Opinion

Farooq Kperogi : The new Pope is “black,” now what?

Published

1 month ago

May 10, 2025

Farooq Kperogi : The new Pope is “black,” now what?

In the aftermath of Pope Francis’ death, many Africans on the continent and in the diaspora wondered if the Catholic Church would, for a change, elect a Black Pope. Well, they got one in Pope Leo XIV even if this isn’t apparent on the surface.

Although the Pope doesn’t identify as Black, he has Black African bloodline flowing in his veins through his mother.

Robert Francis Prevost, who changed his name to Leo XIV upon becoming the pope, traces maternal ancestral roots to grandparents in the state of Louisiana whose ancestry is part Black African.

According to the New York Times, “The pope’s maternal grandparents, both of whom are described as Black or mulatto in various historical records,” lived in a part of New Orleans, Louisiana’s biggest city, “that is traditionally Catholic and a melting pot of people with African, Caribbean and European roots.”

Records from the 1900 census, the New York Times reports, show that the man who gave birth to the pope’s mother, identified as Joseph Martinez, described his race as “Black” and his birthplace as “Hayti,” the older English spelling for Haiti.

Haitians trace ancestral descent from six major West African ethnic groups: Fon and Ewe from what is now Benin Republic and Togo; Yoruba from what is now Nigeria and Benin Republic; Igbo and Kongo from what is now Nigeria and Central Africa respectively; and Akan from present-day Ghana and Côte d’Ivoire.

That means there is a high likelihood that the pope has distant cousins from Nigeria. That won’t be surprising because, as I pointed out in my February 13, 2021, column titled “Surprising American Cousins Through My Mother’s Ancestry,” my own AncestryDNA record, which I initiated with my mother when she visited me from Nigeria between 2017 and 2018, matched us with several phenotypically white distant American cousins.

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“As we went through the photos of hundreds of distant cousins that AncestryDNA’s matches showed, [my mother] was struck with astonishment to find lily white people as her eight cousins,” I wrote. “She asked how that was possible. I explained to her that in the American South, where most Black people were enslaved, many slavers sexually exploited the enslaved, the consequence of which DNA results are now revealing.”

The new pope’s story is another possible explanation.

It should be noted that the pope’s maternal grandfather obviously also had European, possibly French and Spanish, ancestry in addition to his African ancestry. He was probably so light-skinned that he could pass for a white man outside the United States.

He probably chose to identify as Black only because of America’s strange “one-drop rule,” which held that a person with even the faintest scintilla of Black African blood in his/her pedigree is Black.

As Madison Grant wrote in his unbearably racist book titled The Passing of the Great Race, “The cross between a white man and an Indian is an Indian; the cross between a white man and a negro is a negro; the cross between a white man and a Hindu is a Hindu; and the cross between any of the three European races and a Jew is a Jew.”

In other words, whiteness symbolizes purity, and any other color line that touches it inevitably soils it. So, the American notion of Blackness conceives of it as an inerasable genetic stain on whiteness, so that the remotest ancestral connection with Black Africa defines one as Black.

That is why the legendary three-time heavyweight champion Muhammad Ali whose great-grandfather was an Irishman is celebrated as a Black American. That’s why former Secretary of State Colin Powell, who is probably just about 15 percent Black in his gene pool, is celebrated as a Black American success story.

It is why Mariah Carey, who would be called “bature” or “oyinbo” in Nigeria, or “muzungu” in eastern Africa, is accepted by Black America as a Black woman. And that is why it is only in America that a white woman can have Black children, but a Black woman cannot have white children.

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This preposterous logic, this scandalously hidebound, hopelessly essentialist notion of Blackness would make most Europeans “Black” since recent DNA evidence suggests that about 75 percent of Western and Southern Europeans have vestiges of African blood in them.

In the eighteenth century, a German physician and anthropologist by the name of Johann Friedrich Blumenbach, on the basis of his flawed analysis of human skulls, taxonomized the human family into five races: Caucasian or white race, Mongolian or yellow race, Malayan or brown race, Negroid or black race, and American or red race.

This arbitrary division of the human family is often fingered as the foundation for scientific racism. It was used by eighteenth-century American judges as the intellectual and moral basis for the promulgation of so-called anti-miscegenation laws (laws that forbade interracial marriage or interracial sex) in a misguided bid to police racial boundaries.

One of the reasons interracial marriages were frowned upon by advocates of racial purism was that mixed-raced children disrupted the easy certainties of Blumenbach’s simplistic racial taxonomy.

As Yale University professor of history Glenda Gilmore once noted, interracial liaisons “resulted in mixed race progeny who slipped back and forth across the color line and defied social control.”

The pope’s maternal grandmother was Creole, who are descendants of the racial alchemy between French, Spanish, and African ancestors but who are nonetheless categorized as “Black” in the United State because of the (il)logic of the one-drop rule. Famous American musicians with Louisiana Creole heritage are Beyonce (through her mother) and Prince.

Creoles can be so light-skinned that they can pass for white. Throughout the nearly two years I lived in Louisiana, I often had difficulty telling a white person from a Black person. People I considered unambiguously white took offense when I identified them as such; they would tell me they were “Black.”

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On other occasions, however, people I thought would self-identify as “Black” based on my previous encounters with seemingly white “Creoles” would take offense when I called them Black. Before I left Louisiana, I stopped guessing or discussing people’s racial identity. Yes, racial identification is that tenuous, that fluid, and that notoriously unstable in southwest Louisiana!

It was unsurprising that the pope’s mother, Mildred Martinez, identified as white. With a light-skinned Black Haitian father and a probably even more light-skinned Creole mother from New Orleans, she most certainly would look phenotypically white.

She chose to escape the chains that Blackness imposed on her and embraced whiteness. In America’s racial terminology, she would be described as having performed “passing.”

Passing is defined as a phenomenon when a phenotypically white but legally Black person (because of traces of African ancestry in them) intentionally present themselves as white to evade racial discrimination and gain access to social, economic, or legal advantages in a racially stratified society where white people occupy the upper end of the totem pole.

During the Jim Crow era in southern United States, when segregation and anti-Black laws were codified in the law books, “passing” was often a survival strategy for light-skinned Black people who could physically blend into white society. I have no doubt that that was what happened with the pope’s mother.

John Joseph Prevost, the pope’s brother, told the New York Times that they don’t discuss their mother’s Black heritage. “It was never an issue,” he said. In fact, USA Today and many American newspapers describe the pope’s mother’s heritage as “Spanish.” The African part of her rich racial tapestry is elided.

The New York Times reported on the pope’s maternal African heritage only because a Black New Orleans genealogist by the name of Jari C. Honora unearthed it with powerfully compelling documentary evidence and shared it with the paper.

Well, going by America’s peculiar logic of racial classification, the pope is “Black” because his whiteness is mediated by the invisible, imperceptible, maybe even genetically negligible, but nonetheless undeniable Black African blood coursing through his papal veins.

Farooq Kperogi is a renowned Nigerian columnist and United States-based Professor of Journalism.

Farooq Kperogi : The new Pope is “black,” now what?

Opinion

2027: Tinubu and the snake

Published

5 days ago

June 13, 2025

Trends Admin

Tunde Odesola

2027: Tinubu and the snake

Tunde Odesola

(Published in The PUNCH, on Friday, June 13, 2025)

To the Westerner, land is one of the four factors of production, riding in the same vehicle with labour, capital and entrepreneurship. In the terminology of modern economics, land is a variable. A variable is inconsistent, like Nigerian politicians. Land is also a utility, like the Nigerian masses, used and dumped. Land is a means of profit. Prophets profit in Nigeria sinfully. Land is an asset…A broader definition adds technology and human capital to the four basic factors.

In Africa, land holds a spiritual significance beyond its role as a factor of production. Land’s ancient name is Earth. Land is the endless embroidered mat of brown and red soils, lying face-up to her celestial twin, Heaven, who gazes back with sun and moon for eyes.

Unlike Heaven’s big eyes, the sun and the moon, which watch over humans, every step taken by man on land ticks on the conscience of time. Land is ferocious karma. It never forgets. While Heaven symbolises the eyes that watch all human deeds, land is the judge that rewards benevolence and punishes malevolence. This is why the Yoruba revere land in these words, “Ilè ògéré, a fi oko yeri, alapo ika ti o n gbe ika mi, says Ifa scholar and Araba of Osogbo, Chief Ifayemi Elebuibon. Expatiating, Elebuibon states that ogere is a divine trap; a quicksand that caves in under the feet of evildoers, swallowing them up.

After creation, Man and every creature live in their respective habitats within the garden. Biblical and Quranic accounts say God made Man lord over all other creatures, urging him to multiply and subdue the earth. However, Prof. Wande Abimbola, Awise Agbaye, says that foreign religion believers are applying God’s injunction wrongly, noting that African religions, including Ifa worship, provide room for the mutual coexistence of all creatures. He explains that Western civilisation, aided by science and technology, has gravely polluted the earth.

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The former vice chancellor of the Obafemi Awolowo University expounds, “Humans, animals, insects and trees should coexist. If we can’t coexist with nature, we will perish. There are 700 million vehicles worldwide, and there are 350 million of them in the US alone. If you sum up the acreage of roads in the US, it’s more than the size of New Jersey. We have intruded on nature, disrupted ecosystem balance, and killed countless organisms under the soil through construction.

“The injunctions by foreign religions, urging people to go into the world and subdue and multiply, are probably responsible for our wastefulness and population explosion. Where are the trees in Ibadan, Ikeja, Port Harcourt and Zaria? If we see an insect, we kill it. If we see a snake, we kill it.”

But, how did the snake get its venom? Wait, I’ll tell you. Creation stories snake through cultures, shedding skins of meaning from culture to culture. In the Abrahamic religions – Judaism, Christianity and Islam – the snake got its venom on Creation Day, before sneaking up on Man Adam and Woman Eve, to trick them out of Eden. Thereafter, the snake became cursed and haunted.

In African cosmology, however, the snake is not the Devil. Neither is it Satan who morphed into a serpent in Eden. The snake is not exiled from Paradise; it is a bona fide creature in creation, possessing the most beautiful skin of all, a shapely head and bespectacled eyes.

How did the snake get its venom? Elebuibon uncoils the tale, “In time past, the snake was called ‘okun ile’ – earthly rope, because it was used for tying objects like firewood. People carrying firewood from the bush dump their firewood on the ground at home, smashing the snake, crushing its spine,” Elebuibon explains.

“Then the snake consulted a babalawo named ‘Òkàn Wéré Wéré’, who divinated an Ifa verse, Òkànràn Òsá, for him. Snake was told to make a sacrifice of needles and worship his head. When Snake did as instructed, he became envenomed,” Elebuibon concludes. Man knows better now.

The life of the snake is not only a pot of venom and fangs. Globally, the snake kills far fewer people than the mosquito and war. According to BBC Wildlife Magazine, the snake ranks among the 10 deadliest animals to humans, including the hippopotamus, elephant, saltwater crocodile, ascaris roundworm, scorpion, assassin bug, freshwater snail, Man, and mosquito.

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Indeed, Man should be grateful to the snake because it preys to protect balance in the ecosystem. Though its venom kills a very few, it saves millions who suffer from cancer, hypertension, blood disorders, etc via the medicines made from it. A paper titled, “Therapeutic potential of snake venom in cancer therapy: Current Perspectives,” published by the National Library of Science, USA, says, “Some substances found in the snake venom present a great potential as anti-tumour agents. In this review, we presented the main results of recent years of research involving the active compounds of snake venom that have anticancer activity.” The snake is not all about coiling and slithering, though scientists and engineers model robotic movement after its muscular geometry.

The Idemili community of Anambra State comprises two local government councils called Idemili North and Idemili South. In Idemili, pythons are not cursed; they are consecrated. They slither around freely into homes on silent feet; never bruised, nor battered.

The Awise Agbaye says some Yoruba communities worship pythons in the olden days because they believed that the founder of a community, upon death, turned into a python in the afterlife, where he sits on a stool to welcome members of his clan who attained old age before dying.

Many African folklore songs extol the python. One of such songs is ‘Terena’, by Dele Ojo. Another is ‘Sirinkusi’, which belongs in Yoruba oral history. The theme of both songs includes love and respect, with a young man trying to prove his prowess to a love-struck lady.

In ‘Terena’, the young man tells the lady not to call him ‘Awe’, that is, ‘Mister’, but ‘Aba’, which is ‘Father’. The lady refuses and the young man takes her on a journey where he respectively turns into a python, tiger and water, but the lady doesn’t budge. It was when he turned into fire that she eventually called him father.

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I will call President Bola Ahmed Tinubu father. I will call him a python, too. With the way he has traversed Nigeria’s political terrain since 1999, no other politician qualifies to be called the Father and Python of Nigerian politics. Tinubu, it was, who wrestled to the ground the Federal Government headed by General Muhammadu Buhari, to emerge President against all odds.

Tinubu is the wiliest politician in the history of Nigeria. And I fear for him, lest the trap set by the tortoise entraps the tortoise. I remember, the level-headed Tafawa Balewa faced opposition, the sage, Obafemi Awolowo, faced opposition, and the charismatic Zik of Africa faced opposition.

General Ibrahim Babangida, aka Maradona, was booted out of power. Though MKO Abiola rode on the back of popular support in 1993, he still faced opposition. And, before he died like a brief candle, General Ole, Sani Abacha, coerced Nigerians to support his self-perpetuation. Every Nigerian sang the name of Abacha. Those who didn’t sing fled the town before dawn.

Clearly, I remember, ‘Third Term’ agenda burnt the fingers of the hypocrite farmer in Ota after democracy returned to the country, even as the herdsman General fled to Katsina to enjoy his bounty in peace, two years ago.

Father Tinubu, the way everyone is falling to the anointing in Abuja is foreboding. I don’t know what will give, but something seems out of place and ready to give. Tinubu is the current father of Nigerian politics. I pray he lives longer than the ancient python. I wish he would stop deploying his massive muscles against opposition voices and his sons in Lagos, Rivers and elsewhere.

Though politicians cling to power when the nation gasps, the snake sheds its skin when it outgrows it. Though the snake strikes to protect its terrain, the politician steals to destroy his terrain. I pray Tinubu was the hissing snake that strikes corruption to death, and not the politician that kisses to steal.

Email: [email protected]

Facebook: @Tunde Odesola

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2027: Tinubu and the snake

Opinion

Pounding yams on stubborn bald heads

Published

2 weeks ago

June 6, 2025

Trends Admin

Tunde Odesola

Pounding yams on stubborn bald heads

Tunde Odesola

(Published in The PUNCH, on Friday, June 6, 2025)

Jonathan Love and Taylor Steele are Americans. They are also my buddies at work. Jonathan is black; Taylor is white. The three of us could have perished in a ghastly auto accident on the morning of Tuesday, June 3, 2025, with me behind the wheel. “I need a dip, soda and sausage biscuit,” Taylor said with the expectation of a farmer on a rainy day. “I need soda and a sausage biscuit,” Jonathan stated assuredly like a pilot on a fine-weather day. So, I pulled off the highway into a gas station, and the two hopped out like students returning to school after a long holiday.

Drenching sugar, dripping salt and embalming preservatives; oh, how I dislike fast foods! The US, statistics say, devours more sugar than any other nation on God’s spinning earth. Rather than eat fast food, I’ll snack on rat neutraliser – I don’t want to say poison. I mean, I prefer home-made meals, anytime.

While Jonathan and Taylor were gone, I reached for my phone and entered the fray of modern distraction – Facebook, the ‘bolekaja’ of social media. ‘Bolekaja’ is a Yoruba slang for ‘alight, let’s fight’ – a fitting name for a platform whose oxygen is argument.

None of the drama in the ‘Bolekaja’ was interesting, so I migrated to WhatsApp. WhatsApp is the ‘Face Me–I–Slap You’ apartment of social media, where you’re safe in your room, but the moment you step out to mingle, you could be hit by anything.

A banker friend in the UK, Adeola Ojo, had sent me some skits on WhatsApp. I was watching one of the skits when Taylor opened the passenger door and sat beside me in the front while we waited for Jonathan. Taylor is in the habit of peeking at people’s phones, but I don’t mind. Mouth-watering Nigerian foods were on parade in the skit I was watching when Taylor got in the car. Some of the sumptuous meals being scooped into colourful plates came with orisirisi combinations: amala, gbegiri and ewedu swirling like a brown-and-green river; edika ikong cuddling fufu; eba serenading afang; moin moin hugging eko; cocoyam blessing bitterleaf soup; semo in tête-à-tête with oha; and ikokore – the secret of wateryam discovered by the Ijebu, rich and irresistible…while Taylor peeped away at my phone.

Then the wooden spoon scooped three large portions of snow-white pounded yam into a bowl, and Taylor, mouth ajar and mind afar, shouted, “Oh! Ice cream!” Yes, he screamed. If I were on the highway when he said that, only mercy could have sent us back to the land of the living from the gates of heaven.

Thank God we three got back to work in one piece. Thank God none of us took temporary accommodation in the morgue, pending autopsy, en route to burial. Thank God, no one was injured. Thank God! Thank God!

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Taylor asked me why I was reeling with laughter, I couldn’t explain to him because he would not understand; yam is not an American staple. So, how would he understand pounded yam? I just laughed and laughed for it was the only thing I could do; oro buruku tohun, terin – gloom accommodates laughter. Since I was a kid, I had learnt that when yam transmutes, it becomes pounded yam – isu parada, o d’iyan; but here I am, America is teaching me something different.

When one arrives at work, one must work: ti a ba de ibi ise, a ma n se ni, says a wise saying from my roots. In African culture, labour is sacred, it’s not just a meal ticket. Be you a farmer, hunter, fisherman, weaver, herbalist – no matter the work you do, there’s dignity in your labour.

But there are some jobs I can never, ever do. The topmost of such jobs is the work of Abobaku – the one who is buried with the king. I cannot come and die with any king o. Ah! Lai, lai! The Abobaku concept espoused in yesteryear Yoruba culture leans more on class manipulation and superiority complex than preservation of cosmic balance.

In “Death and the King’s Horseman,” Nobel laureate Wole Soyinka, explores the themes of death, betrayal, cultural identity, duty, colonialism, disruption, metaphysics, etc when Elesin – the Abobaku in the play – refuses to be buried with the king.

Sadly, the royal manipulation of ancient times has transmogrified into political and religious manipulation today, with many political zombies dying for their godfathers and spiritual fathers. This is evident in the way millions of PSP – Poverty-Stricken People – stupidly support some politicians whose actions have worsened poverty in the land. It also accounts for why some religious leaders would sell bulletproof vests to their adherents while the Papas and Mamas go about in bulletproof vehicles.

I’m yet to find a description worse than national shame the manner the Bola Tinubu administration celebrated the mouthed completion of 30 kilometers of the 750km Lagos-Calabar coastal highway. Adults who dance on the streets, celebrating four percent as a pass mark, should be chained to the iroko tree, lest they stray into the market.

Religious manipulation has produced a multitude of fake pastors like David Ibiyeo-Money and Jeremiah Funfeyin, Idabosky, etc as well as their Muslim counterparts, who preach exploitative doctrines to yoke their gullible followers with fear and guilt, making them part with their money easily.

Another job I can never do, even if it pays $10m per month is the job of an ìwèfà . In ancient Yoruba times, an ìwèfà was the young male who catered to the needs of the king’s harem. To forestall cross-pollination and pollution of the blue bloodline, the ìwèfà is castrated. Slaves were mostly picked for this job. The ìwèfà is preserved to preserve the king’s pleasure. He’s the cockless cock that craves the corn in a bottle.

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Moses saw the Promised Land, but he didn’t enter it with the Israelites. May that not be our portion. I can never take up the job of security official during football matches, backing the field of play while action is ongoing, and watching whether some delirious fan is going to run onto the field. In the UEFA Champions League final played at the Munich Football Arena, Munich, Germany, between PSG and Inter Milan, many stadium security officials backed the pitch and watched the fans to ensure crowd control. To back the field and watch jubilating fans celebrating or mourning the 5-0 worsting of Inter by a merciless PSG side was to suffer a fate similar to that of an ìwèfà.

There are three jobs I covet. I’ve been praying to God to give me the three jobs at the same time. The first is the job of Alhaji Abdullahi Ganduje, the hardworking national chairman of the All Progressives Congress. When I get the job, I’ll be doing absolutely nothing but just busy myself with sewing many starched agbada with pockets large enough to stuff dollars and an elephant.

The second job is that of the Minister of the Federal Capital Territory, Nyesom Wike. In the office, I will be croaking and causing wahala in my state, Osun, trampling on the skulls and limbs of the living and the dead, like a crazed cow in a china shop. So simple.

The third job is by no means easier than the first two. It’s the job of the Governor of Osun State, currently held by Asiwaju Jackson Nurudeen Ademola Adeleke. On the job, I’ll work hard, eat, sleep and dance to every sound like ikoto, the spinning toy, which staggers left and right, struggling hard to stay upright by itself without support. I’ll change my first name to Ajobiewe.

But there’s one job I’m unqualified to take because of my ancestry. It’s the job of the King of Iwo. However, I dare to say I’m not a US ex-convict like the present occupier of the stool, Oba Abdulrasheed Adekanbi. If I were the Oluwo, I wouldn’t have opened my mouth to tell the world that I wish to be called the Alaafin of Iwo because I know the title of the Alaafin was only a nickname that eventually became the main name. The actual title of the ruler of Oyo was Oloyo of Oyo, according to world-renowned Ifa scholar and priest, Chief Ifayemi Elebuibon.

In a telephone interview with me, Elebuibon said, “The name of the ruler of Oyo in ancient times was Olóyo Òrò-mòko (the powerful owner of Oyo Òrò who drinks pap) or Oba Eleyo Ajori Aje Olu Eni Gbara (the king who eats choice dishes cooked with shea butter).”

If I were the Oluwo, I would be content with my title, Oluwo, which means the god or lord of Iwo (Oluwa Iwo), instead of seeking the title, Alaafin, whose literal meaning – owner of a palace – is not as powerful as Oluwo.

Also, I will not rant in a viral video that Iwo was never under Ibadan when Ibadan had a standing army that defended Yoruba land, which included Iwo, against Fulani incursion. If I were the Oluwo, I’d keep my mouth shut and not belch when needless.

Email: [email protected]

Facebook: @Tunde Odesola

X: @Tunde_Odesola

Pounding yams on stubborn bald heads

Opinion

Why the anti-Tinubu coalition isn’t coalescing, By Farooq Kperogi

Published

2 weeks ago

May 31, 2025

Trends Admin

Why the anti-Tinubu coalition isn’t coalescing, By Farooq Kperogi

There is supposed to be a formidable coalition of powerful regional and national political forces working to upstage President Bola Ahmed Tinubu in 2027. But this coalition isn’t coalescing and appears to be crumbling before it has even had a chance to be formed. Three major reasons account for this.

The first reason is what I call the aspirational collision of the major movers of the coalition. By that, I mean the two major power blocs behind the coalition have irreconcilably divergent ideas about who should occupy the upper end of the ticket the coalition will produce.

PDP’s Atiku Abubakar basically wants a recreation of the 2019 electoral lineup. He would be the presidential candidate, and Labor Party’s Peter Obi would be the vice-presidential candidate. It is predicated on the assumption that Atiku Abubakar, by virtue of his primordial identity, will be a magnet for northern votes.

If he is the only prominent northern candidate in 2027, he will win both Muslim and Christian votes in the region, as northern Christians trust him more than any northern Muslim politician of his generation on account of his remarkable broadmindedness, though his close association with Nasir El-Rufai, widely regarded by many northern Christians as a crass, unremorseful Christophobe because of his past actions and utterances, undermines this appeal.

Peter Obi is supposed to bring the enthusiasm and votes he got from the 2023 presidential election to the coalition. However, it appears that although Peter Obi isn’t personally ill-disposed to being Atiku’s running mate again, his support base in the South would deplete considerably should he choose to play second fiddle to a northerner this time.

The dramatic rise in his political capital in 2023 was entirely the consequence of his being the only notable Southern Christian presidential candidate in the race. Plus, the prevalent sentiment in the South is that Muhammadu Buhari’s eight-year tenure was the North’s chance to rule. The next eight years from 2023 is the South’s turn.

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If Obi were to accept being Atiku’s running mate, he would be seen by people in the South, including his native Southeast, as a betrayer, as a quisling, of the region. And that would mark the irretrievable diminution of his political capital.

Yet, it is unconstitutional for Atiku to be anybody’s running mate, having been a two-term vice president before. So, there is zero possibility of Atiku agreeing to be running mate to Obi, whom he brought to national limelight by choosing him as his running mate in 2019, against the recommendation of major players in the PDP at the time.

This is an unresolvable impasse. As much as the South justifiably thinks it is its turn to produce the president until 2031, the North has been unsuccessfully calling attention to the disadvantage it has suffered as a result of Umaru Musa Yar’Adua’s death, which prematurely returned power to the South for six years.

The Atiku group’s carrot to Obi—to accept being VP in exchange for Atiku serving only one term—is informed by this logic. It somehow compensates the North’s six-year loss and promises a return of power to the Southeast, which has never produced a president (or even a vice president) since the start of the Fourth Republic.

Nevertheless, if the chatter I see on social media is any guide, Obi’s support base is unpersuaded by this. Were Obi to accept being a running mate to Atiku in 2027, many Obi supporters say they would rather sit out the election or, worse, vote for Tinubu to ensure that the presidency remains in the South.

This is complicated by the reality that, were Atiku to stay out of the 2027 presidential contest and endorse Obi, it’s unlikely to improve Obi’s electoral fortunes in parts of the North that rejected him in 2023.

The second reason the coalition is unlikely to succeed is that key northern politicians who are already positioning themselves to be Tinubu’s successor in 2031 are either not part of it or are in it to undercut it from within. There are two reasons for this.

First, an Atiku presidency would mean their aspirations to be president would be deferred by more years than a Tinubu second term. Plus, even if Atiku honors his alleged pledge to serve for only one term (which is never a guarantee, given the intoxication of power), he would hand over power to the South. That counts them out.

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Second, opposing Tinubu’s second term by joining a coalition would ensure that they take themselves out of consideration for Tinubu’s support in 2031. It is self-seeking political calculation that assumes the nature and form of the outlines of the future.

The third reason the coalition would have trouble taking off is Tinubu’s own determined, single-minded, well-oiled—even state-sanctioned—effort to destroy it. I’ll only talk about one effort because, while many people may be aware of it, only a few seem to be conscious of it.

Tinubu is deploying a political propaganda tactic called the bandwagon technique. This method encourages people to act or think a certain way because “everyone else is doing it.” It appeals to the human desire to be part of the majority or to avoid being left out.

It’s a powerful technique because it leverages social pressure and the fear of missing out (FOMO). The unceasing gale of political defections of prominent political actors across the country is intended to cause Tinubu’s opponents to question their judgement and give up their opposition to him.

Even Afrobeats music icon Davido—who won well-deserved plaudits and brownie points from Igbo people a few days ago for telling a Yoruba Twitter interlocutor who questioned his outward symbolic associations with Igbo that he is “Igbo by blood”—appears to be part of this bandwagon technique.

Video records of him visiting Tinubu in the Presidential Villa and introducing well-known Igbo entertainment figures as “APC members” fit the bandwagon method perfectly. Here’s a man whom the president’s media team had tackled vigorously for his criticism of Tinubu’s government, whose uncle is a PDP governor, and who publicly identifies with the Igbo (a core stronghold of opposition to Tinubu), now openly identifying with the president at the same time that major political players in opposition parties are switching to APC. That’s unlikely to be random.

When you add this to the predominant sentiment in Nigeria that incumbents don’t lose elections, even if they actually lose them (with the exception of Goodluck Jonathan), you are looking at a systematic, coordinated effort to construct the rhetoric of inevitability around Tinubu’s second term.

A coalition of politicians who don’t offer or promise anything different from Tinubu and who have irreconcilable asymmetries in their expectations of what the coalition should produce will have a hard time overcoming Tinubu’s strategies.

This is sad because, as I previously pointed out, the conditions in the country should preclude Tinubu from even being considered for a second term. A May 24, 2025, special report I read in Vanguard by Dr. Dele Sobowale titled “Tinubu at Midterm: Who are the People Gov’t is Satisfying?” was particularly striking.

Sobowale’s Consultancy conducted a nationwide survey to assess public perception of the federal government’s performance. The study involved a brief verbal questionnaire posed to Nigerians across all six geopolitical zones, cutting across age, ethnicity, religion, gender, and income levels.

Participants were asked two simple yes-or-no questions: whether their lives were better now compared to two years ago, and whether they expected things to improve in the next two years.

The findings were stark. Only 3 percent of respondents said their lives had improved, while an overwhelming 97 percent said they had not. Even more striking was the pessimism about the future: just 1 percent expressed hope for improvement in the next two years, while 99 percent did not.

These results reflect a deep sense of dissatisfaction and growing despair among the Nigerian populace. In a normal setting, no government that has enabled this much misery index and that is burdened by this heavy perceptual burden should even run for a second term. But this is Nigeria.