At this critical moment in the life of the Igala Nation, the people must confront with courage and clarity a recurring cycle of political deception. Once again, as the winds of transition sweep across the Nigerian political landscape, old hands return with familiar tricks — the carrots of inducement, token appointments, and cosmetic projects dangled before our communities in the guise of progress. But these are not gifts born of love for the land. They are traps, carefully crafted by political rabbits who understand the psychology of desperation and the power of temporary relief. The time has come to break that cycle.
For eight long years, the All Progressives Congress (APC) has held sway over Kogi State and by extension, the Igala Nation. The results speak for themselves, not in glowing terms of inclusion, empowerment, or development, but in bitter realities of exclusion, stagnation, and betrayal. The roads remain broken, opportunities remain scarce, institutions remain weak, and our political dignity has been systematically eroded. The party’s rhetoric promised unity and progress, but its practice delivered marginalization and division. The Igala people, once central in the affairs of Kogi, were relegated to the sidelines, treated as spectators in a theatre they helped build.
Now, as political winds shift, figures such as Edward Onoja, who once basked in the privileges of power, return to the same people they failed to serve, repackaged as redeemers. Their language is sweet, their gestures familiar, their promises recycled. But beneath the surface lies the same old calculation: secure influence by buying loyalty with carrots while keeping the machinery of true power and progress beyond the reach of the people. This is not governance. It is deception masquerading as politics.
The Igala Nation must now ask itself a series of hard but necessary questions. What tangible legacy has the APC left behind in our land? What major investments in infrastructure, education, or healthcare can we point to as evidence of their stewardship? What empowerment structures for our youth and women have they established that endure beyond empty slogans? What vision for justice and inclusion have they articulated, let alone implemented? The uncomfortable but undeniable truth is that the answers are damning. The Igala Nation has been shortchanged. Our loyalty has been exploited. Our dignity has been trampled upon. And the same actors who presided over that marginalization now return with carrots in hand, hoping that our memories are short and our resolve weak.
But we are not blind. We are not desperate. We are certainly not for sale.
This is the hour to remember that loyalty to party or individuals must never supersede loyalty to the destiny of the Igala people. Political carrots, however colorful, cannot compensate for years of exclusion. Token appointments do not erase systemic marginalization. Cosmetic projects do not transform communities. At best, they provide momentary relief; at worst, they are tools of control. Either way, they cannot be the basis upon which a proud people chart their future.
The Igala story has always been one of resilience, dignity, and vision. From the days of our ancestors who defended this land with courage, to the more recent struggles for recognition and justice, our people have never been defined by submission. We are a nation of warriors, scholars, farmers, and visionaries. To allow our collective will to be bought by carrots is to betray that history and to mortgage the future of generations yet unborn.
There is an urgent need, therefore, for vigilance. Our traditional rulers must recognize that their voices carry weight far beyond ceremony; they are custodians of truth and guardians of identity. Our youth leaders must understand that their energy is the engine of tomorrow, and that to squander it on short-term inducements is to dim their own future. Religious institutions, often the moral compass of society, must resist the temptation of patronage and stand firmly on the side of justice. Community influencers, opinion shapers, and stakeholders must rise above silence, for silence in the face of deception is complicity.
Let no one be deceived: no carrot in politics comes free. Every inducement carries the weight of expectation, and every expectation is tied to compromise. The politician who dangles a contract today will demand silence tomorrow when injustice is meted out. The party that offers token appointments now will expect unquestioned loyalty when the interests of the community are trampled. The system that buys loyalty with carrots has no intention of empowering; it only seeks to control. The Igala Nation must reject this bargain in its entirety.
We must also recognize that the struggle before us is not merely political; it is existential. The choices we make in this season will determine not just who holds office, but how our land is perceived, respected, and positioned for decades to come. If we succumb to carrots today, we signal to the nation and to history that the Igala people can be cheaply bought, that our aspirations can be reduced to appointments and contracts, that our dignity can be exchanged for temporary relief. But if we stand firm, if we reject carrots and demand vision, justice, and accountability, we will send an unmistakable message that the Igala Nation has matured beyond manipulation, and that we are ready to chart a new path of true renaissance.
There are those who argue that politics everywhere involves negotiation, compromise, and the acceptance of carrots as necessary tokens of engagement. But such arguments miss the point entirely. Negotiation is legitimate when it is grounded in justice and mutual respect. Compromise is honourable when it advances the common good. Engagement is welcome when it delivers structural change. What is being offered today by Edward Onoja and his APC cohorts is none of these. It is deception, calculated to pacify without empowering, to silence without delivering, to control without serving. To accept it is not pragmatism; it is surrender.
The Igala Nation deserves better. We deserve leaders who understand that governance is not about dangling carrots but about building structures. We deserve representation that does not measure success in appointments but in empowerment. We deserve projects that are not cosmetic but transformative. We deserve justice that is not selective but comprehensive. We deserve respect that is not conditional but inherent. Anything less is an insult to our history and a betrayal of our destiny.
This moment, therefore, demands courage — the courage to say no when it is easier to say yes, the courage to stand firm when it is tempting to bend, the courage to think critically when blind followership is the easier path. The Igala Nation must embrace that courage. We must reject the politics of carrots and rabbits. We must demand accountability, vision, and justice. We must insist on leadership that is rooted not in self-interest but in service. And we must do so not tomorrow, not later, not when it is convenient, but now.
History will not absolve us if we fail. Our ancestors, who bled and toiled for this land, will not absolve us if we exchange their sacrifice for carrots. Our children, who will inherit the consequences of our choices, will not absolve us if we mortgage their future for temporary inducements. The world, watching closely, will not absolve us if we squander this moment of decision.
Political rabbits will always return with new carrots. That much is inevitable. But whether we, as a people, continue to chase them is a decision only we can make. The answer must be clear, resounding, and final: No. We are not desperate. We are not blind. And we are certainly not for sale.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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