Kemi Badenoch: An Expert in Truth-Telling

American journalist Gay Talese, in a letter to Gerald Foos, wrote, “You called yourself a pioneer, a truth-teller, a chance taker, a man to be compared, maybe better than compared to Alfred Kinsey and Masters and Johnson. These people, though recognized with respect today, were vilified when they first appeared on the public scene, considered to be obscene and criminal.” This quote from the Netflix documentary Voyeur shows how groundbreaking figures often face intense criticism before eventual recognition. 

While Kemi Badenoch’s story differs markedly from Foos’s voyeuristic activities, her critiques of Nigeria have sparked similar controversy. The 45-year-old Conservative politician’s commentary about her native country proved provocative enough to draw public rebuke from Nigeria’s Vice President, Kashim Shettima. Yet like many controversial figures before her, Badenoch has built a prominent political profile, even as her frank assessments of Nigeria draw sharp criticism from the country’s citizens. 

What makes her such a compelling figure in British and Nigerian politics? Can her critical commentary about Nigeria be seen as betrayal, or is it an honest reflection of her lived experiences? 

Let’s start with some backstory. Kemi Badenoch is the first Black woman to lead the UK’s Conservative Party—the oldest political party in Britain. Her journey spans two continents: born in London and raised in Nigeria until age 16 when she returned to the UK alone in search of better opportunities. Often compared to Margaret Thatcher for her potential to bring something radically different, what sets Badenoch apart from the past five Tory leaders is her firsthand experience with national decline. In interviews, she often references watching her “relatively wealthy family become poorer and poorer despite working harder and harder as their money disappeared with inflation” in Nigeria. This personal history informs her core political belief: great nations will falter without sound governance.

Her outspoken criticism of Nigeria’s government comes from lived experience. She joins a chorus of Nigerians, both at home and abroad, who openly express their frustration with the country’s trajectory. Social media platforms overflow with Nigerian citizens voicing their grievances, while many others maintain a silence born not of contentment but of fear. For Badenoch, like countless other Nigerian children who left to seek opportunities elsewhere, there was no guidebook for maintaining their “Nigerianness.” Often, they grow up feeling estranged— sometimes even resentful. One such child, against all odds, has now risen to lead the UK’s Conservative Party. 

Yet the repercussions of Badenoch’s outspoken criticism cannot be dismissed. While figures like Shettima are not one to talk, the impact on ordinary Nigerians deserves consideration. When someone of Badenoch’s stature repeatedly portrays Nigeria in a negative light, it potentially prejudices foreigners against both the nation and its people before they have a chance to form their judgments.

The complexity lies in Badenoch’s selective embrace of her heritage. She proudly claims her Yoruba identity while seemingly divorcing it from its Nigerian context. The irony becomes particularly stark when examining her father’s name, Adegoke—traditionally given to protectors of the Oba’s royal legacy. In one interview, she proudly declared that just as her ancestors protected traditional crowns, she would do the same for the UK because she knows “what’s out there.” The contradiction is fascinating: her fierce loyalty to Britain is framed through her Nigerian ancestral legacy. 

Perhaps the most telling irony emerges from her family’s story. While Badenoch emphasizes Nigeria’s failings, she rarely acknowledges that the same system she criticizes enabled her mother, despite lacking formal education, to accumulate enough wealth to fund her daughter’s return to the UK. Beyond irony is Badenoch’s stance on race and identity. While she proclaims herself color-blind, her public statements tell a different story. She distances herself from Northern Nigerians, declaring she has nothing in common with them, and broadly disassociates from Nigeria itself. Yet she pledges absolute fealty to Britain, conveniently overlooking its colonial legacy. 

This selective outrage is telling. While Badenoch rails against Nigerian corruption and bribery, she remains conspicuously silent about Britain’s colonial legacy that helped create these very systems. The British treatment of Kenya illustrates this: during the Mau Mau uprising of 1952 – 1960, British forces unleashed brutal colonial oppression that devastated Kenyan communities. Lives were lost, properties destroyed, and generational wealth obliterated. This wasn’t an isolated incident but part of a larger pattern across Africa, where British colonialism disrupted traditional governance systems, exploited natural resources, and implemented racist policies whose effects reverberated into the present. Given this history, one might ask: where is the accountability from the nation Badenoch claims she’d “die protecting”? 

There’s a certain historical blindness in her position: had the British Empire not disrupted traditional power structures, she might today be part of a thriving Yoruba kingdom rather than defending the very system that dismantled it. This isn’t to absolve Nigeria of its post-independence failures, the country has had numerous opportunities for reform and self-correction. However, Badenoch’s approach mirrors Britain’s broader colonial attitude: harsh criticism without constructive engagement. Just as a child cannot learn solely through criticism, a nation’s growth requires both honest assessment and supportive guidance.

Ultimately, Ms. Badenoch’s relationship with Nigeria is purely transactional—a narrative to differentiate herself in British politics. She’s the outsider who rose through determination, from a McDonald’s worker to Conservative Party member at 25, to party leader. Unlike her predecessors, she can claim firsthand experience of national decline, a narrative she deploys like a political catchphrase. 

To answer our earlier question: while Badenoch’s commentary stems from lived experience, its relentless repetition and strategic deployment suggest something more calculated than honest reflection. And for someone who appears to harbor such disdain for Nigeria, perhaps she owes it a thank-you. After all, it’s the contrast with her Nigerian background that sets her apart from her Conservative peers.

Like other groundbreaking figures, Badenoch will indeed be remembered for daring to be different though perhaps not in the way she intends. Her legacy may be less about breaking barriers and more about the ways identity can be leveraged in politics.