Pat Utomi’s recently announced ‘Shadow Cabinet’ has stirred controversy, but it reveals the dire need for institutionalized opposition to shore up Nigerian democracy.
By Chudi Okoye
It is truly remarkable, and rather disturbing, when you think about it.
Nigeria’s ruling party, the All Progressives Congress (APC), barely eked out a victory in the 2023 presidential election, clinching a fiercely contested 36.7% plurality. Yet, just two years on, the party bestrides the polity like a colossus, stirring fears of creeping one-party rule. With its recent success in luring Akwa Ibom State governor Umo Eno from the People’s Democratic Party (PDP), APC now controls 23 of Nigeria’s 36 state governorships, along with a Senate majority and dominant plurality in the House of Representatives. The once-preeminent PDP is down to 10 states, while the Labour Party, New Nigeria People’s Party, and All Progressives Grand Alliance each clings to a solitary stronghold. Speculation swirls as well that APC aims to flip vulnerable PDP governors in Adamawa, Enugu, Plateau, and Rivers. Should those materialize, the party would control an incredible 27 governorships. By my estimate using StatIT’s latest State of the States data, this would represent about 74% of Nigeria’s population (up from 63%) and 84% of its GDP (up from 76%).
These are staggering statistics of dominance – undeniable signs of the country’s hegemonic drift. This calls for urgent democratic correction – which is taking shape, though only tentatively and not without controversy.
A few weeks ago in May, amid emerging talks of an opposition coalition ahead of the 2027 elections, news broke that Professor Pat Utomi of Lagos Business School had launched a policy entity and civic engagement forum he calls the Big Tent Coalition Shadow Cabinet. He says it is a “national conscience project” aimed at restoring meaningful dissent in Nigerian politics. Styled loosely after the Westminster model, the initiative seeks to convene technocrats, civil society actors, and opposition figures to assess government performance, offer policy alternatives, and advocate for structural reform. Utomi emphasizes that this is not a political party or electoral vehicle but a “coalition of conscience” – a civic watchdog responding to what he calls a “national emergency” marked by economic collapse, insecurity, and a growing loss of public trust. The group will hold weekly sessions to spotlight failures and propose reforms in key sectors, from education and the economy to constitutional restructuring and electoral law. For Utomi, this is a rallying point for Nigerians who refuse to remain silent in the face of national decline.
You might call this intervention a roar of the lesser opposition, given that Professor Utomi has been largely affiliated with fringe parties that have struggled for electoral traction. His past bids for power, including a 2007 presidential run on the African Democratic Congress ticket and a 2011 shot with the Social Democratic Mega Party, barely registered electorally. Even his later flirtations with APC and Labour yielded little political capital. To borrow Napoleon’s famous quip – later echoed by Stalin – “How many [army] divisions does the Pope have?” One might ask the same of Utomi’s Shadow Cabinet. Yet, considering his stature as a public intellectual, the seriousness of this initiative – and its moral impulse – is undeniable.
It would appear, at least going by this one project, that fringe opposition forces, perhaps frustrated by the feebleness of their frontline counterparts, are attempting to position themselves as the real vanguards of dissent. Perhaps they feel that leadership of the opposition, especially at this critical juncture ahead of the 2027 elections in Nigeria, is too important to be left to the major opposition parties.
If so, it evokes a famous statement by the French statesman and co-architect of the 1918 Treaty of Versailles, Georges Clemenceau: “War is too serious a matter to entrust to military men.” Charles de Gaulle, another famous French figure, offered a much closer riff on the aphorism: “Politics is too serious a matter to be left to the politicians.”
I cite these epigrams in part to applaud Pat Utomi’s project and underscore its importance, though its future remains uncertain. This is, doubtless, a laudable effort – inventive, with clear incentives – but it will demand intensive commitment. The initiative may prove useful in ventilating civic grievances and proposing policy alternatives, yet it lacks statutory authority, so its recommendations may be easily ignored. Moral suasion and ardent policy critique alone may not shift the calculus of a deeply entrenched regime.
Since announcing his initiative, Utomi has faced fierce pushback from government officials, especially over the term “Shadow Cabinet,” which critics argue implies a parallel government. The Department of State Services (DSS) filed a lawsuit against him at the Federal High Court in Abuja, claiming the initiative is an illegal attempt to usurp presidential powers and poses a threat to constitutional order and national security. The DSS requested a perpetual injunction barring Utomi and his associates from establishing or operating the shadow cabinet and sought an interlocutory injunction preventing rallies, media campaigns, and public mobilization until the case, scheduled for hearing on June 25, is resolved.
It’s unclear how the DSS case will be determined. Legal analysts have weighed in on both sides regarding the project’s legality: on the one hand citing the constitution’s freedom of speech guarantees, and on the other its silence on political opposition and the concept of a shadow cabinet. Whatever the case, given the uproar, one wonders whether Pat Utomi’s think-tank might be tanked before it starts the thinking!
Uncertain Role for Opposition
Whatever its fate – whether it flourishes, flounders or totally founders – Utomi’s forum throws into focus a deeper defect of Nigeria’s democratic architecture: the absence of an institutionalized opposition capable of checking executive overreach, offering policy alternatives, and sustaining a pluralistic ethos in governance.
The word “opposition” – or any cognate of it – does not appear in the 1999 Constitution, nor are rival parties given formal roles. While the National Assembly provides for Minority Leaders and Whips, these roles are creations of parliamentary standing orders, not law. They are informal, weakly defined, and largely symbolic within Nigeria’s executive-dominant presidential system.
This marks a stark departure from the First Republic, when a Westminster-style system prevailed under the 1960 Independence and 1963 Republican constitutions. Though not explicitly inscribed in the constitution, the Leader of the Opposition role – held at the federal level by Chief Obafemi Awolowo – was supported by convention, statutes, and legislative norms. Similar to the UK, India, and Canada where the opposition enjoys official recognition, with budgetary support and defined parliamentary privileges, the role in Nigeria during the First Republic carried real influence and visibility: it provided structured scrutiny of government actions, offered alternate policy visions, and stood as a symbolic counterbalance in the democratic process.
Today, in Nigeria’s presidential dispensation, opposition is more intuition than institution. Its influence is shaped largely by the vicissitudes of political culture and the vagaries of personality.
One former legislator I spoke with about the influence of the minority bloc told me that its actual impact on policy is minimal, citing their size disadvantage. But I wonder if parliamentary size is dispositive. Consider that in the UK the official opposition, the Conservatives Party – currently with just 18.5% of the House of Commons seats (120 of 650) – wields far greater influence on policy and governance than Nigeria’s PDP (the largest opposition party) which currently holds about 33% of the combined National Assembly seats (155 of 469). The Nigerian opposition’s weakness is institutional, if also situational.
Opposition forces are further debilitated by opportunism, with constant party-switching or opposition figures grubbily lobbying the ruling party for personal gain, all of which erodes public trust. The opportunism arises in part from the lack of institutionalized opposition.
My legislator contact pointed to the impact of Nigeria’s political culture, with opposition often misread as disloyalty. He also told me that although the opposition’s role is not constitutionally recognized, it exists “in reality” due to the provisions for freedom of speech and association which are indirect constitutional protections for opposition activity. But this only underscores the institutional ambiguity of dissent in Nigeria’s democracy: opposition survives by inference, not by design.
Opposition weakness in Nigeria is not merely political; it is institutional. Today’s opposition lacks formal standing, defined duties, or sustained support. As a result, dissent is episodic, not systematic. There’s a dire need for institutional correction.
Institutionalizing the Opposition
Nigeria in 1979 adopted a presidential system of government, in part to mitigate the centrifugal pressures that doomed the First Republic. The parliamentary system, inherited at an early stage of national integration, exacerbated the country’s deep fissures. The pivot to presidentialism was based on the belief that a strong, unifying executive – elected by a national plurality but governed by separation of powers – might stabilize the polity and foster a greater sense of inclusion.
But reality has diverged significantly from theory. The Nigerian variant of presidentialism has concentrated power, weakened checks and balances, and marginalized dissent. The result: a shift from power separation to a fusion of powers not dissimilar to what obtained under the parliamentary system – though now without institutionalized opposition. The consequence is imperiled pluralism – dangerous in a multi-ethnic federation, especially with one-party drift and growing evidence of ethnic domination under the APC.
This is why re-institutionalizing the opposition role in Nigeria isn’t mere luxury. It is a democratic necessity. Crucially, such a move isn’t incompatible with presidentialism. Many countries with presidential or hybrid systems have formally recognized opposition roles. In Ghana’s presidential system, for example, the Minority Leader enjoys procedural standing, budgetary support, and real committee influence. In South Africa’s and France’s hybrid systems, opposition figures are granted defined rights, despite a strong executive.
Nigeria doesn’t need to return to Westminster parliamentarianism, though that could certainly be argued. What it needs is a hybrid: a presidential system that includes codified roles for opposition leaders. These should include guaranteed speaking time, policy oversight, shadow portfolios, and budgetary support – all grounded in law. This would not weaken the executive. It would strengthen democracy. It would ensure that all regions and parties – even those out of power – retain a stake in governance.
Democracy is not just elections or majoritarian rule. Nor is it secured by the dominance of a single party. It thrives on the balance between power and accountability, authority and critique. Today, Nigeria’s democratic balance is broken, hence its rating in the Economist’sDemocracy Index as a “hybrid” form. To restore it, we must formalize opposition as a central pillar of governance. This should be considered an urgent system correction as Nigeria marks its 7th Democracy Day and a postcolonial milestone, celebrating 25 years of uninterrupted civilian rule. Only when this is done can the country boast of being a truly responsive and representative democracy.
