There are complaints that demand empathy, and there are complaints that sound like satire.
Governor Dikko Umaru Radda’s recent lamentation about the stress of governance firmly sits in the second category.
Not because leadership is easy, it is not, but because this is Nigeria and complaining about stress from the comfort of power lands differently when millions of the people you govern are stressed about survival itself.
Governance is hard. Everyone knows it is. But we must consider timing, tone, privilege, and optics.
Here is a governor who actively campaigned for the job, fought for it, won it, enjoys its benefits, and then publicly expresses how draining it all is, as if that reality was hidden in the fine print.
In a country where the average citizen wakes up already exhausted by inflation, insecurity, hunger, and uncertainty, a governor asking for emotional understanding feels like an elite inside joke that nobody else is laughing at.
The Campaign Trail Vs the Governor’s Chair
Before May 29, 2023, Dikko Radda was not complaining. He was promising. Campaigning across Katsina State, he spoke about leadership, solutions, courage, and competence. He sold voters a vision of responsibility and resilience. He did not warn them that governance would be unbearably stressful. There was no disclaimer saying, “Vote for me, but please understand this job is draining.”
Like every Nigerian politician, he knew what the office entailed. The bureaucracy. The security briefings. The endless meetings. The pressure. The expectations. These are not surprises, they are the job description. Governors are not conscripted forcefully into office. They volunteer for it, enthusiastically.
Which makes the post-election complaints feel less like honesty and more like a tone-deaf diary entry mistakenly shared with the public.
Stress in Government House, Stress in the Streets
There is stress, and then there is Nigerian stress.
Governor Radda’s stress plays out in air-conditioned rooms, in convoy-assisted travel, in meetings with advisers, consultants, and security chiefs. It is the stress of managing power, not the stress of lacking it. It is pressure cushioned by privilege.
Outside Government House, stress looks very different. In Katsina communities, stress means farmers are afraid to go to their farms because bandits may be waiting. It means parents choosing which child eats first. It means graduates roaming the streets with CVs and no hope. It means market women calculating prices every morning and realising each day will be worse than the previous one.
When leadership stress is compared to survival stress, the contrast is alarming. One comes with salary, allowances, security, and influence. The other comes with fear, hunger, and silence.
Luxury, Power, and the Irony of Complaints
Let’s be honest for once, the office of governor in Nigeria is one of the most comfortable political positions on the continent. Beyond the official salary and security votes, there are perks that rarely make it into public conversations; from motorcades, residences, aides, influence, travel, to prestige, and access to resources ordinary citizens will never touch in a lifetime.
This is not to say governors do nothing. It is to say they are compensated heavily for whatever they do. Public service at that level is not charity work. It is a premium role with premium benefits.
So when a governor complains about stress, the natural response is not sympathy but irony. The same system that overwhelms him is the one that millions would gladly endure if it came with food security, protection, and dignity.
Nigeria in 2026 is not a country emotionally available to comfort its leaders. The public mood is hardened. Patience is exhausted. Empathy has become a scarce resource because people are using all of it on themselves and their families.
This is why political leaders must understand the difference between vulnerability and self-indulgence. Nigerians can forgive mistakes. They can even tolerate slow progress. What they struggle with is perceived self-pity from those at the top.
When a governor complains, it can sound like he is shocked by responsibility, and Nigerians have no sympathy for leaders who appear unprepared for the weight of office they aggressively pursued.
If the Job Is Too Stressful, There Is a Constitutional Exit
People in power should not shy away from the truth that public office is voluntary. If the stress of governance is unbearable, resignation is not a scandal, it is an option.
Nigeria’s constitution allows for succession. There is a deputy governor. There are institutions. The state will not collapse because one man steps aside.
Leadership is about absorbing stress, so the people do not have to. When that burden feels too heavy, the most responsible act may be to hand it over to someone better equipped.
Clinging to power while publicly lamenting its weight only raises questions about competence and commitment.
Stress is the price of governance. The people pay taxes. Leaders pay with pressure. That is the deal.
But the people of Zamfara are paying far more, with their safety, their income, and peace of mind. And they do it without convoys, without aides, without press teams to contextualize their pain.
The public does not measure leadership by how exhausted a governor looks or sounds. They measure it by outcomes. Are roads improving? Is security better? Are schools functioning? Are hospitals equipped? Is life becoming even slightly more bearable?
A stressed leader delivering results will always be respected more than a comfortable leader explaining difficulties. Nigerians are not asking for perfection. They are asking for seriousness.
Complaints do not fix insecurity. Lamentations do not reduce hunger. Explanations do not substitute action.
Governor Radda’s comments may have been personal, unfiltered, even human. But public office is not a therapy session. Once you lead millions, your words carry weight beyond your intentions.
In a state battling poverty and fear, leadership communication must be deliberate, grounded, and aware of context. Because in Nigeria today, sympathy is not in the budget.
If the stress is truly overwhelming, resignation is honourable. If not, then silence, focus, and results are far more convincing than public lamentations.
Power is heavy, yes. But it is also a privilege. And those who asked for it must carry it, quietly, responsibly, and without asking the suffering public to feel sorry for them.
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