The debate over the 2027 governorship of Kogi State cannot be reduced to the language of sentiment, ambition, or political convenience. It is, at its core, a constitutional question, a historical question, and an existential question for the future of a multi-ethnic state whose stability depends on the even distribution of political power. The issue is not merely who becomes governor; the issue is whether Kogi State intends to uphold the foundational principles that justify its existence as a political community.
To understand why 2027 must logically, constitutionally, and democratically return the governorship to the old Kabba Province — today’s Kogi West — one must examine the historical architecture upon which Kogi State was created. Kogi emerged in 1991 from the old Kabba Province, a colonial administrative unit consisting of three major divisions: Igala, Kabba (Okun), and Kotonkarfe. This origin is not a historical footnote; it hardwires a tripodal power structure into the very identity of the state. A state that emerges from three foundational blocs cannot morally or constitutionally sustain a system where only two blocs monopolize power for over three decades while the third remains permanently excluded.
Yet this is precisely the dilemma in which Kogi State finds itself. Since its creation, Kogi East and Kogi Central have produced governors for sixteen years each — a perfect parity between themselves, but a perfect exclusion of Kogi West. Such lopsidedness is not only politically injurious but constitutionally indefensible. Section 14(3) of the 1999 Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria mandates that the composition of any government in Nigeria must reflect the diversity of its constituencies in a manner that prevents the domination of one group by another. This is not an aspirational clause; it is a binding state obligation.
The Supreme Court in A.G. Federation v. Abubakar underscored this obligation, characterizing equitable representation as a cornerstone of national cohesion. The Court argued, in effect, that for a federal entity to maintain legitimacy, no section of its population must feel structurally excluded from power. The logic applies equally to states as it does to the federation. A state that practices internal domination cannot credibly participate in a federation that condemns external domination.
Beyond constitutional law, comparative political science reinforces this position. Federations across the world — Canada, Switzerland, India, Belgium — survive not because they eliminate diversity but because they institutionalize fairness. In India, rotational chief-ministership is used in ethnically plural states like Jammu & Kashmir and Karnataka to stabilize political diversity. In Switzerland, the Federal Council presidency rotates annually to prevent the concentration of symbolic power. Nigeria itself practices zoning at the federal level, a convention recognized across major political parties and upheld through political settlements.
If these mechanisms are essential in larger and more stable democracies, how much more in a delicate, ethnically complex state like Kogi?
The historical imbalance in Kogi becomes even sharper when placed in national context. No major Nigerian ethnic bloc has ever been permanently excluded from state leadership for thirty-two consecutive years. Not in Lagos, not in Kaduna, not in Rivers, not in Benue, not in Anambra. Everywhere, rotation — whether formal or informal — emerges as a democratic stabilizer. Where rotation is absent, conflict becomes inevitable, as seen in Plateau, Taraba, and parts of Delta State. Thus, Kogi’s deviation from the national equilibrium is not merely abnormal; it is dangerous.
The argument for Kogi West in 2027 is therefore not a claim of entitlement but a demand for constitutional restoration. Kogi West is the only founding bloc of the old Kabba Province without a single governorship slot in over three decades. More critically, Kogi West is the only zone that has never produced a governor in any state configuration — whether under Northern Region, Kwara State, Benue State, or the contemporary Kogi State. No other major bloc in today’s Kogi carries such a history of political erasure.
Political science teaches that prolonged exclusion creates structural resentment. Structural resentment, when ignored, undermines the legitimacy of government. When legitimacy collapses, governance becomes fragile, and fragile governance often produces instability. What is at stake in 2027 is not the ambition of individuals; it is the constitutional health of the state.
The resistance to Kogi West’s rightful turn often rests on arguments that collapse under scrutiny. Some suggest that “competence” should override rotation. But competence is not the monopoly of any zone. Rotation and competence are not mutually exclusive. Others suggest that since democracy is a game of numbers, one or two zones may perpetually dominate. This reasoning is incompatible with the constitutional doctrine of inclusion. Democracy without inclusion becomes majoritarian tyranny — a condition Section 14(3) was specifically designed to prevent.
Furthermore, the idea that political power must remain between Igala and Ebira zones indefinitely violates the principle of “federal character,” undermines the moral foundation of the state, and signals to the marginalized bloc that they are political outsiders. No state survives such psychological division.
What then is the logical, constitutional, and historical outcome?
It is this: 2027 must be a return to the old Kabba Province — a restoration of balance, not a gift; a constitutional correction, not a concession.
If Kogi State is to continue as a unified political entity, the governorship must rotate to Kogi West in 2027. Not because Kogi West demands it, but because the Constitution anticipates it, history justifies it, fairness requires it, stability depends on it, and political science confirms it.
Anything less invites the slow disintegration of trust that holds the state together.
In the final analysis, the 2027 governorship question is a test of whether Kogi State chooses equity or fractures its foundational compact. It is a test of whether the state honours its tripodal heritage or fossilizes a two-zone oligarchy. It is a test of whether Kogi intends to remain one state — or merely a geographic expression held together by political domination.
A state built on three pillars cannot stand forever on two.
– Yusuf Muhammad writes from Kogi state.
