The release of “Jagaban Dey Work” raises an uncomfortable question about Nigerian politics: is celebrity endorsement becoming a substitute for performance, and can a campaign song make Nigerians forget the economic realities they face every day?
There is something deeply symbolic about a former music superstar releasing a campaign song for a president whose administration continues to face questions about economic hardship, living costs and the gap between political promises and ordinary Nigerians’ lived experiences.
Former Nigerian music star Konga has released a campaign song titled “Jagaban Dey Work” in support of President Bola Ahmed Tinubu. The title itself is a political statement. It asks listeners to associate the president with activity, productivity and progress.
But in a country where millions of citizens judge government by the price of food, the cost of transportation, the availability of jobs and the value of their earnings, a more important question demands an answer: working towards what, and delivering for whom?
The collaboration between Konga and the ruling All Progressives Congress (APC) offers an opportunity to examine a recurring feature of Nigerian political culture: the alliance between celebrity publicity and political power, where the language of success can sometimes become detached from measurable outcomes.
Both the artist's public comeback and the governing party's political messaging invite scrutiny of the difference between a compelling performance and a convincing result.
The APC's problem: activity is not the same as achievement
President Tinubu's administration has pursued major economic reforms, most notably the removal of the petrol subsidy and changes to foreign-exchange management. The government has defended these policies as necessary corrections to longstanding structural problems.
Supporters argue that Nigeria could not continue indefinitely with an expensive subsidy system and a distorted foreign-exchange regime. That argument deserves to be examined on its merits.
But announcing reforms is not the same as demonstrating that they have improved citizens' lives.
The removal of the petrol subsidy immediately altered the cost of transportation and distribution across the economy. Higher transport costs put pressure on food prices, household budgets and businesses already struggling with expensive energy and weak purchasing power. Currency depreciation has added to the cost of imported goods and production inputs.
The relevant test is not whether the government has been busy. It is whether the benefits of reform are reaching the population, whether vulnerable households are adequately protected and whether economic growth is translating into better living standards.
A government can be active and still fail to deliver sufficient relief. It can announce ambitious programmes while citizens remain unable to afford basic necessities.
This is the distinction the phrase “Jagaban Dey Work” conveniently leaves unanswered.
Work is an input. Results are the measure of performance.
If a government asks citizens to celebrate its activity, it should also be willing to account for the outcomes of that activity. How many sustainable jobs have been created? How much has real household purchasing power improved? Are businesses becoming more productive? Are public services improving? Are Nigerians receiving tangible value for the taxes and sacrifices demanded of them?
These are questions that no campaign soundtrack can answer.
When propaganda becomes a substitute for accountability
Political music is not new to Nigeria. Politicians have long enlisted musicians, actors, religious figures and social-media personalities to popularise their messages, energise supporters and make political brands more emotionally appealing.
Music is especially effective because it makes political communication memorable. A slogan repeated in a catchy chorus can travel further than a lengthy policy document. It can turn a complicated political argument into a simple emotional association.
There is nothing inherently wrong with an artist supporting a candidate. Musicians are citizens, and they have the same right to political expression as anyone else.
The problem begins when celebrity endorsement is used to create an impression of success that public evidence has not established.
A song can celebrate a president. It cannot establish that inflation has become manageable for ordinary households, that unemployment has fallen sustainably or that public institutions have become more effective.
Nor should a government's popularity among entertainers be confused with its performance in public office.
In a functioning democracy, campaign messaging should invite scrutiny rather than discourage it. If the administration is delivering, its achievements should withstand examination without requiring citizens to suspend their judgment.
The danger of political propaganda is not that it uses music. It is that it can transform the demand for evidence into a contest of loyalty.
The citizen asking difficult questions becomes an enemy of progress. The critic demanding better outcomes is dismissed as a political opponent. Meanwhile, the government receives applause for promises, announcements and publicity.
That is how political branding can begin to replace political accountability.
Konga and the politics of borrowed credibility
Konga's participation also raises a broader question about the relationship between celebrity and political legitimacy.
The entertainment industry operates on visibility, reputation and audience engagement. Political power operates through public institutions, budgets, laws and decisions that affect millions of people.
The two worlds intersect when politicians recruit entertainers to make their messages more appealing.
A recognised musician brings familiarity and cultural relevance to a political campaign. The politician, in turn, offers access to political platforms, publicity and association with power.
Such arrangements can be mutually beneficial. But they also create a risk: the celebrity's recognition may lend emotional credibility to a political message without providing evidence for the claims embedded in it.
The title “Jagaban Dey Work” encourages an audience to think of presidential activity as a reason for approval. Yet citizens should not have to rely on an entertainer's endorsement to determine whether a government is performing.
The question is not whether Konga is entitled to support Tinubu. He is.
The question is whether the public should mistake that support for proof of good governance.
An artist may genuinely believe in a political leader's programme. Another may support the same leader for ideological, personal or commercial reasons. None of those possibilities, by itself, proves that the administration is succeeding or failing.
Political endorsement is an expression of preference, not an independent performance audit.
That distinction matters in a political environment where celebrity culture can sometimes give familiar faces more influence over public perception than detailed scrutiny of government policy.
Two bubbles, one political spectacle?
Describing Konga and the APC as bubbles of failure is a provocative political judgment. But the comparison becomes more meaningful when we examine the different standards by which their respective successes should be measured.
For a musician, commercial success may involve hit records, audience reach, sustained relevance, concert attendance and the ability to adapt to changing musical tastes.
For a governing party, success should involve public welfare, economic opportunity, security, competent administration, infrastructure, institutional integrity and the responsible management of public resources.
These are different responsibilities, and they should not be confused.
A musician's declining popularity, if established, is not equivalent to a government's failure to meet its obligations. Equally, a president's political influence does not establish that the administration has delivered good results.
The comparison is strongest as a critique of political spectacle: the possibility that both celebrity publicity and party propaganda can generate the appearance of success even when the underlying results require much closer examination.
The APC cannot demonstrate good governance merely by mobilising famous supporters. Konga cannot establish the quality of the administration's policies merely by recording a song in its praise.
Both claims require independent evidence.
And that is precisely why the song's title invites scrutiny. If the president is working, the public is entitled to examine what that work has achieved. If the administration believes its policies are succeeding, it should welcome comparisons between its promises and verifiable outcomes.
The governing party should not need a musician to answer questions that its policies and performance ought to answer directly.
The political economy of suffering
The most important audience for “Jagaban Dey Work” is not the political establishment or the entertainment industry. It is the Nigerian citizen who must decide whether the administration's record justifies another term in office.
For a household struggling with food costs, the debate is not primarily about political slogans. It is about whether income can cover essential expenses.
For a small business owner, it is about electricity, transportation, access to credit, taxation and the ability to retain customers.
For a young graduate, it is about whether education can lead to meaningful employment instead of prolonged economic uncertainty.
For a farmer, it is about security, access to markets, fertiliser costs and the ability to earn a sustainable income.
These are the constituencies against which the administration's performance should be judged.
It would be simplistic to attribute every economic problem to one president or one political party. Nigeria inherited longstanding structural weaknesses, and global developments also influence domestic economic conditions. Some reforms may impose short-term costs while attempting to address deeper problems.
But acknowledging these realities does not remove the government's responsibility to demonstrate results, communicate honestly about the costs of its policies and protect citizens who are least able to absorb economic shocks.
A reform programme cannot be considered successful merely because its architects insist that it is necessary. Its implementation, distributional effects and eventual benefits must all be evaluated.
If citizens are repeatedly asked to endure hardship in anticipation of future prosperity, the government must provide credible evidence that the promised prosperity is becoming more attainable.
Otherwise, calls for patience begin to sound like demands for unconditional political loyalty.
Nigeria needs evidence, not an endless soundtrack
The APC has every right to promote its achievements, and Konga has every right to lend his voice to the campaign. Political expression should not be restricted simply because it supports the government.
But a democratic society must preserve a clear distinction between publicity and accountability.
Campaign songs can entertain. They can mobilise supporters. They can capture the mood of a political movement. What they cannot do is replace independent assessments of economic performance and public welfare.
If “Jagaban Dey Work” is intended as a celebration of Tinubu's administration, the natural response is to ask for the evidence behind that celebration.
What has improved? What remains broken? Who has benefited? Who has borne the costs? Which promises have been fulfilled, and which remain outstanding?
Those questions are not hostility towards the government. They are the foundation of democratic citizenship.
The same principle applies to Konga. His return to political visibility through a campaign song should be assessed on the merits of the music and the message, not treated as proof of either personal failure or success.
The wider concern is that Nigerian politics repeatedly turns governance into a spectacle, with slogans, celebrities and carefully managed publicity competing for attention while substantive questions receive less scrutiny.
A country cannot sing its way out of economic hardship. Neither can it govern effectively through branding alone.
Conclusion: let the results sing
“Jagaban Dey Work” may become a campaign anthem, but its title also provides a standard against which the government can be judged.
If the president is working, Nigerians should be able to identify the results in their everyday lives, public institutions and economic opportunities. If the APC believes it deserves continued public support, it should be prepared to defend its record with evidence rather than relying on celebrity endorsements.
And if Konga wants to help shape the political conversation, his song should be understood for what it is: a campaign statement, not an independent verdict on the administration.
The deeper issue is not whether a former superstar should support a sitting president. It is whether Nigerian politics has become so dependent on spectacle that the appearance of activity can overshadow the demand for measurable results.
A government is not successful because a musician sings that it is working. It is successful when citizens can see, measure and experience the benefits of that work.
Until then, the applause, slogans and campaign songs remain political performances. The real audience has a more demanding question: what, exactly, has changed for the better?
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