You want to know the quality of a leader? Examine the people surrounding him. You want to know the future of a government? Listen to the voices its leader permits into his ears. There is this old wisdom that the character of a leader is often revealed by the company he keeps. It is a simple observation, but one that becomes particularly important when the man at the centre of power has the authority to determine the direction of an entire state. A leader may possess ambition, political influence, electoral legitimacy and the constitutional authority to govern. Yet, if the people surrounding him lack competence, dignity, integrity, courage and intellectual independence, those qualities may amount to little more than an impressive collection of wasted possibilities thereby rendering the whole governance a failure if when the governor has a very good plan to make Ogun State a place we all dream and has so much desired.
The danger becomes greater when the people closest to power are not merely incompetent but deliberately dishonest about reality. They see what is wrong but call it progress. They recognise failure but describe it as a temporary misunderstanding. They know that ordinary citizens are struggling but insist that the people have never had it so good. They understand that a policy requires urgent reconsideration but would rather applaud its architect than risk losing access to the corridors of power. And when the leader asks whether the people are happy, they consult one another, arrange another photograph, assemble a crowd and return with the answer he wants to hear.
As Ogun State approaches another governorship election, perhaps the question that deserves more attention than the usual calculations of political alliances, electoral strength and succession is this:
WHO WILL BE ADVISING THE NEXT GOVERNOR OF OGUN STATE?
Not who will be appointed.
Not who will be rewarded.
Not who will be permitted to enter Government House without an appointment.
Who will possess the intellectual independence to tell the next governor that he is wrong, the professional competence to explain why, and the courage to recommend a better way forward?
Or will the next administration be another gathering of people who understand that their continued relevance depends less on the quality of their advice than on their ability to remain in the governor’s good books?
That is the uncomfortable question.
And Ogun State cannot afford to ignore it.
These are questions worth asking, not because every government adviser is a sycophant, but because every government must guard against the conditions that allow sycophancy to thrive. A leader does not need enemies to make disastrous decisions. All he needs is a circle of friends who are too afraid to tell him the truth.
Centuries ago, William Shakespeare in Julius Caesar explored the dangerous relationship between political power, persuasion, personal pride and the people who surround a leader. the tragedy is not simply about the assassination of a Roman ruler. It is also a study of how ambition, manipulation, warnings and competing political interests can distort judgement. Caesar is powerful, celebrated and accustomed to being treated as an extraordinary man. Yet power does not make him immune to manipulation. On the day he is due to go to the Capitol, his wife, Calpurnia, urges him to remain at home after troubling dreams and ominous signs. Caesar initially considers the warning seriously. But Decius Brutus arrives and offers a flattering interpretation of Calpurnia’s dream. Rather than accept the warning as a reason for caution, he reframes it as a symbol of Caesar’s greatness and Rome’s dependence on him.
Caesar changes his mind. The flattery succeeds where the warning fails. He goes to the Capitol, where the conspirators assassinate him.
The lesson is not that every person who praises a leader is dishonest, or that every warning must be accepted as correct. It is that a leader who prefers a flattering interpretation to an uncomfortable warning can become vulnerable to precisely the judgement errors his power should help him avoid. The tragedy also exposes the danger of surrounding political decisions with personal pride. Caesar’s desire to appear fearless contributes to his refusal to heed the warnings before him. What makes Shakespeare’s account so relevant is that the information needed to reconsider the decision was available. The problem was not simply the absence of warning. It was the leader’s willingness to be persuaded away from it.
Now, consider the implications for contemporary governance.
What happens when a governor receives an honest assessment from a professional but prefers the interpretation offered by a political loyalist? What happens when a policy expert identifies a weakness, only for a political associate to dismiss the analysis because it threatens an established arrangement? What happens when the person who tells the truth loses access while the person who offers convenient explanations gains influence?
The result may not be an assassination, as in Shakespeare’s tragedy. In modern government, the consequences may be less dramatic but more widespread: failed projects, wasted public funds, weak institutions, lost opportunities and policies that remain unchanged long after their shortcomings become apparent. The tragedy of a modern political administration may not be that its leader lacks advice. It may be that the advice he receives has been carefully edited to protect his ego. And the tragedy of the advisers may be that they know exactly what they are doing.
Political history repeatedly demonstrates that the quality of decision-making depends partly on the quality of the information leaders receive, the willingness of advisers to challenge assumptions, and the ability of institutions to scrutinise those in authority. Let Consider the Bay of Pigs invasion of Cuba in 1961, during the presidency of John F. Kennedy. The failed operation became a major lesson in the dangers of flawed assumptions, inadequate challenge and the need to interrogate advice before committing to consequential decisions.
The lesson is not that Kennedy simply listened to sycophants and therefore failed. Historical events are more complicated than that. The important point is that a decision can receive the support of intelligent people and still be dangerously flawed when assumptions are not adequately tested and dissenting analysis is insufficiently effective. A leader must therefore do more than recruit intelligent people. He must create an environment in which intelligence can challenge authority.
He must be willing to hear arguments that contradict his preferences without feeling bad. He must distinguish professional confidence from evidence, political enthusiasm from practical feasibility, and personal loyalty from sound judgement. Otherwise, even a government full of educated people can make decisions that expose the public to avoidable consequences. The question is not whether the next governor will surround himself with people who possess impressive titles. It is whether those people will be able to exercise independent judgement when their conclusions conflict with his preferences.
Let us all put this in mind:
A doctorate does not automatically confer courage.
Political experience does not guarantee wisdom.
Years of service do not necessarily produce intellectual independence.
And the ability to remain close to successive administrations does not, by itself, prove that someone has the competence to improve them.
The most dangerous adviser may not be the person who lacks knowledge. It may be the person who possesses knowledge but lacks the courage to use it when power is uncomfortable with the truth.
This brings us to a question that Ogun State must confront with intellectual honesty.
Why does political succession so often appear to involve familiar names, established networks and people whose influence survives changes in leadership?
Why do some political associates seem to remain relevant across successive administrations?
Why does the conversation about who will govern the state so often become a conversation about which existing political interests will retain their influence?
Does Ogun State lack qualified people?
Does it lack academics who understand education policy, professionals who understand healthcare, economists who can interrogate public spending, sports administrators who understand talent development, or young people who can contribute innovative approaches to governance?
Does it lack public servants with institutional experience, entrepreneurs with practical knowledge of economic development, researchers who can evaluate evidence, or community leaders who understand the realities beyond the major political centres?
The answer is certainly NO.
Ogun State has people whose expertise extends far beyond partisan politics. The question is whether the political system consistently gives them a fair opportunity to contribute. When familiar political figures and their associates repeatedly dominate the conversation about appointments, should citizens not ask whether the state is drawing from the widest possible pool of talent? When a new administration emerges, must it necessarily inherit the preferences, relationships and personnel networks of its predecessors or is it because of the help received during it campaign?
There is an important distinction between institutional continuity and the recycling of political loyalty. Institutional continuity preserves knowledge, strengthens public service and prevents every administration from starting from zero. The recycling of political loyalty, by contrast, risks preserving influence regardless of whether the people involved have delivered the results the state needs. A competent civil servant who understands a public institution should not be discarded simply because a new governor has arrived. But neither should an underperforming political appointee be protected indefinitely because of personal relationships, previous service to another administration or usefulness during an election campaign.
The test must be performance.
The test must be competence.
The test must be whether the individual contributes demonstrable value to the people of Ogun State.
If a person has served effectively, the record should speak for itself. If the person has failed, political familiarity should not become a shield against scrutiny.
And if an administration has repeatedly relied on the same networks without opening meaningful space for new expertise, citizens have every reason to ask whether continuity has become an excuse for intellectual stagnation.
Could the recycling of political influence be one reason fresh ideas struggle to gain sufficient attention?
Could the fear of disturbing established interests discourage innovation?
Could the next administration be presented with an opportunity to widen the pool of talent but choose instead to preserve familiar arrangements?
These are not conclusions that should be imposed without evidence. They are questions that deserve serious public examination.
Because if Ogun State has capable people but its government repeatedly fails to seek them out, the problem may not be a shortage of talent.
It may be a shortage of political willingness to recognise talent outside established circles.
IS THE NEXT GOVERNOR ALREADY KNOWN, OR IS THE POLITICAL GAME SIMPLY TOO FAMILIAR?
As the 2027 governorship election approaches, the political calculations have become increasingly important. The APC’s Ogun campaign council brings together Governor Dapo Abiodun, former governors Olusegun Osoba, Gbenga Daniel and Ibikunle Amosun, and the party’s governorship candidate, Senator Solomon Olamilekan Adeola, popularly known as Yayi.
Such a gathering demonstrates the importance of established political relationships in the party’s electoral strategy. But it also invites a broader question about political continuity and the future of governance in the state. When the same influential networks remain prominent in successive political conversations, ordinary citizens may begin to wonder whether the contest is truly about competing visions for Ogun State or whether it is increasingly about the management of existing political interests.
Is the next governorship contest already so predictable that the real conversation has shifted from who will win to who will control the winner’s ear?
Is the political establishment so confident in its calculations that the public debate risks becoming an exercise in predicting appointments rather than interrogating policy?
Or are citizens simply being invited to watch familiar political actors negotiate the future while the substantive questions of education, youth development, healthcare, employment and innovation receive less attention than they deserve?
No responsible observer should declare an election predetermined merely because one party appears politically organised or influential. Elections are decided by voters, and political calculations are not substitutes for verified electoral outcomes.
But the appearance of inevitability is itself worth questioning when it discourages substantive debate.
A political contest should not be reduced to the assumption that the winner is already known and the only remaining mystery is the distribution of appointments.
Ogun State deserves a more ambitious conversation.
It deserves candidates who explain how they intend to govern, advisers who can defend their proposals with evidence, and political parties that understand that winning office is only the beginning of public responsibility. Even if the eventual winner appears predictable to political observers, the identity of the people who will shape his decisions remains a legitimate matter of public interest. the more confident a political establishment becomes about its electoral prospects, the more important it is to ask what standards it intends to apply when exercising power.
WHO WILL ADVISE THE NEXT GOVERNOR ON EDUCATION, YOUTH DEVELOPMENT AND SPORTS?
Let us move beyond the general language of political appointments.
Who will advise the next governor on education?
Will the administration listen to people who understand teacher development, curriculum implementation, school management, educational research and the relationship between learning outcomes and economic opportunity?
Will its education advisers be able to challenge budgetary priorities with evidence? Will they understand that the number of schools built is only one measure of progress, and that the quality of teaching and learning must also be examined?
Or will educational policy become another area where political announcements receive more attention than measurable outcomes?
Who will advise the next governor on youth development?
Will the administration consult people who understand youth employment, entrepreneurship, digital skills, vocational training, innovation and the challenges young graduates face when attempting to enter the labour market?
Will youth programmes be designed around sustainable opportunities, or will the young people of Ogun State continue to be treated primarily as campaign mobilisers whose usefulness becomes less obvious after elections?
Who will advise the governor on sports?
Will the administration draw on professionals who understand talent identification, coaching, sports science, school sports, athlete welfare, facilities management and the economics of the sports industry?
Will sporting development be measured by ceremonies and occasional competitions, or will the state build a system capable of identifying talent, supporting athletes and creating pathways from grassroots participation to professional opportunities?
These questions matter because the quality of advice in these sectors can influence the future of an entire generation. A weak decision in education will affect students long after the officials responsible have left office. A poorly designed youth programme will consume resources without creating the result oriented sustainable opportunities the people of Ogun state so much desire. A neglected sports development system will leave talented young people without the support they need to excel. The next governor must therefore understand that advisers in these areas cannot be selected solely because they are politically convenient.
The people who shape these policies must understand the sectors they are expected to improve. And if the governor chooses advisers whose expertise is inadequate, he must remain willing to replace them with people better equipped for the task, because the success of his governance is solely dependent on the advisers appointed.
Government is not a private club.
It is a public institution whose decisions have consequences far beyond the people who make them.
