By Chief Ezeh Emmanuel Ezeh
I have often wondered how some African countries become trapped under despots who gradually transform entire nations into personal fiefdoms. But, watching developments in Nigeria under the APC, however, has shown that such a process does not necessarily take decades. In some cases, it can unfold remarkably quickly.
The pattern often begins with ambitious figures operating on the margins of legality abroad, whether through drugs, money laundering, organised crime, or acting as bagmen for more powerful interests. As pressure mounts in the countries where they operate, they begin looking homeward. There, they encounter weak institutions, an incoherent political class, and a system vulnerable to capture.
Rather than entering politics through ideology or public service, they enter through deals. Having acquired wealth, influence, and networks, they build political structures rooted in patronage, loyalty, and raw power. Over time, these structures become entrenched, drawing allies into the system and steadily expanding their control.
A major weakness they exploit is the absence of a coherent ideological foundation among political actors. When politics becomes transactional rather than principled, organised machines can overwhelm fragmented opponents. This was the vacuum the APC exploited, aided by the incompetence, clumsiness and anyhowness that characterised the PDP after years in power.
To describe the APC’s rise simply as a story of strategic political consolidation is to see only tiny part of the picture. In the Nigerian case under focus, the project extended beyond party politics. Networks were built across civil society, NGOs, opposition circles, religious institutions, especially the firebrand pentecostals and influential voices capable of shaping public opinion and mobilising support.
In Lagos, this strategy benefited from an already formidable political structure and strong alliances with religious, anti Igbo sentiments and cheap populism. In the North, it successfully tapped into regional, emotional, and religious sentiments. Together, these forces created a platform from which the party could expand nationally and entrench its dominance.
For those concerned about the future of Nigeria’s democracy, the central question is whether opposition leaders fully recognise the challenge before them. Many still appear to approach politics as a contest of personal interests and electoral calculations rather than a struggle over the long-term direction of the state.
To me, Bola Tinubu’s political project has always appeared designed with the long game in mind. Even the symbolism of the infinity motif associated with his political branding suggests continuity and permanence: the end returning to the beginning. Whether symbolic or intentional, it reflects what many critics fear is a project aimed at extending influence far beyond a single administration.
As political power becomes increasingly concentrated, those capable of mounting serious challenges appear to be gradually weakened, isolated, or neutralised. Some are constrained through political manoeuvring, others through legal and institutional pressures. What matters is not the fate of any individual politician, but the broader pattern.
This is why figures such as Atiku Abubakar, Peter Obi, Nasir El-Rufai, and other opposition leaders must look beyond personal ambitions and partisan rivalries. The challenge before them is larger than any individual political career.
Atiku Abubakar may have realised, rather too late, that he was simply used and dumped by an evil system designed for a deeper ulterior motives. The same fate awaits many of the strong men promoting this system. They too will be sent to the political wilderness soon than later. Perhaps, some more people will begin to look closely at statements from INEC and judgments coming from our courts in better light. That all is not well with our country!
My concern is that Nigeria may be drifting toward the model seen elsewhere on the continent, where dominant political structures become increasingly difficult to dislodge and democratic competition steadily weakens.
External powers will always seek opportunities where internal weakness creates openings. That is not unusual in international politics; it is often the natural consequence of failure among domestic elites to protect and strengthen their own institutions.
My argument, therefore, is simple: only a united opposition front can effectively challenge a political machine that is steadily concentrating power. The stakes extend far beyond the fortunes of individual politicians or parties. They concern whether Nigeria strengthens its democratic institutions or follows the path of states where political competition becomes hollow and power increasingly centralised.
History shows that federations rarely collapse in a single dramatic moment. They erode gradually. Institutions weaken, accountability fades, and power accumulates in fewer hands. By the time the danger becomes undeniable, the damage is often already far advanced.
The real question facing Nigeria is not who wins the next election. It is whether the country’s democratic institutions remain strong enough to withstand the rise of a political machine determined to dominate the federation for generations.
This is why I am no longer concerned about who governs Ebonyi State in 2027. I have a bigger worry. Can those we send to National Assembly be strong enough to withstand the erosion of Nigeria’s democracy?
