By Temitope Muhideen (Convydence)
“Every man has a price; the difference is what he considers worth paying for.” That line, often used to question integrity, now hangs over every political debate in Kwara. Say anything in defence of a politician, and before your argument is examined, someone asks: “How much data did they give you?”
That was the experience of a young political commentator in Ilorin. He made a passionate argument online in defence of a politician. Before anyone addressed the substance of what he had written, the first response came: “Data Boy.” He laughed, but the moment captured our problem. We have become so suspicious of political opinions that we question the sponsor before we examine the argument.
In Kwara today, there is no faster way to end a political argument than to call someone a “Data Boy.” The term, originally used to describe young people given mobile data or stipends to promote politicians online, has become a convenient weapon. If someone praises your opponent, he is a Data Boy. If he criticises your principal, he has been paid. If he publishes a government achievement, he is on somebody’s payroll. But if he does exactly the same thing for your side, it suddenly becomes “defending the truth.”
That is the irony of our politics.
So perhaps the question should not be, who is a Data Boy? The more uncomfortable question is: who isn’t? Almost everyone in politics has an interest. Politicians have interests. Party officials have interests. Journalists have commercial pressures. Aides have employers. Activists have causes. Influencers have audiences. Business owners need relationships. Even the ordinary citizen who argues passionately for one politician over another is not a detached observer. We all speak from somewhere.
The phenomenon is not surprising. Politics has moved from the streets to our phones. In Kwara, WhatsApp groups, Facebook pages and X accounts have become extensions of the political arena. An argument that starts in Ilorin can reach Offa in minutes, and Omu-Aran, Lafiagi, Patigi and Kaiama before the day ends. Someone has to produce that content: writers, designers, video editors, page managers. Some are professionally engaged, others are passionate supporters. Yes, some are paid to push narratives. The real problem is not that people work for politicians. It is what they are willing to do in the course of that work.
There is nothing shameful about paid political communication. Parties employ media teams, politicians have spokespersons, governments have information officers, campaigns hire consultants. If the work is legitimate, why should payment alone make the opinion worthless? It should not. What should matter is whether the claim can be verified.
That is where our conversation needs a reset. We have become too comfortable attacking the messenger instead of examining the message. If someone says a road was constructed, ask where the road is and what it cost. If someone says a project was abandoned, ask what stage it reached. Instead, we simply say: “Data Boy.” Argument over. That is intellectual laziness disguised as sophistication.
And it happens on every side. The person who praises your politician is a patriot; the person who praises his own is a Data Boy. The person who attacks your opponent is courageous; the person who attacks your candidate is sponsored. At some point, we must admit this is not objectivity. It is tribalism.
Kwara deserves better. This is a state with a long and complicated political history that cannot be reduced to what is trending on Facebook. The calculations of Ilorin are not identical to those of Offa. The interests of Igbomina communities are not necessarily those of Asa or Kwara North. Yet social media flattens all that complexity into one question: whose side are you on?
Once loyalty matters more than facts, discourse becomes entertainment. It is easier to say a young man was given data than to answer his argument. But an argument does not become false because the speaker was paid, nor true because he claims independence. A paid communicator can state facts; an unpaid activist can mislead.
This matters as Kwara enters another charged political season. Every camp will want online defenders. That is politics, but the public must not become the casualty.
Young people in this space also deserve fairness. Not everyone managing a political page is a mercenary. Many are graduates, designers, writers, photographers and videographers earning a living. Political communication is one of the few markets available to them. The crucial distinction is between being paid to communicate a position and being paid to manufacture falsehood. One is a profession; the other corrupts public discourse.
Responsibility also lies with politicians. A principal who rewards fabrication should not complain when debate turns toxic. If falsehood is wrong when used by your opponent, it remains wrong when used by your camp. That is intellectual honesty.
Perhaps, then, “we are all Data Boys unless you don’t work for anyone” contains more truth than we admit. Most of us work within interests and loyalties. The goal is not to pretend they do not exist, but to prevent them from controlling our judgment. You can support a politician and still criticise him when he is wrong. You can oppose one and still acknowledge his achievement.
Politics is temporary, but reputation is not. The principal paying today may not answer your calls after the election, but your words will remain online. Someday, someone may ask: what did you stand for when no one was checking?
The real debate, therefore, is not about Data Boys. It is about credibility. Who tells the truth when it is inconvenient? Who can disagree without inventing enemies?
Yes, we may all be Data Boys in one way or another. But you can work for somebody without selling your conscience. In the end, the question is not whether you received data. It is what you did with the truth after you received it.
Temitope Muhideen is the publisher of Confidence News Nigeria