By EMAMEH GABRIEL
“You’ve got to know when to hold ’em, know when to fold ’em…”
Kenny Rogers’ timeless wisdom in ‘The Gambler’ rings especially true in politics, where the line between persistence and delusion is often blurred by ambition. Asue Ighodalo, the Edo State People’s Democratic Party’s candidate for the September 2024 governorship election, must have felt like he was holding a winning hand when he filed his petition, armed with claims of electoral malpractice, allegations of non-compliance, and what seemed like compelling evidence. But yesterday, the Edo State Election Petition tribunal’s ruling laid bare a harsh truth: what felt like a strong case was, in reality, a losing bet.
If I were Asue Ighodalo, I would pause in this moment of crushing clarity and ask myself: When did the ground shift beneath my feet? The tribunal’s ruling is in, and with it comes not just the sting of legal defeat but the far more bitter taste of abandonment. The courtroom, that hallowed arena where justice blindfolds itself and weigh facts without fear or favour, has spoken, but its pronouncement sounds more like the final nail in a coffin that his own party leaders helped build.
What a spectacle it has been. On one side, is Monday Okpebholo, his once disputed throne, which has now been doubly sanctified by the people’s voice at the polls and the bench, stood flanked by a phalanx of APC stalwarts, Oshiomhole with his trademark theatrical gravitas, Shaibu the defector, Tenebe the loyalist, even Ize Iyamu, the perennial contender and many others, all lending their weight to the cause. Their presence was a statement: This is our man, and we stand with him.
But Asue? His PDP’s camp resembled a deserted marketplace after a storm. Where was Obaseki, the architect of this doomed venture? Where was Omobayo, the fresh-faced deputy who vanished when the winds turned? And Tom Ikimi, the old guard whose silence was louder than any dissent? They were gone, evaporated like morning mist, leaving him and the party’s lightweight social media army to face the tribunal’s scrutiny alone.
The tribunal did not merely reject Ighodalo’s petition, it dismantled it brick by brick. The judges’ unanimous ruling exposed serious flaws in the case’s architecture: insufficient witnesses, inadequate documentation, and arguments that failed to meet the burden of proof. These were not minor technical oversights that could be patched up on appeal; they were foundational cracks that no higher court is likely to ignore. Nigerian appellate judges, particularly at the Supreme Court, have grown increasingly reluctant to overturn election results without incontrovertible evidence of malfeasance. What Ighodalo would need is not just a legal miracle, but a complete judicial revolution in electoral jurisprudence. The odds are not just slim, they are practically nonexistent.
Over voting in 320 polling units? Prove it, said the tribunal and the PDP produced witnesses, they were deemed insufficient, not enough eyes, not direct enough accounts. And so, PDP’s evidence was reduced to whispers in the wind, dismissed for lack of merit.
Now, the road ahead is an appeal, a herculean task in a system where the odds are stacked and the allies are scarce. The PDP, that grand old umbrella, now feels more like a sieve, its fabric too worn to shield Asue from the downpour. Those who urged him to fight have retreated to their corners, their whispers of solidarity replaced by the deafening silence of self-preservation. Even Okpebholo’s magnanimity call for unity is the victor’s luxury, extended only because he knows the battle is already won.
If I were Asue, I would see the writing on the wall. The law may offer a sliver of hope, but politics, the real, ruthless game, has already rendered its verdict. To appeal is to march into the valley knowing the cavalry will not follow. And so, the question is not just whether to fight on, but whether the fight is worth the cost when the very people who pushed him into the arena have already left the stands.
Perhaps the lesson here is the oldest one in politics: trust is the first casualty of ambition. The tribunal’s ruling is just the official end; the betrayal came long before. And if I were Asue, I would remember this feeling: not just the sting of defeat, but the feelings of standing alone. The court’s gavel is less final than the silence of those who promised to stand by him and then didn’t.
The hardest decisions in politics are not about when to fight, but when to stop fighting. Continuing this battle through an appeal would be an act of stubbornness, not strategy. The wisest course is sometimes the most counterintuitive: walking away before the costs outweigh the diminishing returns.
An appeal would demand enormous resources, financial, political, and emotional. Legal fees would balloon. The logistical challenges of gathering new evidence and witnesses would multiply. All for what? While it is true that he has the constitutional right to appeal the tribunal’s ruling if dissatisfied with the judgment, this move may prove to be another futile effort, especially since his key allies have abandoned him, compounded by the deep divisions within the Edo State chapter of the PDP
This is not about surrender, it is about survival. The mark of a true political strategist is recognising when persistence becomes self-sabotage. Edo will have other elections. The PDP will have other chances. But reputations, once tarnished by futile battles, are hard to restore. Asue Ighodalo stands at a crossroads: one path leads to a quixotic legal war he cannot win, the other to a future where he remains politically relevant, respected, and ready for the next opportunity. The choice is obvious. Know when to walk away.
Discussion about this post