When Opposition Opposes Itself

Femi Akintunde -Johnson

If Nigerian politics were a stage play, the current act would be titled ‘Confusion in the Camp, Confidence in the Castle’. What is unfolding is not merely a contest between the ruling party and the opposition; it is a layered drama of internal implosions, judicial entanglements, and strategic brinkmanship that, taken together, raises an uncomfortable question: is Nigeria inching, not marching, towards a de facto one-party state?

At the centre of this unfolding narrative is a curious paradox. The ruling establishment projects confidence, even defiance, while the opposition expends much of its energy fighting itself. The result is a political ecosystem where imbalance is not enforced by decree but enabled by dysfunction.

A panoramic view reveals three interlocking developments. First, the opposition is fragmented almost to the point of self-erasure. The crisis within the African Democratic Congress is emblematic: rival factions, disputed leadership, court orders restraining congresses, and claims of deception at high-level meetings. Meanwhile, the Peoples Democratic Party, still nursing its own wounds, has seen its national convention nullified by the Supreme Court, further deepening its leadership vacuum. Add to that the delicate dance of coalition-building among figures who, until recently, could not share a political bench without suspicion, and one begins to see a pattern. The opposition is not merely weak; it is structurally disoriented.

Second, the judiciary has become an increasingly central, and controversial, arena for political contestation. From conflicting lower court orders to decisive Supreme Court interventions, the courts are no longer just interpreters of law; they are, in effect, referees of political legitimacy. While judicial intervention is often necessary in a constitutional democracy, the frequency and consequence of these rulings raise concerns. When party leadership, conventions, and internal processes are routinely settled in courtrooms rather than party organs, democracy risks being litigated into paralysis.

Third, the ruling party, while not without its own internal tensions, appears comparatively cohesive and strategically focused. Statements from key figures suggest a deliberate effort to consolidate political influence, particularly in regions that showed electoral divergence in 2023. The language of “political accidents” and calls for regional alignment are not accidental; they signal a long-term strategy to normalise dominance and minimise electoral surprises.

What does this mean for Nigerians as the country approaches and moves beyond the 2027 elections? In the immediate sense, it suggests a potentially lopsided electoral contest. A divided opposition, even with a joint ticket, may struggle to present a coherent alternative if foundational issues of trust, zoning, and leadership remain unresolved. Elections may still hold, ballots will be cast, and results declared, but the quality of choice available to voters could be significantly diminished.

Beyond 2027, the implications become more profound. A system where one party consistently dominates, not necessarily by overwhelming popularity but by the weakness of its rivals, risks sliding into what political scientists call “competitive authoritarianism”. The rituals of democracy remain intact, but the substance begins to thin. Opposition voices exist, but they are fragmented, reactive, and often ineffective.

For ordinary Nigerians, the consequences are not abstract. Reduced political competition can lead to diminished accountability. When electoral victory becomes predictable, the incentive to govern responsively weakens. Policies may become less about public need and more about internal party calculations. In such an environment, citizens often find themselves spectators rather than participants in governance.

The judiciary’s role in this evolving scenario deserves particular scrutiny. Is it walking into a dishonourable cul-de-sac? That may sound harsh, but the concern is not unfounded.

Courts are, by design, arbiters of last resort. However, when they become the first port of call for resolving intra-party disputes, they risk being perceived as political actors, regardless of their intentions. The danger lies not only in actual bias but in the perception of bias. As has been rightly observed by experienced electoral administrators, perception is the currency of credibility in democratic systems.

 Repeated judicial interventions in party affairs can create a cycle where political actors bypass internal mechanisms, relying instead on favourable court orders. This not only weakens party institutions but also places enormous pressure on the judiciary to deliver outcomes that satisfy competing political interests. In such a scenario, even well-reasoned judgments can be viewed through a partisan lens, eroding public trust.

 So, what can the opposition do to disentangle itself from this quagmire? The first step is brutally simple, though politically difficult: internal discipline. Parties must respect their own constitutions, adhere to agreed processes, and resist the temptation to weaponise the courts for factional advantage. Without internal coherence, no amount of coalition-building will produce a credible alternative.

Second, there must be clarity of purpose. Coalition talks, joint tickets, and zoning debates are important, but they must be anchored in a shared vision that goes beyond “defeating the incumbent”. Nigerians are increasingly discerning; they want to know not just who will govern, but how.

Third, leadership ego must give way to strategic compromise. The history of Nigerian opposition politics is littered with near-misses, often undone by the inability of key actors to subordinate personal ambition to collective goals. If 2027 is to be different, that pattern must change.

Fourth, engagement with institutions must be constructive rather than combative. Criticising electoral bodies and the judiciary may sometimes be justified, but it must be accompanied by concrete proposals for reform. Calls to amend contentious provisions of the Electoral Act, for instance, should be pursued with rigour and consistency, not merely as campaign rhetoric.

And what of the years ahead for representative democracy in Nigeria? It would be premature, and perhaps unfair, to declare democracy in decline. Nigeria has shown a remarkable capacity for political resilience. Transitions have occurred, institutions have adapted, and civic engagement remains vibrant. However, resilience should not be mistaken for invincibility.

The current trajectory suggests a period of democratic stress. Not collapse, but strain. Not authoritarian takeover, but gradual centralisation of power enabled by opposition weakness and institutional overreach.

There is, however, an alternative path. If the opposition can reorganise, if the judiciary can maintain both independence and restraint, and if electoral institutions can reinforce public confidence, Nigeria’s democracy can emerge stronger from this phase. Political dominance, after all, is not inherently undemocratic; it becomes problematic only when it is sustained by the absence of credible alternatives.

In the end, the health of a democracy is measured not by the strength of its ruling party, but by the vitality of its opposition and the integrity of its institutions.

At present, Nigeria’s ruling establishment appears to understand this equation well. The opposition, unfortunately, is still trying to locate the formula.

And until it does, the castle will remain secure, not because it is unassailable, but because those meant to challenge it are too busy rearranging the drawbridge.