Big Brother Naija and the death of National attention

By Christopher Obasuyi
In a time of hunger, hardship, and rising hopelessness, Nigeria is once again glued to its screens.
The country is battling record inflation, fuel scarcity, insecurity, mass unemployment, and the collapse of its currency — yet millions are focused not on policies or reforms, but on a group of strangers living in a luxury house on Big Brother Naija Season 10.
As the price of rice continues to rise beyond the reach of ordinary families, and public services like healthcare and education crumble, the national conversation is dominated by gossip, romance, and televised drama. We are, once again, entertained into silence.
This is not just unfortunate. It is dangerous.
From Suffering and Smiling to Numbing and Forgetting
Years ago, the great Fela Anikulapo Kuti described Nigerians as “suffering and smiling.” Today, it seems we’ve gone a step further: we are suffering and distracted.
Even as the economy worsens and frustration grows, millions of young people are busy defending their favourite housemates on social media, spending their last airtime to vote, and analysing meaningless conflicts on television. What should be national outrage is being replaced by national entertainment.
Big Brother Naija is not just a show anymore. It is a sign — a mirror showing how far we’ve drifted from the real problems we must confront.
This kind of distraction is not new. Centuries ago, during the Roman Empire, leaders found ways to keep the public from protesting or demanding justice. Instead of reform, they gave people free grain and staged massive public games. Gladiator fights, festivals, and shows kept the crowds happy — or at least quiet.
The Roman poet Juvenal called it “Bread and Circuses.” And it worked. The empire slowly decayed, not with a bang, but with applause.
Today, Nigeria’s version of “bread and circuses” includes glamorous reality shows, comedy skits, celebrity gossip, and loud music videos — all at a time when soaring food prices — from tomatoes and pepper to yam and rice — are pushing millions into hunger. Data bundles are becoming unaffordable, yet we continue to spend on streaming shows while the country crumbles offline.
Big Brother Naija is not funded by the government, but it serves a political purpose — even if unintentionally.
In a country where protests are shut down, labour unions are weak or compromised, student unions are fragile, and accountability is rare, distractions become very useful. If young people are busy voting for housemates, they’re not marching in the streets. If emotions are spent on fictional love stories, there’s less energy left to ask why salaries are unpaid or why the naira is worthless.
The multinational corporation organising this programme — one that has already been stopped by many of the countries that originally started it — must also be called out. In Europe and Australia, Big Brother was discontinued due to falling ratings, moral and ethical concerns, scandals, and the psychological toll on participants. Yet, the show continues to flourish in Nigeria, a country already weighed down by economic despair.
Their decision to keep running this spectacle in the middle of Nigeria’s worst economic crisis is irresponsible and deeply insensitive to the mood and plight of the suffering masses. What should be coming from them right now is not a reality show, but welfare packages and social initiatives to help the most vulnerable Nigerians.
This is how soft control works. No need for teargas or threats — just give the people something to enjoy, and they may forget to complain.
While housemates live in comfort, millions of Nigerians are deciding whether to buy food or pay transport fares. The economy is getting worse. Insecurity is growing. Yet, instead of facing the crisis, we are choosing to escape it.
This is not about blaming the audience. Nigerians deserve joy. But when joy becomes our only focus, and when entertainment replaces education, policy, and activism, the cost is heavy. A nation that forgets itself becomes easier to manipulate.
Where Are the Voices?
Once upon a time, Nigerian musicians were the conscience of the nation. Fela Anikulapo-Kuti, Sunny Okosun, and Majek Fashek spoke boldly against corruption, injustice, and oppression. They used music not just for rhythm but for resistance.
And they did this at great personal risk — even under military regimes notorious for jailing critics, seizing property, and crushing dissent. Yet they still sang.
They were not alone. Charly Boy (The Area Fada) blended music, protest, and fearless activism, using his “OurMumuDonDo” movement and public demonstrations to challenge government excesses. Ras Kimono used reggae to confront poverty and human rights abuses. Orits Wiliki combined deep spiritual and political messages to call out systemic injustice. African China, with songs like “Mr. President” and “Crisis,” became the voice of a frustrated generation, calling out police brutality and government negligence. Eedris Abdulkareem’s iconic “Jaga Jaga” called out Nigeria’s leaders for dragging the nation into decay. Artists like Onyeka Onwenu and Evi Edna Ogholi also lent their voices to justice, unity, and the defence of the vulnerable.
Today, that spirit has largely gone silent. Many entertainers now sing at political rallies, endorse the very leaders deepening the hardship, or avoid social issues altogether. The microphone, once a weapon for truth, has become a toy.
We are left with catchy beats, but no message. The music plays — but it says nothing.
This is not a call to ban entertainment. Every society needs laughter, music, and escape. But we cannot afford to be entertained into forgetfulness. We cannot know every housemate by name, yet ignore our lawmakers. We cannot spend all our time voting on TV, but not show up at the real polls.
Our economy is crashing. Our institutions are breaking. Our currency is falling.
The cameras roll on. So does hunger. So does hardship. So does history.
Which shall we choose to behold?
Obasuyi, MA Politics/International Relations, writes from the UK
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