Nigerians are angry.

Angry with the government. Angry with our leaders. Angry with those in positions of power who have failed to discharge their responsibilities honourably and have failed the nation in the process.

And honestly, I understand the anger because there is a lot to be angry about.

Hmmm….

Recently, an acquaintance was complaining bitterly about the abysmal state of affairs in this country. When I asked her if she participated in the #EndSARS protests, her response was as swift as it was supercilious.

“Ah, me ke? For what?! This country is not worth dying for o!”

Ok o, I hear you. So do you at least have your PVC?

She threw back her head and laughed as if I had just cracked the most hilarious joke.

“PVC for what? The elections are going to be rigged as usual, so what’s the point in stressing myself to vote?”

Hmmm….

Underlying the widespread feeling of apathy is the overwhelming public sentiment that there is no longer any hope for our country.

“Nigeria is finished!”

“This country is screwed. You better japa while you can!”

“F** the government! F*** our leaders!”

Again, I get it. The state of affairs in Nigeria is so disheartening. And much of the blame lies with the government and our political leaders.

But I have a few questions for us to ponder.

Who is “the government”?

Who are “our leaders”?

We often talk about “the government” as though it is some amorphous group of aliens or extra-terrestrial beings sent from another planet to invade and destroy our nation.

But the truth is, government is made up of human beings. Nigerians like you and me. Ordinary people who emerge from among us.

They are us. We are them.

We the people, we are the government.

So, my brothers and sisters, this is where things get rather uncomfortable.

Because if we are honest with ourselves, we have to admit that the problem is not simply that there are too many corrupt people in government.

The problem is that there are too many corrupt people in our country.

In your office. In your place of worship. In your social club. In your home.

Perhaps even in the reflection in your mirror.

Oops, did I touch a nerve?

Before you get offended, let me pose a more pointed question:

Do you consider yourself to be corrupt?

Chances are, your immediate answer is an emphatic NO!

Most of us would recoil at the suggestion. We are not corrupt. Them? Yes. Us? Absolutely not.

But consider this:

If you break a traffic law and give the LASTMA official N500 to look the other way, what exactly is that?

If you “incentivise” a government official to secure a contract or facilitate a permit, what is that?

If you misappropriate your employer’s funds because you have figured out how to get away with it, what exactly is that please?

The truth is, we have become remarkably creative with the language we use to describe these things.

When it does not benefit us, we call it corruption.

When it benefits us, we call it connection.

An oga at the top uses their position to favour someone else over us? That’s corruption.

Our own “person” makes a phone call and gets us something we could never have got through the normal process? That’s connection.

Someone pays a bribe to jump the queue? Corruption.

When we know someone who can help us jump that same queue? Connection.

An elected official uses public resources to enrich his friends and supporters? Definitely corruption.

Our brother in government helps us facilitate that juicy contract that changes our fortunes overnight? Ah ah, that one na connection na!

Hmmm….

Is it possible that we don’t hate corruption as much as we claim?

Perhaps what we really hate is being on the losing side of the game.

Now, that is an even more uncomfortable thought.

But maybe we need to sit with it.

Because where do we imagine the selfless, incorruptible leaders who will transform this country are going to come from?

Mars? The moon? Some mystical land?

Nope.

So sorry, but our leaders emerge from among us.

They are from the same society in which we live. They grew up in our neighbourhoods. They attended our schools. They worship at our churches and mosques. They have friends and loved ones, just like we do.

Of course, this does not absolve anyone who holds public office of responsibility for their actions.

Quite the opposite. The greater the power entrusted to you, the greater your responsibility to use it honourably.

We should demand accountability from our leaders. We should expect transparency. We should insist on competent institutions and consequences for wrongdoing.

But we also need to stop pretending that the rot begins and ends in government.

Because it doesn’t.

It runs through the entire society.

From the top down. And from the bottom up.

We keep talking about the need for “good leadership” as though once the right people get into government, everything else will magically fall into place.

But what if the real problem is that we have collectively become accustomed to putting personal interest ahead of the greater good?

What if the reason the system keeps producing the same crop of self-serving leaders is because we continue to perpetuate the same broken values at all levels of society?

What if we are holding the people at the top to a standard of integrity that we ourselves are unwilling to adhere to?

This is not an argument for giving our leaders a free pass. Rather, it is an argument for recognizing that those who are looting our commonwealth will continue to go scot-free until we revoke the free pass we have given ourselves.

Lamenting about Nigeria has become a national pastime.

We complain. We curse. We criticise. We catastrophise.

And yet, when it is our turn to make a small choice between what is right and what is expedient, we too often choose the latter.

We cannot keep doing the same thing and expecting a different outcome.

The fact is, nothing will change until we all change.

Not just the leaders. Not just the politicians. Not just “the government.”

All of us.

In our offices. On the roads. In the markets. At the ballot box.

In the way we do business.

In the way we treat people who cannot do anything for us.

In the choices we make when doing the right thing costs us something.

Because lament all you want, nations are not transformed by angry Facebook posts and indignant WhatsApp forwards.

They are transformed by people.

People who decide that this country will not go to ruin, not on my watch.

People who decide that they will not participate in the very thing they condemn when someone else does it.

People who decide that integrity cannot be conditional on whether the outcome benefits them.

It may sound idealistic. Perhaps it is. But what is the alternative?

To continue shouting that Nigeria is finished while waiting for somebody else to fix it?

To continue blaming “the government” without examining the society that produces the people in government?

Unfortunately, we cannot outsource our redemption to anyone else. We are going to have to do the work ourselves.

So perhaps the question we need to ask ourselves now is not simply:

“When will Nigeria change?”

Perhaps it is:

“When will we change?”

We the people.

Kemi Ogunleye has a 20-year track record in marketing communications and brand strategy, spanning key industries in Nigeria, United States of America, and Europe.