Astroturfing as a concept, derives from Astro Turf, a brand of synthetic carpeting designed to resemble natural grass. The implication of the pun on the word grassroots intended in this context underscores deliberate efforts at conjuring a fake or artificial appearance or a semblance of support instead of a true or natural grassroots support for the activity in question. In the realm of politics, Astroturfing undergirds the process of seeking electoral victory for political actors by using fake grassroots support (crowd-renting) to simulate the image of public consensus and mobilise the public opinions that are sympathetic to their political interests. In contemporary era of commodified politics, rented crowd aptly captures the semantic import of democracy as the ‘currency and facilitator of the modern market society, where, as Chidi Amuta puts it, “everything is a commodity and every interaction is transactional: If you pay, we will troop out for you! If you pay, we shall mobilise votes for you!”
No doubt, the agency of political Astroturfing as practised strategy of using money and outside support to create the illusion of grassroots enthusiasm has remained alive in the political sphere across global climes. This is without regard to the fact that the idea of paying for the appearance of excitement runs contrary to the belief that a political campaign’s fortunes should be somewhat rooted in genuine support for a candidate. For instance, in 2012, Adam Swart founded ‘Crowds on Demand,’ a Los Angeles-based company that provides rental crowds for campaign rallies and protests. Outside, the USA, several ‘crowds for hire’ companies have also sprung up to create fake support for politicians, including a British company, Envisage Promotions, and a similar Ukrainian outfit, Easy Work. Indeed, it was reported that Donald Trump’s presidential campaign in 2015 had used the services of a rent-a-crowd company to simulate public support for his candidacy, where individuals, according to Dan Schneider (TheAtlantic) were paid $50 to cheer at the event. This further accentuates Dakuku Peterside’s claims in ‘Crowd for hire’ that ‘politics all over the world feed on numbers – crowds,’ the basic intention of which is to achieve the salient purpose in politics, that is, ‘a show of strength, to influence the people’s minds, to create the perception of popular support and acceptance, and to generate media buzz and optics.’ In essence, the tendency has been to determine the wide acceptance and general popularity of a candidate by the size of the rented crowd. Such captive herd is often revved up into a frenzied cacophonous babel and rowdy tumult that mass up in support of the various candidates that have paid the commensurate bills.
As in other climes so has political Astroturfing gained renewed impetus for typical politicians in Nigeria and remained aspirational for their campaign organisers. Perhaps, this explains why Chief Rotimi Amaechi’s candid admission about the routine practice of crowd renting in Nigerian politics during a National Conference on Strengthening Democracy in Nigeria did not hit one as a bolt from the blues. What is of utmost interest to one is the context of Amaechi’s confessions and overall implication for democracy in Nigeria. Amaechi’s remarks ably corroborated by former Vice President, Atiku Abubakar, made at a conference meant to strengthen democracy, serve as an ironic testament to the entrenched culture of political manipulation. “When APC was registered, I feared they might rig us out. So, we agreed to organise a demonstration at Eagle Square. We paid people to bring women and others. When I arrived early to assess the situation, I was shocked to see that the women we brought were wearing ‘Jonathan for President’ shirts,” Mr. Amaechi said. The audience convolved with laughter. To drive home Amaechi’s point, former vice President Abubakar begged to ‘intervene here’ to remind the audience that crowd-renting patent belonged to Amaechi’s Rivers State. “When Odili was in office as governor of Rivers, we went on a rally. The entire stadium was filled to capacity. “But before we could finish the rally, everybody had left. We were left alone. Then I asked what happened. He said they were paid for only two hours!” More tumultuous laughter boomed! Yes; rib-cracking laughter indeed.
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And for a moment, Amaechi and Abubakar turned out stand-up comedians, cracking jokes with crowd-renting as a political campaign strategy. And they (including the Conference organisers) laughed out loud. They are not to blame. As the Igbo saying goes, ‘ajọ ihe na-atọ amụ’ (Bad thing elicits laughter). The joke, in the end, is on Nigerians. The ability of the electorate to find amusement in their misfortunes is both an indictment and a tragedy. Laughter in the face of oppression only emboldens those who exploit the people’s collective amnesia and resignation. The political elite have mastered the art of manipulating the populace with tokenism, empty promises, and staged spectacles.
Yet, the irony of Amaechi’s disclosure and Abubakar’s corroborative speech is not lost on Nigerians. These ‘confessional’ statements were made within the context of a conference organised by the African Centre for Leadership, Strategy and Development, a civil society organisation meant to strengthen democracy in Nigeria. And yet, here we are being treated to the bare-faced discursive strategy of political manipulation—by the politicians themselves. This paradox highlights the self-serving nature of transactional politics, where actors confess to undermining democracy while positioning themselves as advocates of democratic strengthening. In a striking parallel, the crowd-renting confessions recall the witches in Shakespearean plays, whose deceptive prophecies manipulate and mislead their victims. Just as Macbeth is led into a false sense of security by the witches’ cryptic words, so too are Nigerians ensnared by some political actors’ rhetorical sleight of hand. The chant of the witches in Macbeth – “Fair is foul, and foul is fair,” blurring the line between reality and illusion – tends to provide as a fitting analogy for the Nigerian political landscape where deception is routine, and the electorate is lulled into a false belief that change is on the horizon. Like Macbeth, Nigerians may eventually awaken to the grim reality of their manipulation, but history suggests it may come too late.
The rhetorical strategy employed by Amaechi and his counterparts aligns with the insights of Critical Discourse Analysis (CDA) scholars such as Teun van Dijk, Michel Foucault, and Ruth Wodak. Van Dijk, for instance, emphasizes how discourse is used to manipulate public perception and reinforce power structures. Amaechi’s speech exemplifies this by simultaneously exposing and perpetuating the very system he critiques – offering a pseudo-confession that shifts blame onto the electorate while absolving the political class of genuine responsibility. Foucault’s analysis of power and knowledge is also instructive here. Some political actors craft narratives that serve their interests, positioning themselves as truth-tellers when it is convenient, while ensuring that the structures enabling their dominance remain intact. By confessing to crowd renting, Amaechi positions himself as a whistleblower of sorts, yet his admission does not challenge the status quo; rather, it reinforces the notion that such practices are inevitable, thereby normalizing Astroturfing in political mobilization. Ruth Wodak’s discourse-historical approach sheds further light on the perpetuation of these deceptive practices. Nigerian politicians recycle the same linguistic patterns and rhetorical devices to justify and excuse their actions. Amaechi’s remarks about Nigerian voters having a short memory serve as both an insult and a self-fulfilling prophecy – if the electorate does not challenge these narratives, they remain complicit in their own disenfranchisement.
Amaechi’s admission and its implications mirror the grim realities Frantz Fanon outlined in The Wretched of the Earth. The Nigerian voters, much like Fanon’s colonized subjects, are trapped in a cycle of manipulation, kept in political servitude by a class that thrives on their ignorance and poverty. Fanon speaks of the dehumanization of the oppressed, and nowhere is this more apparent than in the realm of politics, where the masses are herded like sheep, rented as crowds, and discarded once their purpose is served. As an unknown quantity, the masses are beheld less as citizens with rights and agency, but more as expendable pawns in an unending game of political chess. The cardinal questions remain: Will Nigerians continue to accept this wretched fate, or will they rise to claim their agency? What will be different in 2027? It may not be far off the mark to argue that the confessional outing was ‘testing the microphone’ in readiness for 2027; a cavalier way of walking themselves back into the consciousness of the Nigerian electorates. If the latter holds, what options do the conference confessions hold for the Nigerian voter? One of such options is the imperative of developing a heightened sensitivity to the ways in which political discourse is used to deceive, pacify, and control. The linguistic action being advocated here is critical language awareness, a crucial plank of Critical Applied Linguistics, which forms the thrust of our discussion next week. The confessions should serve as a wake-up call, not just an exposé of political manipulation but as a challenge to voters to break free from this cycle. Otherwise, come 2027, the same faces will return, the same tricks will be deployed, and, as Amaechi has already predicted, Nigerians will once again cruise along the well-worn rollercoaster thoroughfare: collect crumbs and peanuts, clap, cheer, and forget until the next electoral cycle.
Agbedo is a professor of Linguistics at the University of Nigeria Nsukka (UNN).
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