A viable opposition coalition is crucial ahead of Nigeria’s 2027 elections, to counter the increasingly dominant APC and help safeguard democracy. Yet, emerging coalition talks face familiar pathologies that plague Nigerian politics.
By Chudi Okoye
Depending on what you choose to believe, Nostradamus’ prophecy or Chinese Zodiac, 2027 could be a year of great trauma, or one with little drama. Some modern interpreters of the 16th-century French seer suggest he foresaw a “Black pope” named “Leo” leading the Catholic Church in that year, and also predicted the expiration of the papal line, likely ending Church history and possibly the world’s. By contrast, China’s Sheng Xiao marks 2027 as the “Year of the Goat” (or “Sheep”), traditionally associated with kindness, gentleness, and peace.
For Nigeria – assuming the world doesn’t end – 2027 promises a potentially scintillating presidential election rematch. Barring some strategic reset of current dynamics, the contest could reprise the same frontline contenders from the last cycle, the stakes this time much higher for the likely candidates and their parties.
There’s President Bola Tinubu, the crafty incumbent from the ascendant South-West, leading the ruling All Progressives Congress (APC), which – though lamed in the last election by the lethargic leadership of Muhammadu Buhari – now looms so large in the land that it provokes cries of creeping one-party rule.
Then there’s Atiku Abubakar, the political juggernaut who, by 2027, would be past 80 and overdue for retirement. He’s presumably still after the prize. Having pursued the presidency unsuccessfully for over three decades, he may once again seek the People’s Democratic Party (PDP) ticket. But as a northerner, he remains impaired by the party’s zoning principle – just as he was in the last cycle, when his nomination triggered internal rupture.
And finally there’s Peter Obi, the unassuming insurgent of 2023, buoyed by a bitter base that believes he was bilked and would want vindication. He hails from the South-East, a marginalized region whose window for national power may be closing in this cycle, as Nigeria’s informal North-South rotation ethos suggests a northern rebound between 2031 and 2039 – by the end of which time Obi may be too old for another run.
The stakes couldn’t be starker, nor the portents darker.
Tinubu is already shooed in as his party’s unchallenged candidate for 2027. But if he loses, he would leave the stage with the shortest tenure of any elected Nigerian president since the Second Republic, barring Umaru Musa Yar’Adua who died in office before completing his first term. A man of Tinubu’s towering ambition and political skill would not brook the embarrassment of losing to an opponent he had previously beaten, after just one term. Worse, he might believe opponents would interpret such a loss as justification for their claim of electoral malfeasance in 2023 and their insistence on his lack of legitimacy. Tinubu would not suffer such humiliation, especially since there’d be little chance for redemption. Frail and officially 73 now, he’d be 79 by 2031 – too old and far feebler for a comeback, even were the party machinery implausibly to allow that. Finally, Tinubu would want to continue with his project of geopolitical reset, to entrench the South-West’s position in Nigerian governance, breaking the North’s long-term unipolar hegemony. For Tinubu, therefore, re-election in 2027 is non-negotiable.
The stakes are no less daunting for the duo of Atiku and Obi, and so they’d be far fiercer in fighting to win. It would be truly tragic for both if they fail to clinch a nomination or, having secured it, suffer another defeat. Atiku would fade out, forlorn, finally realizing that Nigerians couldn’t trust him with power. Obi would peter out, ultimately confounded by the rigidities of Nigerian politics and unable to convert his fervent following into institutional traction.
Despite what’s at stake for them, the scenario is quite complicated for Atiku and Obi. Although both polled impressively in the 2023 election, their respective platforms – PDP and Labour Party (LP) – have struggled with internal discord and crumbling cohesion. Dissensions, defections, and decline in momentum have trailed their defeat. The APC, though not immune to Nigeria’s fissiparous politics, appears to have weathered its own storms better, consolidating power and even gaining ground.
This makes it improbable – though not impossible – that either Atiku or Obi, running independently on their diminished platforms, could dislodge a resurgent APC. True, the ruling party’s painful and faltering reform agenda has eroded public goodwill, offering a strategic window to the opposition. But, as the party in charge of the federal government – with a greater control of patronage and political resources – the APC remains formidable, especially against a flailing and fragmented opposition.
This sobering reality should give either man pause about another independent bid, possibly losing again and becoming historically diminished. It should impel them toward cooperation, recognizing the need to reverse the centrifugal drift that doomed their bids in 2023. Recent stirrings of an Atiku-Obi rapprochement suggest that opposition forces may finally be open to the imperative of coalition-building.
If these reported moves are serious, they would be both timely and welcome. But the process will be fraught, and the outcome uncertain. Internal fractures within the PDP, Labour, and other potential coalition partners will complicate matters. Rebuilding trust and rekindling the base – much of it now disillusioned and apathetic after the last defeat – will be difficult. Uniting disparate grassroots constituencies may prove even more daunting, especially where local actors resist elite-level rapprochement. Reconciling divergent platforms and ideological outlooks adds yet another layer of complexity. Meanwhile, a canny APC will likely infiltrate and seek to destabilize any emerging opposition bloc, using familiar tactics of co-optation and intimidation.
None of this is to dismiss the exciting prospect of an opposition coalition, something I have long canvassed, even as the last election loomed. The relative weakness of individual opposition parties may well incentivize collaboration, to boost their electoral viability. Yet paradoxically, that very promise could deepen rivalries among leading figures, for some of whom 2027 may constitute a denouement – a final electoral outing. This is borne out in recent news of Peter Obi proclaiming his intention to contest the 2027 election on the Labour platform – seemingly brushing off coalition talks. Given Obi’s party-hopping history despite loyalty vows, this may be more a move to maneuver Atiku out than a final decision. But it points precisely to the precarious negotiations ahead. Reconciling the clashing ambitions of these principals will be difficult, especially when compounded by the complex calculus of regional power rotation. Coalition talks may begin with real hope, only to stall as each party recognizes the strategic value of unity and attempts to advance its own candidate.
It is a scenario strongly reminiscent of the Prisoner’s Dilemma, that classic conundrum in game theory where rational self-interest leads to a collectively irrational outcome. Even when mutual cooperation is clearly in everyone’s interest, the fear of unilateral sacrifice drives each player to defect.
This applies with near theoretical precision to Atiku and Obi. Given what’s at stake for the broader opposition set and the nation at large, strategic cooperation makes absolute sense. If both cooperate – ceding individual ambitions to back a single candidate – they could unseat the APC. But if one defects (e.g. Atiku insists on running again), the other faces a choice: stand down and risk irrelevance, or defect too, splitting the vote and ensuring Tinubu’s re-election. The irony is that mutual defection, driven by personal and perhaps regional or ideological interest, may be a rational choice for each leader; but it would be suboptimal for the opposition set, and perhaps for the country, as it could lead to collective failure.
This dynamic – the collision of personal and regional versus national interests – has plagued coalition politics throughout Nigerian history. As I observed in one of my previous essays on this subject, virtually every major attempt at a governing or electoral alliance has been stillborn, unsuccessful or short-lived. One or other outcome applied in the First Republic to the NPC-NCNC governing alliance, NPC-NNDP’s Nigerian National Alliance (NNA), and NCNC-Action Group’s United Progressive Grand Alliance (UPGA); to the NPN-NPP accord in the Second Republic; the regimented coalitions SDP and NRC in the abortive Third Republic; and the rash of failed formations, as the Fourth Republic has unfolded. The APC, a coalition that emerged in 2013, has proved so far the most successful: it wrested power from the incumbent PDP in 2015 and by 2027 would have run to 12 years in power. APC succeeded in taking power largely because rival leaders were willing to subordinate individual ambition to a common cause; and it has so far retained power seemingly because it is able to finesse its internal fractures while instigating opposition rupture.
The 2027 election outcome hinges on whether Nigeria’s opposition can escape the strategic prisoner’s trap. History offers little optimism: despite the APC’s success story, Nigerian politics has been a graveyard of failed coalitions. The 2027 landscape may not augur well for mutual cooperation, given the high-stakes for the opposition principals, for whom this may be a last-ditch battle to remain politically relevant. Yet the stakes have never been higher for the country. If the opposition forces cannot overcome their collective action problem, it is not just a setback for individual ambitions, but a threat to the very fabric of competitive politics in Nigeria. The APC’s dominance may harden into a de facto one-party rule – a perilous prospect for Nigerian democracy.
