Monday
June 22, 2009 |
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At the inauguration of Nigeria’s
latest experiment with “democracy,” the 109 members of the Senate sought
to thrash out a question of protocol: How were the members of the senior
legislative body to be addressed? The president and governors had taken
“His Excellency.” Members of the House of Representatives and state
lawmakers had snatched up “Honorable.” What, then, were senators to be
called?
After much thought – or, just as likely, little thought – the choice was
made. Each member was to be called “Distinguished Senator”.
In much of the world, language has some content behind it, some
discernible relationship between it and experience. If you heard
somebody described as a distinguished anything, odds are you’d find some
measure of distinction (if not an aspiration to greatness) in his or her
resume.
But Nigerian senators, even those who had never moved a single motion in
their lives, were content to luxuriate in the grandiloquent appellation
of “distinguished senator.” You didn’t find enough sober men in that
chamber to warn their colleagues of the silliness of inflicting such
parodic praise tag on themselves.
Once this question of protocol was settled, the senators seemed to
settle into a collective slumber. You could never guess from their
lassitude that Nigeria and Nigerians faced grave problems that required
the application of sharp legislative attention.
When I state that these senators sleep, I make that claim literally.
Anybody who’s watched a live session of the Senate (or the House of
Representatives) is immediately struck by the preponderance of empty
seats. The proceeding is often marked by an absence of seriousness. Each
member’s lumbering speech is punctuated by references to “Distinguished
Senator This” and “Distinguished Senator That.”
Our senators awakened from their distinguished sleep only when they
dreamed up another perk, privilege or preferment they felt themselves
entitled to. They gallivanted around the world, their focus fixed on fat
allowances and their opportunity to bask in the comforts available in
countries run by men and women of superior imagination, disciplined
vision, and trained acumen.
How many Nigerians would be able to name three things their senators
have done since 1999 to significantly improve the quality of life in the
country? I bet few, if any. Yes, the legislature finally swept aside
former President Olusegun Obasanjo’s ambition to re-write the
constitution in order to award himself another four-year ride as
president. Yet, they seemed to act only after Nigerians established
their outrage, and only after many in their number had pocketed tens of
millions of naira in slush funds to approve Obasanjo’s illicit gambit?
A week ago, two reporters at this newspaper, Idris Akinbajo and Elor
Nkereuwem, wrote an investigative report that unmasked Nigeria’s current
crop of senators for the mediocrities they are. The report, simply
captioned “The Senate’s scorecard,” revealed that the Senate had passed
only 15 bills in more than two years. This paltry output represents what
the reporters aptly described as “a miserable five percent” of the 284
Bills that came before the legislative body.
I don’t care what your line of work is: any employee who completes a
mere five percent of his or her assigned tasks is a failure. Such an
employee would be an eminent candidate for rustication.
Not, however, if you happen to be a Nigerian senator. In the perverted
logic of the Senate, five percent performance is a mark of distinction.
Sometimes it appears as if nothing shocks Nigerians anymore. But NEXT’s
enterprising reporters gave their readers a factoid that ought to get
every citizen in a fit of rage: these do-little legislators with
out-sized egos have collected N56 billion for their wretched service.
That’s N4 billion naira per bill passed! Each year, each member of this
inept, decrepit Senate hauls home N192 million in so-called
“constituency allowance,” another scam, pure and simple.
It’s robbery in the hallowed name of lawmaking. No nation – much less
one like Nigeria, beset by a myriad of deep and worsening crises –
should abide this callous looting and disservice by men and women bereft
of moral restraint or legislative sagacity.
Labor leader Denja Yaqub called it right when he told NEXT that the
legislators “make progress when it comes to fraud, when it comes to
corruption, when it comes to stealing public funds, but they don’t make
progress on what they are supposed to be doing.”
Last year, Nigerian schools were shut for several weeks because the
Umaru Yar’Adua government would not guarantee a living wage to teachers.
As usual, the National Assembly dozed off as children dawdled at home
and teachers were mocked by the then Minister of Education.
Labor, student and other professional groups should insist that the
legislative business become a part-time deal. A legislature that spurts
fifteen laws in two years should not expect the Nigerian treasury to
underwrite its ineptitude.
