By Lawrence Egede
As Nigeria inches toward the 2027 general elections, the familiar noise of ambition, alliance-building, and political maneuvering grows louder. Yet beneath the surface of this national rehearsal lies a quieter, more troubling question, one that concerns not just electoral arithmetic, but political survival itself. It is the Igbo question. Where do the Igbos stand in Nigeria’s evolving partisan geometry, and more importantly, where are they headed?
This is not a question of sentiment or historical grievance alone. It is a question of strategy, structure, and leverage. In politics, relevance is never assumed; it is negotiated. And negotiation requires unity, clarity of purpose, and a shared direction. As 2027 approaches, the Igbo political space appears alarmingly deficient in all three.
Nigeria is undergoing a quiet but profound political reordering. Power blocs are adjusting. Old alliances are fracturing. New calculations are being made, often without public fanfare. The ruling All Progressives Congress (APC), under President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, is consolidating authority not merely as a party, but as a power ecosystem rooted strongly in the Southwest, extending cautiously into the North, and seeking to maintain gravitational pull across the South.
The North, long Nigeria’s most cohesive political region, is reassessing its options. While still influential, it is no longer politically monolithic.
Conversations around alternative platforms, including the African Democratic Congress (ADC), suggest a region hedging its bets rather than surrendering wholesale to a single political vehicle.
Against this backdrop, one would expect the Igbos historically astute traders, organizers, and network builders to be sharpening a collective political strategy. Instead, what we see is dispersion. Individual ambition substitutes for collective bargaining. Personal calculations override group interest. And in a system that rewards cohesion, this disunity extracts a heavy price.
Fragmentation is not merely a lack of unity; it is an active political weakness. In Nigeria, regions that speak with multiple voices are rarely heard. Power listens to blocs, not individuals. The Southwest understands this instinctively. The North has institutionalized it over decades. The Igbo political class, however, has struggled to internalize this reality since the return to democratic rule in 1999.
The Igbo political elite is spread across parties without coordination. One prominent figure courts the ruling party. Another builds ambition in opposition. A third positions himself as a moral alternative, detached from party structures. On the surface, this diversity appears healthy evidence of pluralism. In practice, it is debilitating. Without a common negotiating platform, the Igbos approach national politics as petitioners rather than partners.
This fragmentation is worsened by mutual suspicion. Success by one Igbo politician is often interpreted not as collective gain, but as personal betrayal. Instead of rallying behind rising figures, internal rivals work quietly to undermine them. The result is predictable: no Igbo politician is allowed to rise high enough to become indispensable to the system.
Ambition is not the Igbo problem. There is no shortage of capable, educated, and globally exposed Igbo politicians. The dilemma lies in ambition without architecture. Political ambition, when not embedded in a broader structure, becomes self-defeating.
Many Igbo aspirants dream of the presidency or vice presidency without first building the regional consensus necessary to make such ambitions credible. They launch national campaigns without securing their own backyard. They speak the language of national unity while lacking a regional base strong enough to bargain with others.
In contrast, President Bola Tinubu’s rise offers a useful, if uncomfortable, lesson. Before becoming president, he was undisputed leader of his political space. Lagos was not merely his stronghold; it was his laboratory. He built loyalty, rewarded consistency, punished betrayal, and turned regional cohesion into national relevance. His ambition was personal, but his strategy was collective.
The Igbo political class has rarely demonstrated this discipline. Too often, ambition jumps ahead of strategy. Too often, personal branding replaces institution-building. Politics, however, is not won on social media or moral posturing alone. It is won through structures, numbers, and negotiated loyalty.
Leverage is the currency of politics. It is what makes others listen, negotiate, and concede. Leverage comes from votes, unity, economic relevance, or strategic indispensability. At present, the Igbos possess all the raw materials for leverage but lack the organization to convert them into political power.
Electorally, the Southeast has fewer states than the Southwest or the North. This demographic reality makes unity even more critical. When numbers are limited, cohesion becomes non-negotiable. Yet elections in the Southeast are often marred by voter apathy, internal sabotage, or divided loyalty. Low turnout weakens bargaining power. Disunity dissolves it entirely.
Economically, the Igbos remain one of Nigeria’s most entrepreneurial groups. Yet this economic influence has not translated into coordinated political pressure. Wealth without political direction remains private success, not collective leverage.
What is missing is a central negotiating table, an agreed forum where Igbo interests are articulated, defended, and traded in national politics. Without this, Igbo politicians enter alliances from positions of weakness, grateful for inclusion rather than confident in negotiation.
The 2027 election may represent a closing window rather than a fresh opportunity. By then, the major power blocs may already be firmly aligned. The Southwest appears settled. The North is actively recalibrating. Southern minority zones are adjusting their calculations accordingly. In this environment, a region without a clear political direction risks being sidelined not out of malice, but out of convenience.
Politics is rarely sentimental. No bloc waits indefinitely for another to get organized. Power flows where predictability exists. Disorganized regions are considered unreliable partners. In such scenarios, appointments become symbolic, not strategic. Inclusion becomes decorative, not influential.
The danger for the Igbos is political orphanhood belonging fully to no camp, courted during elections, forgotten in governance. This is not a conspiracy; it is the natural outcome of weak bargaining positions.
Any honest examination of the Igbo dilemma must confront uncomfortable truths. Internal arrogance, excessive individualism, and a lingering superiority complex have undermined collective political progress. The tendency to dismiss others while refusing internal discipline has exacted a long-term cost.
There is also a crisis of trust. Political betrayal among Igbo elites has become normalized. Agreements are broken casually. Long-term planning is sacrificed for short-term gain. In such an environment, unity becomes difficult, and sustained strategy nearly impossible.
Yet history offers evidence that this condition is not permanent. The same society that builds massive commercial networks across continents can build political structures if it chooses to. What is required is humility: the willingness to subordinate personal ambition to collective interest, at least temporarily.
One of the most damaging narratives within the Igbo political space is perpetual victimhood. While historical injustices are real and unresolved, dwelling exclusively in grievance weakens strategic thinking. Politics rewards clarity, not lamentation.
No region is handed power out of sympathy. Power is negotiated, demanded, and defended. The Igbos must move from asking why they are excluded to asking how they can become indispensable. That shift from emotional politics to strategic politics is essential.
Politics in Nigeria is emotionally draining, even spiritually exhausting. The stress, bitterness, and disillusionment felt by many engaged citizens reflect a deeper national malaise. Yet endurance remains a virtue. Political maturity lies in persistence without illusion seeing the system clearly, yet refusing to disengage.
Faith, whether religious or ideological, plays a subtle role here. It offers perspective. It reminds political actors that history is long, power is transient, and setbacks are not final. But faith without action becomes escapism. Spiritual resilience must be matched with political consciousness.
If the Igbo political future is to be altered before or beyond 2027, several shifts are unavoidable:
First, unity must become strategic, not emotional. Unity does not mean uniformity, but it does require agreed priorities.
Second, institutions must replace personalities. Political relevance cannot rest on individuals alone.
Third, ambition must be sequenced. Regional consolidation must precede national aspiration.
Fourth, internal discipline must be restored. Betrayal should carry political consequences, not rewards.
These are difficult adjustments. They require sacrifice. But politics, at its core, is the art of delayed gratification.
As 2027 approaches, the eagles are already gathering. Power blocs are circling what they perceive as the carcass of authority. The question is not whether politics will happen, it will. The question is whether the Igbos will participate as architects or as spectators.
Fragmentation, ambition, and the absence of leverage are not immutable conditions. They are choices, sustained over time. Different choices can yield different outcomes.
Nigeria’s political story is still unfolding. The Igbo chapter is not yet closed. But time, like power, does not wait for indecision.
The future will belong to those who organize, negotiate, and act with clarity. The rest will merely observe the gathering of eagles and wonder why they were not invited to the feast.
