On The Frontline With Boma
Democracy, they say,thrives on clarity. But in Nigeria today, clarity appears to be on indefinite suspension.
Last Thursday, Nigeria’s political theatre delivered yet another plot twist—one that would have been amusing if it were not so consequential. The Supreme Court, that revered temple of justice and our final Court of Appeal delivered a judgment that was expected to settle lingering disputes within the opposition. Instead,it has left behind a trail of questions,contradictions and quiet panic. In voiding the Peoples Democratic Party ( PDP) Ibadan Convention and upholding the suspension of Senator Samuel Anyanwu, the apex court may have spoken with legal finality, but politically,it has triggered a fresh round of uncertainty, And as I listened to the interpretations from lawyers and party loyalists alike,one thought kept echoing —- are we witnessing justice in action,or confusion in high definition?, to borrow the immortal words of Chinua Achebe, “things have indeed fallen apart.”
For some, the ruling was justice served; for others, it was a bitter pill forced down their political throats. The Turaki camp comprising some founding fathers of the party and a handful of influential governors had hoped the court would validate their position. On the other side stood the faction aligned with the Minister of the Federal Capital Territory, Nyesom Wike, equally confident of judicial vindication. Yet, in a dramatic turn, both camps found their expectations upended. Victory celebrations were aborted mid-thought, and what should have been a moment of resolution has instead become a catalyst for deeper division.
From the fragments of legal interpretations and the cacophony of expert opinions that followed, one thing is clear: the PDP is in a state of profound disarray. The judgment, rather than settling the leadership question, has raised even more fundamental issues about legitimacy and control. In the immediate aftermath, the Board of Trustees (BoT), led by former Senate President Adolphus Wabara, moved swiftly to announce a takeover of the party’s reins. Their argument was straightforward: with both the Ibadan and Abuja conventions nullified, the National Working Committee (NWC) ceases to exist, leaving the BoT as the constitutionally empowered body to steer the party.
But Nigerian politics, as we have come to know, rarely allows for straightforward narratives. No sooner had the Wabara-led BoT made its move than a counterclaim emerged. Another faction insisted that the legitimate BoT was the one led by Mao Ohuabunwa, thereby deepening the crisis. What was once a contest between two factions has now metastasized into a multi-headed hydra, each claiming authenticity, each wielding its own interpretation of party rules.
For a party that once proudly styled itself as Africa’s largest political platform, the current spectacle is both tragic and instructive. The PDP, which governed Nigeria for 16 uninterrupted years, now finds itself struggling to govern its own internal processes. Its crisis is not merely about leadership; it is about identity, coherence, and survival. The question that hangs in the air is no longer who leads the PDP, but whether the PDP can still lead anything at all.
While the PDP wrestles with its internal contradictions, the African Democratic Congress (ADC) has not been spared the turbulence. Initially, there was jubilation within ADC ranks when the Supreme Court appeared to validate the executive led by David Mark. For a fleeting moment, it seemed as though the party had secured a much-needed boost in its quest for relevance.
Yet, as quickly as hope rose, it was punctured. The court’s decision to refer the matter back to the Federal High Court introduced a dangerous uncertainty. In the unforgiving calculus of Nigerian electoral politics, time is not merely money—it is survival. By sending the case back to a lower court, the apex court effectively placed the ADC in a precarious limbo, where legal clarity may not arrive before critical electoral deadlines.
And therein lies the real crisis—one that extends beyond party rivalries into the very fabric of Nigeria’s democracy. The Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) operates on a strict timetable. Party primaries must be conducted within defined windows. Defections must occur before stipulated deadlines. Candidates must emerge through processes that meet constitutional and regulatory standards. Any deviation, delay, or ambiguity can result in exclusion from the ballot.
Already, the ripple effects are evident. Within 24 hours of the judgment, defections began to cascade across the political landscape. Politicians, ever pragmatic and rarely sentimental, wasted no time in seeking safer havens. Loyalty, in such moments, becomes a luxury few can afford. The calculations are simple: better to defect early than to risk being stranded in a party entangled in legal uncertainty.
Reports have emerged of prominent ADC figures quietly aligning with other platforms, including the National Democratic Party (NDP). The movement is not driven by ideology or conviction, but by necessity—a desperate attempt to secure political relevance in an environment where time waits for no one.
Watching these developments unfold, one cannot help but ask a series of troubling questions. What happens if the Federal High Court delays its ruling on the ADC case? What becomes of aspirants who have already purchased nomination forms, invested resources, and mobilized support structures? What is the fate of candidates who may find themselves unable to meet INEC’s deadlines through no fault of their own?
And what of the PDP? With talk of an “acting” National Working Committee already in circulation, can a party mired in such deep uncertainty organize credible primaries? Can it present a unified front to the electorate? Can it, in any meaningful sense, still function as a viable opposition force?
These are not merely academic questions; they strike at the heart of democratic participation. Elections are not just about casting votes; they are about providing citizens with genuine choices. When major opposition parties are consumed by internal crises, the democratic space shrinks. The electorate is left with fewer credible alternatives, and the principle of competitive politics is weakened.
There is also a broader institutional concern. The judiciary, particularly the Supreme Court, occupies a sacred position in Nigeria’s constitutional order. Its decisions are final, binding, and expected to bring closure to disputes. Yet, when such decisions generate more confusion than clarity, public confidence in the system is inevitably strained. This is not to question the integrity of the court, but to underscore the complexity of the issues before it and the far-reaching consequences of its pronouncements.
Perhaps what we are witnessing is not merely a series of isolated crises, but a systemic failure of internal party democracy. Political parties, which should serve as vehicles for ideological expression and policy development, have increasingly become arenas for power struggles devoid of clear rules or consistent enforcement. Conventions are disputed, executives are contested, and constitutions are interpreted with convenient elasticity.
In such an environment, litigation becomes the default mechanism for conflict resolution. Courts are inundated with cases that, ideally, should have been settled internally. The result is a judiciary that is forced to play an outsized role in political processes often with unintended consequences.
As I followed the unfolding drama, I found myself slipping from analysis into bewilderment. The more I listened to legal arguments and political explanations, the less certain I became. It was as though the entire system had been infected by a peculiar ailment—what ace novelist Cyprian Ekwensi in his book ” Burning Grass “described as “Sokugo,” a wandering disease that leaves its victims disoriented and directionless.
Who, one might ask, cast this spell on Nigeria’s opposition parties? Who or what has reduced once formidable platforms to arenas of perpetual conflict? Is this the inevitable outcome of a political culture that prioritizes power over principle? Or is it a temporary phase, a painful but necessary recalibration?
Whatever the answers, one thing is clear: this is not the best of times for dissenting voices in Nigeria’s political landscape. A vibrant democracy depends on a strong, organized, and credible opposition. Without it, governance risks becoming complacent, accountability diminishes, and the electorate is left with limited choices.
So here we are—courts have spoken, yet clarity is absent; parties are alive, yet direction is missing; politicians are moving, yet no one seems certain of the destination. Perhaps this is what happens when institutions meant to stabilize democracy become entangled in the very crises they are supposed to resolve.
And so, as the dust refuses to settle and the confusion deepens, one is left with little more than a cautious hope. Hope that the courts will provide timely clarity. Hope that political actors will place institutional stability above personal ambition. Hope that parties will rediscover the discipline and cohesion required to function effectively.
But hope, as we know, is not a strategy.
And as the clock ticks toward another electoral season, one unsettling truth lingers: a democracy without a coherent opposition is not just weakened,it is endangered.
Still, in the spirit of our resilient politics, where uncertainty is often dressed as strategy and confusion mistaken for calculation, one can only watch the unfolding drama with cautious detachment.
Because at this rate, it is no longer just the politicians who are confused.
It is the system itself.
On The Frontline With Boma is published by The Port Harcourt Telegraph Newspaper authored by the managing editor.
- Supreme Court Rulings, Party Crises, and a Democracy Adrift: The More You Look, The Less You Understand
Democracy, they say,thrives on clarity. But in Nigeria today, clarity appears to be on indefinite suspension.
Last Thursday, Nigeria’s political theatre delivered yet another plot twist—one that would have been amusing if it were not so consequential. The Supreme Court, that revered temple of justice and our final Court of Appeal delivered a judgment that was expected to settle lingering disputes within the opposition. Instead,it has left behind a trail of questions,contradictions and quiet panic. In voiding the Peoples Democratic Party ( PDP) Ibadan Convention and upholding the suspension of Senator Samuel Anyanwu, the apex court may have spoken with legal finality, but politically,it has triggered a fresh round of uncertainty, And as I listened to the interpretations from lawyers and party loyalists alike,one thought kept echoing —- are we witnessing justice in action,or confusion in high definition?, to borrow the immortal words of Chinua Achebe, “things have indeed fallen apart.”
For some, the ruling was justice served; for others, it was a bitter pill forced down their political throats. The Turaki camp comprising some founding fathers of the party and a handful of influential governors had hoped the court would validate their position. On the other side stood the faction aligned with the Minister of the Federal Capital Territory, Nyesom Wike, equally confident of judicial vindication. Yet, in a dramatic turn, both camps found their expectations upended. Victory celebrations were aborted mid-thought, and what should have been a moment of resolution has instead become a catalyst for deeper division.
From the fragments of legal interpretations and the cacophony of expert opinions that followed, one thing is clear: the PDP is in a state of profound disarray. The judgment, rather than settling the leadership question, has raised even more fundamental issues about legitimacy and control. In the immediate aftermath, the Board of Trustees (BoT), led by former Senate President Adolphus Wabara, moved swiftly to announce a takeover of the party’s reins. Their argument was straightforward: with both the Ibadan and Abuja conventions nullified, the National Working Committee (NWC) ceases to exist, leaving the BoT as the constitutionally empowered body to steer the party.
But Nigerian politics, as we have come to know, rarely allows for straightforward narratives. No sooner had the Wabara-led BoT made its move than a counterclaim emerged. Another faction insisted that the legitimate BoT was the one led by Mao Ohuabunwa, thereby deepening the crisis. What was once a contest between two factions has now metastasized into a multi-headed hydra, each claiming authenticity, each wielding its own interpretation of party rules.
For a party that once proudly styled itself as Africa’s largest political platform, the current spectacle is both tragic and instructive. The PDP, which governed Nigeria for 16 uninterrupted years, now finds itself struggling to govern its own internal processes. Its crisis is not merely about leadership; it is about identity, coherence, and survival. The question that hangs in the air is no longer who leads the PDP, but whether the PDP can still lead anything at all.
While the PDP wrestles with its internal contradictions, the African Democratic Congress (ADC) has not been spared the turbulence. Initially, there was jubilation within ADC ranks when the Supreme Court appeared to validate the executive led by David Mark. For a fleeting moment, it seemed as though the party had secured a much-needed boost in its quest for relevance.
Yet, as quickly as hope rose, it was punctured. The court’s decision to refer the matter back to the Federal High Court introduced a dangerous uncertainty. In the unforgiving calculus of Nigerian electoral politics, time is not merely money—it is survival. By sending the case back to a lower court, the apex court effectively placed the ADC in a precarious limbo, where legal clarity may not arrive before critical electoral deadlines.
And therein lies the real crisis—one that extends beyond party rivalries into the very fabric of Nigeria’s democracy. The Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) operates on a strict timetable. Party primaries must be conducted within defined windows. Defections must occur before stipulated deadlines. Candidates must emerge through processes that meet constitutional and regulatory standards. Any deviation, delay, or ambiguity can result in exclusion from the ballot.
Already, the ripple effects are evident. Within 24 hours of the judgment, defections began to cascade across the political landscape. Politicians, ever pragmatic and rarely sentimental, wasted no time in seeking safer havens. Loyalty, in such moments, becomes a luxury few can afford. The calculations are simple: better to defect early than to risk being stranded in a party entangled in legal uncertainty.
Reports have emerged of prominent ADC figures quietly aligning with other platforms, including the National Democratic Party (NDP). The movement is not driven by ideology or conviction, but by necessity—a desperate attempt to secure political relevance in an environment where time waits for no one.
Watching these developments unfold, one cannot help but ask a series of troubling questions. What happens if the Federal High Court delays its ruling on the ADC case? What becomes of aspirants who have already purchased nomination forms, invested resources, and mobilized support structures? What is the fate of candidates who may find themselves unable to meet INEC’s deadlines through no fault of their own?
And what of the PDP? With talk of an “acting” National Working Committee already in circulation, can a party mired in such deep uncertainty organize credible primaries? Can it present a unified front to the electorate? Can it, in any meaningful sense, still function as a viable opposition force?
These are not merely academic questions; they strike at the heart of democratic participation. Elections are not just about casting votes; they are about providing citizens with genuine choices. When major opposition parties are consumed by internal crises, the democratic space shrinks. The electorate is left with fewer credible alternatives, and the principle of competitive politics is weakened.
There is also a broader institutional concern. The judiciary, particularly the Supreme Court, occupies a sacred position in Nigeria’s constitutional order. Its decisions are final, binding, and expected to bring closure to disputes. Yet, when such decisions generate more confusion than clarity, public confidence in the system is inevitably strained. This is not to question the integrity of the court, but to underscore the complexity of the issues before it and the far-reaching consequences of its pronouncements.
Perhaps what we are witnessing is not merely a series of isolated crises, but a systemic failure of internal party democracy. Political parties, which should serve as vehicles for ideological expression and policy development, have increasingly become arenas for power struggles devoid of clear rules or consistent enforcement. Conventions are disputed, executives are contested, and constitutions are interpreted with convenient elasticity.
In such an environment, litigation becomes the default mechanism for conflict resolution. Courts are inundated with cases that, ideally, should have been settled internally. The result is a judiciary that is forced to play an outsized role in political processes often with unintended consequences.
As I followed the unfolding drama, I found myself slipping from analysis into bewilderment. The more I listened to legal arguments and political explanations, the less certain I became. It was as though the entire system had been infected by a peculiar ailment—what ace novelist Cyprian Ekwensi in his book ” Burning Grass “described as “Sokugo,” a wandering disease that leaves its victims disoriented and directionless.
Who, one might ask, cast this spell on Nigeria’s opposition parties? Who or what has reduced once formidable platforms to arenas of perpetual conflict? Is this the inevitable outcome of a political culture that prioritizes power over principle? Or is it a temporary phase, a painful but necessary recalibration?
Whatever the answers, one thing is clear: this is not the best of times for dissenting voices in Nigeria’s political landscape. A vibrant democracy depends on a strong, organized, and credible opposition. Without it, governance risks becoming complacent, accountability diminishes, and the electorate is left with limited choices.
So here we are—courts have spoken, yet clarity is absent; parties are alive, yet direction is missing; politicians are moving, yet no one seems certain of the destination. Perhaps this is what happens when institutions meant to stabilize democracy become entangled in the very crises they are supposed to resolve.
And so, as the dust refuses to settle and the confusion deepens, one is left with little more than a cautious hope. Hope that the courts will provide timely clarity. Hope that political actors will place institutional stability above personal ambition. Hope that parties will rediscover the discipline and cohesion required to function effectively.
But hope, as we know, is not a strategy.
And as the clock ticks toward another electoral season, one unsettling truth lingers: a democracy without a coherent opposition is not just weakened,it is endangered.
Still, in the spirit of our resilient politics, where uncertainty is often dressed as strategy and confusion mistaken for calculation, one can only watch the unfolding drama with cautious detachment.
Because at this rate, it is no longer just the politicians who are confused.
It is the system itself.
On The Frontline With Boma is published by The Port Harcourt Telegraph Newspaper authored by the managing editor.
