In Nigeria today, the rib-bon-cutting ritual has be-come a staple of political life鈥擯residents, and gover-nors across the states, irrespec-tive of region or party affiliation, have made a habit of turning project commissioning into high drama.
We鈥檝e witnessed the specta-cle unfold from Lagos to Kano, Enugu to Sokoto鈥攚here new-ly completed (and sometimes half-complete) infrastructures are unveiled with pomp that ri-vals national holidays. Streets are shut down, massive stages erected, party stalwarts mobil-ised, and the media blitz ignited, all in the name of progress made by 鈥渃ommissioning.鈥 But what we must ask ourselves now is this: at what cost?
These ceremonies, while os-tensibly meant to showcase 鈥渄ivi-dends of democracy,鈥 often serve a far narrower function鈥攐ne that caters to the political elite. Behind the fanfare lies a sobering truth: the overwhelming major-ity of these events are designed not just to celebrate progress but to amplify the visibility of incumbents ahead of electoral cycles. In other words, they are vote-catching devices masquer-ading as governance milestones. When governance becomes per-formance and every borehole, school block, or traffic light in-stallation demands a ceremony, the very essence of public service is diluted.
Yet this performance comes with a price. It鈥檚 not just the cost of hiring musicians or printing banners; it鈥檚 the enormous finan-cial, institutional, and psycholog-ical toll it takes on our democra-cy. Public funds are diverted to orchestrate these charades鈥 money that could have gone to-ward equipping health centres, raising teacher salaries, fixing in-vesting in sustainable industries. The economic opportunity lost to ceremonial governance remains unmeasured but undoubtedly immense.
And still, the deeper dam-age is less visible. It lies in how these spectacles normalize low expectations. When state gov-ernments act as though the de-livery of basic infrastructure is an act of generosity rather than a civic obligation, citizens begin to internalize that logic. They clap for roads that collapse in months, cheer for jobs that never materialize, and forget to demand continuity, quality, and accountability. Governance gets reduced to a series of press state-ments and camera-ready events, while the real crises鈥攑overty, insecurity, education decay, and climate vulnerability鈥攆ester in the shadows.
What鈥檚 worse is that this trend isn鈥檛 limited to one party or state. Every governor seems trapped in this loop, either too afraid to buck the trend or too eager to exploit it. From renaming flyovers to dedi-cating multiple days to open mar-ket stalls or rebranded clinics, there鈥檚 a growing impulse among Nigeria鈥檚 political class to equate visibility with value. But value in governance is not in how loud you celebrate; it鈥檚 in how quietly and consistently you serve.
To reverse this tide, we need more than just criticism鈥攚e need systemic change. First, cit-izens must begin to interrogate these rituals. Why is this commis-sioning necessary? What is the cost? Who benefits? We must shift from passive applause to active oversight. Civil society and the press have a critical role to play in tracking not just the projects themselves but the conditions un-der which they are announced, funded, and celebrated. Budget lines for publicity must be as scrutinized as those for cement and steel.
Secondly, there must be a na-tional policy direction discour-aging wasteful ceremonial spend-ing. A law capping the amount of public funds that can be spent on such events would be a good start. Likewise, performance metrics for governors and public officers should include independent au-dits of project impact鈥攏ot just completion, but functionality and sustainability. Is the health centre commissioned last year still operational today? Are the roads motorable through rainy seasons? These questions matter more than the number of digni-taries who graced the opening.
Most importantly, political participation must be deepened. When citizens understand that governance is a right and not a favour, they stop being specta-tors and start becoming actors. When governors know that their legacies will not be measured by how many ribbons they cut, but by how many lives they improve, the incentives begin to shift.
Until then, the ceremonies will continue. The stages will be built. The drums will roll. The credits will be claimed. But beyond the flashbulbs, Nigeria鈥檚 progress will remain slow, fragile, and far too expensive for a democracy that still has so much to prove.