The article titled “Okun Governorship is Sacrosanct, but after Ododo’s 8 Years” is not a harmless political opinion. It is a calculated attempt to manufacture consent for continued exclusion, to freeze injustice into an acceptable timetable, and to repackage delay as wisdom. This is an old political trick in Nigeria: postpone justice, demand loyalty, exhaust resistance, and then declare the delay a virtue. It has failed everywhere it has been tried—and it will fail here.
In a constitutional democracy, political aspiration is a right, not a privilege to be deferred by incumbents, bargained away by defectors, or pronounced upon by self-appointed spokesmen. Any narrative that acknowledges justice in theory but postpones it indefinitely in practice is not reconciliation; it is political manipulation.
At the heart of this narrative is a dangerous presumption of authority. No recognised Okun socio-cultural organisation, elders’ council, or political congress authorised the position articulated in the article. What is presented as an Okun consensus is, in truth, a private loyalty declaration projected onto an entire people. This is not representation; it is impersonation.
Ian Bremmer has warned that political systems fracture not because pressure exists, but because elites attempt to freeze reality while pretending adaptation is underway. That is precisely what is happening here. Okun aspiration is acknowledged rhetorically—only to be neutralised by pushing it into a distant and conveniently flexible future. Recognition without commitment is not compromise; it is containment.
The phrase “sacrosanct, but after eight years” deserves particular scrutiny. Something that is truly sacrosanct is not subject to postponement at the pleasure of power holders. To sanctify equity while simultaneously suspending it is an intellectual contradiction and a moral sleight of hand. There is no constitutional provision, no binding inter-ethnic agreement, and no Okun mandate that authorises such deferment.
The critical question, viewed through the lens of constitutionalism and democratic practice, is this: was Okun land consulted when executive power was returned to the same local government after an eight-year tenure? Were recognised Okun elders, youth representatives, or established socio-cultural institutions formally engaged before the decision was taken to retain the governorship within the same zone for an additional eight years? The record admits only one answer: no. Authority was exercised as prerogative, not derived through consultation or negotiated consent.
It is therefore normatively indefensible, indeed intellectually unsustainable—to invoke the language of “consultation” and “patience” only at the point when equity is asserted by others. In democratic systems, consultation is not an ad hoc moral device to be deployed selectively; it is a governing principle that must apply consistently. Where consultation was absent during the consolidation of power within one zone, its sudden elevation as a requirement when equity is demanded exposes not principle, but expedience masquerading as doctrine.
James Carville would describe this manoeuvre plainly: a stall tactic. Praise the principle, delay the practice, and hope time erodes resolve. Nigerian politics is littered with such promises, each delivered with solemn assurance, each quietly abandoned when the moment of truth arrived. Delay in this context is not neutral; it is a decision with consequences.
Sun Tzu taught that deception lies at the heart of strategy. Here, the deception is subtle but dangerous. Justice is acknowledged so resistance is softened; delay is introduced so power remains undisturbed. Loyalty is demanded today, fairness promised tomorrow, knowing tomorrow is endlessly negotiable. This is not wisdom. It is strategic procrastination masquerading as unity.
Equally troubling is the attempt to weaponise loyalty against equity. The article implies that Okun people must first demonstrate obedience before their aspirations can be deemed legitimate. This logic is not democratic; it is feudal. Carl von Clausewitz reminds us that legitimacy is the true centre of gravity in politics. When legitimacy erodes, power survives only through patronage, coercion, or manipulation—and such survival is always temporary.
More responsible voices have made a different argument: that equity is not a reward for good behaviour, nor a favour to be dispensed by incumbents or their allies. It is a stabilising necessity. Turning inclusion into a conditional promise weakens the state, radicalises the excluded, and corrodes trust across communities.
We must also reject the fiction that patronage equals consent. Empowerment items distributed at political rallies do not confer the authority to negotiate a people’s future. Attendance is not authorisation. Applause is not a mandate. Okun land does not outsource its destiny to defectors seeking proximity to power.
The real danger of the “Okun after eight years” narrative lies not only in what it says, but in what it seeks to normalise: the idea that some groups must perpetually wait, while others decide when waiting should end. History is unforgiving to such arrangements. Systems that institutionalise postponement eventually face rupture.
Kogi State will not find stability by freezing injustice into an eight-year plan. Stability is built when all zones believe the rules are fair, the future is shared, and inclusion is not conditional. Equity delayed may resemble peace in the short term, but over time delay hardens into policy, policy becomes structure, and structure becomes grievance.
Okun aspiration is not negotiable by proxies. It is not suspendable by convenience. And it will not be buried under polite deception. Equity delayed is not peace preserved. It is instability scheduled.
– Yusuf M.A.
For: Kogi Equity Alliance
