Copyright tribuneonlineng
IN the immediate period that preceded the return of Nigeria to democratic rule in 1999, the political space was dominated by one youth group called the Youths Earnestly Ask for Abacha (YEAA). It was led by Daniel Kanu, a young man who was known for his connections among the men in Khaki. He was ebullient and vocal. His campaign was egregious. Kanu held sway in the campaign to get the iron-fisted ruler, the late Gen. Sani Abacha transmute from a military head of state to a civilian president. His group led the million-man marches and all such rallies across the country. Also linked to the activities of YEAA were the antics of the five registered political parties of that era, something that yielded the famous “five fingers of a leprous hand”, a quote from the late Attorney General and Minister of Justice, and a leader of the Pan-Yoruba socio-political organisation, Afenifere, Chief Bola Ige. If humans are permitted to have six fingers, maybe YEAA would be the sixth of the acclaimed leprous hand. YEAA’s momentum was huge, and the strategy was all-encompassing. They were all aimed at making dictator, Abacha, an agbada-wearing civilian president. The bubble burst in 1998, and General Abdusalami Abubakar rescued an almost transfixed country from the grip of the leprous hand and its YEAA campaigners. Today, after 25 years of democratic governance, the civic environment is wearing the looks of the old, though there are differences in the modus operandi. We also have to note that Abacha, as the head of state during the pre-Fourth Republic era, was more or less a power usurper who hijacked the popular mandate that had been given to the late Chief MKO Abiola through the June 12, 1993, election. Therefore, distinct from Abacha’s YEAA, what we are seeing now is what I will call Governors Yearn Earnestly for APC (GOYEAP). You can add the letter C or remain silent about it. In their numbers, governors are shredding the flags of their political parties and adopting the broom, the symbol of the ruling APC. Political scholars and stakeholders would have time to go deeper into this issue. But for now, we can ask the question, why do governors defect? Legally speaking, the defection of a governor is not envisaged by the 1999 Constitution (as amended); thus, a window exists for the politician to explore. Going by the dictates of the same constitution under reference, the governor of a state is regarded as the chief executive of that state. In practical terms, he is the overlord for the things on the face of the earth and beneath within that jurisdiction. He even controls some elements in the air (as the lordship pleases), if we must borrow the language of court chambers. In real terms, he dispenses favours as he wills and determines the ward Councilors, members of the Houses of Assembly, the House of Representatives candidates of his party, and the Senators. If his party is that popular in the area, it will win all those positions, and that means he has a sizeable voice in the nation’s legislature. He, therefore, controls his state and a part of the federal system. Maybe that would explain why presidents of this era are careful with the governors. Because an alliance of the 36, or most of them, could speak to his fate. If a man should wield all the powers of a governor as enumerated, why should he not become an Eruobodo, like the Yoruba would say? The river is never afraid; it is he who wants to swim in the river that needs to think twice. That is how the Yoruba depict such a man in the realm of power. But the things we are seeing lately appear to be reversing that age-old saying of the elders. Last week, the governor of Plateau State, Caleb Muftwang, a member of the Peoples Democratic Party, engaged in a war of words with members of the APC in his state over claims by the governor that he faced pressure to join the APC. Leaders of the APC then fired back at the governor, asking him to name those who put him under the said pressure. Remember that the governor of Osun State, Senator Ademola Adeleke, was once caught in a defection dilemma that got terminated when Senator Iyiola Omisore accused him of trying to join the party through the back door. Outside these two cases, the defection saga among governors has remained the centre of state politics in recent months. We have seen the governors of Delta, Akwa-Ibom, Enugu, and Bayelsa announce their defections from the PDP to the ruling APC. Even at that, some stakeholders believed that we have not heard the final word on the defection cruise, as more PDP governors seem to have caught the defection bug. While some people can accommodate the defection of Senators and members of the House of Representatives, even though such an act is forbidden by the 1999 Constitution, whose Section 68 (1g) spells out the difficult conditions that could guarantee defection in the legislature, seeing governors defect should be a rarity. The fact that governors are leaving their comfort zones in droves these days should prompt this question: Why do governors defect? In politics, defections could be for different reasons. There are defections meant to save one’s political life. That could be the case when a godfather is breathing down the neck of a godson and trying to deny him a second term ticket. That was the case with Mallam Mala Kachala of Borno State in 2002. But none of the governors who had defected recently is seen in any such straights. The governor of Enugu is known to be his own godfather, while that of Delta is in a chubby relationship with his predecessor. That of Bayelsa is in his second term, while there are no known threats to the governor of Akwa-Ibom. But all of them have packed their kaya and left for the APC. There could be more to their actions, and there is certainly more to it. But if we must apportion blame, we should be laying the fault on the doorsteps of the nature of political parties we run in the era and the process of leadership recruitment of the Fourth Republic. When politics is almost becoming a merchandising product, you don’t expect principles and ideologies to reside in there. When power acquisition is almost a trading commodity, ‘anything goes’ shall be the guiding light. But I will not support any claim to the effect that the defecting governors were being coerced behind the scenes. That is a huge fallacy. And then our leaders say that if your hands are clean, you fear no foe. If you’ve done nothing to warrant inquiry, why run from pillar to post? After all, the leader of the APC, President Bola Tinubu, whom they are seeking to please, is a good example of a man who withstood pressure from the central government in his days as governor. He stayed the course, built a party, formed alliances, and found himself at the peak. The rest of the interpretation of the emerging scenario should be left for political scholars to disaggregate. But things were not like this at the beginning of the nation’s democratic journey. The first-generation politicians, who midwifed the nation’s push for independence, exhibited little or none of such transmutation traits. These days, however, it seems as if the farther we move away from the year of independence, the closer our politicians move towards zero ideological orientation. Yes, the military seized much of the post-independence years, because they allowed democracy to thrive for only six years, but the Second Republic provided us with the measurement scale. The five parties that ruled the airwaves during the Second Republic had clear leaders whom people looked up to for their ideology and vision. The Unity Party of Nigeria (UPN) was a social democratic party that never hid its progressive bent. The National Party of Nigeria (NPN) was conservative, multi-ethnic, and centrist, while the Nigerian Peoples Party (NPP), like the UPN, was a progressive party with social democratic tendencies. Its offspring, the Great Nigeria Peoples Party (GNPP), which emerged following a leadership tussle in the leadership of the original party, also exhibited progressive ideals and projected itself as the enclave of progressivism in the North. The People Redemption Party (PRP) wore its social democratic tendencies on the forehead of its leaders, by displaying attributes tending towards populism and the working class. Notwithstanding the Jagba tactics (wrestle it) displayed by the NPN in some territories during the 1983 electioneering, when it lured some key opposition figures into its fold in a bid to take over some states, the political parties retained their original outlook, with their membership largely intact. These days, defection is the name of the game. Many would have lost count of the times when that word was mentioned on the floor of the Senate and the House of Representatives. Luckily for us, the newspapers provided reports on Friday that the ruling All Progressives Congress had attained a two-thirds majority in the Green Chamber. The figure had also been attained in the Red Chamber (Senate). When lawmakers defect, they know they run afoul of the constitution, but they play on the peculiarity of the Nigerian situation. If you take them to court, the case may remain on the cause list for years after the tenure. Yes, some cases have been determined, which should give some clue to the determination of any fresh cases, but we don’t know the way of the courts, and not being learned, we cannot question mi Lords. So, who will save the Fourth Republic from the throes of defection politics? The dashboard where that answer is etched would remain blurry until God knows when. But the leaders of the political parties can start by clearing the Aegean’s table. Standardise the membership cards of your parties, so touts won’t be hoarded somewhere to determine party candidates; stop giving tickets for elective offices to the highest bidder, and sensitise your members to always vote conscientiously during primaries. If we start with such basic steps and the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) also complements that with a firm electoral procedure that emphasises the sanctity of votes, we should be guaranteed a setting closer at least, in colour, to what obtained in the aborted Second Republic.
