29 January 2026
by Mohammed Bello Doka
Power is talking to power in Nigeria, loudly and nervously, and the noise is deafening. Behind closed doors, across state houses and party secretariats, one question dominates the political class: Who controls 2027? It is not the people. It is not performance. It is not even persuasion. It is power negotiating with power — anxious, transactional, and afraid.
President Bola Ahmed Tinubu appears convinced that governors are the vault in which electoral victory is stored. Governors, on their part, behave as if proximity to Tinubu is a divine seal of political immortality. Each side believes the other “gives power.” And in this circular worship of authority, God is reduced to rhetoric and the people to a footnote.
If this were confidence, it would be calm. What we see instead is jitters.
Why the rush? Why the defections? Why the relentless courtship of governors barely midway into a first term? Why the obsession with numbers, maps, and alignments rather than bread-and-butter governance? Power that is secure does not behave this way. Power that is confident does not panic. What Nigeria is witnessing is not strength; it is fear — fear of the people.
Tinubu’s calculation is straightforward and deeply Nigerian. Governors control state party structures, local patronage networks, political foot soldiers, and — crucially — influence over mobilisation on election day. In the old arithmetic of Nigerian politics, control the governors and you control the terrain. From ward to local government to state capital, governors are treated as electoral field commanders. Stack enough of them on your side and the map looks reassuringly green.
This logic is not new. Every ruling party since 1999 has attempted it. Presidents have always tried to pull governors into the orbit of federal power ahead of re-election cycles. The dream is dominance — a political landscape so tilted that opposition becomes ornamental. The APC’s ambition to overwhelm rivals ahead of 2027 fits neatly into this tradition. Why compete fiercely when you can simply absorb?
But this logic rests on a dangerous assumption: that governors own votes.
They do not.
On the other side of the bargain sit governors who defect, align, or signal loyalty to the centre, convinced that Tinubu’s shadow is long enough to protect them. They believe federal power guarantees smooth succession plans, shields them from post-office vulnerability, secures access to resources, and insulates them from political enemies. Being outside the ruling party is seen as exposure; being inside it is sold as insurance.
So governors jump ship — not because ideology changed overnight, not because policies suddenly aligned, but because survival instincts kicked in. The voter is never consulted. No mandate is renewed. No explanation is offered. The people wake up one morning to discover that the party they voted for has quietly evaporated.
Is this democracy or a corporate merger?
This is where the people become footnotes. Elections are treated as ladders — once climbed, they are kicked away. The voter’s role ends the moment ballots are counted. From that point on, power becomes private property, transferable through elite negotiations. Mandates are personal, not collective. Loyalty is upward, never downward.
And yet, politicians still speak the language of faith. Nigeria’s leaders are loudly religious — Muslim or Christian — but religion functions as identity, not restraint. God is invoked in speeches, campaigns, and ceremonies, but never allowed into the room where deals are cut. Where was God when mandates were traded without consent? Where was conscience when voters were ignored? Where was humility when power began to congratulate itself?
This is not an argument for theocracy. It is an indictment of performative faith — a politics that wears religion like a badge while practicing naked self-interest. God becomes a slogan; morality becomes optional.
Both Tinubu and the governors share another unspoken truth: they are afraid of the people. If they were not, they would not be this jittery. Secure leaders do not rush to lock down structures three years ahead of elections. Confident governments do not spend more time consolidating power than solving problems. A leadership convinced of popular support would be obsessed with inflation, jobs, security, and living costs — not defections and alignments.
Why the fear? Because deep down, they know the logic is flawed.
Power does not automatically transfer power. Governors cannot always “deliver” voters. Presidents cannot always “deliver” successors. History is littered with failed anointments, broken political machines, and ruling parties stunned by voter backlash. Economic pain has a way of dissolving elite arrangements. Hunger does not respect party lines. Anger does not follow governors.
The 2023 elections already cracked the myth that incumbency equals invincibility. Urban voters, young voters, and digitally connected citizens proved harder to herd than expected. Votes slipped through fingers once thought firmly clenched. That lesson appears to have been learned — not as a call to better governance, but as a warning to tighten elite control.
But elite control has limits.
The more citizens are excluded from political decisions, the more unpredictable elections become. The more politics becomes a private club, the more resentment builds outside it. The belief that power can permanently insulate itself from the people is the oldest mistake in politics — and the most expensive.
Here is the truth the political class avoids: the people can take power back.
Not through violence. Not through chaos. But through refusal — refusal to be bought, bullied, or reduced to spectators. Votes only become meaningless when they are sold for crumbs. When citizens resist that temptation, elite calculations collapse. Governors lose their “structures.” Presidents lose their “maps.” Power is forced to return to persuasion.
That is the fear driving today’s political anxiety.
This is not a sermon; it is a warning. When power negotiates only with power, legitimacy erodes. When mandates are treated as personal assets, democracy thins. When God and the people are reduced to footnotes, consequences follow — quietly at first, then suddenly.
Tinubu may believe governors give power. Governors may believe Tinubu gives power. But history is unforgiving to such illusions. In the end, power belongs to those who endure hunger, insecurity, and hardship — not those who trade offices in air-conditioned rooms.
Ignore the people long enough, and they eventually remind you who truly gives power.
Mohammed Bello Doka can be reached via [email protected]
Abuja Network News
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Opinion