In most societies, villains are synonymous with dishonour. Their deeds are chronicled as cautionary tales and moral lessons for generations. But not in ours, where thieves and villains are celebrated as heroes. This troubling national affliction erodes our moral fabric and perpetuates the systemic corruption that confronts us.

Let’s recall a few of these villains. 

Step forward, Diepreye Solomon Peter Alamieyeseigha. His fall from grace began in September 2005, when he was arrested in London on money laundering charges. British authorities discovered £1 million in cash in his London home and additional funds in bank accounts linked to him. Faced with justice, he absconded while on bail, disguised as a woman. His arrival in Yenagoa was met with jubilation—no shame.

Alamieyeseigha, hurled up by his people as the symbol of defiance against repressive postcolonial laws which legitimise injustice melted on the repressed, became the hero of his people who sang his praises and celebrated his great escape. Bayelsans conveniently ignored the fact that he siphoned critical resources needed for development.

Meet James Ibori, whose story is a glorification of criminality. As governor of Delta State, he presided over one of Nigeria’s richest states. His tenure was marked by widespread corruption. When the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) sought to arrest him in 2010, he disappeared and reappeared in his hometown, Oghara, where his people set up bonfires and roadblocks in their attempts to prevent EFCC operatives from seizing him. His people did not consider him as a common thief who had stolen their future; they saw him as a hero who helped them to their shares of the national cake. He later returned to the hero’s welcome of his community after serving his jail term in the United Kingdom.

Enter Yahaya Bello, the former governor of Kogi State, who is currently standing trial for stealing. He is the latest rogue putting up a shameless performance at the parade of villains. On securing bail recently, he made a triumphant return to Kogi State. A moment that should have been for ululation was turned into a spectacle of adulation. Like Alamieyeseigha, like Ibori, he turned his crime into a virtuoso performance applauded by manipulated people.

The affliction of celebrating public thieves is explained by freudenfreude—the pleasure derived from someone else’s good fortunes. For many, our corrupt politicians represent a personal and aspirational ideal that embodies the success and wealth they dream of. Here, corrupt politicians who successfully game the system triumph in gaming, mirroring who they are and reflecting their unfulfilled aspirations. When people see these corrupt politicians, they imagine their eventual successes and celebrate their good fortunes as some fulfilment of their aspirations.

The Stockholm syndrome also offers itself up as some explanation for the affliction. After many years of abuse, our people fall in love with their abusers. This psychological condition sustains what the scholar Octave Mannoni describes as the Caliban Complex. What it means is that people who are complicit in glorifying a culture deepened by patronage stay loyal to those who ruin their lives, maintain love for them through performative ethnic rhetorics like “leave our sons and daughters alone”, and assert their right to steal. The people are thus victims of elites’ manipulation and misrepresentation by themselves of their reality.

While elites’ manipulation excludes the people from the reality that should ordinarily compel them to free themselves from themselves, they misrepresent their own reality and become more conscious of the rights of corrupt politicians while being unconscious of their reality. Because “reality is the criterion for the correctness of thoughts”, they invert their reality and deny themselves the power to change their wretched existence and to deal with those whose sole purpose is to amass private wealth. Since they cannot see what lies as a danger to their existence, they cannot think about their ruined lives because they cannot think about the good life that eludes them.

Nothing explains the complexity of who we are than all of this.

The consequences of celebrating villains as heroes are dire. When our people celebrate rogues, they convey the message that morality and integrity are irrelevant; what matters is wealth, power, and more wealth. Moral values are not imperative to nation-building, nor are they moral compasses pointing to a future that is distinguishable from the past. 

Celebrating corrupt politicians and casting them as heroes has consequences for a country like ours with a poor global reputation struggling to shake the label of fantastically corrupt hung around its neck like Nathaniel Hawthorne’s scarlet letter by the former British Prime Minister, David Cameron. When politicians with questionable ethical records are venerated, it sends a dangerous message that criminality pays. This unfortunate practice erodes the stick-and-carrot methods for incentivising good behaviours and punishing bad behaviours, social conventions, and more that have undergird all human societies in history. 

Our country and its people aren’t alone. In nations like the Philippines, the public glorification of figures like Ferdinand Marcos Jr., despite his family’s history of corruption, illustrates how such practices are perpetuated and written as a culture that legitimises bad behaviours and as precedents for shielding the bad guys from punishments. 

The sadder aspect is the public distortion of the moral order and the perversion of youths who see corruption as the only viable path to success. Glorification compromises ethical reforms, shifting citizens’ interests from hard work and competence to wealth and power as markers of success. When figures like Bello are received as heroes, it reflects a societal failure to prioritise accountability over loyalty. These celebrations create an environment where corruption flourishes as more leaders are emboldened to steal public resources.

For any country to progress, its citizens must learn to become better than the thieving politicians they venerate. Learning must surpass the rote memorisation of morality, truth, and justice. The people must become the tribunes of truth, bearers of justice, and the moral brigade for national renewal in all that they do.

Celebrating thieves as heroes is a national affliction reflecting our moral rot. Corrupt politicians are not heroes; they are criminals who symbolise everything wrong with us- a people who reward criminality and punish innocence. Overcoming the national affliction requires awakening our consciences.

Our country is stuck in a state of moral turpitude; isn’t it time we say, “Enough is enough”?