Entitlement and egos as bane of opposition
“When ambition outruns discipline, even the strongest coalition becomes a marketplace of exits.” It was widely expected that the emergence of the African Democratic Congress (ADC) would provide a credible,
- By Anjorin Oludolapo Charles
“When ambition outruns discipline, even the strongest coalition becomes a marketplace of exits.”
It was widely expected that the emergence of the African Democratic Congress (ADC) would provide a credible, structured alternative to the ruling All Progressives Congress. After the fragmentation that defined the 2023 elections, many assumed that the opposition had finally learnt its lesson: that disunity is defeat, and that coalition is not a luxury but a necessity in Nigeria’s electoral arithmetic.
Yet, as events have unfolded, that expectation appears increasingly misplaced. What should have been a moment of consolidation has instead become another case study in political miscalculation. The fear that an already weakened opposition could be further diminished has not only materialised, it has accelerated.
At the heart of this unravelling lies a familiar problem in Nigerian politics: the quiet but dangerous politics of entitlement. In a functioning democracy, no individual, regardless of popularity or emotional following, is above the processes that produce leadership. Political parties are not coronation grounds; they are arenas of negotiation, compromise, and contestation. Primaries, consultations, and internal bargaining are not inconveniences; they are the mechanisms through which legitimacy is built.
It is precisely at this point that the contradiction surrounding Peter Obi becomes difficult to ignore. A candidate who commands a large and passionate following must still submit himself to the discipline of party politics. Numbers alone do not confer entitlement; they must be tested within structure. Yet, what has emerged is a pattern that raises legitimate questions about Obi’s approach to political competition. His political journey, when examined without sentiment, reveals a consistent inclination toward platforms where internal resistance is minimal and outcomes are more predictable.
From the Peoples Democratic Party, where he exited rather than fully engage in internal contest, to the Labour Party, where he secured the presidential ticket with relatively little opposition, there has been a recurring preference for pathways of least resistance. Now, within the ADC framework, a similar dynamic appears to have played out, ending in another withdrawal. Taken together, these movements suggest not coincidence, but a pattern that speaks to a deeper discomfort with the rigours of intra-party contestation.
Politics, however, is not designed to be convenient. If a candidate cannot withstand the pressures of internal competition against figures such as Atiku Abubakar, Aminu Tambuwal, Bukola Saraki, or Nyesom Wike, it raises a more fundamental question: how does such a candidate intend to confront a national election in a deeply complex polity like Nigeria? By the same logic, if navigating a coalition environment that includes actors such as Rotimi Amaechi, Hayatu-Deen, or Abubakar Malami proves too constraining, then the issue is not the party, it is the approach to politics itself.
What emerges, therefore, is not an isolated decision but a broader pattern of strategic avoidance, a preference for political environments where contest is limited and outcomes are less uncertain. It is from this standpoint that the latest realignment must be understood. The movement toward a new platform alongside Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso introduces a fresh layer of complexity that demands interrogation beyond surface excitement.
It is also worth interrogating the role of coalition leadership in enabling the instability it now confronts. In many respects, the crisis within the alliance did not begin with defection; it began with accommodation. By opening the door to Peter Obi despite reservations from influential stakeholders within the Southeast political establishment, the coalition’s arrowhead, Atiku Abubakar, took a calculated risk—one that, in hindsight, appears poorly judged. Politics often rewards inclusion, but it also demands memory. Alliances are not built on sentiment alone; they are built on trust, reciprocity, and a shared willingness to submit to collective discipline.
Yet, from the outset, there were signs that this discipline would be difficult to sustain. Patterns of late engagement, hesitant commitment, and persistent renegotiation of agreed positions created uncertainty within the coalition. Concessions were made, space created, expectations adjusted. However, unity that rests on one-sided accommodation rarely endures. When a political actor consistently receives without fully committing, the balance of trust erodes.
This is where a more troubling dynamic emerges, the illusion of moral superiority. Political capital built on perceived ethical distance can become a shield against accountability within alliances. It creates an environment where compromise is interpreted as weakness by others, but as optional by the one who claims moral exceptionalism. Over time, this asymmetry becomes corrosive. Coalition politics requires not just credibility, but humility, the recognition that no single actor can unilaterally define collective engagement.
In that sense, the current fragmentation is not merely the product of ambition; it is the consequence of a deeper imbalance between perception and participation. When one actor is treated as indispensable yet remains unwilling to be fully bound by the same rules as others, the coalition becomes fragile. And when that fragility gives way, the cost is borne not just by the alliance, but by the broader opposition.
That imbalance is further complicated by the nature of the political base that underpins it. There is a fundamental difference between a movement and a mob. A movement is structured, disciplined, and subordinate to strategy; a mob is reactive, emotionally charged, and often intolerant of dissent. One builds institutions; the other resists them. The difficulty arises when a political figure draws strength from the latter but is unwilling or unable to impose the restraint required to convert that energy into durable structure.
In functional democracies, few serious contenders approach a coalition with the assumption of automatic entitlement. Tickets are negotiated and earned through compromise and internal legitimacy. It is therefore problematic when the expectation appears to be not only the presidential ticket as a given, but also the latitude to influence the vice-presidential slot, reducing other stakeholders to spectators. That is not coalition-building; it is unilateralism dressed in popular appeal.
Such a posture may resonate within a highly energised base, but it creates friction where elections are coordinated. Politics is not merely about the size of one’s following; it is about integrating that following into a broader architecture of power. When supporters frame every negotiation as a moral test and every compromise as betrayal, they narrow the room for alignment. More importantly, when a leader does not exercise sufficient control over that sentiment, it signals that partnership may come at too high a cost.
Coalitions require give-and-take. They demand that all parties concede something to gain something larger. Where one side demands everything while conceding little, equilibrium collapses. What follows is not just disagreement, but fragmentation, and fragmentation in a three-horse contest rarely punishes the incumbent.
At first glance, such an alignment may appear formidable. However, a closer examination reveals structural weaknesses. In 2023, Kwankwaso demonstrated strength primarily within a narrow geographic base, particularly Kano. While not insignificant, it did not translate into a broad northern coalition capable of determining national outcomes. If that base could not deliver a decisive bloc previously, it is difficult to argue that it will suddenly expand in a more competitive environment.
Similarly, Obi’s performance revealed strong urban appeal and youth-driven mobilisation, but insufficient penetration across critical northern voting blocs. When combined, the result is not necessarily expansion but overlap. Politics is not about adding support bases; it is about multiplying reach across decisive regions. Without that multiplication, alliances reinforce limitations rather than overcome them.
Nigeria’s electoral map rewards balance, geographical, ethnic, institutional. Any ticket that fails to bridge these divides risks deepening fragmentation. A divided opposition does not weaken the incumbent; it strengthens him.
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This is where the implications become unmistakable. A fractured opposition enhances the re-election prospects of President Bola Ahmed Tinubu. This is not conjecture but electoral logic. When opposition forces disperse their strength, the incumbent benefits from the diffusion of votes.
Yet beyond arithmetic lies a deeper concern: party-building capacity. Sustainable success is not built on personality alone. It requires institutions, networks, and long-term positioning. One of the enduring weaknesses in Obi’s trajectory has been the absence of a deeply rooted, resilient party structure capable of withstanding competitive pressure.
Ultimately, the issue is not ambition. Ambition is the lifeblood of politics. The issue is discipline, the capacity to align ambition with strategy and recognise that in a system as complex as Nigeria’s, victory is rarely achieved in isolation.
In the end, the choice before Nigeria is no longer abstract. It is immediate, material, and unforgiving. An opposition that cannot subordinate ego to strategy will not merely lose elections; it will deepen the crisis it claims to oppose.
•Anjorin is a political strategist and public affairs analyst.
