When Governor Abba Kabir Yusuf defected from the New Nigeria Peoples Party (NNPP) to the All Progressives Congress (APC), the announcement did not merely generate political buzz; it ignited tension across the country and unsettled deeply rooted assumptions about loyalty, power, and political inheritance in Northern Nigeria.
It was the kind of move that shattered expectations because it occurred without the blessing of his political godfather and in-law, Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso, whose emotional reaction appeared impossible to conceal. In a political culture where loyalty is often elevated above ideology, the defection was quickly framed as betrayal, and betrayal, as political psychologists have argued, is one of the most emotionally persuasive narratives in mass politics because it simplifies complex calculations into a moral drama between victim and offender.
Suddenly, Kwankwaso’s image transformed from that of a veteran political strategist into that of a wounded political patriarch whose identity and legacy appeared under siege.
Reports from the media suggested that public outings involving him, particularly his visit to markets after the devastating fire incidents in Kano to sympathize with traders and victims, evolved into symbolic rallies of solidarity. The crowds were no longer merely greeting a politician; they were emotionally reaffirming an identity they feared could disappear.
Political theorists such as Benedict Anderson have long argued that communities are often held together not simply by interests but by imagined emotional bonds, and the Kwankwasiyya movement seemed to embody that reality. The stronger the perception that the movement was under threat, the more passionately its followers appeared determined to preserve it. It echoed the sociological idea that identities become most fiercely defended precisely when they are perceived to be endangered.
My intervention at the time sought to introduce an alternative perspective rooted not in emotion or partisan attachment but in political realism and objectivity. I argued that both Abba Yusuf’s defection and Kwankwaso’s refusal to follow the same route were fundamentally acts of self-preservation shaped by differing calculations of political survival.
The difference was not morality but strategy. Each man simply identified a different “safe harbour” in an increasingly unstable political environment. From the lens of rational choice theory, politicians are often motivated less by sentiment than by the pursuit of survival, influence, and future relevance. In that context, I observed that Kwankwaso himself would likely have made a similar decision had the political conditions within the APC sufficiently favoured him.
I also accused many critics of Governor Abba Yusuf of double standards. The same voices that once celebrated him as a high-performing governor suddenly abandoned every previous praise to focus exclusively on what they perceived as his unforgivable political sin.
Such reactions reflected what scholars of cognitive dissonance describe as selective moral judgment, the tendency of individuals to reinterpret reality whenever their emotional investments are threatened. In moments of disappointment, societies often simplify political actors into saints and villains because complexity becomes emotionally inconvenient. Yet, if people were willing to look beyond emotional attachment, they would recognize that Abba Yusuf’s move was also an attempt to neutralize threats from ruling party gladiators who could politically suffocate him at a time when neither the NNPP nor the ADC appeared free from internal crises, uncertainty, structural fragility, or conflicts of interest.
Ironically, when these observations were first made, few could foresee that Kwankwaso himself would later defect to the African Democratic Congress (,ADC) and eventually align with the National Democratic Congress (NDC). The political atmosphere changed rapidly. Once Kwankwaso defected to the ADC, many within the Kano State Government suddenly declared that Abba Yusuf had done nothing wrong after all. What was previously described as betrayal became rebranded as political wisdom. This dramatic reversal illustrated one of the oldest truths in politics: morality is often flexible when power calculations change.
It was during this period that former Kano State governor Ibrahim Shekarau emerged as one of the most vocal defenders of Governor Abba Yusuf’s earlier decision. Shekarau argued that Abba Yusuf should not be crucified for defecting since he was merely learning from Kwankwaso himself, who had at different periods moved from the People’s Democratic Party (PDP) to the APC and later to the NNPP. The argument was politically potent because it exposed the selective memory that often dominates Nigerian politics. Yet, in another twist of irony, Shekarau himself eventually defected to the APC, reinforcing the perception that political mobility in Nigeria is less about ideology and more about strategic positioning.
One of the earliest political missiles Shekarau fired after joining the APC and after Kwankwaso’s movement toward the NDC was the hint that Kwankwaso, like himself, was secretly working for the re-election of President Bola Ahmed Tinubu. Interestingly, the Kano State Government echoed similar sentiments recently by insinuating that Kwankwaso’s political manoeuvres ultimately favoured Tinubu’s success. Yet, in the same breath, emotions seemed to betray coherence as Kwankwaso was simultaneously warned against “pushing them to the wall.” The contradiction was fascinating. If two political actors allegedly share a common objective, why does bitterness continue to leak through their rhetoric unconsciously?
That contradiction reveals the deeper psychology of political competition. Scholars of political communication have long noted that alliances in politics are rarely built on affection; they are built on temporary convergence of interests. Even individuals allegedly serving the same broader objective still compete for relevance, public sympathy, and moral legitimacy. Thus, the hostility may not necessarily contradict shared interests; rather, it reflects the struggle over who controls the narrative and who emerges as the indispensable actor within that arrangement.
Yet both Shekarau, Governor Abba Yusuf, and many of their loyal foot soldiers appear to insult public intelligence when they assume they possess superior moral authority to expose an alleged political strategy supposedly designed to benefit the same political camp they claim to support. From the perspective of strategic political behaviour, exposing a secret alliance while simultaneously claiming loyalty to its objective creates the impression not of patriotism but of blackmail, emotional manipulation, or even insincerity. Political scientist Niccolò Machiavelli once suggested that power struggles are often disguised as moral struggles because morality is more marketable to the public than ambition. In that sense, the repeated accusations against Kwankwaso appeared less like revelations and more like calculated attempts to puncture the sympathy he enjoyed after the earlier defection saga.
What became increasingly obvious was that blackmail itself had evolved into a political instrument. Realizing that Kwankwaso’s earlier victimhood narrative generated public sympathy, his opponents appeared eager to weaponize conspiracy theories that aligned with what many people emotionally wanted to believe. This is consistent with findings in modern political psychology showing that citizens often embrace narratives not because they are objectively verified but because they provide emotional satisfaction and cognitive comfort. People naturally prefer explanations that help them process disappointment or reinforce existing loyalties.
I wrote days ago that Kwankwaso’s broader strategy was already becoming visible. If politics is fundamentally about preserving relevance and maximizing long-term investment, as realist theorists suggest, then remaining within the ADC under the overwhelming dominance of Atiku Abubakar offered Kwankwaso little strategic future. Time is not entirely on his side politically, and he understands that reality. Consequently, his apparent strategy seems to involve building a broader alliance with the South-East similar to the coalition that eventually produced President Tinubu’s victory. Rather than concealing this calculation entirely, Kwankwaso has demonstrated unusual flexibility and political sensitivity by acknowledging the national mood that favours allowing the South to complete its perceived eight-year cycle for the sake of fairness, inclusion, and national stability.
More significantly, his willingness to potentially deputize Peter Obi, a politician younger than him by age and arguably less experienced in politics tends to signal something deeper than ordinary ambition. It reveals calculation tempered with restraint, ambition moderated by patience, and strategy blended with emotional intelligence. At a time when many politicians cling desperately to ego and entitlement, Kwankwaso’s posture reflects an awareness of the emotional energy, popularity, and moral symbolism presently surrounding Obi, especially among Nigerians yearning for justice, equity, and a renewed sense of nationhood.
This entire political drama exposes not merely the selfishness of politicians but the broader hypocrisy embedded within society itself. Politicians frequently dress personal ambition in the language of collective interest, but ordinary citizens are often no different. Many people support candidates not necessarily because of national vision but because of expectations that their tribe, religion, town, region, or professional group may gain disproportionate advantage, preferential treatment, or access to power. Political sociology teaches that voters, like politicians, are rarely completely altruistic; they too pursue perceived self-interest, only from a different social position.
Therefore, citizens who condemn politicians for selfishness while remaining incapable of transcending their own ethnic, religious, or sectional biases may simply be participating in what the old proverb describes as the kettle calling the pot black. In the final analysis, regardless of the outcome of his political reinvention, Kwankwaso should not merely be remembered as a villain in Nigeria’s political story. Rather, he may ultimately be remembered as one of the complex, controversial, yet significant actors attempting to renegotiate the difficult question of national balance, inclusion, and survival within Nigeria’s fragile democratic project.
Bagudu can be reached via bagudumohammed15197@gmail.com or 07034943575.
