In the annals of Nigerian state governance, few periods will be remembered as starkly as the twelve-year administration that has defined Kogi State’s trajectory. Billions of naira in federal allocations, Paris Club refunds, bailout funds, and post-subsidy windfall revenues have flowed into state coffers. Yet across Kogi East, West, and Central, the evidence of this fiscal largesse remains conspicuously absent from the physical and social infrastructure that defines quality governance.
This is not merely underperformance. It is systematic misgovernance elevated to art form. And as the 2027 electoral season approaches, the central question confronting Kogi’s political class is whether any responsible leader can justifiably perpetuate the governance model that has produced these results.
The biblical metaphor of locust years—periods of devastation and loss—aptly captures what communities across Kogi State have endured. The locust consumes but does not build. It depletes but does not replenish. For twelve years, Kogi State has experienced governance that extracted resources, centralized power, and delivered remarkably little tangible development in return.
Consider the metrics that matter. Primary healthcare centers lack essential medicines and functional equipment. Roads connecting agricultural communities to markets remain impassable, trapping farmers in poverty despite abundant harvests. Schools operate without adequate materials, teachers go months without salaries, and the state’s youth migrate elsewhere in search of opportunities their own government failed to create.
The fiscal irony is particularly striking. During this period, Kogi State received some of the highest per-capita federal allocations in its history. The fuel subsidy removal alone should have triggered visible infrastructure expansion. Instead, the gap between revenue inflows and development outcomes has become a chasm inviting uncomfortable questions about where the money went.
Any leader contemplating succession to this administration faces a fundamental ethical test: can you defend continuity with a system that has produced these outcomes? Can you campaign asking citizens to accept more years of the same governance philosophy? Can you tell a mother whose child studies under a leaking roof that the current approach requires mere tweaking rather than complete overhaul?
No responsible leader can answer these questions affirmatively.
Responsible leadership requires acknowledging failure where it exists, rejecting systems that do not serve citizens, and offering genuine alternatives grounded in accountability and transparency. Governance is measured not by how much money enters state coffers, but by how effectively those resources translate into improved lives for ordinary citizens.
The 2023 gubernatorial succession revealed the depths of Kogi’s governance crisis. What should have been a democratic process became choreographed dynastic succession. Multiple aspirants invested resources and mobilized supporters, only to watch the process culminate in a predetermined outcome. The primary was not a competition—it was theater designed to create the illusion of democracy while ensuring power remained within a tight circle.
This approach to political succession reflects the same philosophy governing resource allocation: centralized control, opacity in decision-making, and outcomes determined by proximity to power rather than merit or popular mandate. The result is a political economy where loyalty to individuals matters more than competence, where treasury access depends on personal relationships rather than programmatic budgets, and where accountability mechanisms exist only on paper.
For Kogi East and West particularly, the locust years have meant systematic political marginalization disguised as participation. Both zones have provided electoral support, supplied party structures, and contributed political legitimacy. In return, they have received promises, proximity without power, and internal competition that fragments rather than strengthens their collective bargaining position.
Any political leader from these zones who accepts continuity with this system—regardless of party platform—becomes complicit in their own communities’ continued marginalization. The question is not whether such a leader can win under existing rules, but whether winning under rules designed to perpetuate extraction and exclusion constitutes genuine leadership or opportunism.
The contrast with neighboring states is instructive. States with similar or lower federal allocations have commissioned hospitals, built road networks, attracted industries, and created employment pipelines. Their governments are not perfect, but they demonstrate that resources, when properly managed, produce measurable development. Kogi’s failure is not inevitable—it is a choice embedded in governance priorities.
As 2027 approaches, responsible leadership demands a clear break from twelve years of locusts. It requires candidates who can articulate not just what went wrong, but how they will differently approach budgeting, procurement, project execution, and accountability. It requires transparency about past failures and concrete plans for systemic reform. It requires demonstrating that power will be exercised for public benefit, not personal accumulation.
Most importantly, it requires telling voters the truth: that the last twelve years represent a failed governance model, that continuity with this system serves no one’s interests except those who benefited from opacity, and that genuine change requires more than new faces implementing old practices.
The political class faces a moment of reckoning. Leaders can either acknowledge that twelve years of locust governance must end and offer genuine alternatives, or they can perpetuate a system that has impoverished their state while enriching a narrow elite. The choice reveals not just political strategy, but moral character.
No responsible leader should ask Kogi’s citizens to endure more of what has failed them so profoundly. The locust years must end. The question is whether the state’s political class possesses the courage to end them.
— Yusuf, M.A., PhD
For: Kogi Equity Alliance
kogiequityalliance@outlook.com
