The Political Storm in Nigeria: A New Coalition or the Same Old Story?
Nigeria’s political landscape is often likened to a thunderstorm—loud, chaotic, and dazzling. But once the clouds clear, what remains is usually the debris of broken promises and dashed hopes. The recent formation of a new coalition, with the African Democratic Congress (ADC) as its vehicle, signals not just another tremor in Nigeria’s political terrain, but potentially a tectonic shift. However, amid the applause and anticipation, one must ask: Will this coalition rise as a true alternative or dissolve into the same dysfunction it claims to challenge?
To understand the stakes, one must first grasp the strategy. The coalition’s initial bait and switch maneuver, floating the All Democratic Alliance (ADA) as a decoy while quietly solidifying under the ADC, was a political masterstroke. President Bola Tinubu’s allies ridiculed ADA and deployed social media surrogates to mock what they presumed was a premature attempt at coalition-building. Meanwhile, behind the scenes, the real deal, the ADC, was being fortified. This is classic political chess. ADA was the poisoned pawn. ADC was the checkmate.
Sun Tzu would have approved. Niccolò Machiavelli might have nodded in admiration. And the strategists behind the scenes, perhaps unknowingly, validated Yuri Bezmenov’s old KGB playbook on ideological subversion. Bezmenov outlined how a nation could be overtaken not through bullets, but through gradual and deliberate erosion of its moral fabric and institutional logic.
The first stage is demoralisation, where a nation’s institutions, beliefs, and civic confidence are systematically weakened. In Nigeria, this has taken the form of undermining educational systems, eroding trust in public service, and normalising mediocrity in leadership.
The second stage is destabilisation, which creates economic hardship, fuels inflation, and promotes political polarisation. Nigeria’s current cost-of-living crisis, rising insecurity, and collapsing middle class are textbook symptoms.
Then comes crisis, an acute disruption that justifies emergency powers or radical political change. The COVID-19 pandemic, the EndSARS protests, and the economic collapse that followed have all been wielded to justify deepened executive control and judicial pacification.
The final stage is normalisation, when the people begin to accept this dysfunction as standard. In Nigeria today, citizens no longer flinch at billion-naira scandals or rigged elections. We have arrived.
This is precisely why an alternative is no longer optional. It is existential. But alternatives are not built on clever PR alone. They require ideological clarity, organisational discipline, and strategic courage. The coalition cannot merely mirror the APC’s vices in new robes.
The failures of the PDP and Labour Party must not be repeated. Internal democracy, financial transparency, and a clear policy blueprint must anchor this movement.
Equally important is party discipline. Without it, the coalition risks becoming another noisy vessel carrying selfish ambitions. The PDP crumbled not from external attacks but from within, by allowing indiscipline, backdoor negotiations, and personality cults to override institutional norms. The Labour Party, despite its populist wave, buckled under similar pressures. ADC must learn from this. It must establish rules, enforce them without fear or favour, and project unity that transcends political seasons.
That said, a house divided against itself cannot stand. Coalition politics is not built on blackmail. It thrives on compromise, not coercion. If Peter Obi truly wants to see the Nigeria of his dreams, then he must confront a growing liability within his own camp: the unyielding faction of the Obidient Movement. Many of them are threatening to sabotage the coalition unless Obi is crowned the consensus candidate. That’s not political conviction, that’s emotional hostage-taking. It plays straight into President Tinubu’s hands. This is not how coalitions win; it is how they fracture.
The APC is not popular; it is opportunistic. It thrives on division. Every loud, inflexible supporter who insists “it’s Obi or nothing” is unconsciously holding the coalition hostage and handing President Tinubu a second term on a silver platter. Leadership is not just about mobilising support; it’s about disciplining it. And right now, Obi must decide: will he lead a movement that saves Nigeria, or preside over one that ruins its only chance? Because history does not forgive those who fumble moments this fragile.
Similarly, the coalition must preempt the APC’s historical playbook of exploiting ethno-regional fault lines. The North and South dichotomy has long been the ruling party’s masterstroke in deflecting criticism and consolidating power. The ADC must counter this by promoting a national narrative, one that is inclusive, equitable, and unyielding in its rejection of identity politics. Nigeria’s soul cannot continue to be mortgaged on the altar of tribal arithmetic.
Furthermore, the coalition must not focus solely on capturing votes. It must galvanise the people. It must inspire enough civic awakening that even the traditional instruments of electoral subversion, INEC manipulation, police intimidation, or military interference, will hesitate in the face of overwhelming public will. When the people rise with one voice, even the most hardened riggers think twice. No soldier wants to pay with his life to suppress a people burning with legitimate rage.
Nigeria’s youth, over 60 per cent of the population, represent a digitally savvy, restless force that could redefine the coalition’s success. To harness this energy, the ADC must adopt a digital-first strategy, drawing lessons from Kenya’s 2024 Gen-Z protests where platforms like X, WhatsApp, and TikTok drove grassroots mobilisation. Dedicated digital hubs, virtual town halls, and open feedback loops can foster engagement and ownership. Training youth leaders in storytelling and data activism will turn digital noise into political clarity. Failing to act risks ceding this vital demographic to apathy or worse, surrendering them to more digitally agile populists.
To secure this, the coalition must demand a reform of the Electoral Act. Winning a presidential or gubernatorial election with anything less than 50 per cent plus one of the total vote should no longer confer legitimacy. Democracy thrives on majorities, not pluralities. Furthermore, no president, governor, or legislator should be sworn in until all electoral litigation is fully resolved. A nation must know its leaders are not merely declared by returning officers but confirmed by law and public trust.
Beyond legal reform, the coalition must establish a coalition charter of accountability signed in the open, not behind closed doors, that binds all aspirants to shared governance principles, equity in appointments, and a consensus mechanism for candidate emergence.
A consensus convention should be convened quarterly, where representatives from the parties and civil society converge to refine not only the ticket but also the ideas guiding governance.
Furthermore, the coalition must invest in a parallel results transmission system that mirrors INEC’s but is independent, citizen-powered, and credible. Democracy must be defended with data, not just hope.
Listening assemblies across all senatorial districts will also allow ordinary Nigerians to shape the coalition’s manifesto, turning policy into people’s prose.
This principle of civic vigilance finds lessons in the democratic revolutions of other nations.
For instance, in Senegal, the opposition persisted through repression, arrest, and censorship to eventually produce Africa’s youngest president through sheer grassroots mobilisation and ideological clarity.
Similarly, in Ghana, the consistency of the National Democratic Congress in engaging communities between election cycles laid the groundwork for durable opposition resilience.
In a different context, the Philippines offers both a warning and an inspiration. Rodrigo Duterte built a populist narrative that resonated with the masses, powered by digital storytelling and an army of supporters who successfully reframed the national conversation.
Chile’s 1988 plebiscite showed how a divided opposition could unite under a single slogan—”No”—to peacefully end dictatorship through civic coordination and media strategy.
Zambia’s Hakainde Hichilema won after five attempts because opposition unity was matched with meticulous electoral planning and citizen trust-building.
Tunisia, in the aftermath of the Arab Spring, built its fragile democracy through broad-based consensus and constitutional negotiation, proof that even revolutions must be organised.
Taken together, these global precedents show what is possible when opposition politics is grounded not in elite backroom deals, but in people-centred planning and action.
Yet, it is not just in political tactics but also historical memory that coalitions must find direction. Thomas Sankara once warned, “He who feeds you controls you.” That warning rings louder today as Nigeria is fed not just by foreign creditors, but by domestic cartels who have captured the budget process and weaponised it for personal gain.
Consider this: the 2025 federal budget reads less like a fiscal plan and more like a national bazaar. Ministries and Departments have morphed into procurement machines for legislators and rent-seeking executives. The Ministry of Agriculture, under the weight of 30 per cent food inflation, is allocating 100 million naira to train hairdressers. The Ministry of Transportation wants N240m for grinding machines. Even more absurd, the Ministry of Science and Technology, mandated to drive innovation, is now building stadiums.
In another baffling twist, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs is budgeting N300m for IDP relief within Nigeria, a function squarely under the Ministry of Humanitarian Affairs. Such overlaps don’t just blur accountability, they signal deep institutional confusion. Budget lines are littered with constituency projects that have no thematic links to their host ministries, reflecting a hijack of governance by legislative barons acting without coordination or oversight.
For instance, the Office of the Secretary to the Government of the Federation is earmarking N800m for honoraria and sitting allowances, N150m for royal palace furnishings in Gombe, and countless insertions for solar streetlights and food palliatives. This isn’t budgeting—it’s budget banditry. Ministries no longer function as development planners but as couriers for pet projects smuggled in through executive-legislative collusion.
Duplication abounds. Projects are repeated across agencies under identical codes. Hostels are renovated six times without explanation. Research institutes like the Nigerian Building and Road Research Institute now build roads and procure SUVs, while the Federal Co-operative College—originally meant for entrepreneurial training—is installing N1bn worth of streetlights and purchasing vehicles for farmers at triple that cost.
All this while the government continues to borrow recklessly. The latest loan request exceeds $21bn, pushing the national debt toward N180tn. With oil prices now below the 2025 budget benchmark of $75 per barrel, revenue projections are already collapsing. The burden of repayment will fall not on those who looted, but on the 250 million Nigerians—each now owing over 720,000 naira from birth.
What are we really borrowing for? To fund duplicated hostels? To buy okadas in the name of empowerment? To renovate INEC offices under the science ministry? This isn’t governance. It’s generational sabotage wrapped in fiscal gibberish.
This is why the ADC’s emergence must be more than symbolic. It must be systemic. It must challenge the philosophy of governance itself, not just its actors. It must rally Nigerians not just for the ballot box, but for civic consciousness. Because until Nigerians begin to see budget documents as moral documents, where every misplaced naira is a stolen hospital bed, school chair, or food ration, the rot will persist.
2027 will not just decide who governs Nigeria; it will decide whether Nigeria is still governable.
As Thomas Sankara once declared, “You cannot carry out fundamental change without a certain amount of madness… It took the madmen of yesterday for us to be able to act with extreme clarity today.” Nigeria requires that clarity now—bold, unrelenting, and fired by purpose.
History, after all, has opened a new page. Some people missed the first paragraph. But for those still paying attention, the next lines must be written in courage, clarity, and collective will.
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