By Babafemi Ojudu

Distinguished leaders, elders, and compatriots,

Today, we are gathered not as adversaries, not as competitors, but as visionaries. This is not just another political assembly—it is a historic call to action. A call to reimagine Yoruba leadership, not through slogans or sentiments, but through the deliberate building of an enduring, ideology-based movement—devoid of personal ambition, selfish interest, or transactional politics.

Let us cast our minds back to 1948, to Egbe Omo Oduduwa, a cultural renaissance movement that became the seed of one of the most transformative political formations in our history—the Action Group. Under the visionary leadership of Chief Obafemi Awolowo, the Action Group didn’t just contest elections—it conceived and implemented ideas: free education, free healthcare, rural development, regional autonomy, and social justice. It was built on ideology, discipline, and an unshakable belief in people-first governance.

But this wasn’t sustained by leadership alone. It was made possible by a class of principled followers—people who aligned not because of what they could get, but because of what they could build.

I am reminded of a story I often share—a deeply personal one. I call it:

From Receipts to Requests: A Tale of Two Generations of Political Followership

In 1996, as my grandmother lay on her deathbed at the age of 97, she sent for me. I arrived promptly, unsure of what this final moment would bring. What she handed me remains etched in my memory—a bundle of old receipts. Not land documents. Not bank papers. Receipts.

They were records of her weekly contributions to the political parties she believed in—the Action Group and later, the Unity Party of Nigeria. By 1996, those parties no longer even existed. Yet she kept those slips like sacred tokens of duty.

“Keep this,” she said to me. “You may need them someday when your children apply for scholarships. I don’t want anyone saying I didn’t make my contributions.”

Think about that: a woman who saw political participation as a moral investment, not a transaction. She paid dues from her modest resources. Not for rice. Not for cloth. Not for brown envelopes. But out of conviction.

Fast forward to 2010, when I began my campaign for the Senate. The contrast was staggering. I found a followership that had evolved—or perhaps devolved.

To get people to attend meetings, I had to pay them, feed them, transport them, give them souvenirs, and recharge their phones.

After winning, the expectations only grew. I was expected to sponsor weddings—for people I barely knew. I was called upon to roof houses, pay hospital bills, settle family disputes, fund burials, and respond to spontaneous requests at all hours—from school fees to “stomach infrastructure.”

I began to ask myself: Is this followership—or followersheep?

This isn’t just about changing political styles. It reflects a generational shift in civic consciousness.

Where my grandmother gave from belief, many today demand from entitlement.
Where she passed down receipts, many now pass on requests.

I do not share this to romanticize the past or to criticize those burdened by poverty. But I share it to challenge us to rebuild the moral fabric of our political culture.

If democracy is to thrive, we need a new generation that follows because they believe, not because they expect; that joins causes, not queues; that contributes, not just consumes.

This is the kind of followership that built the Action Group, and it’s what sustained the African National Congress (ANC) in South Africa. Forged in fire, matured in resistance, and held together by ideology, internal discipline, and a collective mission. That’s why it remains the longest-serving political party on the continent today—not because it is flawless, but because its foundation was solid and principled.

Let us also learn from Julius Nyerere of Tanzania, who led the Chama Cha Mapinduzi (CCM). He built a party on Ujamaa—African socialism, where leadership meant service, not status. Nyerere preached education, equality, modesty, and unity—and more importantly, he lived it. He led by example and walked away from power with integrity intact. His legacy outlives him.

So What Must We Do?

To build an enduring movement in Yorubaland, we must be intentional, organized, and visionary. Here are seven clear steps:

1. Articulate Our Ideology
   What do we stand for?
   Is it regional development, restructuring, good governance, youth empowerment, economic justice, education?
   Let us write and adopt a clear ideological charter that defines who we are and what we seek.
2. Build Structure, Not Noise
   Let’s establish ward, local government, state, and diaspora chapters. A movement is not tweets and hashtags—it is structures, meetings, training, outreach. We need feet on the ground and minds in motion.
3. Cultivate a Cadre of Leaders
   We must train and mentor leaders—young and old—who understand our mission. From writers and teachers to mobilizers and funders, we must develop a generation that can carry this torch forward.
4. Define Roles and Responsibilities
   Every one of us has a role:
   • Thinkers to articulate the vision
   • Mobilizers to reach the people
   • Communicators to spread the message
   • Organizers to build the structure
   • Elders to guide
   • Funders to give without expecting favors
5. Institutionalize Discipline and Democracy
   Let us shun godfatherism, imposition, and political trading. Let internal democracy thrive. Let merit, capacity, and loyalty to ideals guide our choices—not sentiment or patronage.
6. Celebrate Collective Victory
   We must imbibe the ethic: “If the group wins, everyone wins.”
   This is not a personal project. It is a collective legacy.
   No one is too big or too small. We rise together—or not at all.
7. Revive the Spirit of Receipts, Not Requests
   Let us rebuild a followership that believes in sacrifice and participation—not entitlement.
   Let the next generation say of us, as I say of my grandmother:
   “They believed enough to give—not just to take.”

In Conclusion…

Let us not leave this room today without a decision to begin something bigger than ourselves.

Let us birth a movement so strong, so visionary, so ethically rooted, that it becomes a model for all of Nigeria.

Let us revive the spirit of Egbe Omo Oduduwa.
Let us organize with the clarity of the Action Group.
Let us endure with the discipline of the ANC.
Let us serve with the humility of Nyerere’s CCM.
Let us inspire with the moral clarity of those who gave, not for gain, but for greatness.

Let us not talk history today. Let us make it.

Thank you.

Being text of a lecture delivered to members of Omoluabi Progressives in Ibadan at their First Leadership and Stakeholders Conference.

Introduction

When I was admitted to the Department of Political Science in 1980 as a freshman, straight from secondary school, Professor Humphrey Nwosu was one of the lecturers we encountered. He was the head of the sub-department of Public Administration, which owned the Local Government building that housed the Department of Political Science.

Though he was an energetic and ebullient man, he wasn’t exactly very popular with us for two main reasons: One, is that he normally fixed his lectures at 7 a.m. in the morning, and he never failed to show up for classes. He would in fact often be in the class before that 7 a.m., which led to some of us gossiping behind his back about a man who preferred to come jumping up and down in the class at a time in the morning that he should be keeping his wife company. The second reason Nwosu wasn’t quite popular with us was that Nigerian Universities in the 1980s and early 1990s was very ideologically driven, essentially between the Marxists (also called the ‘radical scholars’) and those who were variously called ‘bourgeois scholars’ or derided as the “educated representatives of the propertied class.”

Unfortunately, Nwosu was among those we called “bourgeois scholars.” We were told that the bourgeois scholars were not able to to appreciate the “dialectics of class struggle”, that their works were very “ahistorical”, with a “tendency to be arbitrary in their choice of analytical categories”, and that they failed to appreciate that the nature of the “productive force” and “social relations of production” were the motif forces of history. Though we knew that Nwosu made a First Class honours degree, however because we saw him as a “bourgeois scholar”, we ridiculed that accomplishment as being merely a First Class Honours in ‘Elements of Government’, not the sort of proper political science that the ‘radical scholars’ were teaching us. Mr Nwosu, on his own, blamed the ‘radical scholars’, the “Nnoli boys”, of exposing students to only one side of a complex reality. Though we regarded Nwosu as a ‘bourgeois scholar,’ we still respected him for the sheer force of his presence, or charisma if you like – unlike most of the other lecturers we regarded as ‘bourgeois scholars.’

I recall an incident with one of the ‘bourgeois scholars.’ He was teaching us something about “colonialism,” which was at that time the favourite whipping boy of the radical scholars, who made it compulsory that we should read and master such works as Walter Rodney’s How Europe Underdeveloped Africa, Okwudiba Nnoli’s Ethnic Politics in Nigeria, and Frantz Fanon’s The Wretched of the Earth. In fact, from Nnoli’s book we learnt that ethnicity in Nigeria started in the colonial urban centres and was fuelled by the colonial policy of ‘divide and rule.’ Rodney’s book squarely blamed colonialism for Africa’s underdevelopment, while Fanon’s book provided a psychoanalysis of the dehumanising effects of colonisation upon the individual and the nation.

When Nwosu left office in 1993 after the annulment of June 12 presidential election, he returned to teaching at the Department of Political Science, University of Nigeria, Nsukka, where he formally retired in 1999. Nwosu has published several books and peer-reviewed articles in both local and international journals. His books include Political Authority and Nigerian Civil Service (1977); Problems of Nigerian Administration (edited, 1985)…

With our understanding of colonialism from these three books and similar ones, I think we were tolerating the ‘bourgeois scholar’, until he wrote on the black board: “The benefits of colonialism.” We felt we have heard enough. One of us from the back of the class shouted, “Whaaat?!” In anger, the entire class walked out on him, believing that he did not know enough to teach us, or was teaching us the wrong stuff, despite the fact that we were just in our first year, or ‘class One’ as someone of us liked to call it in those days.

Though we regarded Nwosu as a “bourgeois scholar”, we also respected him as an effective administrator. In fact, behind the backs of the radical scholars, we mocked their relative lack of administrative capacity, compared to Nwosu. Professor Nnoli, the leader of the radical scholars, was the head of Department of Political Science in our first year in the department.

Humphrey Nwosu: a Brief Biography

Humphrey Nwosu was an astute and charismatic public administrator, academic, technocrat, and political scientist. He studied Political Science at the University of California at Berkeley, where he earned Master’s and doctoral degrees (Magna Cum Laude) in 1973 and 1976 respectively. He subsequently returned to teach at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka, where he rose to become a full-time tenured professor. In 1986, he was appointed by the Anambra State Government to serve as Commissioner of Local Government and Chieftaincy Matters and later Commissioner of Agriculture. He was appointed Chairman of the Nigeria Electoral Commission in 1989, to replace Professor Eme Awa, his former lecturer and mentor, who had fallen out of favour with the Babangida government.

When Mr Humphrey Nwosu left office in 1993 after the annulment of June 12 presidential election, he returned to teaching at the Department of Political Science, University of Nigeria, Nsukka, where he formally retired in 1999. Nwosu has published several books and peer-reviewed articles in both local and international journals. His books include Political Authority and Nigerian Civil Service (1977); Problems of Nigerian Administration (edited, 1985); A Book of Reading; Introduction to Politics; Moral Education in Nigeria; Conduct of Free and Fair Election in Nigeria: Speeches, Comments and Reflections (1991) and Laying the Foundation for Nigeria’s Democracy: My Account of June 12, 1993 Presidential Election and its Annulment (2008). Mr Humphrey Nwosu, breathed his last on Thursday, 24 October, in the United States of America, at the age of 83

What Does It Mean to Be a Reformer at the Crossroads?

A reformer is a change agent who is deliberate and intentional about improving the way things work. As an expression, the imagery often invoked is that of an intersection of two roads in which a person has to make a decision on which of the roads to take. Essentially, it means being at a stage when one has to take a critical or an important decision.

Humphrey Nwosu’s challenge was not just in helping to manage a transition to a full civilian rule, but also to facilitate the process of de-militarisation – that is the military handing over power to civilian authorities and accepting subordination to a civilian authority. This means that unlike the electoral bodies since 1999, which dealt only with the political class and its mode of competition for power, Nwosu had to deal with two humongous groups – the political class and the military establishment…

The above raises two important questions: Which reforms are we talking about in relations to Mr Nwosu? And at which crossroads?

Though it is obvious that Nwosu, given the number of public positions he had held, would have been at several crossroads, for most Nigerians, he is known for his role as the chairman of the National Election Commissions from 1989 to 1993. So which crossroads are we talking about?

Mr Nwosu’s Crossroads

Mr Humphrey Nwosu’s challenge was not just in helping to manage a transition to a full civilian rule, but also to facilitate the process of de-militarisation – that is the military handing over power to civilian authorities and accepting subordination to a civilian authority. This means that unlike the electoral bodies since 1999, which dealt only with the political class and its mode of competition for power, Nwosu had to deal with two humongous groups – the political class and the military establishment, including a faction of that establishment which did not want to lose its privileges by accepting a handover to a civilian political class.

The job of being the country’s chief electoral umpire is often called a poisoned chalice, in which rarely any umpire would come out of it with his reputation intact (Professor Jega, who organised the 2015 election, was mostly lucky that Jonathan conceded defeat). If just dealing with the political class makes the job of the chief electoral umpire to be a poisoned chalice, you can then imagine what it means to be an electoral umpire for both the political class and a politicised military.

De-militarisation would often raise the question of de-politicisation. How do you professionalise soldiers who had become used to political power and its appurtenances and to being superordinate to civilian authorities? As Elaigwu (2015:232) argued, “the demilitarization of the polity without adequate de-politicisation of the military is an invitation to chaos; yet paradoxically, that process of de-politicisation of the military involves the politicization of the military”.

Essentially, Babangida’s transition programme, in which at a point the country was running a diarchy, meant that the military as an establishment had become more politically conscious and was factionalised between those who wanted a handover to a civilian government and those who resented such. In fact, Babangida, in his recent autobiography, admitted that much when he declared that “there were fears, even at that early stage of the transition programme, that some members of the top hierarchy of the military were reluctant to relinquish power” (Babangida, 2025: 258).

Jideofor Adibe is a professor of Political Science and International Relations at Nasarawa State University and founder of Adonis & Abbey Publishers. He can be reached at: 0705 807 8841 (WhatsApp and Text messages only).

This was originally presented at a Colloquium on the Life and Times of Professor Humphrey Nwosu at Abuja on 25 March.

By Ikechukwu Amaechi

My March 13, 2025 column titled, “Akpoti-Uduaghan’s suspension: The joke is on Akpabio, Senate,” elicited diverse comments. I would have been surprised if it didn’t. The roforofo between Senate President Godswill Akpabio and Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan is no longer just a case of “two fighting” but a national debacle that has exposed Nigeria to international ridicule. Two of the comments were particularly instructive.

First, a female colleague who obviously has sympathy for the Senate President, asked rhetorically: “How is the joke on Akpabio? What are the facts on ground to warrant your conclusion? If you believed that Akpabio would promise Natasha ‘quality time’ in his house in any part of Akwa Ibom State, then you could believe anything.”

The second comment came from a serving Senator, who I know is not particularly a fan of Akpabio. Suffice it to say that he is one of the few federal lawmakers that I respect.

He wrote: “Ike, I know that Akpabio is on the crosshairs of everyone given the damning performance of the Tinubu government and the obvious missteps of the Senate President in handling this matter. However, she (Natasha) is not an innocent in this matter and has been manipulating public opinion. Some of us who are well aware of other issues not in the public domain regarding them (who were family friends and enjoyed fraternities) are understandably reluctant to engage in pillorying Akpabio. There is much more to all this.”

I agree that only Akpabio and Natasha know the full story, but I have no doubt that Akpabio made sexual advances to Natasha and she has evidence to back up her claim, which explains why the Senate President has made every effort to forestall a transparent investigation as demanded by well-meaning Nigerians. The most effective way to shut Natasha up is to allow for an open investigation but that will be too much of a risk for Akpabio to take. Unfortunately for him, resorting to the rather puerile theatrics of kissing his wife publicly at the drop of a hat, good optics as the gesture may be, cannot be a proof of innocence or even marital fidelity.

While such public show of affection may, indeed, be an indication that Akpabio loves his wife, Unoma, to bits, it cannot be a proof that he didn’t make passes at Natasha. Moreover, nothing says that men who have affairs with other women love their wives less and Nigerians are not interested in knowing how crazily in love he is with his delectable wife.

What those defending Akpabio seem not to realize is the fact that the issue at stake is not whether Akpabio made passes at Natasha, a woman of extravagant beauty. After all, as former Minister of Works, Senator Adeseye Ogunlewe, recently said, her beauty poses a problem for her because men will find it difficult to ignore her presence. Perhaps, Akpabio is one of those men to whom, according to Senator Ogunlewe, Natasha’s beauty has become a problem; men to who “it is a natural thing to look at beautiful women” and who are not expected to close their eyes when a beautiful woman is passing.

So, there is nothing wrong if Akpabio appreciates Natasha’s stunning beauty even though it will be morally wrong if the appreciation goes beyond the bounds of decency, more so when the woman in question is the wife of his bosom friend. But it becomes a national scandal, in fact a crime if the Senate President decides to demean and persecute her because his amorous advances were rebuffed which is exactly the allegation Natasha is making.

So, those who say that she is guilty of breaking Senate rules and deserves to be punished miss the point. Senator Natasha’s position is that her being called a club girl at plenary, relocation of her seat, though a prerogative of the Senate President, and removal as chairperson of the Local Content committee are all acts of victimization which would not have happened if she acceded to Akpabio’s request to “make him happy.” And her open rebellion, which Akpabio now used as an excuse to suspend her for six months was her own way of protesting against the perceived injustice.

Whenever I reflect on the Akpabio-Natasha debacle, what comes to my mind is the allegory of the tortoise that willfully refused entreaties from concerned friends who desperately tried to dissuade him from a disaster prone journey. Asked when he would return, his “not until I am disgraced” retort was foreboding. His friends, aghast, must have wondered what would spur him on such nihilistic mission.

Akpabio seems to have embarked on that tortoise-like journey from which he is unprepared to turn back until he is thoroughly disgraced. The sad thing is that he seems poised to throw mud not only at the Senate but the country in the process. Warriors, as the saying goes, pick their battles, a concept, which is a core principle in Sun Tzu’s “The Art of War,” which emphasizes the importance of knowing when to fight and when not to.

The former governor of Akwa Ibom State should have known that this battle with Natasha is needless. If he was a man given to choosing his battles wisely, he should have known that Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan is the wrong person to pick a fight with because she is a ruthless fighter herself. Unlike Akpabio who was propelled to the Senate by the criminal Nigerian system even when he didn’t contest the primaries, Natasha conversely battled the system to a standstill to be at the Senate. She fought and overwhelmed a vicious ruling party and brutal political actors in Kogi State who don’t take prisoners and came out triumphant.

The fact that she is representing her senatorial district of birth – Kogi Central – rather than Delta State where she is married, on the platform of the opposition Peoples Democratic Party (PDP), the first elected female senator in Kogi State, should have told Akpabio something about the woman. Her parting “this injustice will not be sustained,” shot before she was escorted out of the Senate chambers on the day she was suspended, should have told Akpabio that he was dealing with a determined woman.

The fact that unlike her male colleagues – Femi Okurounmu (1999), Joseph Waku (2000), Arthur Nzeribe (2002), Isah Mohammed (2004), Ali Ndume (2017), Ovie Omo-Agege (2018) and Abdul Ningi (2024) – who went home sulking after their suspension, Natasha was not only defiant but escalated the matter internationally by presenting her case at a UN forum, speaking at the Women in Parliament session during the recently concluded Inter-Parliamentary Union meeting at the United Nations should have told Akpabio to tread carefully. Rather than being eclipsed, Natasha has become an international celebrity, granting interviews to the likes of BBC and Sky News, while her traducers have become international pariahs.

Having failed in all their machinations, Akpabio and his enablers plotted what they thought was a sucker punch – initiating her recall and submitting a petition to the INEC headquarters in Abuja. But Natasha, always a step ahead of the political Lilliputians, struck back, knowing as the U.S. Democratic Senator Cory Booker of New Jersey, who broke the record Tuesday for the longest speech on the Senate floor in U.S. history, noted that “the power of the people is greater than the people in power.”

Her adversaries knew that a successful homecoming for her will put a lie to their claim of having the numbers to recall her from the Senate. And because she must be stopped from coming home to disprove them, the state government, on Monday, conjured a fake security report which it used as an excuse to ban rallies and public gatherings. On Tuesday, the Commissioner of Police in Kogi, Miller Dantawaye, ordered that the proposed Natasha rally be stopped. To amplify the conspiracy, the chairman of Okehi local government, Amoka Eneji, declared an emergency curfew. Then, expecting that she would come on a convoy from Abuja, all the major roads in her senatorial district were barricaded with roadblocks mounted on every stretch. But the indefatigable political warrior outsmarted them, once again, and flew in a helicopter to the warm embrace of her constituents.

What happened in Okehi on Tuesday was exactly what her political detractors didn’t want the world to see – thousands of supporters defying government intimidation and trekking many kilometres in the absence of transportation to welcome their senator home. The crowd was massive and purely organic. The love was real and a grateful Natasha crowed on Wednesday: “It is now very clear to the whole world how popular I am in my constituency.”

I dare say that Natasha will win this battle. From what happened on Tuesday, it is now clear to even her detractors that she bonds with her constituents in a way that 99.9 per cent of Nigerian politicians can’t. That is a huge political capital. Akpabio will be the ultimate loser. He should better grow up.

The first law of holes is an adage which says, “If you find yourself in a hole, stop digging.” Simply put, it is a metaphor which warns that when in an untenable position, it is best to stop making the situation worse. Right now, Akpabio is in an untenable position in this Natasha saga. The wise thing to do is to pull back and de-escalate. But blinded by hubris and a warped sense of invincibility, he continues to dig.

In his 1961 book, The Theatre of the Absurd, Martin Julius Esslin, a Hungarian-born British journalist and professor of drama, lamented what he called absurdism – the inevitable devaluation of ideals, purity, and purpose. Esslin couldn’t have had the 10th Nigerian Senate in mind when he wrote his famed book 64 years ago. But nothing captures the state of affairs in the Akpabio-led red chamber of the National Assembly more profoundly than Esslin’s “Theatre of the Absurd.”

That the 10th Senate has become a theatre of the absurd is an understatement. What is worse, the situation is getting more bizarre by the day, a situation which the theatre critic further labelled “the absurdity of the absurd.” Truth be told, Akpabio has done terrible damage to the law making arm of government by his unreasonableness. It is high time he stopped being silly.