by Olaitan Babatunde
In Nigeria today, one of the fastest ways to understand how expensive politics has become is to simply look at the cost of nomination forms. Presidential forms in major political parties now cost hundreds of millions of naira, while governorship forms often run into tens of millions. The numbers are so outrageous that an average Nigerian youth hearing them for the first time might assume they are budget figures for a local government project. Yet these are merely entry tickets into the political arena. Before campaigns even begin, before posters are printed, before rallies are organised, the race already starts with a financial wall that quietly tells many young Nigerians one thing. Politics is not for you.
Over the years, political parties in Nigeria have defended these high costs with familiar arguments. They claim expensive forms help parties raise funds, discourage unserious aspirants, and maintain internal structure. But critics argue that the system increasingly favours wealthy politicians, political godfathers, and individuals backed by powerful networks. In reality, the high cost of forms has transformed elections into a competition where financial strength often speaks louder than ideas, competence, or vision. Democracy begins to lose meaning when the ability to contest depends less on leadership capacity and more on account balance.
The irony is impossible to ignore. Nigerian politicians regularly speak about youth inclusion, youth empowerment, and the need for younger voices in governance. Conferences are organised. Speeches are delivered. Social media graphics appear with captions about “the future belongs to the youth.” But once election season arrives, the system quietly reveals its true structure. A young professional, activist, lecturer, entrepreneur, or policy expert may have strong ideas for governance, but how many can realistically afford governorship forms costing ₦50 million or presidential forms costing over ₦100 million. At that point, politics stops looking like public service and starts resembling an exclusive investment club.
This reality has dangerous consequences for democracy. When young people feel politically excluded, many retreat into apathy. Others focus only on online activism because formal participation feels financially impossible. The long term effect is a leadership pipeline dominated by the same political class recycling power among themselves. Elections become less competitive intellectually because many fresh voices never make it past the nomination stage. A democracy where talented citizens cannot even afford to contest risks becoming representative in theory but restrictive in practice.
There is also the issue of corruption. When politics becomes extremely expensive, elected officials may begin to see public office less as service and more as investment recovery. Citizens often complain about corruption after elections, but few discuss how the structure itself encourages desperation. If someone spends enormous sums merely trying to secure a party ticket, public suspicion naturally grows about how such money might eventually be recovered once power is secured. Expensive politics can quietly create expensive governance.
Some parties have attempted symbolic solutions by offering discounts for women and youths, but many observers argue these measures barely address the deeper issue. A fifty percent discount on a form that already costs tens of millions still leaves politics inaccessible to ordinary citizens. The conversation therefore should not just be about discounts. It should be about whether democracy itself is becoming too expensive for the people it claims to represent.
As Nigeria continues to speak about political reform and youth participation, one uncomfortable question remains. Can a country genuinely encourage young people to lead while placing the cost of leadership far beyond their reach. Because if politics remains financially gated, many capable Nigerians will continue watching elections from television studios, podcasts, and social media spaces instead of ballot papers. And that may be one of the biggest silent crises facing Nigerian democracy today.
