Since the conclusion of the 2023 general elections, one name has consistently dominated Nigeria’s political discourse—not because he holds office, but because he has become the target of relentless and coordinated attacks from an eclectic mix of political figures, media influencers, and power brokers. That name is Peter Obi. The former governor of Anambra State and presidential candidate of the Labour Party appears to be the most scrutinized, vilified, and falsely accused Nigerian politician today, even more than the man who actually occupies Aso Rock.
From Reno Omokri to Omoyele Sowore, Deji Adeyanju to Femi Fani-Kayode, Bayo Onanuga to Governor Babajide Sanwo-Olu, and even the Presidency itself—there has been an unrelenting barrage of character assassinations directed at a man who does not wield state power. It begs the critical question: why does Peter Obi, a man without a police escort or ministerial appointees, command so much fear, venom, and desperation from Nigeria’s political class?
In a country where real problems abound—economic stagnation, worsening insecurity, hunger, and youth unemployment—it is curious that so much energy is being expended attacking one man who, by all metrics, is not in charge of the system. If Peter Obi is as politically irrelevant as his detractors claim, why does he consume so much of their attention and bandwidth?
Reno Omokri, a former aide to ex-President Goodluck Jonathan, has made it a mission to launch daily social media attacks against Obi. In one post, he claimed, “Peter Obi is the most deceitful politician Nigeria has ever seen.” In another, he accused Obi of stoking ethnic division during the elections. Yet, this is the same Obi who campaigned across the country—North and South, Christian and Muslim communities—without a record of hate speech or violence. Reno’s attacks, often personal and exaggerated, raise eyebrows about motive.
Omoyele Sowore, publisher of Sahara Reporters and a former presidential candidate himself, has repeatedly dismissed Obi’s supporters as a “mob.” In one tweet, he claimed, “Peter Obi is no different from the corrupt elite he claims to oppose.” But Sowore fails to present any proof linking Obi to corruption—an accusation no anti-graft agency in Nigeria has ever verified despite Obi’s years in public service. If a man can govern a state for eight years without a single EFCC case, shouldn’t that warrant some degree of respect?
Deji Adeyanju, another prominent critic, recently alleged that “Obi is a hypocrite who pretends to be different, yet is deeply embedded in the corrupt financial system.” This came after Obi clarified his past board membership at Fidelity Bank, following false allegations that he owns the institution. Fidelity Bank, a publicly listed company with over 500,000 shareholders, is not and has never been Obi’s private property. The fact that such falsehoods continue to be peddled, even when disproved, points to a broader campaign of deliberate misinformation.
Femi Fani-Kayode, known for his flamboyant and volatile rhetoric, once labelled Obi a “fraud who cannot manage a kiosk, let alone a country.” Yet, this same Obi left behind ₦75 billion in savings for Anambra State, built healthcare and education infrastructure, and improved the state’s fiscal ranking—achievements verified by independent organizations like BudgIT and the National Bureau of Statistics (NBS). The kiosk metaphor, while catchy, collapses under the weight of documented evidence.
Bayo Onanuga, media aide to President Bola Tinubu, also joined the fray when he falsely claimed that Obi met with Tinubu in Rome over a supposed ₦225 billion debt crisis at Fidelity Bank. Obi responded with a detailed explanation of his spiritual journey to Rome and clarified that he had only a brief, impromptu greeting with President Tinubu at the Vatican. Still, Onanuga’s narrative spread like wildfire, damaging reputations before the truth could even catch its breath.
Even Babajide Sanwo-Olu, the governor of Lagos State, subtly mocked Obi’s “structureless” political movement after the 2023 elections, despite the fact that Obi garnered over six million votes nationwide and made historic inroads in regions previously thought impenetrable for a third-party candidate. If that is not structure, then Nigeria must redefine the term. More recently, Sanwo-Olu accused Obi of demarketing Nigeria and you wonder if the Lagos governor has become the mouthpiece of the federal government. Nevertheless, his association with the man in Aso Rock explains his antics.
The Presidency itself has not been silent. On multiple occasions, spokesmen and aides have issued statements attacking Obi’s post-election comments, especially when he questioned the transparency of the electoral process. Rather than engage with the substance of his concerns, they resort to character smears, branding him a sore loser and inciter. Yet, Obi has never incited violence nor called for civil disobedience, despite obvious flaws in the electoral system.
So again, why Peter Obi? Why is a man who does not control the police, army, treasury, or national assembly constantly targeted? The answer lies not in his present power but in his future potential. Obi represents a political awakening, especially among Nigerian youths. His insistence on transparency, prudence, and competence threatens a system built on patronage, impunity, and mediocrity.
Peter Obi symbolizes a deviation from the norm—a man whose politics is built around data, frugality, and empathy in a country long plagued by excess and dishonesty. And that is precisely what makes him a threat to the status quo. The attacks are not just about Obi as a person; they are about suppressing what he stands for: a redefinition of leadership values.
In many ways, this coordinated assault is not new in Nigerian politics. Revolutionary figures have always attracted smear campaigns. But what is worrying is the normalization of falsehoods as political strategy. It is no longer about disagreeing with Obi’s policies or ideology—it is about dehumanizing him to prevent his message from resonating.
Peter Obi’s recent statement captures this human toll: “Even my solemn spiritual trip to Rome has been twisted into yet another blackmail campaign.” In a nation that claims to be religious, how have we fallen so far that even a pilgrimage is weaponized?
Nigeria’s political elite must be reminded that destroying a man’s image will not fix inflation, insecurity, or poverty. If only they invested half the energy they use to attack Obi into governance, perhaps the country would be in a better place. Leadership should be about performance, not propaganda.
Until then, Nigerians must be vigilant. In this age of disinformation, truth is the first casualty, and conscience is the last refuge. Peter Obi may not hold political office, but the intensity of attacks against him speaks volumes: you don’t attack a man who doesn’t matter. And in that truth lies the irony—and the warning.
Stanley Ugagbe is a Social Commentator. He can be reached via stanleyakomeno@gmail.com
