By Emameh Gabriel
There is a sacredness to mourning in Nigerian culture, a quiet understanding that when death visits a family, certain things should pause. The passing of former President Muhammadu Buhari on July 13, followed by a three-day Islamic prayers after his internment and the Federal Government’s declaration of a seven-day mourning period, should have been one such moment- a time to reflect on the legacy of a soldier-turned-statesman. A period for unity in remembrance.
An African proverb teaches that when death enters a home, even the drums of war fall silent. The departed are bridges between the living and the ancestors- we do not dance upon them. Traditional wisdom reminds us that a mourning household is a sacred grove where even the wind treads lightly.
Yet for Atiku Abubakar, Nigeria’s former vice president, this sacred moment meant nothing more than a normal days for politicking.
While the nation stood still grieving, the former vice president was in motion—his political machinery was quietly executing his next move, his resignation from the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP), the same hours he posed solemnly with the grieving Buhari family in Daura. When the photo op was still going, Atiku’s resignation letter hit the headlines. The timing was not merely insensitive; it revealed a fundamental defect in character.
A true statesman understands that some moments demand dignity above ambition- but for am opportunist, he sees only angles to exploit.
This was no isolated lapse. Months earlier, footage captured his ally Nasir El-Rufai, former Kaduna State governor, repurposing a condolence visit to the family of late elder statesman Edwin Clark into a de facto campaign rally—extolling the former vice president as Nigeria’s salvation while bereaved relatives sat stiffly nearby. His silence then, as now, spoke volumes. The pattern is unmistakable: no occasion, not even grief, is exempt from political instrumentalisation.
The defense proffered by his team, that rivals “leaked” his resignation, strains credulity. Who, after all, has been more disruptive to the PDP’s cohesion than Atiku himself? His five party defections since the 1990s follow a wearying template: identify weakened structures, deploy his formidable political machinery to seize control, then abandon ship when utility wanes. The latest migration, to the minor African Democratic Congress (ADC), reduces yet another party to a personal campaign vehicle.
The costs of this approach extend far beyond one man’s reputation. Each exit further fragments Nigeria’s opposition, entrenches personality over ideology, and wastes the capital of younger politicians who hitch their futures to his caravan. Democracy suffers when elder statesmen treat parties as taxis, hailed and discarded at convenience.
There exists in Nigerian politics a particular kind of moral bankruptcy that manifests only in those who have chased power for so long that they have forgotten why they wanted it in the first place. Atiku Abubakar’s decision to resign from the PDP in the middle of anational mourning didn’t simply cross a line – it revealed the absence of any lines at all in his thirty-year pursuit of the presidency. The images from Daura will remain seared in the public consciousness.
But what renders this latest episode particularly useless is its sheer strategic futility, moving from one troubled house to another would-be crumbling shelter. While the PDP’s collapse owes much to internal rot, Atiku’s exit, executed amid national mourning, was the final act of a man who mistook survival for strategy.
This new episode crystallises the defining narrative of Atiku’s political trajectory – one characterised less by institution-building than by calculated co-option. His five major party migrations across three decades reveal an established modus operandi: target vulnerable political platforms, deploy his well-oiled political apparatus to assume control, transform them into personal campaign organs, then strategically exit when their utility expires. This approach to party politics underscores a serious disregard for institutional stability in service of perennial ambition.
The 2025 move to the African Democratic Congress (ADC) marks perhaps his most brazen hijacking attempt yet. For a candidate running out of options, the ADC offered a blank slate, but one too fragile to sustain national ambitions.
The cost of this overambitious approach to politics extends far beyond personal reputation. Each migration has destabilised opposition unity, encouraged a politics of personality over ideology, and wasted the political capital of younger politicians who tied their fortunes to his. Nigeria’s democracy suffers when senior statesmen treat parties like taxis – to be entered and exited at convenience. The presidency demands more than persistence – it requires the ability to unite, to inspire, to build. Atiku’s funeral politicking reveals why he has consistently failed on these counts.
A leader who exploits national mourning loses the moral authority to preach unity. A strategist who cannot pause his ambitions even during moments of collective grief demonstrates a fatal lack of the patience required for governance. And a would-be statesman who treats even death as transactional reveals himself to be fundamentally unfit for the sacred trust of leadership. Moments like these serve as litmus tests for character, and Atiku has failed catastrophically.
As Atiku Abubakar likely makes his final bid for Nigeria’s presidency, his actions during the Buhari mourning period may well become the defining metaphor of his career: a man so fixated on the prize that he lost sight of why it mattered.
The shadows lengthen on his political journey. When the final accounting is made, history may judge that in his relentless pursuit of power, he forgot the first rule of statesmanship – that to lead a nation, one must first show respect for its people, its institutions, and its sacred moments.
Nigeria’s democracy deserves better than leaders who see mourning periods as opportunities and parties as disposable tools. The 2027 elections will test whether voters agree.
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