By Livy-Elcon Emereonye
Abstract:
In the spirit of Orwell’s timeless allegory, this essay explores the Nigerian reality as a modern-day “Animal Farm” — a satire on hypocrisy, double standards, nepotism, fanaticism, and favoritism that define our socio-political landscape. It is a moral mirror held up to a nation that chants change yet remains chained to its old corrupt order.
Weep not child else you would be accused of championing a revolution.
“All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.” That immortal line from George Orwell’s Animal Farm has not lost its sting. In fact, in today’s Nigeria, it has found fresh expression and deeper roots. The farm has changed, the faces have changed, but the spirit of deception, hypocrisy, and selective justice thrives stronger than ever. The animals of Orwell’s fable have reincarnated in human form — dressed in agbada and suits, chanting slogans of change, while feeding fat on the carcass of the nation. Welcome to the modern-day Nigerian Animal Farm, a land where moral standards are elastic, justice wears tribal colours, loyalty is monetized, and fanaticism dances in the marketplace of mediocrity.
It all started, as always, with a revolution — or at least, the illusion of one. The masses, tired of oppression, corruption, and impunity, rallied for change. They bleated like the sheep in Orwell’s story: “Change! Change! Change!” believing that a new dawn had come. But once the pigs took over, the chant changed: “Four legs good, two legs better.” In Nigeria, those who cried against dictatorship became the new dictators. Those who preached integrity now swim in scandals. Those who shouted “accountability” have built walls around themselves, refusing to be questioned. The new rulers, like Napoleon and Squealer in Animal Farm, have mastered the art of twisting facts and rewriting history. The result is a people betrayed by their own revolution — a nation stuck in a loop of recycled failures. Every regime promises paradise but delivers purgatory. Every election season renews hope — and every new government deepens despair. The farm keeps changing masters, but never changes management.
Double standards have become the unwritten constitution of the Nigerian state. What is wrong for one tribe, religion, or political camp becomes right for another. The law is not blind; it simply chooses where to look. A poor man who steals a loaf of bread to feed his starving children is paraded like a hardened criminal, while a powerful politician who steals billions smiles on magazine covers and receives honorary degrees. The police pursue the weak with passion and salute the corrupt with pride. Justice in Nigeria wears a price tag. The higher your connection, the lighter your sentence — or the faster your acquittal. Even moral standards have become negotiable. When “our person” does wrong, we call it “a mistake.” When “their person” does right, we find a way to demonize it. This double standard is not limited to politics; it runs deep in religion, education, and even family life. It is the silent poison that kills national conscience and corrodes our collective morality.
On the Nigerian Animal Farm, positions are not earned; they are shared like meat at a tribal feast. Nepotism has replaced merit as the defining qualification for leadership. From local councils to federal ministries, from security appointments to scholarship lists, one can predict outcomes by simply knowing where the applicants come from — or whom they know. Nepotism does not only destroy fairness; it kills competence. It breeds a culture where mediocrity is rewarded and excellence is punished. Bright minds flee the country or withdraw in frustration, while dull minds occupy key offices. And then we wonder why the system fails repeatedly. Just like the pigs in Orwell’s farm who declared themselves the “brainworkers,” Nigerian elites have built invisible fences around power, keeping the common people in perpetual servitude. They distribute offices and opportunities not to serve the people, but to secure their clans and perpetuate control.
Religious and political fanaticism are the twin demons of Nigeria’s dysfunction. They blindfold citizens, making them cheer their oppressors and attack their liberators. In Animal Farm, the sheep repeated slogans without thinking. In Nigeria, millions do the same — reciting propaganda as if it were gospel. Reason has been sacrificed on the altar of blind loyalty. When leaders speak nonsense, their followers shout “Amen.” When they plunder public funds, followers defend them as “our sons.” Fanaticism creates enemies out of compatriots and turns elections into holy wars. It silences objectivity, demonizes dissent, and glorifies folly. Religion, which ought to be the soul’s compass, becomes a political weapon. The fanatics forget that God is not tribal, and truth has no ethnic group. Until Nigerians learn to think beyond sectarian lines, the farm will remain divided — and divided farms never prosper.
If nepotism gives power to the unqualified, favoritism sustains their reign. In Nigeria, who you know matters more than what you can do. The system is built not on justice, but on “connections.” A student who knows a professor’s cousin passes without effort. A contractor with the right “links” wins a multimillion naira project even with a fake company. Promotions, admissions, employment — everything is for sale or for friendship. Favoritism breeds resentment and kills productivity. It discourages honest effort and replaces hope with cynicism. It tells the youth that hard work is useless, and shortcuts are the only way up. No nation grows on such poisoned soil. When the government favors friends and relatives instead of the qualified, it sends a dangerous message: that competence does not matter. And when competence dies, so does progress.
Like Squealer in Animal Farm, Nigeria has its own propaganda masters — smooth-talking officials, media mercenaries, and digital spin doctors who twist lies into headlines. They tell the hungry that they are “sacrificing for a brighter tomorrow,” while they themselves dine in luxury. Every failure is explained away as “the fault of past governments.” Every scandal is buried under tribal noise. And when citizens protest, they are branded “unpatriotic.” Propaganda has become an industry. Lies are packaged as national achievements. The masses are distracted with sports, reality shows, and sensational gossip while the real issues — insecurity, unemployment, and corruption — are swept under the carpet. On the farm, the pigs kept rewriting the commandments. In Nigeria, leaders keep rewriting the narrative — until the people no longer remember what truth looks like.
One of the most tragic elements of both Animal Farm and Nigeria’s current reality is the silence of the majority. The few who see clearly are often too afraid to speak. They have seen what happens to truth-tellers — they are ridiculed, threatened, or eliminated. So the average citizen chooses survival over courage. They whisper their pain in private and clap in public. They see injustice and look away. They know the truth but prefer the comfort of silence. But silence is not neutrality; it is complicity. When good people keep quiet, evil thrives. The sheep bleated until they lost their voices, and by the time they realized what had happened, the pigs were already sleeping in human beds. Nigeria’s liberation will not come from politicians, but from citizens who refuse to be silent.
Every four years, the farm holds an election. Posters, promises, and prayers fill the air. The animals line up, believing that this time will be different. But the outcome is always the same — the same faces in new parties, the same thieves with new slogans. And yet, like the loyal Boxer in Animal Farm who kept saying “I will work harder,” Nigerians keep saying “We will try again.” They endure suffering with saintly patience, mistaking endurance for progress. It is not enough to vote; one must also think. When the electorate is blind, democracy becomes mob rule. When the people are divided, bad leaders thrive. And when history is forgotten, mistakes repeat endlessly. Until the masses stop worshipping personalities and start demanding principles, the cycle of deception will continue.
But not all hope is lost. Every generation gives birth to a new breed — thinkers, reformers, and visionaries who refuse to bow to the rotten order. These are the new animals who read, reason, and resist. They are scattered across classrooms, markets, offices, and social media. They are tired of being herded like sheep. They are questioning authority, exposing lies, and demanding transparency. The rulers fear them — not because they are violent, but because they are enlightened. For nothing frightens tyranny like an informed citizenry. Education, not violence, will end this modern-day Animal Farm. Awareness, not apathy, will rebuild the nation. The moment Nigerians stop seeing themselves as tribes and start seeing themselves as citizens, the pigs will lose their power.
In a society where people regulate what they don’t practice; in a place where the amoral prescribes morality, determines offender and enforces “discipline” thievery and criminality must become the religion so this farm must be reclaimed!
To reclaim the farm, Nigeria must return to truth — moral truth, political truth, and social justice. We must rebuild the foundation of merit. Let the best minds, not the best-connected, lead. Let justice be blind, not biased. Let religion be personal, not political. Let public office be service, not an inheritance. Every Nigerian must become a watchdog, not a lapdog. We must question leaders, challenge lies, and reject manipulation. We must teach our children that honesty is not foolishness, and that integrity is not naivety. And above all, we must never forget that the farm belongs to all of us — not to the pigs, not to the sheep, not to the dogs of power, but to every honest hand that tills its soil.
When the animals of Orwell’s farm looked from pig to man and from man to pig, they could no longer tell the difference. In Nigeria today, we too look from past rulers to present rulers, and the resemblance is frightening. But history is not destiny. The tragedy of Animal Farm need not be ours. The same mind that created the farm can also recreate it — for the better. The same people who were deceived can become the people who demand truth. Let every Nigerian remember: the animals were not defeated by the pigs’ strength, but by their own ignorance and division. Once they learn, once they unite, the story will change. The modern-day Animal Farm can still become a nation of justice, equity, and truth — if the animals wake up from slumber, reclaim their conscience, and remember that no one is more equal than another.
About the Author:
Livy-Elcon Emereonye is a social critic, writer, and moral philosopher whose works explore governance, and the human condition in a changing world.
