BY EMAMEH GABRIEL
I read Malam Nasir El-Rufai’s piece on the state of Nigerian democracy, “Democracy Without Competition? Nigeria and the Road to 2027,” which I believe was part of his remarks at the recent Daily Trust Dialogue. It is a compelling read: sharp, articulate, and on the surface, it makes arguments that unsuspecting Nigerians would nod along to. The warnings about one-party states, the allegation of the weaponisation of state agencies, and erosion of opposition are serious issues that deserve serious discussion.
Yet, upon reading it, a familiar and disquieting sensation took hold: the cynicism one feels when a longtime contributor to the problem suddenly appoints himself the voice of the solution. It is akin to watching a builder, who has used every tool in the shed, including the rusty, questionable ones, now give a public lecture on architectural purity because he wasn’t hired for the latest job.
El-Rufai quoted Tinubu’s fiery opposition speeches from 2011-2014 with the speed of a prosecutor. The man who is now President did speak powerfully for the vitality of opposition. That is true. But where was this version of El-Rufai between 2015 and 2023? For eight years, he was not just a member of the ruling APC; he was one of its most powerful governors, a key pillar of the Buhari administration. Of course, he was observing table manners, chewing with his mouth closed.
He characterised the recent shift in our political landscape as an unprecedented assault on political competition. But there is nothing new here, it is the same old Nigerian playbook, just with a new team calling the shots. Political defection or cross-carpeting has been our national pastime since the ’60s. The PDP mastered the art of swallowing entire opposition parties in the 2000s, and the APC itself was a product of mass defection, which El-Rufai was part of its making. To pretend this is some new virus cooked up in 2023 is to rewrite history for convenience. El-Rufai didn’t just watch this game; he was been a star player.
But then, why is El-Rufai so worried about defections when he is already declared that Tinubu has lost the 2027 election? It is as if he has lost faith not only in his own prediction, but in the coalition he claims to stand with.
It is too simplistic, and frankly, condescending, to reduce what we are seeing to mere coercion. Democracy runs on numbers, and politicians act on interest. El-Rufai himself understands this; after all, wasn’t it the same political math that drove him and other big players into the ADC fold?
The steady drift of governors and key figures toward the APC is not some hostage situation. It is a strategic shift. In a functioning democracy, politicians are rational actors. They go where they see strength, viability, and a path to delivering for their people. Right now, many are betting that President Tinubu and the APC offer more promise than a splintered opposition does.
To suggest these defections only happen because of fear or payoffs insults the political intelligence of seasoned governors. It treats them like puppets, a flimsy idea that falls apart with a little scrutiny. A far stronger explanation is leadership. Like him or not, Tinubu carries a political weight and savvy, that draws others in. These governors may simply see in him and the APC machinery a sense of direction, influence, and electoral muscle that their old parties can’t match.
El-Rufai’s essay starts with a flawed idea: that the opposition is somehow noble by default, and that losing ground is always a sign of foul play. But what if the opposition isn’t being crushed, what if it’s just failing? What if it has no real story to tell, no clear structure, and no leader who can go toe-to-toe with the incumbent? The wave of defections might simply be politicians taking stock and making a rational choice. They follow power and results. And if the opposition can’t offer either, then its members leaving for where they can find it isn’t a democratic crisis, it is democracy in action, a natural shift toward where competence seems to lie.
Calling this realignment “democratic distress” overlooks another possibility: democratic consolidation. A broad, strong ruling party could in theory, bring the stability needed to push through tough, long-term reforms in a country as divided as Nigeria. Yes, a strong opposition matters. But an opposition that is weak and unfocused by its own hand doesn’t help anyone. These governors might genuinely believe they can get more done for their people from inside the room where decisions are made than shouting from the sidelines.
At the end of the day, democracy at gunpoint as El-Rufai wants to make it sound, sounds scary, but it is not really what is happening today. Politics is just about going where the momentum is and betting on what keeps you in the game. No one is pointing a gun to their head—Tinubu is just leading the way. People are following because they think it is their best shot, for their career and maybe for the country. It is not the death of competition; someone just won this hand. The question is, will they play to build the country or just to stay in power?
Let’s cut the chase. The power of El-Rufai’s essay is completely undermined by its unspoken context: the Senate’s rejection. Let’s be blunt, if El-Rufai had been confirmed as a minister, does anyone think we would be reading this? Not a chance. Instead of this elegant lament for a dying opposition, we would likely get a robust defense of “political realignment” or a technocratic argument for “broad-based governance.” This is not some principled awakening; it is the bitter fruit of personal setback, polished up with philosophical language.
It is the classic Nigerian political transformation. In power, you are the pragmatic realist making tough calls. Out of power, you suddenly become the democratic purist and guardian of institutions. The real ideology is not left or right—it is simply whether you are in or out.
This is not to say the dangers he points out are not real. The alleged use of financial might to coerce governors, the subtle and not-so-subtle pressures from security agencies, the attempt to create a sprawling, unchallengeable political machine—these are all red flags for any democracy. They should be called out, loudly and consistently. But again, the call needs to come from a place of consistency, not just convenience if at all it’s to go by.
Building a lasting democracy doesn’t depend on brilliant but bitter essays from former insiders. It depends on the unglamorous, daily efforts of citizens who hold all leaders to account—yesterday’s heroes, today’s failures, and tomorrow’s hopefuls. The real work is in creating institutions robust enough to survive any leader’s worst instincts. It is a fearless press, a fiercely independent judiciary, and an electorate that judges leaders by their past actions, not just their present unfortunate predicaments and promises.
El-Rufai has given us his own critique of the present, and asked us to forget his past. He wants to be the critic without acknowledging his role in writing the very script he now condemns. Nigeria’s democratic journey is too important for such selective memory. We need voices that speak truth to power, yes. But we desperately need voices whose truth doesn’t change direction depending on which way the power is blowing.
EMAMEH GABRIEL is a journalist and media consultant. He wrote from Abuja.
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