Why is the PDP lamenting a one-party system when it seems to be the chief architect of its own decline? The recent tide of defections from the Peoples Democratic Party to the ruling APC and the Social Democratic Party isn’t mere political coincidence—it’s the direct result of internal contradictions the PDP has failed to confront. The party that once held Nigeria’s political machinery with confident dominance now stumbles, not because of external sabotage, but from self-inflicted wounds and a chronic identity crisis.
Once upon a time, the PDP was a symbol of resilience. Today, it watches helplessly as its members embrace new political homes with the same desperation as a jilted lover clinging to the memory of past glory. Just like they flirted with the NNPP and Labour Party during previous cycles, now the SDP is the ‘new bride’ wooing PDP’s defectors—who are eager to believe in anything but their own party.
Nothing captures the erosion of the PDP’s moral compass more than its curious tolerance for Nyesom Wike. Here is a man dancing at the edge of political fidelity, openly cozying up to the ruling party while still holding sway in the PDP. A move so brazen that in saner times, it would have attracted expulsion or at least disciplinary action. But no—Wike not only remains, he thrives. He is both PDP’s loudest voice in meetings and the APC’s most charming ambassador on national television. It’s political schizophrenia at its peak.
When the public sees Wike flexing muscles at PDP meetings and basking in accolades from the Tinubu administration, they don’t see opposition—they see complicity. They see the ruling party’s most effective marketer masquerading as an opposition stalwart. And in that contradiction, the PDP loses the moral right to blame anyone but itself for the growing reality of a one-party state.
It would be laughable if it weren’t so tragic. The same party crying foul over defections tolerates the same saboteurs who light fires under its platform. How does a party stay afloat when it celebrates those digging holes in its ship? Even the NNPP had the spine to suspend its founder, Rabiu Kwankwaso, over accusations of anti-party behavior—yet the PDP parades its defectors as indispensable financiers. This is not strategy; it’s self-sabotage wearing a cloak of confusion.
The Labour Party is no better. Crippled by internal crises and feuds that predate recent tensions, it too risks becoming a cautionary tale of what happens when idealism lacks structure. The attempt to blame figures like Joe Ajaero as government stooges is nothing but a deflection from the deeper rot. Meanwhile, APGA has long served more as a stepping stone than a solid platform. Even Governor Soludo seems to have used it merely as a ladder to office while maintaining eyes on broader national relevance.
And then, a curious case emerges: the appointment of Mrs. Bianca Odumegwu-Ojukwu as minister by the APC—a symbolic outreach to the Southeast, no doubt. But political appointments, however strategic, are never obligatory. If the gesture is genuine, recipients have every right to accept or reject, just as Chinua Achebe once did. Twice, in fact. In 2004 and again in 2011, the literary titan rejected Nigeria’s national honours. Achebe’s message was clear—he would not accept celebration in a country still drowning in poverty, injustice, and violence. He chose principle over praise, and in doing so, set a bar most politicians would never reach.
Tinubu, on the other hand, is a different kind of political animal. Unlike Buhari, whose aloofness cost him goodwill even within his party, Tinubu is a builder of bridges. He knows how to reward loyalty, recognize talent, and keep the wheels of political machinery well-oiled. Recently, he appointed APC state chairmen as board leaders across federal agencies. These men and women aren’t going anywhere. Defection? Not a chance. Their loyalty is cemented with power and position—a masterstroke of political retention.
So when people lament the erosion of opposition, they must ask the right questions. Why should Nigerians invest trust in parties whose members abandon ship at the first sign of reward? If Atiku Abubakar, one of the few PDP stalwarts who’s shown some level of consistency, is not the problem, then who is? If Peter Obi’s rise was fueled by a fractured North and disenchanted youth, who now fragments the South’s potential response?
And what of Wike’s infamous warning that PDP should not zone the presidency to the North? For many, it wasn’t a call for justice—it was a chess move, a clever way to fracture opposition unity and gift APC another easy win. Some see it as a veiled attack on Atiku, others believe it was a strategic blockade against Peter Obi’s growing influence. Either way, the message was clear: Wike was never really ‘opposing.’
Even those disillusioned by Tinubu’s performance so far may feel trapped by geopolitics. With the presidency already in the South, many Nigerians might prefer to let the region finish its turn rather than shift the pendulum prematurely. Ironically, this logic could hurt southern contenders like Obi more than help them, especially if new rivals emerge from the same region.
What we are witnessing is not the triumph of the APC alone, but the implosion of Nigeria’s opposition. A failure to build, to believe, and to hold their own accountable. The tragedy isn’t just that the PDP is falling apart; it’s that they’re blaming others for handing them the hammer with which they drove the first nail.
A functioning opposition is the heartbeat of democracy. It keeps governments on their toes, policies in check, and voices from every corner of society heard. Without it, democracy becomes theatre—one actor, one script, and an audience forced to applaud. The PDP must decide: does it want to be a player or a prop?
Until then, much ado about one-party state will remain what it is—an elaborate distraction from an inconvenient truth.
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