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If your home was
hit by a 9.0-magnitude earthquake, a tsunami, and radiation from a
nuclear power plant, you’d be forgiven for not remaining calm. Yet
that’s what many Japanese quake victims appear to be doing. People are
forming lines outside supermarkets. Life is “particularly orderly,”
according to PBS. “Japanese discipline rules despite disaster,” says a
columnist for The Philippine Star.

Anyone who has seen
“Big Bird in Japan” knows the shorthand for Japanese culture: they’re
so honest and disciplined! They’re a collective society! They value the
group over the individual! Of course they’re not going to steal
anything after the most devastating natural disaster of their lifetimes
— unlike those undisciplined thieves in post-Katrina New Orleans and
post-earthquake Haiti. Even if they’re desperate for food, the Japanese
will still wait in line for groceries.

There’s a
circularity to these cultural explanations, says Mark D. West, a
professor at University of Michigan Law School: “Why don’t Japanese
loot? Because it’s not in their culture. How is that culture defined?
An absence of looting.” A better explanation may be structural factors:
a robust system of laws that reinforce honesty, a strong police
presence, and, ironically, active crime organizations.

Honesty, with incentives

Japanese people
may well be more honest than most. But the Japanese legal structure
rewards honesty more than most. In a 2003 study on Japan’s famous
policy for recovering lost property, West argues that the high rates of
recovery have less to do with altruism than with the system of carrots
and sticks that incentivizes people to return property they find rather
than keep it. For example, if you find an umbrella and turn it in to
the cops, you get a finder’s fee of 5 to 20 percent of its value if the
owner picks it up. If they don’t pick it up within six months, the
finder gets to keep the umbrella. Japanese learn about this system from
a young age, and a child’s first trip to the nearest police station
after finding a small coin, say, is a rite of passage that both
children and police officers take seriously. At the same time, police
enforce small crimes like petty theft, which contributes to an overall
sense of security and order, along the lines of the “broken windows”
policy implemented in New York City in the 1990s. Failure to return a
found wallet can result in hours of interrogation at best, and up to 10
years in prison at worst.

Police presence

Japan has an active
and visible police force of nearly 300,000 officers across the country.
Cops walk their beats and chat up local residents and shopkeepers.
Police are posted at ubiquitous kobans, police boxes manned by one or
two officers, and in cities there’s almost always a koban within
walking distance of another koban. A survey in 1992 found that 95 per
cent of residents knew where the nearest koban was, and 14 percent knew
the name of an officer who worked there. Cops are paid well — the force
attracts many college graduates — and can live in cheap government
housing. They also care a lot about public relations: The Tokyo
Metropolitan Police even has a mascot, Pipo-kun, whose name means
“people + police.” They’re good at their jobs, too: The clearance rate
for murder in 2010 was an unbelievable 98.2 per cent, according to West
— so unbelievable that some attribute it to underreporting.

Organised crime

Police aren’t the
only ones on patrol since the earthquake hit. Members of the Yakuza,
Japan’s organized crime syndicate, have also been enforcing order. All
three major crime groups — the Yamaguchi-gumi, the Sumiyoshi-kai, and
the Inagawa-kai — have “compiled squads to patrol the streets of their
turf and keep an eye out to make sure looting and robbery doesn’t
occur,” writes Jake Adelstein, author of “Tokyo Vice: An American
Reporter on the Police Beat in Japan,” in an e-mail message. “The
Sumiyoshi-kai claims to have shipped over 40 tons of [humanitarian aid]
supplies nationwide and I believe that’s a conservative estimate.” One
group has even opened its Tokyo offices to displaced Japanese and
foreigners who were stranded after the first tremors disabled public
transportation. “As one Sumiyoshi-kai boss put it to me over the
phone,” says Adelstein, “’In times of crisis, there are not Yakuza and
civilians or foreigners. There are only human beings and we should help
each other.’” Even during times of peace, the Yakuza enforce order,
says Adelstein. They make their money off extortion, prostitution, and
drug trafficking. But they consider theft grounds for expulsion.

That’s not to say
that a culture of reciprocity and community doesn’t play a role in the
relatively calm response to the quake. It’s just that these
characteristics are reinforced by systems and institutions. Adelstein
quotes an old Japanese saying that explains the reciprocal mindset:
“Your kindness will be rewarded in the end. Charity is a good
investment.” But there’s a flipside, too: Unkindness will be punished.

New York Times

This week, something of a rare debate
flared up in Lagos. The state governor, Babatunde Fashula, perhaps
needlessly, accused the People’s Democratic Party of planning to rig in
Lagos. It is a rare occurrence because, up until now, citizens would be
forgiven for believing that the candidates of other parties have ceded
the field to the incumbent governor of the state.

This is understandable. Governor
Fashola has garnered acclaim from inside the country and outside for
model governance – for a canny ability to make governance seem easy, to
inspire an entire generation of Nigerians to believe that government
can work for them again. Mr Fashola’s engagement with the issues of
local transportation and beautification have endeared many Nigerians to
him, so much so that a PDP governor this month announced to the nation
that the Action Congress will win in Lagos State.

Still, this is a democracy – and
democracy involves, indeed requires, a relentless engagement of ideas
and platforms. It is a contact sport – one that requires people of a
certain strong character, and a willingness to fight for what they
believe in to compete for the trust of the public. Even more to the
point, the very nature of democracy abhors comfort, abhors a situation
where a public office holder becomes too comfortable in his seat.

That is the situation in Lagos State,
unfortunately. The PDP’s campaign has been halfhearted, almost a play
for a ministerial position rather than a serious-minded effort to win
the state, and the other candidates are barely registering their
presence. Unfortunately, the only two candidates who actually raised
questions that would have put this governor on the hot seat have bowed
out of the race.

Jimi Agbaje, an impressive candidate
from the last election cycle, had made it a point of duty to raise
alarms about waste and corruption in the state, however, amid rumours
of a failed bid to get a Bola Tinubu endorsement, he slinked out of the
race. Femi Pedro, former deputy governor of the state, raised a bold
question via bill boards and other material in Lagos State: Lagosians,
have your lives really changed? – but quickly crashed out of the race.

The debate in Lagos also showed
Lagosians the absolute dearth of choice that they are faced with. The
other candidates couldn’t provide data about many of the state’s
indicators; one candidate spent half the period settling a personal
score, and when the governor announced incorrectly that contracts
awarded in the state are available up-to-date online, no one was
informed and engaged enough to challenge him on the falseness of that
statement.

This is sad. It is sad because, for all
of his bright spots, there are many dark circles right under the
governor’s eyes. The healthcare system has been wracked by a series of
strikes, the education system – most especially the physical state of
schools – as a special report by NEXT showed last year, is suffering a
worrisome abandonment, the inner parts of the Lagos metropolis have
communities who can only be amused by the spectacle of flowers and
paint in Marina, and the housing crisis in Lagos continues to mount.

These are questions that a credible and
vibrant opposition would have raised to the governor, and which he
would have been forced to answer to allow Lagosians the opportunity to
vigorously assess his stewardship and the ability to make a choice: to
settle for what Mr Fashola offers or to reach for a brand of governance
that reaches the people at the point of their needs. When one also
considers the fact that Mr Fashola seems to have chosen for himself an
elitist brand of governance that has little empathy for the ‘common
man’ and doesn’t seem to be engaged with common realities of poverty in
his state, the tragedy of a lack of choice is emphasised.

Lagosians deserve a robust conversation about who can best serve
their interests. We hope the other candidates can finally step up to
the plate – in driving the conversation and firing up the people – and
give the present governor a run for his money. Even if the incumbent
wins re-election, Lagos will be the better for it.

As it happened with the vice presidential candidates March 12, the first presidential debate held on NN24 television station last Friday was a three-man conversation. Present were the flag bearers of the All Nigeria Peoples Party, Action Congress of Nigeria, and the Congress for Progressive Change, Ibrahim Shekaru, Nuhu Ribadu, and Mohammadu Buhari. Missing in action was the candidate of the ruling Peoples Democratic Party, Goodluck Jonathan.

It was a development, which angered Olu, my friend and collaborator on many worthy causes, prompting him to post on his Facebook page that other candidates should boycott subsequent debates involving Mr. Jonathan. In Olu’s view, the president was unnecessarily standoffish, and should be allowed to debate himself.

To the discredit of the PDP, there have been conflicting reasons adduced for why the president and his deputy were unable to honour the NN24 invitations.

They range from the multiplicity of requests from various organisations, to the clash with state duties and previously arranged campaign itinerary, to the mode of invitation, to the format adopted for the debates, and to the need to streamline the requests and prioritise on which best serves the party’s interests.

Rather than honour the request from a satellite station, which is available on the pay TV, DSTV, the PDP has settled for the March 29 debate being organised by the Nigerian Election Debate Organisation, an initiative of the Broadcasting Organisations of Nigeria, the umbrella body sheltering most electronic stations in the country; the Newspaper Proprietors Association of Nigeria, which boasts of leading newspaper titles in the land; the Nigerian Guild of Editors; the Nigeria Union of Journalists; and a handful of civil society groups. All the electronic stations will broadcast the debates live, and the newspapers will give generous coverage on subsequent days. It is an opportunity every serious candidate should seize.

To critics like Olu, the PDP was just inventing excuses to shield its disdain for civilised discourse, citing the examples of Mr. Jonathan’s predecessors in office, Olusegun Obasanjo and Umar Yar’adua, who also shunned such invitations. They charge that the PDP boycotted the NN24 debates because it failed in its bid to have an advanced copy of the questions to be asked, and was uncomfortable with the directing minds behind the initiative.

Does this mean that the debates being organised by BON and NPAN will oblige the PDP with advanced questions? “No,” says Feyi Smith, executive secretary of the NPAN, adding, “our role is to defend the best interests of the industry.” Taiwo Allimi, coordinator of the debates, asserts on phone, “That cannot happen. There is no room for it.” I believe them. My position is that people reserve the right to choose the company they keep. If the PDP, National Conscience Party or any other party are convinced the BON-NPAN initiative offers the broadest platform to reach Nigerians via a televised debate, it is within their right to embrace it. Really, it is about cost and benefit.

What does it cost any party to put aside its own campaign arrangement to embrace one floated from outside? What benefits will accrue from it? How many such requests should a party honour? What is the price the party will pay when it gives the impression it has something to hide? Rather than give conflicting reasons, the PDP, if indeed it has nothing to hide, should have stuck to the cogent reason from the outset that it prefers the BON-NPAN platform as giving it the broadest reach.

The March 29 date signals that the debate proper is about to hold. Eight candidates in two batches of four will participate. All previous ones were dress rehearsals. No presidential debate is complete without the participation of the PDP. Mr. Jonathan, as the PDP flag bearer, has to address the barrage of attacks that has come the way of the party, and project his plans for the country. After all, it is his job that all the 17 other candidates want.

I am not disparaging the NN24 effort. For one, it has provided a window of opportunity to examine the credentials of some aspiring office holders. Subsequent efforts will be measured against the standard it has set. Indeed, in tone, carriage, and substance I found the presidential debate a notch higher than the previous parley involving three vice presidential candidates. The questioning was more vigorous. I found Shekarau, articulate and calm in answering questions.

Ribadu’s presentation was somewhat exuberant and Buhari’s disposition understated. I don’t know why the moderator, Kadaria Ahmed, was made to sit down throughout the debate while the aspirants stood. I preferred the previous arrangement where she stood alongside the vice presidential candidates. It makes for better connection. But I enjoyed her questioning and found the warning bell urging the debaters to round off their submissions an improvement on the previous exercise where they were cut off midstream without notice.

I look forward to more conversations involving candidates for public office, for the useful insight they provide; but caution that articulate public speaking does not necessarily translate into competence or effectiveness.

The recent televised debates, and the general excitement that have accompanied them amidst sections of the Nigerian public, have made me wonder about what it might be like to have a business card that said: ‘political strategist.’ Have we got ‘strategists’ in Nigeria; who do such things as crunch numbers and data, divide up the electorate into ‘catchment areas’, and devise campaign plans to reach all those segments?

Do we have, in the engine rooms of our political parties, people obsessed with polling as a means of understanding the electorate? (In the first place, is polling feasible in the Nigerian system; can it ever be considered credible enough to depend on as a mechanism for electoral planning?) We are witnesses to how the revelation, from INEC, that the largest numbers of voters lie in the north-west and south-west, have shaped the ongoing presidential campaigns. In the absence of such basic statistics, how is a candidate supposed to prioritise and allocate scarce campaign resources?

Or are Nigerian elections meant to be driven solely by the crudeness we have come to associate with them – noisy campaigns full of cursing your opponents and remixing gospel songs; sharing biscuits, cash and bags of rice; and the use of plain old voter intimidation before and during the voting?

One of the big words in the Nigerian political lexicon is “masses” aka “grassroots” (often used in a rather condescending manner). It is common these days for people to speak scornfully of social networking tools, and dismiss them as places where youthful noisemakers gather, oblivious of the fact that the ‘grassroots’ – who supposedly determine election outcomes – are somewhere out there, far away from the Internet.

You can’t but wonder what people mean when they use that term “grassroots” – do they mean the poor, or those living in rural areas, far away from campaign jingles and television debates? Or do they mean the illiterate – with whom Nigeria, Giant of Africa, is richly blessed? If they mean the illiterate – how do you reach that class with ideas originally conceived in English? How many are these “grassroots”, where are they based, what informs the political choices they make? Think of those millions of Nigerians who will vote for a candidate simply because he is their kinsman. Is it possible for an opposition politician to sway their allegiances?

Related to campaign strategising is the task of creating the ideas around which good governance ought to revolve. Watching the NN24 debates, and listening to the pronouncements of the presidential and vice-presidential candidates, I found myself hoping that what they said was actually the product of thoughtful deliberations away from the limelight and bustle of campaign grounds.

I assume that they are all surrounded by teams of technocrats, policy-makers and speechwriters who advise and tutor them; and help them craft coherent and detailed, yet easy to communicate manifestoes.

I would like to believe that behind the public speeches and promises, some level of brainstorming is going on.
We tend to forget that while politics (i.e. the showy, public aspects of it) may often be compelled to revolve around individuals, proper governance itself ought to be about teams and alliances and collaboration.

Behind every (successful) politician should be an assemblage of smart, savvy aides, advising, strategising and evaluating. When we talk of the successes of the Obasanjo years, it is mostly due to the visionary work of a team of brilliant technocrats who drafted and implemented policies in due process, budget management, foreign debt management, anti-corruption work, privatisation, pension reform, etc.

Obasanjo as president was merely the public face – and godfather perhaps – of this team; giving them his blessings as well as the confidence to proceed in the face of opposition from those bent on maintaining status quo.

That is how politics should work – the president or governor as public face; the one on whose table the buck stops, the one whose duty it is to ensure that the government is staffed with the right set of people in the right places, and who gives them all the support they need to achieve.

Presidents and aspiring presidents must be ‘big-picture’ people, curious, eager to learn, able to process large amounts of information, and able to synthesize coherent ideas from complicated and often conflicting pieces of advice. They should be able to assemble and rely on the work of value-adding teams of thinkers and advisers; and confident enough to acknowledge their dependence on those people. With the above in mind, I guess the question we should all be asking ourselves is this: how can we ensure that ideas – and not rigging strategies and empty politicking – rule our politics? Should our elections be elevated into a game of ‘survival of the fittest ideas’; or should we simply forget about that and allow cash and violence and trickery to carry the day – as always?

Though many Nigerians will remember COJA, the 2003 edition of the All African Games, for the cases of mismanagement that ushered in and bade farewell to the games, the event is fresh on my mind for two reasons: firstly, the perfectly done lighting of the games’ torch by a Sango priest. Secondly, the Nigeria Police band could not play the Madagascar national anthem after one of that country’s athletes was decorated with a gold medal. There was a prolonged silence of over three minutes before, out of the blues, a Madagascan in the audience went up to the announcer, collected the public address system and started singing his country’s national anthem.
While screening prospective Nigerian diplomats, the Senate Committee on Foreign Affairs discovered that one of the ambassadors designate, Ijeoma Bristol, could not sing the national anthem. Though many of us Nigerians see this as a strong reason to reject Mrs Bristol’s nomination, the leadership of the upper legislative chamber says she will learn about Nigeria in the course of her job.
I am not a student of international relations and diplomacy but the three fundamental national symbols we learnt in social studies way back in primary school are: the national anthem, the national pledge and our coat of arms. None of these has changed in over two decades. Sending such a person as Mrs Bristol to represent a country she knows little or nothing about is like sending an athlete who does not know the rules of the game to represent his country in a relay. He will definitely not know how to change baton with his teammates.
If Mrs. Bristol is indeed a career diplomat and the next in line for the position as some members of the Senate claimed, what will she be telling the world about Nigeria when she is also learning about the country on the job? This explains why the executive arm of government will still have to spend taxpayers’ money to sell Nigeria to countries where we have diplomatic missions. If we have a good number of our diplomats scattered all over the world who do not understand Nigeria, do you still blame investors for not coming to Nigeria even after the rebranding campaign?
The fact that the Senate failed to see anything wrong with a Nigerian diplomat’s inability to sing our country’s national anthem is a confirmation that, to them, the anthem is just like any other song and that it does not matter. A patriotic citizen who does not know his national anthem is akin to a geography student who does not know the four major cardinal points. In some countries, the national anthem is referred to as a hymn. It is glaring that the ‘you are on your own’ syndrome created in the minds of Nigerians as a result of bad governance has made them not to attach any importance to such symbols meant to instil patriotism in us. Just take time to look into the cars of Nigerians and you will see flags of different countries on their dash boards, including flags of even countries like Somalia. Only a handful of cars have Nigerian flags.
To encourage patriotism in Nigerians is to make life worth living for them such that they will out of their own volition answer the clarion call as demanded by the first line of the anthem. In England, their national anthem is called, ‘God Save the Queen’; in the USA, it is the ‘Star Spangled Banner’; it is the same story for other serious countries of the world. What is the name of the Nigerian national anthem? How do you expect people to respect a nameless man? Urgent action must be taken to bring back the lost respect for the national anthem, the national flag and other symbols of nationalism, before our diplomats start flying flags with horizontal greens on the trunk of their cars (after all, it will still be green white green).
For starters, the government must ensure that every person in public office can recite the national anthem. It is disheartening to know that if one is to randomly pick 20 Nigerians in a busy street in any part of the country, probably only about two will be able to recite the anthem without flaws. Now that we are in the era of political debates, I suggest that the moderators of such debates should start by asking the country’s presidential candidates in the April elections to sing the national anthem. We might be shocked by what we will hear.