception of the term absolution. It is theatre disguised as sacrament. A
confessional without confession. A redemption without remorse.
Within Catholicism and most Christian
denominations, absolution depends on genuine contrition. However, in Nigeria's
political context, absolution is often interpreted as simply switching
allegiance to the party in power.
The Theology of Power
The president is often hailed as
“master strategist,” a phrase that has evolved into something more mystical
than political. In the mouths of certain party loyalists, he becomes a kind of
secular high priest, one whose acceptance alone can cleanse a politician’s
past.
This is where malapropisms
become instruments of power. Leaders speak of “forgiveness” when they mean
“forgetfulness,” of “cleansing” when they mean “covering,” of “reconciliation”
when they mean “realignment.” The language is not accidental. It is alchemy. It
transforms political expediency into moral rebirth.
The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.
An evil soul producing holy witness
Is like a villain with a smiling cheek,
A goodly apple rotten at the heart:
O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!
- William Shakespeare – The Merchant of Venice
Lancelot’s Legacy: Shakespeare’s Fool and Nigeria’s Political Tongues
Shakespeare gave us Lancelot
Gobbo in The Merchant of Venice, a character whose malapropisms were
both comic and revealing. Lancelot mangled words with confidence, reaching for
grandeur but landing in absurdity. His linguistic errors exposed his confusion,
his desire to impress, and his struggle to navigate power.
Nigeria’s political class often
channels this same energy. But unlike Lancelot, their malapropisms are not
harmless. They shape public perception. They sanctify political manoeuvres.
They turn linguistic error into ideological cover. When a leader declares that
defectors have been “absolved,” (or “your sins are forgiven” as publicly
declared by one of the ruling party’s senators), the misuse of religious
vocabulary is not a slip; it is a questionable strategy.
The Genie of Immunity
The metaphor of the “political
genie” is painfully proper. A genie grants wishes without moral judgment. In
Nigeria’s political imagination, the ruling party grants immunity without
accountability.
The wish is simple: Join us,
and your past disappears.
This is not forgiveness. It is
laundering. It is the transformation of corruption into loyalty through the
magic of political proximity. Like all magic tricks, it relies on misdirection:
linguistic, symbolic, and moral.
The Cost of This Comedy
The tragedy is not that
politicians misuse language. The tragedy is that citizens have grown accustomed
to it. When malapropisms become political doctrine, when defection becomes
redemption, when power becomes pardon, a nation begins to lose its moral
vocabulary. And once language collapses, accountability follows.
Conclusion
A nation deserves more than this
linguistic laundering. Nigeria cannot continue to treat political defection as
an immunity and malapropisms as moral cover. A democracy cannot survive on the
promise that “your sins are forgiven” simply because you have chosen the right
side of power. The country deserves leaders who speak with clarity, act with
integrity, and understand that absolution belongs to the realm of the sacred, not
the machinery of the state. Until then, the nation remains trapped in a theatre
where the jokes are no longer funny, and the consequences are no longer
abstract.
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