Nigerian politician Alex Ikwechegh has sparked widespread indignation following the circulation of a video showing him physically assaulting and verbally mistreating a taxi driver who was delivering food to his residence. In the widely circulated video, Ikwechegh was heard stating, “Do you know who I am?… I can make you disappear in this whole country, and nothing will happen.” The confrontation reportedly began when the driver requested Ikwechegh to come outside to receive the food, instead of the driver bringing it indoors. The footage was extensively shared by dismayed Nigerians, compelling Ikwechegh, a representative for the south-eastern town of Aba in the House of Representatives and a member of the opposition All Progressives Grand Alliance (APGA) party, to issue a formal apology. This apology stood in sharp contrast to the arrogant and intimidating demeanor he displayed in the video. Regrettably, it is a frequent occurrence in Nigeria for public officials and other influential individuals, often referred to as “big men,” to leverage their authority to intimidate ordinary citizens using the common expression: “Do you know who I am?” This phrase serves as an assertion of the perceived untouchable status they believe themselves to possess. Furthermore, politicians, including numerous Members of Parliament, frequently intimidate the populace by traveling in extensive convoys, complete with police escorts and loud sirens. These convoys are granted precedence over standard traffic, and security personnel occasionally respond aggressively toward individuals who do not yield to their passage. However, this recent incident is particularly disheartening given that Ikwechegh, aged 42, belongs to a younger cohort of political figures. Several years prior, civil society organizations initiated the “Not Too Young to Run” campaign with the aim of encouraging greater participation of young individuals in Nigerian politics. Given that 70% of the nation’s populace is under 35, the initiative sought to reduce the age requirements for contesting elections, thereby enabling younger Nigerians to introduce novel concepts and a renewed perspective to leadership. The campaign achieved success in 2018, resulting in a reduction of the minimum age stipulations for various political positions and an increase in the proportion of young candidates from 6% to 27% within a single year. Specifically, the eligibility age for the House of Representatives, which is the lower chamber of parliament, was lowered from 30 to 25. For the Senate and governorship, it decreased from 35 to 30, and for president, from 40 to 30. With Nigeria’s median age being merely 18, there was considerable hope that younger leaders would dismantle established patterns of oppression and a sense of entitlement. Nevertheless, Ikwechegh’s conduct demonstrates some of the very behaviors that many young Nigerians had wished to see eradicated. Unfortunately, his situation is not isolated. Two years prior, Elisha Abbo, then Nigeria’s youngest senator at 41 years old, was recorded slapping a shop assistant after alleging that she had “insulted” him. He issued a threat of arrest against her and even summoned a police officer to execute it. The event was captured by CCTV cameras and ultimately resulted in an apology from Abbo, who ceased to be a senator after his electoral defeat last year. However, it revealed the profound entrenchment of this culture of power abuse. These occurrences have led many Nigerians to question whether younger leaders are succumbing to the same pitfalls as their predecessors. This scenario reminds me of my time in boarding school, where older students routinely harassed younger ones. During our junior years, my peers and I would eagerly discuss our anticipated actions upon becoming seniors, envisioning the disciplinary measures we would impose on those younger than us. It seemed like an inherent right, a prospect to anticipate – offering minor solace amidst the difficulties of being a junior – that eventually, we would be the ones wielding authority, rather than being its recipients. Yet, by the time we reached our senior year, the school implemented new regulations prohibiting bullying, and we felt deprived. We had patiently awaited our opportunity, and now that perceived right was being rescinded. The school maintained its new rules, though many seniors still discovered methods to bypass them. It appears that this identical pattern is unfolding at a national scale. When a 42-year-old politician, who is active on social media, can assault a taxi driver – three times – on camera without hesitation, it compels us to question whether the younger generation of politicians intends merely to perpetuate, rather than disrupt, the cycle of privilege, and whether their true desire is for a fresh beginning or simply to await their opportunity to exercise power without limitation. Nigeria’s House of Representatives has forwarded Ikwechegh’s case to its Ethics and Privileges Committee following accusations that he brought the institution into disrepute. Furthermore, he has been formally charged in court with “threats, assaults, and abuse of public office.” His conduct serves as a stark reminder that a sense of entitlement and impunity might be more profoundly ingrained in Nigerian culture than can be resolved solely through generational shifts. Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani, a Nigerian journalist and novelist, resides in Abuja and London. 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