Slapping MP shows generational change may not end abuse of power in Nigeria

Nigerian politician Alex Ikwechegh has sparked widespread outrage after a video surfaced showing him slapping and verbally abusing a taxi driver who had delivered food to his house. In the video, Ikwechegh, a member of the opposition All Progressives Grand Alliance (APGA) and a representative of Aba in the House of Representatives, is heard threatening the driver, saying, “Do you know who I am?… I can make you disappear in this whole country, and nothing will happen.” The altercation reportedly began after the driver asked Ikwechegh to step outside to collect the food, rather than having it brought inside.

The video went viral, and Nigerians were quick to condemn the politician’s behavior, prompting him to issue a public apology. His tone in the apology sharply contrasted the arrogance and intimidation he displayed in the video. Unfortunately, this incident highlights a troubling trend in Nigeria, where powerful figures—particularly politicians—often use their status to intimidate ordinary citizens. The phrase “Do you know who I am?” has become a symbol of the impunity many influential Nigerians feel entitled to.

In addition to incidents like this, Nigerian politicians are known for traveling in large convoys, often with police escorts and sirens blaring, cutting through traffic and demanding priority. Security personnel accompanying these politicians are quick to react aggressively if anyone fails to give way. This culture of privilege is not just confined to older, more established politicians. It has now spilled over to younger leaders, like Ikwechegh, who is only 42 years old. His actions are especially disappointing because they come at a time when many Nigerians had hoped a new generation of politicians would break away from the deeply ingrained culture of entitlement and abuse of power.

The desire for generational change in Nigerian politics was encapsulated in the “Not Too Young to Run” campaign. Launched by civil society organizations, the campaign aimed to encourage more young Nigerians to get involved in politics and bring fresh ideas to governance. With 70% of Nigeria’s population under the age of 35, the initiative sought to lower the age limits for public office, allowing younger leaders to challenge the status quo. The campaign succeeded in 2018, leading to a reduction in age requirements for running for various offices. As a result, the number of young candidates increased from just 6% to 27% in one year. The minimum age to run for the House of Representatives, for example, was lowered from 30 to 25, while the age for Senate and gubernatorial candidates was reduced from 35 to 30.

Many young Nigerians saw this as an opportunity to bring about change. With a median age of just 18, there was hope that a new generation of leaders would depart from the oppressive, entitled mindset that had characterized Nigerian politics for decades. But Ikwechegh’s actions—and those of other young politicians—suggest that the promise of this generational shift may be overstated.

Ikwechegh’s behavior is not an isolated case. In 2022, Elisha Abbo, then Nigeria’s youngest senator at 41, was filmed slapping a shop assistant after accusing her of insulting him. He even threatened her with arrest and called a police officer to carry it out. The incident, which was caught on CCTV, eventually led to Abbo apologizing. However, it underscored the persistence of Nigeria’s culture of impunity and the abuse of power among politicians, regardless of their age.

These incidents raise an important question: are younger politicians simply inheriting the same systems of privilege and entitlement they once criticized, rather than challenging them? It brings to mind a common experience many Nigerians can relate to—the cycle of bullying in school. As juniors, we would often fantasize about the power we would have as seniors, imagining the punishments we’d mete out once we were in charge. But when we finally became seniors, the school introduced anti-bullying policies, which many of us felt robbed of our right to assert dominance over the juniors. Despite some seniors trying to bend the new rules, it was clear that the old cycle of power and oppression had been interrupted, though not eradicated.

In politics, too, it seems that younger leaders may be waiting for their turn to wield power rather than challenging the norms that have long perpetuated inequality. When a 42-year-old politician can slap a taxi driver on camera without fear of consequences, it raises the uncomfortable possibility that younger politicians may not be interested in breaking the cycle of impunity, but in perpetuating it.

Ikwechegh has since been referred to Nigeria’s House of Representatives Ethics and Privileges Committee for bringing the institution into disrepute. He also faces charges in court for threats, assault, and abuse of public office. His actions serve as a stark reminder that generational change alone may not be enough to rid Nigerian politics of the deeply entrenched culture of entitlement and abuse of power.

Ultimately, the question remains: will younger Nigerian politicians, like Ikwechegh, truly bring about the change their generation promises, or will they merely inherit the same corrupt system they once criticized? The future of Nigerian politics may depend on the answer.