Chatham House And The Trust We Must Rebuild

By Dakuku Peterside*

Trust is the lifeblood of any democracy. When it diminishes, institutions may retain their names and structures, but they lose their effectiveness. The recent Chatham House/NBS findings are more than just a collection of grim statistics; they depict a social contract under severe strain. Nearly half of Nigerians express “great distrust” in the police. Roughly a third deeply distrusts the presidency and the federal government. Courts (the judiciary), local councils, and state politicians also fare poorly. Underlying these data points is a revealing paradox: while a majority believes that power, in their communities, trumps honesty, an even larger proportion still feels aggrieved when others are exploited. In essence, Nigerians haven’t abandoned their moral compass; they’ve lost faith that integrity is rewarded.

Trust is the invisible framework that binds a nation. When it erodes—as it has in Nigeria—it doesn’t merely damage reputations; it hollows out the very institutions designed to protect, serve, and stabilise society. Courts become associated with suspicion, not justice; the police, a source of fear, not security; and ministries, echo chambers rather than engines of policy. This column has previously warned about this decline – as seen in “Dearth of Integrity in Public Life” (Nov 2023), “Greed, Ethics, and Public Service in Nigeria” (Jan 2024), “Trust and Economic Recovery” (Nov 2024), “Nigeria Decides 2023: Campaign Promises and the Issue of Trust” (Jan 2023), and “Accountability Deficit and the Transparency Question” (Sept 2023). The central message remains: governance cannot function effectively without trust.

This has profound ramifications for the presidency. In any constitutional democracy, the presidency is more than an office; it embodies national sovereignty and serves as the focal point where the authority to govern gains legitimacy in the eyes of its citizens. When trust in this symbol wanes, so does the government’s ability to secure compliance, enforce laws, and maintain order. The gap between policy pronouncements and practical outcomes widens; the cost of governance escalates; and every reform encounters friction, suspicion, and delays. A president may still wield formal power, but the informal consent that sustains power becomes tenuous. The stakes extend beyond mere approval ratings; they encompass the state’s ability to act in the public interest without facing constant resistance or scepticism. If the central government cannot convincingly demonstrate fairness and deliver results, citizens will increasingly conduct their lives outside the state’s purview—relying on private security, informal payments, and parallel services.

Equally concerning is the report’s almost unanimous finding that political and economic power now outweigh honesty and constitutionally guaranteed rights. When power overshadows principle, democracy becomes a charade. Citizens lower their expectations, accepting impunity as the norm and corruption as inevitable. This gradually erodes social cohesion, as people resort to private coping mechanisms—such as ethnic solidarity, informal economies, and transactional shortcuts—because public institutions often seem remote, arbitrary, or predatory.

The economy also suffers. Corruption is not just a moral failing; it’s an efficiency tax that compounds daily. It diverts public funds from education, healthcare, and infrastructure. It weakens the rule of law and inflates the cost of doing business. Nigeria’s overall GDP invites comparisons with Africa’s largest economies, yet GDP per capita paints a different picture of the prosperity experienced by individual households. It’s no coincidence that a country grappling with service delivery gaps also struggles with persistent poverty. When citizens see budgets that lack clear outcomes, they tend to become disengaged. When asked to broaden the tax base, they raise a valid question: where does the money go? Trust and tax compliance are intertwined; you cannot nurture one while neglecting the other.

The trust deficit didn’t materialise overnight. Nigerians have endured a quarter-century of anti-corruption campaigns whose rhetoric often outstripped their achievements. Party loyalty has too often superseded public interest, selective enforcement has too frequently replaced impartial justice, and institutional incentives have rewarded survival within a dysfunctional system rather than reforming it. The result is reform fatigue: people hear the right words, but they’ve learned to demand tangible proof before believing. Each unmet promise quietly raises the “cost of honesty”—the risk that playing by the rules will leave one poorer, slower, and marginalised—while lowering the “cost of corruption”—the perception that wrongdoing is commonplace, lucrative, and rarely punished.

The chasm between pronouncements and reality widens when official statements assert that corruption has been eradicated, while everyday experiences and independent data suggest the opposite. Leaders cultivate public trust not by simply promising future benefits from present hardships, but by clearly demonstrating the link between revenue and results, and by encouraging external validation. Humility isn’t a weakness in leadership; it’s a prerequisite for collective action during difficult times. A frank admission—”We’re falling short here; here’s what we’ll do by these dates; and here’s how you can verify it”—earns far more trust than triumphal pronouncements that don’t align with reality.

However, the Chatham House study also reveals a valuable asset: civic engagement. Nearly half of the respondents believe their communities are willing to monitor public spending on development projects. This is significant. Countries that have successfully curbed corruption haven’t done so through elite willpower alone; they’ve established sustainable, citizen-centred systems that make wrongdoing more difficult, costly, and risky. Nigeria’s opportunity lies in shifting from mere exhortation to structural reform: empower communities to track projects, publish contracts, and create channels through which complaints trigger action. What would a credible reset entail?

First, an immediate acknowledgement from the presidency that trust is low and rebuilding it is a national priority. This isn’t about assigning blame; it’s about achieving consensus. A concise, time-bound action plan should follow, specifying timelines, responsible parties, and public milestones. In policing, this could involve establishing independent complaints mechanisms that publish their findings, deploying body-worn cameras in high-risk areas, and issuing annual integrity reports that identify trends and outline corrective measures. In procurement, make open contracting the standard for all MDAs and withhold major contract awards until beneficial ownership information is complete and publicly accessible. Regarding whistleblowing, go beyond slogans: enact robust protections, guarantee anonymity, and demonstrate that credible tips lead to tangible enforcement.

Policing should be equitable and accountable. Trust in the police is often shaped at the roadside, not in policy documents. Establish an independent complaints mechanism empowered to investigate, publish findings, and recommend sanctions—and then act on them. Deploy body-worn cameras in hotspots, with clear policies on usage, retention, and public release of footage after critical incidents. Publish an annual integrity report that tracks complaints by type and outcome, stop-and-search data by location, and disciplinary actions taken. Train officers in procedural justice—the research-backed approach showing that people comply when processes are transparent and respectful, even when outcomes are unfavourable. Combine this with officer protections and incentives so that good policing is safer and more rewarding than extortion.

Digitise the justice system to reduce delays. Justice delayed is justice denied. Effective case tracking is essential and must transparently present, in accessible language, the number of cases filed, the average processing time, and their outcomes. Establish service-level agreements for key stages—filing, arraignment, evidence disclosure, and trial scheduling—and provide quarterly performance reports. Prioritise corruption and violent crime cases by assigning specialist judges and setting firm deadlines.

Recognise that the social contract rests on tangible results. The government aims to expand the tax base. This won’t happen on a significant scale unless people see their taxes translated into services and infrastructure in their communities. Create a monthly “Money to Services” ledger that tracks, project by project, how revenue translates into concrete outcomes—classrooms built, water systems functioning, hospital wards equipped, roads passable during the rainy season.

Reform, of course, is not a matter of propaganda or press releases, but rather a continuous process. To maintain credibility, it needs measurable benchmarks. Publish a concise national scorecard each quarter: the proportion of citizens who “strongly trust” the police, presidency, and federal government (along with a target to increase this by a specified percentage within 12–18 months).

None of this will be easy. There will be resistance from those who profit from the current situation. There will be reform fatigue among citizens who have heard countless promises. There will be disinformation campaigns designed to obscure successes and exaggerate setbacks. And there will be economic shocks that test resolve. Mitigating these risks requires prioritising quick wins (especially in frontline services), protecting reform champions, and communicating with consistency and transparency.

Trust, ultimately, is rational. People don’t trust simply because they’re told to; they trust because systems behave predictably and fairly. Nigerians haven’t lost their desire for fairness—the Chatham House values paradox clearly demonstrates this. What they have lost is the expectation that honesty is a viable option. Restoring that expectation is the difficult task ahead. It means reducing the cost of being honest and increasing the cost of being corrupt. It means shifting from anti-corruption as a performance to integrity as a foundational element. It also demands a different attitude from leadership—one that treats legitimacy not as an inherited privilege but as a renewable resource earned daily through conduct.

If we can visibly link taxes to services, measurably expedite and improve the fairness of justice, and reliably penalize wrongdoing, trust will follow—not as a mere sentiment, but as a reasoned response. That is the path out of cynicism: a state that performs in ways that citizens can see, test, and believe. And when trust begins to return, it will return as something more robust than mere optimism—confidence earned by institutions that work, quietly and effectively, within the ordinary rhythm of Nigerian life. The task ahead is to make integrity cheaper than impunity and service more rewarding than cynicism—so our institutions function not as fortresses of power, but as instruments of the common good.