In Nigeria, political theatre is performed with impressive consistency. On one side, the ruling party struts the stage with familiar swagger, draped in the garb of nationalism, economic revival, and anti-corruption. On the other, a chorus of opposition voices emerges, cloaked in reformist rhetoric and grand coalitions that promise rebirth. Yet, for all the sound and fury, the audience – the Nigerian people – see a recycled cast performing an unchanging script. It is the same show, different costumes.
Recent discourse around the newly announced political coalition, an alliance of familiar faces from the opposition, has triggered a fresh round of partisan chest-thumping. Loyalists of the ruling party mock the coalition as a gathering of “spent forces,” men who had their time and blew it, now itching to return to the feeding trough. The irony is lost on no one. These criticisms come from a government thickly populated by the same breed of political veterans, most of whom have orbited every major party and held multiple public offices under one regime or another. It’s like the pot not just calling the kettle black, but also borrowing its soot.
If one were to conduct a blind political autopsy, scrubbing away party names and faces, it would be near impossible to tell the difference between the priorities, methods, and motivations of the ruling party and its so-called opposition. Both sides are loyal not to ideology or national values, but to survival. And survival, in Nigeria’s political space, means access to state resources, immunity from prosecution, and an unchallenged perch atop the patronage pyramid.
One of the more useful frameworks to understand this is found in Mancur Olson’s “The Logic of Collective Action.” Olson argues that when the benefits of a public good are shared broadly while the costs are borne individually, most rational actors will choose inaction or self-interest. Nigerian politicians, whether in power or in opposition, are the very embodiment of this logic. They know that real reform is costly and politically dangerous. It requires upsetting entrenched networks, reforming bloated systems, and making long-term investments that bear fruit long after they’ve left office – if they’re even allowed to remain in office that long.
Why endure that when the political economy rewards the opposite? Grand projects with inflated contracts, a bloated entourage to appease supporters, selective anti-corruption crusades, and the occasional press conference to maintain public perception are safer bets. This isn’t a failure of intelligence; it is cold, calculated strategy. The system rewards loyalty, not results. Noise, not nuance.
The recently announced coalition, ostensibly formed to challenge the dominance of the ruling party, is a case study in this strategic theatre. Its most visible figures are men who have had more than one turn in power. Many governed states, served in high federal offices, and held sway in national policymaking. They now present themselves as the moral alternative to a failing administration. The problem isn’t just their past, though that is fair game. It is their selective memory and sudden awakening.
Where was this coalition when fuel subsidy policies were bleeding the country dry? When federal budgets ballooned with little oversight? When the same ruling party members they now criticize were consolidating power? Why do calls for reform only grow louder when personal political access is denied?
But let us not give the ruling party a free pass either. It is laughable for a party whose officials have held multiple offices across decades, some with criminal investigations hanging like family portraits, to criticize others for being “old,” “spent,” or “power-hungry.” This is projection of the highest order. Many of today’s champions of renewal were yesterday’s architects of decay.
And so, Nigeria is left in a political limbo, where the opposition is a mirror image of the ruling class, and the ruling class behaves like a perpetual opposition – constantly blaming the past for its present inertia. It is a government allergic to responsibility, and an opposition addicted to nostalgia.
Yet, the tragedy isn’t just about politicians. It is about the citizenry that continues to enable them. Nigeria’s political landscape is not shaped in a vacuum. Voters are not merely victims; many are willing participants in the dysfunction. We vote for identity, not ideas. For patronage, not policy. We demand change but celebrate theatrics. And when a politician defects from one party to another, we do not question the motive – we celebrate the calculation.
The ruling party’s supporters often forget that the men and women they now idolize were once ridiculed under another banner. And those in the opposition forget that the mess they decry was fertilized by their own past decisions. We are dealing with politicians who treat power like a family heirloom – meant to be passed around a tight circle, not earned through merit or ideas.
In a nation where nearly half the population lives below the poverty line, where insecurity is a daily reality, where education and healthcare systems are in disrepair, one would expect politics to be a serious business. But here, it is performance art. The political class performs competence; the opposition performs outrage. Both sides are acting. And sadly, they know their audience is largely captive.
The consequences are dire. Development is perpetually postponed. Institutions remain weak. Public trust is eroded. National unity is fractured along ethnic and religious lines, lines deliberately inflamed by politicians who know that division is a more reliable campaign strategy than development.
If the opposition wants to be taken seriously, it must do more than gather former governors and reheated technocrats. It must put forward a compelling vision, backed by demonstrable accountability and a clear break from the past. Simply forming a coalition of the politically displaced does not inspire confidence. Nigerians want leadership, not a reunion tour of the political class.
Likewise, if the ruling party wants to claim the mantle of reform and progress, it must be willing to govern transparently and take responsibility. Blaming yesterday’s governments after years in power is an insult to the intelligence of the Nigerian people. Governance is not about inheriting problems; it is about solving them.
We need a political reset, not in the form of new acronyms or recycled faces, but in the values that define our leadership. Integrity, vision, competence, and courage must replace opportunism, expedience, and entitlement.
The time for political spectatorship is over. The Nigerian electorate must become discerning, informed, and brutally honest. It must reject theatrics and demand substance. Until that happens, we will remain stuck in this loop, watching the same drama unfold with different protagonists.
