Kogi East is moving toward 2027 with the same wounded footsteps that led it into the political darkness of the last two election cycles. The storm gathering ahead is not new; it is the same storm that has circled the region for years, only darker, heavier, and more ruthless. The region stands on the edge of another political stillbirth, a tragedy crafted not by enemies alone but by the hands of its own sons and daughters. Imagine decamping to other parties for selfish gains when Igalas needed you more than ever.
The truth wears no perfume: Igala and people in Kogi East, despite their intimidating numbers, have no homegrown political party; no platform built by their own ideological sweat, no structure rooted in their own soil, no vehicle that carries their collective identity. They fight for survival inside borrowed political houses, dragging their ancestral mandate into parties designed by others, controlled by others, funded by others, and strategically aligned for others. When a people with the largest numbers in a state cannot build a political house of their own, their power becomes rented, their future becomes negotiable, and their destiny becomes a guest in someone else’s compound.
This lack of a home-based political foundation is the first crack that weakens the walls of 2027. Power cannot survive on borrowed legs. A region without its own party is like a warrior entering a battlefield with a weapon owned by the opponent. The Igala nation keeps marching into elections with sophisticated numbers but powerless platforms, and the result is always the same; a loud beginning and a quiet ending.
And now, the political apathy spreading across Kogi East is another dangerous signal, a silent alarm that many are ignoring. The ongoing PVC registration tells a brutal story: the centres are empty, the queues are gone, and the youths, i mean those who carry the fire of political change—are rejecting the process. In Ankpa, Dekina, Idah, Olamaboro, Ibaji, Ofu, Bassa, Omala, and every corner of the East, the message is the same: the people are tired, disappointed, and emotionally detached from the system. The youths who should be the backbone of electoral strength are turning their backs, claiming the game is already rigged, the system already corrupted, and the outcome already predetermined. A region that cannot convince its own youths to register cannot hope to reclaim power.
This apathy is not mere laziness; it is a wound. It is the bitter memory of past betrayals, the exhaustion of watching leaders trade collective strength for personal comfort, the frustration of seeing political promises evaporate like wet smoke. But elections do not wait for emotions to heal. Power respects only structure, turnout, negotiation, and numbers that translate into ballots not anger, not social media noise, not historical regrets. Empty registration centres mean empty polling units. Empty polling units mean empty political power. And empty political power means another stillbirth, another season of unfulfilled expectations.
Internal sabotage remains the most poisonous enemy. Ambition in Kogi East walks without restraint, growing wild like a forest that refuses pruning. Leaders who should lock arms pull each other down. Political actors who should protect the region’s mandate spend more time negotiating personal pathways. The Ichalla Wada and his ideological descendants represent a painful truth: many men rise on the shoulders of the people only to abandon the same people at the dying minutes. A region that fractures itself from within does not need an external enemy, its defeat is homemade.
The machinery on the other side is not sleeping. Power in Kogi has become a well-oiled engine. They understand timing, alliances, technology, narratives, and the psychology of a divided opponent. A region without unity is not an opponent but a trophy waiting to be collected.
The youths boil with political fire but scatter it like sparks instead of forging it into a furnace. Outrage without structure is entertainment. Anger without mobilization is noise. Elections are not won by emotions; they are won by cold strategy, coordinated delegates, disciplined messaging, and turnout that shakes the ground. Kogi East has the crowd but lacks the cohesion. It has the manpower but lacks the machinery. It has the population but lacks the platform. It has the grievances but lacks the engagement.
The erosion of cultural cohesion has worsened everything. A people once governed by ancestral wisdom now drift like ships without a compass. Loyalty has become seasonal. Vision has become transactional. The collective spirit that once defined the Igala identity is now replaced by political individualism. The centre of gravity is lost, and every man moves in the direction of his own shadow.
Kogi East is not a weak region. It is a region with an uncoordinated strength. But uncoordinated strength is the fastest path to defeat. Numbers without direction are like a flowing river that never becomes a sea.
If 2027 becomes another political stillbirth, it will not be because Kogi East was overpowered. It will be because it walked into the battlefield unprepared, ununited, unmotivated, and emotionally disconnected. It will be because the youths and even some of our elders have refused PVCs, because our elders have refused unity, because political power was outsourced to borrowed parties, and because the region refused to build the structures that match its population.
2027 will be unforgiving.
And unless Kogi East wakes up from this political sleep, its destiny may once again disappear like smoke rising from a tired fire, leaving only ashes where a mighty voice should stand.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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