Prof Moti
Nigeria’s opposition does not suffer from a lack of opportunity; it suffers from a surplus of ego.
In any political system where citizens are burdened by economic strain, insecurity, and institutional fatigue, an opposition should not be scrambling for relevance. it should be coasting on momentum.
Yet in Nigeria, the reverse is true. The path to power is visible, even inviting, but those who seek it behave as though victory ought to be gifted, not earned.
They want the presidency, but recoil from the discipline, compromise, and quiet sacrifice that make presidential power attainable.
At the center of this contradiction are figures like Atiku Abubakar, Peter Obi, and Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso, (who came 2nd, 3rd and 4th in the 2023 Presidential elections), men of stature, followership, and undeniable political weight, yet curiously unable to convert these assets into a shared project.
Each commands a loyal base; none appears willing to subordinate personal ambition to collective necessity. The result is not competition that strengthens democracy, but fragmentation that sabotages it.
What defines this opposition is not ideological divergence but strategic impatience. There is no evidence of deep philosophical disagreement about the direction of the state. Instead, what exists is a contest of entitlement, who deserves the ticket, whose turn it is, whose structure is superior.
These are not the arguments of a movement preparing to govern; they are the quarrels of individuals negotiating status within a familiar elite order.
Resilience in politics is not merely the ability to endure hardship; it is the capacity to absorb disappointment, recalibrate ambition, and remain committed to a larger goal. That quality is conspicuously thin.
The unwillingness to submit to internal processes, to risk losing primaries, to negotiate power-sharing arrangements, or to accept a secondary role, even temporarily, reveals a deeper fragility. It suggests that for many within the opposition, the presidency is not a collective mission but a personal destination. And if it cannot be reached on their own terms, it is apparently acceptable for no one else within their ranks to reach it at all.
This is where the idea of “sacrifice” becomes more than rhetorical flourish. Every successful political coalition is built on it. Someone steps down. Someone waits. Someone concedes ground in order to secure the whole.
In Nigeria’s opposition politics, however, sacrifice is treated as defeat rather than strategy. The expectation is immediate ascendancy, an anointing, not a contest. But power does not reward such impatience. It punishes it, often brutally.
The consequence is a cycle of self-sabotage. Instead of presenting a unified front capable of harnessing public dissatisfaction, the opposition dissipates its energy in internal rivalries. Its loudest battles are not against incumbency or policy failure, but against itself.
Yes, we concede institutional and establishment interference. This should be expected. It is a contest for power. You can surmount it better as a team.
The opposition’s rhetoric is sharper inward than outward. Its supporters are mobilized more effectively to distrust one another than to build a common cause. In that environment, the presidential ticket becomes not a platform of convergence but a prize that fractures before it is even contested.
And this is why the road to the presidency remains elusive. Not because the terrain is impassable, but because those attempting the journey refuse to travel together. They approach a collective contest with solitary instincts, mistaking personal popularity for national viability.
But elections at that level are not won by isolated strength; they are won by negotiated unity.
Until this opposition learns that restraint can be more powerful than assertion, that timing matters as much as ambition, and that yielding today can secure victory tomorrow, it will continue to circle the presidency without ever arriving.
Power, in the end, is rarely handed to those who demand it loudly. It gravitates toward those who organize for it patiently, build for it collectively, and, when necessary, sacrifice for it deliberately.
Without that transformation, the opposition’s greatest obstacle will not be its opponents. It will be itself.
If the opposition is serious about power, it must choose: ego or victory, ambition or alignment, noise or strategy. No one gets the presidency alone. Not in a country this complex, not in a contest this consequential.
The path is clear: agree early, concede something, build a ticket that reflects the country, and march as one. Every day spent fighting each other is a day conceded. Every refusal to compromise is a vote surrendered.
History is unforgiving to coalitions that arrive late and divided. But it rewards those who understand a simple truth: you do not win power by deserving it, you win it by organizing for it, together.
Can Nigeria’s opposition stand up to be counted?
