There is a painful question many Nigerians now whisper in private but hesitate to ask aloud: what level of denial or cognitive dissonance does it take to still consider voting for the APC? This is not a cheap insult, nor an attempt to stigmatize mental health, which is a serious and real issue deserving empathy and care. Rather, it is an interrogation of a political mindset that appears increasingly detached from lived reality.
Mental health, by definition, involves the ability to perceive reality clearly, make rational judgments, and respond appropriately to one’s environment. When a society repeatedly experiences worsening insecurity, deepening poverty, collapsing healthcare, failing schools, rising unemployment, and an erosion of democratic norms—and yet a section of the electorate insists on rewarding the same political vehicle responsible for these outcomes—it raises profound questions about judgment, memory, and accountability.
Under APC governance, Nigerians have watched the naira lose value, food inflation spiral beyond the reach of ordinary families, and terrorism mutate rather than retreat. Communities in the North-West, North-Central, and parts of the South-East live under constant fear. Students are trapped in underfunded schools; hospitals resemble waiting rooms to death rather than centers of healing. These are not abstract statistics – they are daily experiences.
So what explains continued loyalty?
Is it trauma bonding with power?
Is it ethnic or religious capture that overrides material suffering?
Is it propaganda so effective that facts are no longer persuasive?
Or is it simply resignation—a learned helplessness where citizens believe nothing better is possible?
Psychologists describe cognitive dissonance as the discomfort people feel when reality contradicts their beliefs. One common coping mechanism is denial: dismissing evidence, attacking critics, or reframing failure as success. In politics, this manifests as defending the indefensible, celebrating mediocrity, and labeling accountability as “hate.”
Again, this is not about mocking mental illness. On the contrary, it is about recognizing how prolonged hardship, propaganda, fear, and identity politics can distort collective reasoning. A nation battered long enough can begin to normalize pain. When suffering becomes familiar, even its cause can start to look acceptable.
But democracy demands more of citizens. Voting is not a loyalty card; it is a performance review. When a government repeatedly fails, persisting in support is not resilience—it is abdication of responsibility.
Nigeria’s crisis is no longer just about bad leadership; it is also about the psychology of followership. Until voters begin to honestly confront the gap between propaganda and reality, between promises and outcomes, the cycle will continue.
The real question, then, is not whether Nigerians are “mad” for voting APC. The deeper, more uncomfortable question is whether we have been conditioned to tolerate dysfunction—and whether we are ready, mentally and morally, to choose differently.
Because healing a nation starts with clarity. And clarity begins when we stop lying to ourselves.
