THE STATE BADGE IS NOT A COSTUME

By Lanre Ogundipe

The images were striking. A Nigerian minister, smiling and dancing among Nigerian prisoners in an Ethiopian prison.

 The inmates, understandably overjoyed, sang and moved with excitement. 

A prisoner transfer agreement had just been signed. For many of them, the prospect of returning home after years of incarceration was no longer a distant dream.

Compassion is admirable.

Humanity is commendable.

The state owes its citizens, including those incarcerated abroad, consular protection, humane treatment and, where circumstances permit, opportunities for rehabilitation and reintegration.

Yet the images provoked an uncomfortable question. What conduct should society expect from a public official bearing the badge of the state?

This is not a question of legality. No diplomatic law expressly forbids a minister from dancing with imprisoned nationals. Diplomacy is not regulated solely by statutes and conventions. It is also governed by symbolism, restraint, judgment and an appreciation of how nations are represented.

That is where the controversy resides.

Public office is unlike private life. The ordinary citizen acts for himself. The minister acts for the state.

The citizen smiles.

The minister projects.

The citizen dances.

The state is seen to dance. And therein lies the burden of representation.

Prisons occupy a unique moral space.

They are places of punishment, remorse and rehabilitation. They are institutions established to remind society that conduct has consequences and that justice, however imperfect, must preserve a moral distinction between lawful behaviour and criminal wrongdoing.

Even when compassion is deserved, solemnity is not out of place.

This is not because prisoners cease to be human beings. Far from it.

The incarcerated remain citizens. They retain rights. They deserve humane treatment. Some may have served substantial portions of their sentences. Some may have genuinely repented. Others may have been victims of circumstances or poor choices.

But a prison is not a graduation hall. It is not a victory parade.

It is not ordinarily a place where the state's representatives are expected to project exuberance.

The issue therefore is not whether the minister acted unlawfully. The issue is whether the symbolism was appropriate. Could empathy have been expressed differently?

Could warmth have coexisted with solemnity?

Could solidarity have been demonstrated without imagery that some may interpret as celebrating individuals convicted of serious offences? These are difficult questions.

But public office exists precisely because societies expect difficult questions to be asked. The matter becomes even more delicate when national identity is implicated.

Nigeria, fairly or unfairly, continues to battle damaging stereotypes abroad.

Millions of law-abiding Nigerians work tirelessly across Africa, Europe, Asia and the Americas, only to confront suspicion because of the actions of a minority involved in fraud, drug trafficking and other transnational crimes.

That reality is painful.

But it exists.

Therefore, every public gesture involving Nigerians imprisoned abroad carries consequences beyond the immediate event.

Foreign governments watch. Foreign publics watch. Young Nigerians watch.

The message conveyed matters.

This is not an arguement for indifference. The state must defend its citizens. It must ensure fair treatment. It must oppose abuse. It must facilitate. Rehabilitation.

Compassion is not weakness.Mercy is not surrender.

But compassion must not blur moral boundaries. A state can comfort without appearing celebratory. It can be humane without abandoning solemnity.

It can embrace redemption without trivialising wrongdoing.

That balance is delicate.

Yet it is precisely what leadership demands.

In an age where images travel faster than explanations, public officials carry two responsibilities.

First, to do the right thing.

Second, to be seen doing the right thing in a manner consistent with the dignity of the office they occupy.

Failure in either can provoke controversy.

The higher the office, the heavier the burden.

That is why the insignia of public office is not an ornament. It is not a personal accessory. It is not a costume to be worn casually. It is a symbol. It carries history. It carries authority. It carries the anxieties, aspirations and reputation of millions who may never occupy such an office.

The person holding the office is temporary. The institution is not.

The individual may be spontaneous.The state cannot afford to be. This is why citizens are entitled to ask not merely: Was the conduct lawful?

But also:

Was it prudent?

Was it dignified?

Was it consistent with the solemnity expected of a representative of the Nigerian state in circumstances where national identity itself was under scrutiny?

These questions are not expressions of hostility.

They are demands imposed by public office itself.

For nations are judged not only by their constitutions, armies or economies.

They are also judged by the seriousness with which those entrusted with the state badge carry the burden of representation. And the state badge, whatever the occasion, is never a costume.

Ogundipe, Public Affairs Analyst and former President of the Nigeria and African Union of Journalists, writes from Abuja.