In Nigeria’s fevered political climate, it has become fashionable for opposition politicians to trace every crack in their house to the hand of President Bola Ahmed Tinubu. Each defection, internal rift, or leadership implosion within the People’s Democratic Party (PDP) and other opposition groups is portrayed as evidence of presidential manipulation—a master plan by Tinubu to turn the country into a one-party state. Yet, beneath the noise of accusation lies a simpler, more uncomfortable truth: the opposition’s current crisis is not orchestrated from Aso Rock; it is born of its own intractable dysfunction.
For over two decades, Nigeria’s opposition parties have struggled to evolve beyond electoral opportunism. The PDP, once the dominant ruling party, has been consumed by bitter factionalism since losing power in 2015. The wounds of that loss never healed; they merely festered. From the endless leadership tussles between the North and South to the rivalry among governors, ex-presidential aspirants, and regional blocs, the PDP has remained a house divided against itself. Tinubu did not create those divisions; he has merely benefited from them—as any astute politician would.
Even before Tinubu became president, the PDP’s internal contradictions were on full display. The crisis that split the party ahead of the 2023 elections—pitting Atiku Abubakar’s presidential campaign against the G-5 governors led by Nyesom Wike—was not masterminded by the APC. It was the predictable result of a party that refused to resolve its own moral and structural inconsistencies. The G-5 rebellion was born out of resentment over zoning, power rotation, and perceived northern domination. Those issues are as old as the party itself. If they persist today, it is because the PDP has not redefined itself for a post-2015 Nigeria.
The Labour Party (LP), once buoyed by Peter Obi’s 2023 momentum, tells a similar story. Rather than consolidate its newfound political capital, the LP has been consumed by internal battles over control of party structures and funds. Multiple court orders, rival national chairmen, and accusations of betrayal have left the movement adrift. Here again, Tinubu’s alleged machinations make for convenient headlines, but they ignore the truth: Nigerian opposition parties have failed to institutionalize internal democracy. They are still personal fiefdoms held together by expediency rather than ideology.
Every democracy needs a strong opposition to hold government accountable. But strength in opposition comes not from propaganda or victimhood; it comes from unity, credibility, and vision. Unfortunately, Nigeria’s opposition elite appear more comfortable nursing grievances than building coalitions. The PDP’s public feuds—between Atiku and Wike, among others—reveal a class of politicians unable to subordinate personal ambition to collective interest. The same pattern is visible in the LP, where loyalty is defined less by conviction than by proximity to the leader of the moment.
This dysfunction explains why defections to the ruling All Progressives Congress (APC) continue. Politicians gravitate toward stability and opportunity. When opposition parties become war zones of litigation and distrust, it is only natural that ambitious actors seek refuge in the camp that appears more coherent. Blaming Tinubu for this political migration is lazy analysis. The APC itself was born out of coalition-building—a fusion of interests that took years of negotiation and compromise. If the PDP and others cannot replicate such discipline, it is not because they are victims of external manipulation, but because they have refused to learn from history.
Indeed, the narrative that Tinubu is “poaching” governors and lawmakers serves two political purposes: it absolves opposition leaders of responsibility, and it flatters Tinubu’s image as a Machiavellian strategist. Yet both interpretations distort reality. No amount of presidential persuasion could lure politicians away from a party that offers internal fairness, clear direction, and genuine hope. Those who defect often do so because their parties have become inhospitable to ambition or allergic to reform.
Moreover, the obsession with blaming Tinubu distracts from the opposition’s failure to offer Nigerians a credible alternative. In an economy battling inflation, youth unemployment, and social tension, the opposition’s job should be to articulate policy alternatives—not to trade in conspiracy theories. Nigerians deserve debates about energy reform, fiscal policy, and national security, not endless speculation about who is pulling whose strings. A strong democracy depends on a loyal opposition—loyal not to the ruling party, but to the ideals of accountability and progress.
The PDP once prided itself on being the largest political party in Africa. Today, it resembles a political relic searching for relevance. Its spokesmen issue fiery statements accusing the president of everything from “opposition suppression” to “democratic subversion,” but they seldom explain why Nigerians should trust them again. The problem is not that Tinubu is too powerful; it is that the opposition has become too feeble, too fragmented, and too self-absorbed to mount a coherent challenge.
Nigeria’s democracy will remain lopsided until the opposition reforms itself. It must return to ideological clarity, build credible institutions, and invest in youth-driven leadership that transcends ethnic and personal loyalty. Until then, defections will continue, factions will multiply, and the ruling party will grow stronger by default. Tinubu’s political dexterity may be impressive, but it does not explain the opposition’s self-destruction. That tragedy is homegrown.
In the end, no democracy collapses because its government is strong; it collapses because its opposition is weak. The sooner Nigeria’s opposition parties confront this reality, the sooner they can reclaim their relevance—not by crying foul, but by cleaning house.
