By EMAMEH GABRIEL
A man who refuses to choose a path will be led by others, often to places he never wished to go.
This old wisdom comes to mind as we watch former President Goodluck Jonathan once again being pushed, pulled, and prodded toward a political stage he claims to have left.
I raised this issue on my Facebook wall last week, and the responses were telling. Some argued passionately that his return would be Nigeria’s redemption, a chance to “correct past mistakes.” Others, more cynical, insisted he has no real interest, only the ego stroke of being wanted. But the most cutting remark came from an old commentator: If he toys with this again after 2023’s circus, even his concession legacy will burn to ashes.
And that is the heart of it. Jonathan’s silence has created a vacuum for gossips, and nature abhors those. Into this void rush opportunists, desperate party hacks, and starry-eyed nostalgics, all projecting their own selfish agendas onto a man who seems content to let them. But leadership, even former leadership, is not a passive role. When your name becomes a national talking point, you don’t get to shrug and murmur and watch the space like a reality TV contestant. You owe the public clarity.
Let’s be frank- Jonathan is not some naive bystander. He knows exactly how this game works. In 2022, when shadowy groups procured a presidential nomination form on his behalf without his explicit consent, his response was wrapped in ambiguity. It kept hope alive among his devotees while giving him deniability. A clever trick, yes—but statesmen shouldn’t traffic in tricks.
Now, history repeats itself. The PDP, his party, now more ghost than substance, floats his name not out of conviction, but because they are bankrupt of options. Their calculus is nakedly transactional: Jonathan might split the Southern vote, weaken Tinubu, and gift them a fighting chance. Never mind that Section 137(3) of the constitution bars him from running again. Never mind that his 2015 defeat was not just an electoral loss but a national repudiation of his administration’s staggering failures—from Boko Haram’s unchecked rampage to the infamous missing $20 billion oil scandal. The PDP’s hunger for power has a way of blurring inconvenient truths.
What is baffling is Jonathan’s apparent willingness to play along. One wonders if he forgotten how swiftly these same PDP elites quietly negotiated his exit and abandoned him in 2015. Does he truly believe the party’s sudden ardour is about him, rather than their own survival? His wife, Dame Patience, never one for subtlety, seems to have moved on, aligning herself with the current administration. Yet Jonathan lingers in the wings, letting the whispers grow louder.
This is not about him. Nigeria’s political climate is too fragile for these games. Every day his silence persists, it fuels speculation, emboldens opportunists, and distracts from real issues. The youth, whom he once claimed to champion, are not the one beating the drums for his return. They are too busy battling unemployment, inflation, and a system that treats them as afterthoughts. The North, where his rumoured backers plot their 2031 succession plans, has not forgotten how his presidency alienated them. The Southern region has moved on, even if some of its politicians haven’t.
There is a deeper principle at stake here. Public service is not a revolving door. If Jonathan has truly retired, as he insists, then he must say so, clearly, unequivocally, without the usual political doublespeak. Not for the PDP’s sake, not for Tinubu’s, but for Nigeria’s. A country drowning in uncertainty doesn’t need the spectre of a former leader playing sphinx.
The truth is, Jonathan’s legacy is at a crossroads. His 2015 concession earned him global praise, but that goodwill is not infinite. If he allows himself to be used as a pawn in 2027, history won’t remember him as the gracious loser, it will remember him as the man who couldn’t resist one last dance, even when the music had stopped.
So here is the question only he can answer: Does he want to be remembered as a statesman who knew when to leave, or just another politician who overstayed his welcome? The clock is ticking. Nigeria is watching. And silence, at this point, is an answer in itself.
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