The Vultures in Suits: A Symphony of Shamelessness
Behold the political carrion-eaters—those grifters who clambered into office on slogans slicker than oil, only to spend their tenure as contract beggars, palms outstretched, tongues dripping with lies. They are hyenas in tailored suits, their “service” a pantomime of greed. For years, they gorged on state resources, auctioning projects to the highest bidter, signing phantom deals in backrooms reeking of whiskey and moral decay. They ignored their mandates, abandoned constituents to dust and darkness, and treated governance like a personal ATM—withdrawing prestige, depositing nothing.
And now? When their snouts are yanked from the trough, when the electorate finally vomits them out, these same parasites metamorphose into “government critics.” Overnight, they sprout the robes of righteousness, their voices—once slurred by corruption—now screeching about “accountability.” They flood social media with sanctimonious diatribes, their sudden concern for “the people” as genuine as a counterfeit banknote. Ask yourself: Why did their conscience awaken only after their exit? Why did their “principles” remain dormant while they feasted at the table of exploitation?
The Anatomy of a Fraud
Their playbook is stale, yet audacious:
- Loot while in power—divert contracts to shell companies, inflate budgets, collect kickbacks like trophies.
- Neglect every promise—let roads crumble, hospitals rot, schools suffocate in mold.
- Exit in disgrace—but not before laundering their loot into luxury cars, Dubai estates, and offshore havens.
- Rebrand as “activists”—pontificate on Twitter, grant interviews about “good governance,” and snipe at successors to mask their own stench.
They are ideological chameleons, their colors shifting with the winds of opportunity. Yesterday, they defended every rotten policy; today, they denounce the same. Their criticism isn’t conviction—it’s vengeance. A tantrum thrown because the new guard dared to lock the vault they once pillaged.
A Litany of Hypocrisy
Who are these moral gymnasts to lecture anyone on integrity? Their hands are stained with the ink of forged documents, their souls mortgaged to greed. They speak of “transparency” while hiding behind numbered accounts; they demand “progress” after spending years sabotaging it. Their sudden allergy to corruption is laughable—a heroin addict preaching sobriety after emptying the pharmacy.
And let us not forget their most grotesque talent: gaslighting the masses. They weaponize nostalgia, rewriting history to paint themselves as martyrs. “We tried,” they croak, as if looting ₦500 million for a “borehole project” that never materialized was some noble endeavor. They prey on short memories, betting the people won’t recall the schools they left roofless, the salaries they withheld, the contracts they rerouted to their mistresses.
The Unforgivable Sin: No Shame, Only Strategy
What chills the blood isn’t their corruption—it’s their shamelessness. They feel no remorse, only rage that the feast has ended. Their “criticism” is not a call to justice but a calculated hustle: stay relevant, manipulate public sentiment, and position themselves for the next raid on the treasury. They are rats teaching navigation, arsonists hired as firefighters.
To trust them is to kiss a cobra and pray for mercy. Their words are landmines wrapped in gospel; their agendas, Trojan horses packed with spite. Let them howl into the void. Let them clutch their pearls and scribble op-eds. But never forget: these are the architects of decay, the engineers of despair. Their sudden rebirth as “critics” isn’t redemption—it’s recycling. A corpse sprayed with perfume remains a corpse.
Final Judgment
Burn their sermons. Archive their tenures as cautionary tales. And when they slither back, begging for power “to fix what they broke,” laugh in their faces—then bolt the door. A vulture cannot become a dove. It can only pretend, until it spots the next carcass.
Dr Chukwuemeka Ifegwu Eke writes from Yakubu Gowon University Nigeria.
