Category: Opinion

By Oseloka H. Obaze

Nigeria’s political landscape in the run up to Nigeria’s 2027 general election is exceedingly fluid and mercurial. While cyclical elections should be routine, Nigeria’s simmering political environment and extremely polarized country, are not exactly the most conducive atmosphere for holding what is certain to be very fiercely contentious elections.  The unyielding contention that the 2023 presidential elections were tantamount to a stolen mandate further compounds the electoral outlook. Some troubling shenanigans are already unfolding.

What will perhaps make the 2027 elections even far more problematic is the surfeit of national disgruntlement with the ruling APC’s attempt to foist one party on the nation. Add to that broader discontent with the national elite and intelligentsia, for continually disenfranchising Nigerians. The overarching consensus is that the national leadership elite has gone rogue on the people they are supposed to lead, serve and protect. Another consensus is that the 2027 election will be between Tinubu’s APC alliance and the alliance of suffering Nigerian masses.  Whatever be the case, Nigeria’s democracy is far too precious to be sacrificed on the caprices of a few.

The fact remains that present crop of Nigerian leaders are fully engaged in political idiocy. They can hardly conduct respectful foreign policy. Neither can they conduct credible and sufficiently free national elections, even though the broad echelon of our electoral establishments are encumbered by supposedly the “best and the brightest” professors drawn from our tertiary institutions.  Incidentally, they, too, have long gone rogue. They now represent insidious national security risk. But it does make sense, after all. Those who require “sorting” by cash or sex to pass their students certainly will engage in “sorting” to elevate charlatans into national public offices.

In our politics, we are now fully transactional. It’s known that in politics and leadership, the ruling party has commoditized every elective and appointive position; they have subjugated every potentially good candidate, except the thieves and looters.  Recently published APC election nomination fees, speaks volumes.  INEC’s  recent decision to singularly and statutorily play court and  misinterpret a court’s decision,  by delisting ADC leaders with a view to destabilizing and destroying Nigeria’s main opposition party, speaks volumes. Ironically, it’s against this dubious political landscape that some are clamoring for a second term for the incumbent administration.

The heady question is whether the Nigeria’s populace will extract their pound of flesh by the way the cast their protest votes and deliver their message of annoyance? This naturally, leads to another critical question.  What is Nigeria’s 2027 offramp? These questions are pertinent, considering that the national leadership has gone rogue.

Nigeria has always been circumstantial.  That’s the literal truth.  Nigeria has also long suffered due to lack of elite consensus. And Nigerians continue to suffer immeasurably, as their national elite and intelligentsia has become complicit on matters of undermining good governance, national interest and nation-building. This is more so, as the national elite and intelligentsia willfully abdicate their moral, statutory and civic obligations, thus making the nation a tough minefield to navigate.

Sadly, some Nigerians seem to be missing the red flag. Most gloss over full implications of the national elite and intelligentsia going rogue on them and their posterity, with unfettered impunity. Presently, Nigeria is not just being looted to the point strangulation and implosion, but also, being sold to external speculators.  The nation is also subscribing to foreclosure or re-colonization. If unchecked, when this process ends, there will perhaps be no nation called Nigeria.  The country would have gone the way of Yugoslavia and hundreds other countries that were dissolved. This assertion is hardly speculative. It is a serious, hard-stuff conclusion, founded on factuality, realty, credibility and certainty.

First and foremost, it’s indisputable that present day Nigeria functions in a globule of leadership recklessness, profligacy, and over indulgence. The enabling variables are evident; prebendalism coupled with endless bloodletting, visceral violence, insecurity, multi-dimensional poverty, raid and rape of the national coffers. There is an expansive distrust gap between the rich and the poor, and between ethnicities. Insidious bigotry is now common place. Above all, the government keeps failing in her responsibility to protect all her citizens equally. Some unfolding events, point to rogue government agencies or rogue government agents being complicity entangled with bandits and other non-state actors.

Whilst our leadership elite and intelligentsia covet national greatness, they work assiduously against true nation building.  In their self-serving interest, they foster public policies that demonize, rather than humanize Nigerians. They’ve been characterized as “brutes, who take delight in the suffering of the common masses.” Through their extravagant devotion to profligacy, they have foisted on Nigerians the price of blood by successfully weaponizing poverty and hunger.

But on the flip side, there is also an emergent self-inflicted corollary. A broad cadre of the national elite and intelligentsia has progressively become victims of our worsening national situation.  Now that the nation seems to have reached the coda, the national elite and intelligentsia are just as susceptible to banditry, violence and kidnapping, and their homesteads being pillaged by armed bandits. Some are now being stoned in their villages.

Our leadership elite and intelligentsia have not just squandered our national wealth; they have hardly built regenerative industries and projects that really empower the populace with employment and poverty alleviation.  Under their watch, public expenditures are vastly disproportional to the national revenue.  Without remorse or reserve, Nigeria is being publicly consigned and outsourced; and not with a modicum of national interest in mind. They liquidated subsidy, only to borrow profligately, even to the point of ensnaring future generations into indebtedness.  Poor national planning has led to sustained structural stress, most notably, in the power sector. Access to potable water and rudimentary healthcare services remains dismal.

Our national infrastructure is diametrically so backward and decrepit, for a country tending towards seventy years of independence- an enviable span of lifetime in real terms.    Nigeria’s overall national development is so laggardly; we might as well be a twenty-five year old least developed country (LDC). The leadership elite and intelligentsia have turned our once productive and proud nation into a “fantastically corrupt” and “disgraced” country.  We are now net consumers of the good, bad and ugly; in imported foreign food and other manufactured products. We have not earned such opprobrium and adjectival qualifications by default, but by brazen actions, conduct, insincerity and insensate greed of our self-promoting, self-protecting and self-aggrandizing national elite and intelligentsia.

Unquestionably, our leadership, politics, governance and national direction have all been clearly corrupted by greed that is bereft of consequences.  And so long as there are no consequences for greed, corruption and grand larceny, impunity will reign. This is particularly so, for those well-aligned with the ruling APC government.

Clearly, it has also become public policy of sorts, to abet scoff-laws and shield criminals.   As a political vessel, the ruling APC is akin to the Titanic, in terms of its enormity, population, and seeming invincibility. Like the great Titanic, APC’s trajectory, size, vulnerability and fate, seems all too obvious. But the long-term negative impact is already unfurling. Most Nigerians, who feel extremely betrayed by the leadership elite and intelligentsia, are conscious that the chicken has finally come home to roost. As the bubble seems all set to burst, the great risk posed to the elite and intelligentsia, stems from their betrayed constituents.

It is inconceivable to think that a few good men and women of conscience and courage no longer exist in Nigeria.  That is not so. However, the inexplicable nexus between the governing powers and Nigeria’s well-to-do, presents a deeply troubling paradox.  Most people of means in Nigeria are witnesses and already have it seared deeply in their minds, what happens to those who refuse to align with the ruling government and party. You either acquiesce to the leadership’s dictates, or lose your perks and perquisites.  State institutions including law, security and electoral agencies have been extremely weaponized. This explains the spasm of political defections to the ruling APC. Yet; Nigeria’s “refuseniks” who don’t like or support APC are in the legions.

Self-preservation may have become the norm for some. But the price of such acquiescence is awfully prejudicial. The national degenerative consequences respect no social strata. Whereas poverty might be stratified, insecurity is not.  Decrepit infrastructure affects everyone alike. Our national elite and intelligentsia are like hooked junkies, badly in need of quick fixes and palliatives.   They now project the same pangs to the hungry masses. And for these reasons, Nigerians hold them collectively in no esteem. They have become national objects of reproach.

Nigeria is at a very dangerous juncture. It requires to be reset urgently.  Sadly, the damage being done to corporate Nigeria is being masked by rhetoric and orchestrated political narratives designed to confuse and present faux facades of a nation well-grounded on a trajectory of renewed hope. What an irony? Blatant lies are easy to tell and sell. Yet, the inconvenient truth hits hard.  The national elite and intelligentsia have chosen the easier and lesser paths that are wrong, instead of the harder rights required for true nation building.  They are reaping from the national coffers, in places where they never speculated nor invested. But we need to bear this in mind. There will be consequences; and consequence has no expiry date.  Contextually, one will find these views by Obi J. Iwuchukwu, instructive: “Tomorrow has a way of arriving uninvited and when it does, wealth will not buy time, influence will not manufacture oxygen and power will not negotiate with morality.”

As those in charge of governance and public coffers continue to go rogue, their “power will not negotiate with morality.”  Their actions will elicit the worst possible ramifications ahead of the 2027 elections.  The question is: what’s Nigeria’s safest offramp from the present national quandary?

All kinds of permutations exist for 2027.  But the process and outcome will be markedly different from 2023.   There will be only two choices.  The first is Bola Tinubu, representing the state quo and discredited national elite and intelligentsia. The second is Peter Obi, representing Nigerian disenfranchised population and those still committed to resetting the system.   By way of analogy, where we are, endemic corruption is now suitably a national pastime just as the game of soccer, which we all love so much.  Sadly, in the present instance, the players, referees, VAR umpires, league officials are all in for the loot as the national population watch.  What is clear but many refuse to see it, is the inevitable mob action and chaos that will ensue in the arena were the “on your mandate we stand” game to go dubiously into overtime.

Given the two choices confronting Nigeria, the decision will be stark. It’s either to support Tinubu or a core Northerner, and let the music play on.  Or as has been averred, support a Southeast-North alignment. The latter case will mean the support of Peter Obi from the Southeast, twined with a deputy from the core north.  Presently, Peter Obi, despite his imperfections, remains Nigeria‘s most consequential politician. Yet, the ant in Nigeria’s ointment is not Peter Obi or whether he becomes Nigeria’s president or not. The system must reset.

Nigeria is immersed in a debilitating morass. The historically enlightened southwest has inexplicably capitulated to ethnic bigotry of a very few on the fringe. The once redoubtable southsouth still wallows in its self-imposed schizophrenia. The core North, Middle Belt and Southeast, are by fate mired in the same quagmire. They need each other to escape from the cesspit. Saving Nigeria dictates that they must forge a robust redemptive alliance girded on sacrifice and consensus. Only they can reset Nigeria and reverse prevailing damages. The battle will be fierce. The choice is really up to the North.  It may seem like the devil’s alternative for the North; but they can’t eat their cake and have it.  There’s a clear offramp. They need to take it.

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Obaze is MD/CEO, Selonnes Consult – a policy, governance and management consulting firm in Awka

By Uzoma Ahamefule

If Obi emerges as the presidential candidate for the ADC, the battle for Aso Rock in 2027 will be fundamentally altered, with up to 50 per cent of the advantage slipping from Tinubu’s grasp.

In light of the weight of existing evidence when subjected to objective analysis, the prospect of Tinubu winning a free, fair, and credible presidential election in 2027 is exceedingly unlikely.

If Atiku were to become the ADC’s presidential candidate, the passionate, citizen-driven momentum currently building nationwide, fuelled by “Obidient” volunteers willing to invest their own resources without expectation, would significantly wane. This would mark a departure from the Labour Party phenomenon of 2023. This erosion of enthusiasm would diminish the ADC’s competitive advantage against the ruling APC and effectively strengthen Tinubu’s position.

History is a cold sovereign, indifferent to the pleas of the powerful and the pride of the partisan. It has no allies to protect or enemies to spite. It moves only by the relentless engine of facts that remain immune to influence because it lacks the human capacity for favouritism. One must acknowledge this reality of history and accept the stark choice or be consumed by its weight.

In retrospect, the strategic misstep of the PDP in 2023 was the foundational tragedy that precipitated today’s systemic collapse and the current national catastrophe. History teaches us that repeating the same mistakes without reform is a recipe for stagnation. Persisting in the same failed patterns year after year yet expecting a different outcome defies political logic and the basic tenets of human progress.

Obi

ADC members must understand this clearly, put their feelings aside, and face reality. Peter Obi is the one beacon of hope for those seeking an alternative to the current situation, and overlooking his potential would lead to certain defeat. Nigerians cannot afford another era of political vanity and must unite behind the most acceptable option or face the harsh consequences of their own irrelevance – a tragedy of choice, not fate.

History will not be kind to the ADC if it repeats the same mistake as the PDP in 2023. That decision has now been etched into history as a profound mistake. It serves as a reminder that when political structures ignore the will of the people, the resulting stagnation is a burden shared by all citizens. History beckons; 2027 offers another chance for Nigerians to change this narrative that has long been defined by lamentation and regret. If Peter Obi were to secure the ADC presidential nomination for 2027, it would instantly shift the political landscape, stripping the APC of half its incumbency advantage before a single vote has been cast.

Based on verifiable evidence and objective analysis, in a free, fair, and credible election, President Tinubu would not win the 2027bpresidential election.

However, for the ADC and Obi, the real challenge will be not just winning the votes and hearts of Nigerians but also standing resolute against thuggery and manipulation to ensure the will of the people is respected. Appeal to the hearts of Nigerians is only half of the competitive process. The rest involves confronting electoral fraud, battling the weaponisation of state apparatus, stopping ballot snatching and result swapping, preventing the use of fake security forces, stopping the mutilation of result sheets, and ensuring that manufactured data intended to override the public will is not announced. None of these issues can be solved with manifestos and good speeches alone. Without achieving total victory over these forces, the pain of the Nigerian people will only be amplified for another four years.

Atiku

In 2003, Atiku Abubakar’s influence in Nigerian politics was considered so significant that President Obasanjo was said to have personally appealed to him for support in his bid for a second term. As was widely reported at the time, had Atiku chosen to contest the PDP presidential primary, many believed that he had the necessary political machinery and delegate loyalty to defeat Obasanjo. In spite of that, he decided against it in the belief that Obasanjo would support his presidential bid after his second term. However, the middle of Obasanjo’s second term was marred by political turmoil surrounding the allegedly unsuccessful “Third Term” agenda.

Whatever may have happened, Obasanjo had his reasons for not supporting Atiku’s bid for the Nigerian presidency in 2007. Atiku felt betrayed because Obasanjo did not reciprocate his support when the opportunity arose. To this day, the two men are political enemies.

Atiku, Nigeria’s former Vice President, still remains one of the most formidable figures in the country’s political landscape. Despite pursuing the highest office in the land on several occasions, the presidency has frustratingly continued to elude him. It is difficult to ascertain whether this persistent outcome reflects a cruel twist of fate, misaligned political timing, or the complex dynamics of power itself. The reason remains open to interpretation.

In keeping with the timeless maxim, one must give to Caesar what is rightfully his. Atiku is a very strong political opponent. His wealth of experience and loyal supporters have long established him as a formidable force and a challenger of undeniable weight. However, despite his stature, the current momentum has eclipsed the viability of his candidacy. At this stage, any attempt he makes to emerge as the ADC flag bearer would be a trial-and-error gamble. Instead, party members should see themselves as engaged in a national rescue mission with Obi at the forefront, while encouraging Atiku to play the role of a statesmanlike kingmaker in support of his candidacy. Ultimately, they would all be winners. A holistic assessment suggests that any deviation would risk plunging the country into yet another collective disaster.

If this advice is not followed and Atiku secures the ADC’s presidential nomination, the fervent grassroots support that the “Obidient Movement” has organically mobilised across Nigeria—characterised by personal sacrifice and self-funding, as was evident during the Labour Party’s surge in popularity in 2023—would likely dissipate. Such a decline would prove disadvantageous against an entrenched ruling party like the APC, and his emergence could ultimately strengthen the position of the APC and Tinubu.

Tinubu

ADC members have accused the APC of orchestrating moves to exclude them from the electoral process in 2027. Despite a wave of gubernatorial defections to the APC, anxiety within the party about the ADC’s involvement in the 2027 presidential race remains persistent.

Some political pundits and opposition figures have criticized the governors who defected to the APC, citing underperformance in office. Available evidence suggests that these defections are less an endorsement of the party’s achievements and more a reflection of self-interest and political expediency. Many of these governors now appear primarily focused on securing second terms or positioning themselves for Senate seats as their tenures draw to a close. Because they performed poorly, they lack the confidence in their ability to win in a credible electoral process; thus, they seek refuge in APC. Their calculation is clear: by supporting President Tinubu, they erroneously believe that they can leverage access to federal power to secure their ambitions, disregarding the democratic will of Nigerians in the process.

Mounting developments have left Nigerians increasingly frustrated and dissatisfied with the APC administration’s failure to honour its electoral pledges. Based on verifiable evidence and objective analysis, in a free, fair, and credible election, President Tinubu would not win the 2027 presidential election.

President Tinubu promised Nigerians a steady supply of electricity and said that if he failed to deliver on this promise during his first term, Nigerians should not vote for him again. He removed the fuel subsidy, which caused great hardship, but Nigerians never saw the impact of its removal or where the money went. He has continued to borrow money, resulting in Nigeria’s foreign debt reaching embarrassing levels, and there have been no visible achievements commensurate with the amount borrowed.

In terms of security, Nigeria is currently experiencing its worst period. Presently, some villages in Kwara State have been forced to flee their ancestral homes due to terrorist and bandit activities. Many states in the northern part have been in similar or worse situations since the time of the late Buhari administration. The news from other parts of the country is not pleasant. Terrorists and bandits have continued to issue threats, maim and kill, expand their territories, and collect taxes in a sovereign land. How long will Nigerians continue to live in this state of fear and hopelessness?

In this glaring evidence, how can anyone with integrity and honour start campaigning for a vote for the APC and President Tinubu in the name of connecting to the centre? Most people have indeed sold their conscience for money and recognition.

Conclusion

If you sell your dog and buy a monkey, you still have something that squats in your house.

If Obi is not the flag bearer of the ADC for the 2027 presidential election, then President Tinubu’s inauguration in May 2027 will be guaranteed with little difficulty.

Please note this warning: if Obi, Atiku, Kwankwaso, or Amaechi, etc., were to leave the ADC at this critical moment for whatever reason, none of them would become Nigeria’s president in 2027, regardless of the party they join. This is because, in effect, they would have inadvertently paved the way for President Tinubu. Consequently, what the opposition requires is not fragmentation but cohesion. This is non-negotiable in the face of formidable power since the ultimate battle is not just to secure votes but also to protect them from manipulation and electoral malpractice. Imperatively, they must remain united, drawing on experience and exercising wisdom to balance disagreement with consensus. Sound judgement is essential at every step—otherwise, the pursuit of 2027 will prove to be yet another illusion.

Uzoma Ahamefule, a concerned patriotic citizen and a refined African traditionalist, writes from Vienna, Austria. uzomaah@yahoo.Com. +436607369050 (Please send messages only)

-By Abdul Mahmud

Three stories from the north and south regions of Nigeria. Three young Nigerians. Three powerful men. One troubling pattern.

In Port Harcourt, a young girl, named Ogadinma Miller Uchechi, from Ahoada-West Local Government Area reportedly took photographs of the crumbling structures of Community Secondary School, Odiokwu. The buildings were said to be in a state of decay. Roofs sagged. Walls cracked. Learning, if it was happening at all, was taking place in an environment unfit for children. She did what many young Nigerians now do when institutions fail. She documented it. She posted a video online. Her stated aim was simple. She wanted government attention. She wanted renovation. She wanted a better learning environment for children in her community. According to a report by a local FM station in Port Harcourt, the response she received was not repair work or an inspection team. She alleged that the council chairman, Eugene Epelle, visited her home in the company of his brother and some men. She claimed she was assaulted. If her account is accurate, then a young citizen who attempted to draw attention to a public problem was met not with dialogue but with force.

In October 2025, in Minna, Niger State, another young Nigerian found himself on the receiving end of state power. Isah Mokwa, a master’s student and student activist at Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida University, Lapai, Niger State, posted criticism of Governor Umar Bago on Facebook. He accused the governor of lies and urged him to focus on curbing banditry in the northern senatorial district rather than appearing on television to defend his record. He also referred to the governor as Governor Amunike, a satirical name popularised by the comedian, Kevin Chinedu, to lampoon corrupt public officials.

Added to the two cases referenced above is that of 39-year-old Emorioloye Owolemi, who has been remanded in prison custody following a complaint lodged by the Minister of Interior, Olubunmi Tunji-Ojo. Owolemi disclosed that the charges, bordering on alleged cyberstalking, arose from Facebook posts he reportedly made on December 23, 2025, in Igbokoda, Ilaje Local Government Area of Ondo State, in which he questioned the authenticity of the minister’s academic credentials. According to him, the legal action was precipitated by those publications.

The police arrested Mokwa and Owolemi.

The charges were not terrorism. They were not armed robbery. They were not kidnapping. They were words. Facebook posts. Political criticism. Mockery. In any functioning democracy, these are protected expressions. They may be sharp. They may be uncomfortable. They may even be unfair. But they are not crimes.

Placed side by side, these three incidents reveal something more troubling than individual overreactions. They reveal the creeping culture of state tyranny orchestrated not through grand state policies but through the everyday impulses of small offices and big egos. They show how power in Nigeria often understands itself not as stewardship but as entitlement, not as service but as status, not as responsibility but as dominance. At the heart of both cases lies the questions: what is the role of the citizen in a constitutional democracy? Is the citizen a participant or a subject? Is he allowed to question, to document, to criticise, and to satirise power? Or must she seek permission before speaking about public decay and public failure?

Uchechi’s alleged offence was that she demanded for accountability. She documented the condition of a public school. A public school is funded by public money. Its condition is a public concern. If a classroom is unsafe, it is not a private embarrassment to be hidden. It is a public failure to be addressed. If her allegations of assault are true, then the message sent to other young people is chilling. Do not expose decay. Do not embarrass authority. Do not use your phone to hold power accountable. Silence is safer. Isah Mokwa’s alleged offence was criticism and satire. Owolemi raised questions about the authenticity of the minister’s credentials. Democracies survive on criticism. Nigerian rulers are not absolute monarchs. Governors are not immune from ridicule. In fact, satire has long been one of the healthiest signs of a free society. When a citizen cannot call a governor a liar without risking arrest, the line between democracy and authoritarianism begins to thin out. The danger here is not only to the individuals involved. The danger is systemic. When those in power deploy police officers or personal entourages to intimidate critics, they normalise the idea that authority may be defended by coercion rather than by their stewardship. They teach citizens that speaking up carries personal risk. They enthrone the culture of fear.

Fear has consequences. It stifles whistleblowers. It silences students. It discourages citizens’ civic engagement. It gives birth to a generation that calculates the cost of every post and weighs the danger of every comment. Over time, this corrodes public discourse and produces apathy. And apathy is fertile ground for corruption and greater avenues for personages of power to intimidate hapless citizens. There is also the institutional danger. The police exist to protect life and property, to enforce law impartially, and not to function as an extension of totalising power. When arrests follow criticisms rather than criminal conduct, the perception grows that law enforcement is selective. Once citizens lose confidence in the neutrality of institutions, trust collapses. And when trust collapses, legitimacy follows.

Local government chairmen, ministers and state governors wield significant influence in their domains. But their power is not absolute. It is derived from the constitution and from the people. It is bounded by law. When power is personalised, when it becomes a matter of pride rather than principle, governance degenerates into vendetta. It is important to note that allegations remain allegations until tested by law. Due process matters. Fair hearing matters. But even at the level of allegation and arrest, the broader pattern deserves scrutiny. Why do public officials so often respond to criticism with force or threat? Why is there such thin skin in high office? Why does dissent trigger repression rather than reflection?

One answer lies in the political culture that confuses office with personal honour. In such a culture, criticisms are treated as insults, and insults demand retaliation. Another answer lies in weak institutional constraints. When oversight is fragile and consequences are rare, the temptation to misuse authority grows. Democracy requires a thicker skin. It demands that leaders tolerate discomfort. It requires them to understand that public scrutiny is not hostility but accountability. Governors and ministers who are mocked today can respond with policy tomorrow. A chairman embarrassed by a viral video can renovate the school and invite the young girl to the commissioning. That is how power redeems itself. When power chooses intimidation, it sends a message that the state is not a superintending structure that exists above everyone else but the shield for ego. That message is dangerous in a country already grappling with insecurity, economic hardships and fragile public trust. When citizens see that peaceful criticisms attract punishment, they may either withdraw into silence or seek more radical forms of expression. Neither outcome strengthens democracy. In fact, it imperils democracy.

Young people, especially students and schoolchildren, should not grow up learning that civic participation is perilous. They should learn that their voices matter. They should learn that documentation of decay leads to reform, not retaliation. They should learn that satire is part of politics, not a pathway to detention.

Nigeria stands at a critical historical juncture, where the conduct of those in power will define the political heritage of the next generation. The path ahead diverges sharply towards a maturity of accountable leadership or a descent into a systemic tyranny enforced by police officers and private retinues of enforcers. This choice is not merely about policy, but about the very soul of the nation’s governance and whether authority will serve the people or become a tool for their subjugation.

The recent disturbing occurrences in Port Harcourt, Akure and Minna are not isolated curiosities, but urgent heralds of a deeper threat to Nigeria’s constitutional democracy. They serve as a stark reminder that democracy cannot be sustained by the act of voting alone; it requires a labour of restraint, reverence for dissent, and the refusal to weaponise state institutions for personal or political warfare. When these pillars crumble, power ceases to be the shield and instead becomes the marauding predator, turning the republic into its prey. If the citizens fail to confront these emerging patterns of intimidation and institutional sabotage now, they risk a future where silence is the only safe harbour. For all that’s worth, they must recognise that the long-term cost of their quietude will be far greater than any immediate discomfort caused by criticisms or truth-telling. Protecting the right to speak and demanding accountability today is the only way to ensure that the democratic project does not wake up to find its freedom traded for the peace of the graveyard.

​By Sebastine Okafor, Ph.D.

​In recent times, there have been reports of state governments in parts of South-East Nigeria, especially Anambra and Enugu States, demolishing private houses alleged to be hideouts for kidnappers and criminal groups. While the fight against insecurity is necessary and urgent, the method of destroying property based on suspicion raises serious legal and moral concerns. This article examines such actions through the lens of Nigerian law and fundamental human rights.

​The 1999 Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria (as amended) is the supreme law of the land. Section 44(1) of the Constitution clearly states that no movable or immovable property shall be taken possession of compulsorily without prompt payment of compensation and without access to a court of law. This means that even when the government seeks to acquire or destroy property, it must follow due process. Any action taken outside this provision is unlawful.

​Demolishing a person’s house because it is suspected of being used for criminal activities does not automatically meet the requirement of due process. Suspicion is not proof. In law, every person is presumed innocent until proven guilty by a competent court, as stated in Section 36(5) of the Constitution. This principle is central to justice. When a house is destroyed without a court order or proper investigation, it punishes the owner without trial. This goes against the basic Rule of Law.

​In many cases, properties targeted for demolition may not even belong to the suspected criminals. Landlords may have rented out their buildings without knowledge of their tenants’ illegal activities. Destroying such houses punishes innocent citizens who have committed no offense. This form of collective punishment is not supported by Nigerian law. The courts have held in several cases that punishment must be personal and based on proven guilt.

​It is also important to consider the right to a fair hearing under Section 36(1) of the Constitution. Before any action that affects a person’s rights or property is taken, the individual must be given an opportunity to defend themselves. Demolition carried out without notice or hearing violates this right. Even where there is strong suspicion, the proper step is to investigate, arrest suspects, and prosecute them in court.

​Supporters of such demolitions often argue that they serve as a deterrent to crime. While deterrence is a valid goal in criminal justice, it must not come at the expense of legality. The government is expected to lead by example by obeying the law. If the state begins to act outside the law, it weakens public trust and sets a dangerous pattern where rights can be ignored in the name of security.

​There are also existing laws that guide how properties linked to crime should be handled. For instance, the Administration of Criminal Justice Act (ACJA) provides procedures for the seizure, forfeiture, and management of assets connected to criminal activity. Under this law, a court must first establish that the property is indeed linked to crime before ordering forfeiture or destruction. This ensures that actions are based on evidence, not mere claims.

​In Anambra State under Charles Soludo, recent demolitions include the Airtight Guest House and Bar at Y-Junction, Okpuno, Awka South LGA in March 2026. The operation, led by Mr. Ken Emeakayi, Special Adviser on Community Security, reportedly recovered illicit substances, an illegal firearm, and evidence suggestive of prostitution. Concerns were raised about the speed and political undertones of the demolition. Additionally, operatives of the Operation Clean and Healthy Anambra Brigade (OCHAB) demolished several structures at the Building Materials International Market in Ogidi, Idemili North LGA, citing that these were dens of criminals and hoodlums.

​Similarly, in Enugu State under Peter Ndubuisi Mbah, demolitions include a large farm at Ogbeke-Nike housing poultry, piggery, and plantain plantations where firearms and other items were recovered, as well as properties at Nkwubor Layout in Emene, where 17 firearms, shrines, charms, and mini Indian hemp farms were destroyed. On October 5, 2024, a building in Amaebo Owelli, Awgu LGA, was also demolished after being identified as a kidnappers’ den. These actions were supervised by the Enugu Capital Territory Development Authority (ECTDA).

​In response to questions about the legality of these demolitions, Mr. Uche Anya of ECTDA stated that the exercise was backed by a 2016 Enugu House of Assembly law and supported by the state’s anti-kidnapping law and the Criminal Code. He also noted that the government would take over demolished properties for public use, suggesting they could become playgrounds, parks, or healthcare centers.

​While these statements may appear convincing, they overlook critical constitutional principles. No law, whether at the state or federal level, allows for property to be destroyed based on suspicion without giving the owner the opportunity to contest the claim in court. Section 44(1) and Section 36 of the Nigerian Constitution remain binding and override state-level proclamations. Even if properties are suspected of criminal use, evidence must first be presented in a competent court, and owners must be notified. Failure to adhere to these steps violates both domestic law and internationally recognized human rights, including the African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights.

​Moreover, the argument that demolished properties will be converted for public use does not justify taking private property without compensation or due process. Such actions risk undermining public trust, create a precedent for abuse, and may be politically motivated under the guise of security operations. They may also punish innocent landlords and tenants who have no connection to crime, raising serious questions about collective punishment.

​A better approach to tackling kidnapping and related crimes is to strengthen intelligence gathering, improve policing, and ensure swift prosecution of offenders. Courts can order the confiscation of properties proven to be used for crime after due process. This method respects the law while ensuring justice. Public awareness and citizen engagement are also vital. Property owners should document tenants carefully and report suspicious activity, creating a partnership between the government and citizens in maintaining security.

​However, while the desire to end kidnapping and insecurity in Anambra and Enugu States is understandable, demolishing houses based on suspicion or unverified claims is not supported by Nigerian law. It violates constitutional provisions on property rights, fair hearing, and the presumption of innocence. The government must act within the law to maintain legitimacy, protect human rights, and ensure that justice is done and seen to be done.

​Furthermore, these extra-judicial demolitions sometimes carry significant political undertones that cannot be ignored. Rapid destruction of properties, often under publicized operations, can create the impression of selective targeting, which raises concerns about fairness and the abuse of power. When actions appear politically motivated, they risk eroding public confidence in state authorities and the security agencies involved.

​Normalizing extrajudicial property destruction under the guise of fighting crime sets a dangerous precedent, where suspicion alone becomes justification for violating citizens’ rights. Such practices could be exploited to intimidate opponents, settle personal disputes, or control communities, weakening both justice and democracy.

​The fight against crime must be firm but lawful; any approach that sidesteps due process, disregards constitutional safeguards, or punishes the innocent diminishes the credibility of the government and harms the Rule of Law it claims to uphold.

-By Abdul Mahmud

There was a country blessed with every gift a nation could desire and cursed with rulers who mistook noise for wisdom. Rivers ran wide across the land and the soil promised abundance while the rulers spoke loudly and the land waited quietly. They called themselves rulers. The citizens called them knobheads. Every word they uttered seemed certain, every gesture grand, yet the roads broke beneath their feet, the schools cracked before their eyes, and the hospitals whispered the failure of their care as the country moved perpetually backwards. For many years the affairs of the country fell into the hands of rulers who believed power was proof of intelligence. They mistook authority for knowledge. They occupied high offices that demanded imagination and discipline, though many had neither.

A knobhead, the citizens said, is a ruler who bangs his fist on the table and calls it policy. He mistakes noise for thinking. He believes that the screaming of commands is the same as the work of leadership. In this country, the knobheads ruled in circles. When problems appeared, they did not study them. They attacked them with speeches. When the economy faltered, they formed committees and praised themselves for forming them. When citizens complained, they answered with threats or silence.

The roads told the real story.

In a country where public wealth was counted in billions of oil revenue, many roads resembled abandoned paths. Potholes opened like wounds in the earth. A journey that should take an hour took days. Drivers cursed. Traders watched their goods spoil in traffic. Children jostled along sidewalks that crumbled beneath them. The knobheads drove past these roads in long convoys, their sirens clearing the way from problems they had created. The hospitals also spoke. Some stood as mere consulting clinics. Others as quiet monuments of neglect. Beds were scarce. Equipment was broken. Doctors worked with courage in conditions that mocked their profession. Nurses carried trays with tired hands. Families waited hours for medicines that never arrived. In private conversations, the rulers promised improvements. In public, they praised progress that no one could see. When illness struck, the knobheads travelled abroad for treatment, leaving behind the hospitals they claimed to have repaired. Schools suffered the same fate. Classrooms cracked under the weight of indifference. Teachers struggled to hold the attention of children who deserved far more than chalk and blackboards. Young citizens finished their education with certificates that opened no doors.

The knobheads spoke of youth empowerment at conferences while graduates roamed the streets in search of work.

In time, the citizens learned to read the language of knobheads. A new project announced with great ceremony meant the old one had failed. Speeches about sacrifices meant that the citizens would pay the price. A promise of reform meant the same habits continued under a different name.

The knobheads loved the theatre of governance. They loved the sound of applause. They organised grand events where ribbons were cut and cameras flashed. They built arches of celebration around half-finished projects. They spoke with confidence about the future while the present crumbled around them.

A country of great potential became one of practised performances. In the markets, the traders watched these performances with a mix of patience and disbelief. They understood something the knobheads did not. Running a stall requires attention. Running a farm requires planning. Running a transport business requires discipline. Ordinary citizens managed these tasks every day with skill and care. They counted their money. They carried baskets of yams, tomatoes, and onions. They haggled over prices. They mended tools. They worked when the sun rose and rested when it set. They wondered why their rulers could not manage their country with the same seriousness. Some defenders of the knobheads argued that leadership is difficult. They said the problems of the country were too large for any government to solve quickly. The citizens listened to these explanations and shook their heads. They knew that incompetence can’t be passed off as difficulty.

A storm may challenge a captain, though only the fool steers a ship toward the rocks and blames the sea.

As the years passed, the damage grew deeper. Industries closed. Power supply remained unreliable. Security faltered in towns and cities that once knew peace. Citizens who loved their country began to japa to distant lands. Skilled workers crossed borders. The knobheads responded with speeches about patriotism. They told the citizens to endure hardship in the name of national pride. The speeches sounded hollow to those who had endured enough.

The tragedy of the knobheads lay in their refusal to learn. Power surrounded them with praise and protected them from truth. Advisers told them what they wanted to hear. Loyalists applauded their worst decisions as the best invention after sliced bread. In such an environment, even a thoughtful person may lose his head. The knobheads lost theirs a long time ago. Still, the citizens endured. They voted when elections came. They debated in newspapers and on street corners. They raised their children with the hope that one generation might succeed where another had failed.

In quiet conversations, they asked the same question: how long can a country survive under the rule of knobheads?

The answer lies in the resilience of the citizens. A country ruled by knobheads can endure for years, even decades, but joy comes when citizens are bold to say: enough is enough.

The obsequious display of power by knobheads is a burden on a country. Authority without competence is a greater danger to public life. Any country that entrusts its destiny to knobheads should not be surprised when underdevelopment replaces development, power moves through it like a shadow, heavy and blind, careless about the impacts of its movements on ordinary citizens while the roads remain broken, schools remain empty, and hospitals echo the long absence of care.

This is how you know a country ruled by knobheads: they sit in high offices, their hands on papers they scarcely read, eyes on applause they don’t deserve, decisions made with noise and commands issued with immediate effect while farmers work the land, teachers teach without books, traders keep their stalls open, pupils learn patience from classrooms that have forgotten them, and hapless citizens either carry their lives through markets, through long journeys, and through days of waiting for the end of their miseries that will not come, or watch convoys of knobheads that flash past them and the ceremonies of banners that follow.

The citizens move neither forward nor backwards with their lives while always measuring and renewing hope against the steady grind of survival in a country ruled by knobheads who persist in their woeful rulership, oblivious that they write themselves as jokes and cautionary tales, stories of folly and betrayal that the present generation will recount to the future, once enough becomes more than enough!

​By Sebastine Okafor, Ph.D.

​When Governor Charles Chukwuma Soludo banned some activities of traditional medicine practitioners and directed all to register with the government in January 2025, many saw it as a welcome development owing to the high level of abuse of the profession by some practitioners, as is always seen on social media platforms. In his directive, he ordered them to specify their areas of specialization, e.g., curing specific illnesses, while also telling them to stop deceiving youth with money rituals and their effects without any recourse to hard work.

​Governor Soludo, in March of that same year, also banned preaching in public places—especially by the roadside—by preachers who use loudspeakers in public spaces, particularly markets. In the banning order, he accused them of causing noise pollution and disturbing residents, and set a fine of ₦500,000 as a penalty for defaulters.

​What has shocked many is the selective application of these rules. This is because the Anambra State Homeland Security Law 2025 banned the use of charms, “Okeite,” and “Eze Nwanyi” rituals in public spaces to curb crime, fraudulent practices, and environmental contamination.

​The law, from our assessment, ignored fake adoration and healing centers that use the name of God to deceive the people and perform fake miracles. It is clear that the Governor is favoring one religion over another, owing to how he pursues these traditional practitioners. In truth, some are fake while some are real, just as is obtainable in the Christian religion.

​We have seen many situations whereby pastors, priests, and evangelists claim to perform miracles that they never did, which is popularly called “Arrangee.” This “Arrangee” also manifests during testimonies, and nothing is done to the perpetrators in the same way it is done to those who do the same in the name of traditional practice.

​Governor Soludo, who has been seen several times talking about the verifiability of the claims made by native doctors, hasn’t done anything about those who do the same from the altar.

​In Anambra State alone, there are thousands of churches, prayer houses, healing homes, and adoration grounds scattered across towns and villages. Many of these centers openly advertise miracles such as instant healing, financial breakthroughs, and supernatural deliverance. Large billboards, social media broadcasts, and flyers promise solutions to problems ranging from sickness to poverty. Yet, there has been little or no attempt by the government to demand proof of such claims.

​A simple question many citizens are asking is this: if native doctors are required to register and clearly state the illnesses they can cure, why are pastors and miracle workers not required to do the same? If a traditional practitioner is arrested for claiming spiritual powers that cannot be verified, should the same rule not apply to religious leaders who publicly claim to raise the sick, remove curses, or multiply wealth?

​Reports from different parts of Nigeria show that the miracle industry is a large enterprise worth billions of Naira yearly. Offerings, tithes, seed sowing, and special miracle services bring huge financial returns to some religious centers. In many cases, desperate citizens spend their last savings hoping for divine intervention that does not exist or will not come.

​It is therefore important that the government treats all forms of spiritual claims equally. If the fight is truly against deception and exploitation of the people, then the same standard must apply to everyone. Selective enforcement creates the impression that one belief system is being protected while another is being targeted.

​For fairness and justice, the state must show neutrality. The law should not only focus on traditional practitioners but also examine religious centers where unverifiable miracles and arranged testimonies continue to influence thousands of vulnerable people daily. Only through equal enforcement can the public truly believe that the fight against deception is genuine and not selective.

-By Abdul Mahmud

In the vast country south of the Sahara, where the promise of light had been proclaimed so often that it began to sound like scripture recited at every political gathering, there lived nearly two hundred million citizens whose nights were illuminated not by the national grid but by the stubborn engines of generators. For years, the country’s rulers had spoken confidently about electricity as though it were already flowing generously through every wire. They spoke of megawatts and national grids and the triumph that would surely come when darkness would finally retreat before the brilliance of progress. They convened conferences in shining hotels where the language of electricity flowed like wine. They established agencies and committees and task forces whose names alone were so numerous that the citizens sometimes wondered whether the nation produced more institutions than power. Yet, the citizens knew another reality; a reality measured not in megawatts but in the pull of starter cords, the smell of petrol in the evening air, and the restless growl of machines that had quietly become the true guardians of the nation’s light.

Still, darkness remained faithful.

And the citizens learned to live with it as one lives with an uninvited relative who refuses to leave the house.

Now, it happened in the year of the great election that a new ruler arose and spoke confidently to the citizens about the matter of light. He stood before multitudes and declared that if, within two years of his rule, electricity did not come faithfully to the homes of Nigerians, the citizens should drive him from power when the next election arrived. The crowd listened with the solemn attention that promises about light always receive in a country accustomed to darkness. For the promise of electricity in Nigeria is not merely a technical pledge. It is a prophecy. And the citizens went away pondering the words, some with hope and others with the quiet skepticism born of long experience. The country already possessed a vast arrangement known as the national grid, which the rulers often described as though it were a majestic river of energy flowing through the land. In speeches it appeared strong and dependable, stretching from city to city like a network of glowing arteries.

But the citizens knew the grid differently.

To them it was a fragile creature that collapsed with alarming regularity, sometimes once in a season and sometimes several times in a week, and on certain memorable occasions it fell so often that the citizens began to measure time not by market days but by the frequency of its failure. It was said in the markets and in the motor parks that the national grid possessed the temperament of an elderly man who fainted whenever he attempted to stand upright. So the citizens made preparations of their own. For just as the virgins in the ancient parable carried lamps while waiting for the bridegroom, citizens acquired generators while waiting for electricity. Small generators, the type they call “I-Pass-My-Neighbour” and large generators, generators that rattled like stubborn insects and generators that roared like impatient lions. Some were new and painted brightly, others were patched together with the stubborn creativity of mechanics who refused to surrender to darkness. Thus, every compound became a miniature power station.

Every evening the ritual began. When the sun slipped beneath the horizon and the expected electricity failed to appear, fathers and mothers stepped outside to pull the cords of their machines. Soon the night air trembled with the chorus of engines. Neighbourhoods glowed not with the quiet dignity of public power but with the noisy determination of private survival. It was a peculiar orchestra. Two hundred million citizens waiting for light while generating their own. Meanwhile, the rulers continued to speak of the great transformation that was surely approaching. Committees studied the procurement of turbines. Experts debated transmission lines. Consultants produced reports thick enough to illuminate a small village if only paper could generate electricity. The speeches grew ever more magnificent. The citizens were assured that billions of dollars had been invested in the noble quest for power. Billions were announced with such frequency that the citizens began to imagine that somewhere in their vast country there existed a vast warehouse filled not with turbines but with vanished money humming softly in the dark.

Still the generators continued their nightly labour.

Then one day an interesting revelation reached the citizens’ ears. It was discovered that the great residence of the president, the Aso Rock itself, had withdrawn quietly from the troubled river of the national grid. The palatial Rock had gone off the grid entirely and now drew its illumination from a reliable sun above through the miracles of solar power. The news travelled across the land with the speed of astonishment. The citizens considered the matter carefully. For Aso Rock had discovered a way to escape the darkness, they wondered why the country itself still waited patiently for the return of electricity from a grid that collapsed as often as the promises made about it. Regardless, the rulers spoke calmly of progress, explaining that the transformation of the power sector required patience, committees, investments, and a deep faith in the eventual arrival of light. Citizens waited, as if they were waiting for Godot.

But they did not wait idly. Like the wise virgins of the ancient story who brought oil for their lamps, Nigerians had brought petrol for their generators. Every morning they lined up at filling stations with plastic containers and weary expressions. They purchased the fuel that allowed their private engines to produce the electricity that the public system could not provide. The entire country lived in a curious arrangement.

The government generated speeches.

The people generated power.

And every market day, when the national grid collapsed once more, the generators of the vast country rose again like a mechanical choir singing the same stubborn hymn. There is a lesson hidden in this curious parable. For a country that spends billions seeking electricity but still relies on generators is like a household that distributes lamps while endlessly debating the purchase of oil. The people wait faithfully through the night while committees meet in brightly lit rooms discussing the philosophy of illumination. The night grows longer. Always does. The nights of the vast country continue to unfold in their familiar fashion. The rulers speak of transformation. The experts debate transmission. Committees gather around polished tables to discuss the future of electricity while the present remains stubbornly dark. Reports are written. Budgets are announced. Billions are counted and recounted with ceremonial seriousness. When night returns to the towns and villages, it is not the national grid that awakens but the patient generators of the citizens. The same ritual repeats itself across the country. Doors open. Starter cords are pulled. Engines cough, hesitate, and then roar to life with the weary obedience of servants who know that their labour will again carry the burden of a country that has waited too long for light. The air trembles with their noise. The streets glow faintly from their effort. And families gather beneath their small islands of electricity while the great system designed to power the country lies somewhere in silence.

The vast country has produced a remarkable invention. A country of two hundred million citizens who have become their own power stations. A people who fuel their homes with petrol while their leaders fuel their speeches with promises. A country where the palace quietly secures its electricity from the sun while multitudes below continue to wait for power from a grid that collapses with the reliability of a weekly ritual.

There is therefore a quiet wisdom in the behaviour of the citizens. Like the wise virgins of the ancient story who brought oil for their lamps, they have learned to bring fuel for their generators, for they know that promises cannot power a bulb and speeches cannot turn a turbine. They understand what the managers of the power sector have struggled for decades to admit, which is that light does not come from declarations but from preparation. So the generators continue their nightly sermons. Their message is simple and unchanging. Citizens may wait patiently for electricity from their rulers, but those who wish to see must first provide their own oil.

Perhaps, one day the long promised bridegroom of light will finally arrive and the engines will fall silent across the land. Perhaps, the wires will at last carry the power that has been announced so many times in speeches and budgets. But until that day comes, the two hundred million Nigerians of this parable will continue to live between promise and darkness, pulling the cords of their machines each evening as if ringing a stubborn bell that reminds all, night after night, that a country which cannot provide light will always be forced to listen to the sound of its generators.

-By Abdul Mahmud

At the last count, eight governors elected on the platform of the Peoples Democratic Party have defected to the ruling All Progressives Congress, an exodus that has dramatically weakened the country’s principal opposition party.

The most recent name mentioned in this procession is Dauda Lawal of Zamfara State. Senators and members of the House of Representatives have followed the same path. In the National Assembly, the minority caucuses now exist largely in name. What once appeared to be a competitive party system increasingly resembles a political landscape with one gravitational centre to which ambitious politicians inevitably drift.

The change, which is not merely the result of opportunistic defections by individual politicians, reflects the nature of the Nigerian state itself. Power in Nigeria remains intensely centralised, both politically and economically. The federal government controls the commanding heights of national revenue, particularly oil income, and determines the distribution of patronage through appointments, contracts, security structures, and fiscal transfers. In such an environment, political actors quickly learn that proximity to the centre of power is more valuable than ideological consistency or party loyalty. Opposition becomes structurally fragile because it exists at a distance from the primary source of political resources. Governors, legislators, and party leaders, therefore, organise their survival around a system that rewards alignment with the ruling party and punishes prolonged dissent. What appears on the surface as the moral failure of the political class is, therefore, also the logical behaviour produced by an over-centralised state whose institutional incentives constantly pull political actors toward the same centre of gravity.

The deeper consequence of this arrangement is the slow erosion of pluralism within the democratic system.

When power accumulates overwhelmingly around the ruling party, political competition ceases to revolve around competing visions of governance and begins instead to revolve around access to power. Elections still take place, but they increasingly resemble contests under the single umbrella rather than genuine struggles between alternative programmes. Opposition parties weaken not simply because they lose elections, but because the political elite gradually abandons them, hollowing out their organisational capacity and ideological purpose. Over time, the party system itself becomes distorted. The ruling party expands beyond the boundaries of a normal governing coalition and begins to function as a national patronage network, while opposition parties survive only as temporary holding grounds for politicians waiting for the next opportunity to return to the centre. What emerges from this process is not formal one party rule but something subtler and perhaps more dangerous: a political order in which the appearance of competition survives even as its substance steadily disappears.

Before posing the question from which the title of this essay is drawn, it is necessary to explain what I mean by saying that what is emerging in Nigeria is not a formal one-party rule but something subtler and perhaps more dangerous. A formal one-party system is easy to recognise. It is openly declared. The law prohibits competing parties or reduces them to insignificance. Political authority is concentrated in a single organisation whose dominance is institutionalised. Nigeria is not yet at that stage. Parties still exist. Elections are still conducted. Campaigns are organised and ballots are cast. On the surface, the machinery of democratic competition appears intact. The danger lies elsewhere. It lies in the gradual emptying of that competition of its real substance. When politicians across the country increasingly migrate toward the ruling party, when opposition parties are hamstring not merely by electoral defeat but by the steady departure of their leaders and structures, the system begins to change character. The outward forms of pluralism remain, yet the political incentives that sustain genuine opposition begin to disappear. Parties that should serve as alternative centres of political organisation become fragile panoply of personal interests. Elections then cease to be the contests between clearly defined political alternatives and become instead struggles within a single dominant political orbit. What emerges from such a process is therefore not a dictatorship of one-party, but a political order in which the ruling party becomes the inevitable destination of political ambition. Politicians move toward it not necessarily because they believe in its programme, but because it controls the resources and influence that determine survival in the system. Opposition survives only in appearance, often reduced to a transitional space for politicians who are either negotiating their return to power or waiting for a more favourable political moment. In this environment, democracy retains its external rituals while losing the internal balance that gives those rituals meaning.

It is from this troubling development that the question inevitably arises: what exactly has gone wrong with Nigeria’s political class?

The answer cannot be found in the usual language of betrayal, opportunism, or even ambition, though each of these words describes a part of the problem. The deeper difficulty lies in the structure and psychology of Nigeria’s political elite itself. Nigeria does not merely suffer from politicians who defect too easily. It suffers from a political class that has never fully understood the meaning of democratic politics. In mature democracies, political parties represent coherent traditions of thought, ideology, and policy preferences. Parties are not merely vehicles for winning elections. They are institutions that organise political conflict and translate social interests into programmes of government. Even when politicians cross party lines, they usually do so at a cost because parties carry identifiable commitments and historical memories. Nigeria’s political parties are different. They are better understood as electoral vehicles rather than ideological associations.

From the First Republic to the present Fourth Republic, parties have often been organised around personalities, and access to state resources rather than around ideas about how the country should be governed. The result is a political culture in which party loyalty carries very little weight. When politicians move from one party to another, they rarely feel compelled to explain what principles have changed. The migration simply reflects a re–imagination of power. The problem, therefore, is not merely that politicians defect. The problem is that defection has no meaning because the parties themselves stand for almost nothing.

The crisis currently consuming the Peoples Democratic Party illustrates this structural weakness with painful clarity. Once the dominant party of the Fourth Republic, the PDP governed Nigeria for sixteen years and cultivated an image of political invincibility. Still, the party invested very little efforts in building strong institutional foundations. Internal democracy was often sacrificed to elite bargains. Party structures were frequently shafted by powerful governors and financiers. When the party eventually lost the presidency in 2015, it discovered that it possessed neither the organisational discipline nor the ideological coherence required for life in opposition. The present struggle within the party, including the faction aligned with the Minister of the Federal Capital Territory, Nyesom Wike, is therefore not merely a quarrel among personalities. It reflects a deeper institutional exhaustion. When the Court of Appeal recently delivered a judgment that effectively strengthened the control of that faction over party machinery, the legal victory merely confirmed a political reality that had already been established. The PDP had been hollowed out from within long before the judgment arrived. But, it would be a mistake to imagine that the ruling party stands on fundamentally different ground. The All Progressives Congress itself emerged in 2013 through a coalition of disparate political groups united primarily by the shared goal of defeating an incumbent president. That coalition succeeded in winning power, but it did not resolve the underlying contradictions within the alliance. The APC remains a broad umbrella that accommodates competing tendencies rather than a party united by a clear philosophical programme.

The consequence of this structural similarity between Nigeria’s major parties is a peculiar form of political convergence. Politicians move between parties because the ideological distance separating them is extremely small. Power becomes the only constant principle. Whoever controls the federal government attracts a steady flow of defectors because the Nigerian state remains the most important source of political patronage and economic opportunity. This pattern reveals another central feature of Nigeria’s political class. Politics in Nigeria is not primarily organised around the representation of citizens. It is organised around the management and distribution of state resources. Access to the state determines access to contracts, appointments, and economic influence. Political survival therefore requires proximity to the centre of power. Opposition becomes risky not because of ideological disagreements but because it threatens access to the networks through which political elites maintain their relevance. What appears to be a multiparty system now functions as a competition among factions seeking control of the same political marketplace.

It is for this reason that the phenomenon I have long described as competitive authoritarianism has now come fully into view. When politics is organised around intimidation and the reckless misuse of power, the so-called democratic field is deliberately tilted to suffocate the opposition. In such an atmosphere, political actors drift toward the dominant centre of power, not out of conviction in its programme, but from the instinct for survival, for in such a system survival itself appears to depend on proximity to power.

The question I pose here is: can Nigeria cultivate a different kind of political class?

History suggests that political cultures are not immutable. They evolve when institutions create incentives for different forms of behaviour. Strong parties emerge when internal democracy forces politicians to negotiate ideas and policies rather than merely share patronage. Legislatures become meaningful when they exercise real oversight rather than operate as extensions of executive influence. Courts strengthen democratic life when their judgments reinforce constitutional principles rather than settle factional disputes.

Most importantly, citizens themselves must demand a higher standard of political conduct. Political elites rarely reform themselves voluntarily. They respond to pressure from organised social forces, independent media, and civic institutions capable of imposing reputational costs on opportunistic behaviour. Nigeria’s political class did not become what it is by accident. It developed within a historical environment shaped by military rule, centralised oil revenues, psychology of power, and weak institutions. That environment produced a style of politics in which loyalty is fluid, and power is pursued as an end in itself. The recent wave of defections from the opposition to the ruling party is therefore not merely a sign of political opportunism, it is a symptom of a deeper institutional disorder.

Nigeria must build political parties that embody ideas rather than function as patronage networks. As long as parties remain hollow platforms for access to power, the spectacle of politicians moving effortlessly from one platform to another will continue to define the country’s democratic experience. The real question confronting Nigeria is therefore larger than the fate of any single party. It is whether the country can cultivate a political class capable of treating politics as a contest of visions rather than a struggle for proximity to power. When that change from the old begins, defections will grow rare, opposition will recover its meaning, and democracy will acquire the intellectual seriousness it presently lacks. The persistent question which continues to confront us, is why does the political class fail? The answer, though unsettling, remains constant: the fault lies not only with the individual actors, but also with the pervasive political culture that molds them.

By Sebastine Okafor, Ph.D.

​As the 2026 National Convention of the ruling All Progressives Congress (APC) gets nearer, it is time to consolidate the advancement made so far by the party in Enugu State by choosing someone who transformed the party into what it is now and understands the politics of the state so as to deliver the President in 2027.

​Before President Tinubu’s emergence as the flagbearer of the party, Dr. Ben was already preaching about him to APC delegates. Seeing this, certain elements in the party in Enugu, such as the former state chairman and the current Deputy National Chairman South, clamped down on him and together illegally expelled him in May 2022 for preaching Tinubu’s message. Yet, his vision manifested in June of that same year when Tinubu was elected as the party’s flagbearer.

​Again, prior to the 2023 general elections, Dr. Ben Nwoye was the first to open an office for the Tinubu campaign in 2022, ahead of the 2023 general elections, and set up an organic campaign structure where he was preaching the Renewed Hope Agenda.

​The office was opened on the 29th of August, 2022, at Independence Layout, Enugu, where hundreds of people came out en masse to embrace it, but the same people started fighting him to an extent that police were sent to harass people working in the campaign office.

​Dr. Nwoye did not relent in preaching the message of Mr. President, even during the election when the APC had no agents in many polling units. He was seen mobilizing for Mr. President with his personal money, unlike those who erected billboards that lasted for only 48 hours because the President was coming.

​Dr. Nwoye is a known Tinubuist dating back to his days in the ACN and has all it takes to take the APC to greater heights in the South East. What many do not know is that he is a well-trained democrat who believes strongly in impact, and with the support of the delegates and party leaders, a new APC in the South is possible.

​Dr. Ben Nwoye also played a major role in building the APC structure in Enugu State during his time as the state chairman. At a period when the party was struggling for survival in the state, he moved from one local government area to another to organize meetings, reconcile aggrieved members, and encourage young people to join the party. His leadership helped the party to establish functional ward, local government, and state structures that later became the foundation for future political activities.

​He also encouraged internal democracy within the party by allowing members to express their views during meetings and congresses. Many young politicians in Enugu State today had their first opportunity to participate actively in party politics under his leadership, of which I am one of the beneficiaries. It is Dr. Ben Nwoye who promoted the APYF in the state and gave us the support that made most of our members part of what we are taking charge of today. His approach made the party attractive to many people who were previously outside the APC family.

​However, politics apart, Dr. Nwoye is known for mentoring young leaders and promoting political education among party members, where he attends radio programmes across the state to sensitize the people on issues of governance, especially the policies and programmes of President Bola Ahmed Tinubu.

These efforts have helped to keep the party active in the state despite the challenges it faces in the region. With such experience and understanding of the political environment in the South and beyond, many believe he remains the best candidate for the job.