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Akintola vs Awolowo, Opposition, and the One-Party Temptation

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By Prince Charles Dickson, PhD

Every generation of Nigerian politics likes to imagine that its quarrel is unprecedented, that its betrayals are original, that its intrigue is wearing a crown no earlier intrigue ever touched. But Nigerian politics is an old drummer. It changes songs, not rhythm. The names change. The costumes improve. The microphones get better. Yet the same questions keep returning like harmattan dust: What is opposition for? Is it a moral force, a strategic waiting room, or merely a branch office of the ruling instinct?

To ask that question seriously is to walk back into the haunted chamber of Awolowo and Akintola. What began as a struggle inside the Action Group was not just a disagreement between two brilliant men. It was a collision of political temperaments, ideological direction, ambition, and the larger architecture of power in Nigeria. Awolowo, who moved to the federal centre as opposition leader after 1959, was increasingly identified with a broader ideological project. Akintola, by contrast, came to embody a more conservative, region-focused and business-oriented current, and his openness to working with the Northern-dominated federal establishment deepened the rupture. By mid-1962, Awolowo’s camp had repudiated Akintola; the federal government declared a state of emergency in the Western Region and restored him in 1963. The bitterness of that split, and the wreckage that followed, helped poison the First Republic.

That is why the Awolowo-Akintola feud still matters. It was not gossip in an agbada. It was an early Nigerian lesson that opposition can die in two ways. It can be strangled from outside by a hostile ruling order. Or, more dangerously, it can decay from within, when conviction gives way to access, when strategy becomes personal survival, when party machinery becomes a theatre of ego. The Western crisis was, in that sense, not only about who should lead. It was about whether opposition should remain an instrument of principle or become a bargaining chip in the market of power.

Kano and Kaduna then enter the story like twin furnaces of northern political memory. Kano carries the old radical grammar of Aminu Kano, NEPU, Sawaba, talakawa politics, the language of emancipation rather than patronage. Oxford’s entry on Aminu Kano notes his struggle against corruption and oppression in the emirate order and his commitment to democratizing Northern Nigeria. The PRP’s own profile, lodged with INEC, explicitly roots itself in NEPU’s legacy and recalls that the PRP had two state governments in the Second Republic: Kaduna and Kano. In other words, both states are not accidental footnotes in the story of Nigerian opposition. They are ancestral terrain.

Then came 1999 and the Fourth Republic, with the PDP arriving not merely as a party but as a vast political weather system. Founded in 1998 and quickly becoming dominant, winning the presidency and legislative majorities in 1999 and retained national control for years. Opposition existed, yes, but it was fragmented, regional, underpowered, and often more symbolic than threatening. That era did not abolish opposition. It domesticated it.

The great interruption came in 2013, when the APC was formed through the merger of major opposition forces. That merger worked because it answered a Nigerian truth older than any campaign slogan: power rarely yields to scattered complaint. It yields to a disciplined coalition. The APC emerged from the merger of ACN, CPC, ANPP, and part of APGA, and in 2015, Buhari’s victory marked the first time an incumbent was defeated and the first inter-party transfer of power in Nigeria’s post-independence history. Reuters described it plainly as a historic democratic transfer. For a brief moment, opposition in Nigeria looked like more than lamentation. It looked like a ladder.

But even that victory carried a warning label. The problem with Nigerian opposition is that once it wins, it often stops being opposition in spirit and becomes merely the next landlord in the same building. An academic review of Nigeria’s democratic journey notes that the APC and PDP share many structural defects, and even cites the broader judgment that little distinguishes the two main parties because both are fluid elite networks with weak ideology. That diagnosis is painful because it explains so much. In Nigeria, opposition too often opposes only until the gates open. After that, the vocabulary changes, but the appetite stays the same.

This is where Kano and Kaduna become especially revealing from 1999 till now. Kano has repeatedly shown a willingness to defy neat national binaries, and in the 2023 election, it backed Rabiu Kwankwaso of the NNPP in the presidential race while also electing Abba Kabir Yusuf of the NNPP as governor. Kaduna told a different but equally interesting story: it voted Atiku Abubakar of the PDP in the presidential contest, yet elected APC’s Uba Sani as governor. CDD West Africa described the 2023 election as unusually fragmented, noting that all four major presidential contenders won at least one state and that states like Kano, Lagos, and Rivers split among three different parties. So, Kano and Kaduna have not been passive spectators in the Nigerian democratic drama. They have been laboratories of resistance, fragmentation, coalition, and contradiction.

And now we arrive at the present crossroads, where the phrase “one-party state” is no longer a tavern exaggeration but a live political argument. Reuters reported in May 2025 that the APC endorsed President Tinubu for a second term while the opposition was widely seen as too divided and weak to mount a serious challenge, with high-profile defections strengthening the ruling party. AP later reported Tinubu’s denial that Nigeria was being turned into a one-party state, even as several governors and federal lawmakers had left opposition parties for the APC. By February 2026, major opposition leaders, including Atiku, Peter Obi, and Amaechi, were jointly rejecting the new Electoral Act, calling it anti-democratic and warning that it could help install a one-party order. Tinubu, for his part, has continued to insist that democracy requires room for the minority to speak.

So, is Nigeria now a one-party state? Not formally. Not yet. There are still multiple parties, multiple ambitions, multiple resentments, and multiple routes to elite reassembly. But that is not the only question that matters. A country can avoid the legal shell of one-party rule and still drift into the political culture of one-party dominance. That drift happens when the ruling party becomes the default shelter for frightened politicians, when defections replace debate, when opposition parties become war zones of internal ego, and when citizens begin to see parties not as platforms of principle but as bus stops for the next powerful convoy. The danger is less a constitutional decree than a democratic evaporation.

This is why the ghosts of Awolowo and Akintola are still standing by the roadside, watching us. Their quarrel warned that opposition without internal discipline can collapse into treachery, and that power at the centre always knows how to exploit a divided house. Kano reminds us that opposition can spring from social memory, from the stubborn dignity of people who do not always vote as ordered. Kaduna reminds us that politics is rarely simple, that a state can host both establishment power and insurgent sentiment in the same electoral season. And the Fourth Republic reminds us that opposition in Nigeria only works when it is more than noise, more than wounded ambition, more than a coalition of temporarily unemployed strongmen.

The real Nigerian danger, then, is not that one party will conquer the entire country by brilliance alone. It is that the opposition will continue to fail by habit. If opposition is only a queue for access, then the ruling party will keep eating its rivals one defection at a time. If, however, opposition rediscovers ideology, internal democracy, regional credibility, and the courage to look different from what it condemns, then the old republic may still whisper a useful lesson into the new one.

Awolowo and Akintola were not just fighting over a party. They were fighting over the soul of the political alternative in Nigeria. That battle never ended—May Nigeria win!

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Preparing Bank Security Operations for Scale, Change, and Long-Term Resilience

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By Quintin Roberts

When banks and financial institutions upgrade their physical security systems, they are making decisions that will affect operations for years. Branch formats are changing, cyber risks are increasing, and security teams are being asked to support more sites, more data, and more business functions. The challenge is keeping pace with change in a way that holds up over time.

A modern physical security strategy needs to go beyond protection. It needs to give teams a clearer view across branches, support consistent governance, and provide the flexibility to adapt as technology and operational needs change. The following considerations focus on foundational choices that help banks build security operations that are resilient and can grow with the business.

Choose open architecture to preserve long-term flexibility

Banks and financial institutions often manage a mix of legacy systems, newer technologies, and location-specific requirements. A proprietary system can limit scalability, options for devices, and which systems can connect across the organisation. Over time, this can increase costs and make it harder to modernise without replacing infrastructure that still has value.

Open architecture gives decision-makers more choice and preserves flexibility. It allows financial institutions to select the cameras, access control devices, sensors, analytics, and other technologies that best fit each location and adapt them as their needs change.

This allows teams to modernise in phases. For example, an institution may standardise video management across many sites while keeping existing cameras in place, then replace hardware over time.

Decide how to deploy your security system

Some banks want to keep core systems on-premises at major sites. Others prefer cloud-managed services for smaller branches, remote locations, or new sites that need faster deployment and less local infrastructure. Many need a mix of both. Deployment flexibility gives them the freedom to choose where systems run, how data is stored, and how services are managed.

This is especially important for institutions with different regulatory requirements, bandwidth limitations, and internal IT policies. A flexible deployment model helps banks modernise at their own pace while maintaining control over performance, cybersecurity, compliance, and cost.

Unify operations to improve visibility across branches

Managing video surveillance, access control, intrusion, and other systems separately slows down response time and makes investigations harder. Operators may need to sign into different applications, search through data in different ways, and manually piece together what happened. Across hundreds of branches, these inefficiencies can add up quickly.

A unified security platform gives teams one operating picture across systems and sites. A local team can respond faster to an incident at a single location, while a central security operations centre can monitor trends, support remote sites, and apply consistent procedures across the network.

A unified system that creates a shared context makes incorporating analytics or AI-driven capabilities more effective, further accelerating searches, identifying patterns, and reducing overall investigation time.

Put cybersecurity and governance at the forefront

Physical security systems are connected to the broader IT environment. Devices all need to be managed as part of the bank’s cyber risk profile. If systems are outdated or inconsistently configured across branches, they can create unnecessary exposure and make long-term management harder. When cybersecurity and governance are a foundational part of the system, encryption, authentication, user permissions, system updates, audit trails, retention policies, and privacy controls are applied consistently across locations.

A centralised approach makes this consistency sustainable. It provides accountability for banks, helping teams keep track of who accessed which systems, who changed permissions, how long video is retained, and how evidence is shared. This is important for meeting regulatory expectations and adapting security operations over time. Further, consistent policies make organisational risk management more effective by standardising how risk is handled across the organisation, adding to future resilience.

Automate workflows for better risk mitigation and investigations

Investigations often involve information from several systems and locations. A suspicious ATM transaction may need to be matched with video, or an access event may need to be reviewed alongside intrusion activity. If that information sits in separate systems, investigations take longer and are harder to document.

Unified systems connect the relevant context across video, access control, license plate recognition, and other systems. This supports faster investigations and helps teams share evidence internally or with law enforcement while maintaining the chain of custody.

Improve business operations using physical security data

Physical security systems collect valuable operational data every day, from occupancy levels to device health. A unified platform can turn this data into useful insights, helping security teams identify recurring issues and improve resource planning. Other departments can use the same information to improve customer experience, branch operations, and facility management.

For example, occupancy and queue data help banks understand when branches are busiest. Device health monitoring enables teams to identify maintenance needs before systems fail. And with centralised reporting, leadership can see patterns across the full branch network rather than relying on isolated site-level reports.

Making the right choices for the long term

As banks modernise their physical security infrastructure, long-term resilience will depend on foundational choices. Strategies based on open architecture, deployment flexibility, unification, cybersecurity, governance, and data all help financial institutions build systems that can adapt well into the future.

Quintin Roberts is the Regional Sales Manager for Genetec Africa

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Strengthening Partnerships Through Dialogue: Okomu’s Engagement with Extension 1 Communities

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Corporate organisations have been described as an Open Social System wherein the input of the organisations comes from the environment and the output goes back to the environment. In this equation, therefore, proactive and socially responsible organisations must constantly interface with its environment where the surrounding communities are significant stakeholders.

In line with this thought, Okomu Oil Palm Company constantly engages with all its neighbouring communities on a quarterly basis to discuss issues of mutual concern and to resolve any issues that may degenerate into grievances. Through regular stakeholder meetings, the company continues to foster open communication, address concerns, and strengthen relationships with communities within the company’s concessions. Recently, the company engaged communities around its Extension 1 plantation, including Okomu village, Udo, Madagbayo, Safarogbo, Gbelebu, Inikorogha, and Ofunama, Gbole-Uba.

These engagement meetings serve as an important platform for community leaders, youth representatives, women’s groups, and company representatives to discuss matters affecting the well-being and development of the communities. The sessions reflect Okomu’s commitment to maintaining a transparent and mutually beneficial relationship with its host communities.

During the meetings, representatives from the various communities highlighted issues of importance to residents, including infrastructure needs, educational support, employment opportunities, environmental concerns, and community welfare. Company representatives listened attentively to these concerns, provided updates on ongoing initiatives, and outlined measures being taken to address identified challenges.

A key feature of the engagements was the emphasis on collaboration. Community leaders acknowledged the importance of maintaining open channels of communication and working closely with the company to achieve shared development goals. Discussions focused not only on challenges but also on opportunities for greater partnership and community participation in development initiatives.

One of the key highlights of the meetings was the discussion surrounding Okomu’s collaboration with the Foundation for Partnership Initiatives in the Niger Delta (PIND) an NGO that is focused on human capital development Community members were briefed again on the objectives of the partnership, and the areas of PIND intervention and its potential to create meaningful opportunities for economic empowerment, skills development, and improved livelihoods within host communities.

Health, Safety and Environment (HSE) awareness sessions were also conducted during the meetings. Community members received valuable information on safety practices, environmental stewardship, and measures aimed at promoting healthier and safer communities. The sessions encouraged residents to play an active role in maintaining a safe environment while supporting sustainable practices within their communities.

The meetings also provided an opportunity for the company to share updates on ongoing projects and interventions designed to improve the quality of life within the host communities. Through these engagements, Okomu reaffirmed its dedication to responsible corporate citizenship and its long-standing commitment to supporting the growth and development of neighbouring communities.

As the discussions concluded, participants expressed appreciation for the opportunity to engage directly with company representatives and contribute to conversations that impact their communities. The meetings reinforced the value of dialogue, mutual respect, and partnership in building stronger and more resilient communities.

Okomu remains committed to sustaining these engagements and working alongside its neighbouring communities to create lasting social and economic value. By listening, responding, and collaborating, the company continues to strengthen the bonds that support shared progress and sustainable development across the Extension 1 communities.

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The Almajiri Question: A Stream Now Watering Northern Nigeria’s Insecurity

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By Sani Abdulrazak, PhD

Every civilisation carries within it traditions that define its identity and shape its collective memory. Some traditions withstand the test of time because they continue to serve the purpose for which they were conceived. Others gradually lose their essence, becoming shadows of their original intent, until they begin to produce consequences diametrically opposed to the ideals they once espoused. Wisdom therefore demands that societies periodically interrogate their customs, not with the intention of erasing them, but of preserving their virtues while courageously confronting their deficiencies. Few institutions in Northern Nigeria embody this paradox more markedly than the almajiri system.

For centuries, the system represented discipline, scholarship and spiritual refinement. Young boys travelled from distant communities in pursuit of Islamic knowledge under the tutelage of learned scholars whose influence extended beyond religious instruction to moral formation. Communities embraced the responsibility of caring for these pupils, while the teachers regarded them as their children rather than burdens to be managed. The almajiri system, in its pristine form, produced jurists, judges, administrators, scholars and community leaders whose intellectual contributions shaped the social and religious landscape of Northern Nigeria. What confronts us today, however, is scarcely a reflection of that noble heritage.

It is germane to aver that what many now defend in the name of tradition is, in reality, a tragic mutation of the original institution. Thousands of children roam our streets barefoot, hungry and vulnerable, not because Islam prescribes destitution as a pathway to knowledge, but because decades of poverty, rapid population growth, weak public institutions and societal neglect have gradually transformed an educational model into a humanitarian crisis. We have retained the name but abandoned the substance. We celebrate the tradition while ignoring the conditions that have stripped it of its dignity. The consequences have become too glaring to ignore. Across Northern Nigeria, one encounters children of school age at traffic intersections, markets, motor parks and major highways, stretching out tiny hands for alms instead of reaching for books. Their classrooms have become the streets. Their libraries are the pavements. Their lessons are often dictated not by teachers but by the harsh realities of survival. Every help dropped into their bowls may momentarily satisfy hunger, but it does little to nourish the mind that should ultimately liberate them from the cycle of dependence.

Perhaps the gravest implication of this unfortunate reality lies in its intersection with the insecurity that has continued to plague the region. It would be intellectually dishonest to suggest that every almajiri becomes a criminal. Such a proposition would be unfair, insensitive and patently false. Many have risen from humble beginnings to become respected scholars, professionals and public servants. Yet it would be equally dishonest to deny that large populations of abandoned, uneducated and economically vulnerable children provide fertile ground for recruitment into criminal enterprises. Bandits, terrorists, kidnappers and violent extremists rarely manufacture vulnerability; they exploit it. A hungry child is easier to manipulate than a satisfied one. An ignorant youth is easier to deceive than an educated one. A boy who has never experienced the dignity of opportunity may readily embrace the illusion of belonging offered by criminal networks. This is the painful arithmetic confronting Northern Nigeria today. The stream that once irrigated scholarship is gradually watering insecurity, not because its foundation was defective, but because society abandoned its responsibility to sustain it. The security crisis engulfing Arewa cannot therefore be divorced from the educational crisis confronting the region. Every out-of-school child represents not merely a statistic but a potential casualty of failed governance, economic deprivation and collective negligence. The region has the highest number of out of school children in the world. This frightening population of children outside formal education should disturb every parent, every traditional ruler, every religious leader and every public office holder. It is not simply an educational emergency; it is a national security emergency disguised as a social challenge.

Poverty compounds this tragedy in alarming proportions. Families struggling to secure their next meal often perceive education as a luxury rather than a necessity. Parents burdened by economic hardship relinquish responsibilities they are ill-equipped to shoulder, while many Qur’anic teachers themselves grapple with inadequate resources. The result is a vicious cycle in which deprivation reproduces deprivation across generations. Children born into poverty frequently inherit not only economic disadvantage but educational exclusion, creating an endless conveyor belt of vulnerability.

Culture, too, demands honest interrogation: Respect for tradition is a virtue, but no culture should become impervious to reform when overwhelming evidence demonstrates that its present manifestation inflicts avoidable suffering upon those it was originally designed to uplift. Our forefathers were products of wisdom, not rigidity. They adapted to changing realities without compromising their fundamental values. We dishonour their legacy when we mistake resistance to reform for fidelity to tradition.

The path forward therefore lies neither in abolishing Qur’anic education nor in preserving the status quo. Both extremes are fundamentally flawed. What Northern Nigeria requires is thoughtful integration; an educational model that harmonises religious scholarship with modern knowledge, allowing children to acquire sound Islamic education alongside literacy, numeracy, science, technology and vocational skills. Faith and formal education are not adversaries. They are complementary instruments for developing complete human beings capable of contributing meaningfully to society.

The responsibility for rescuing the North from this precipice cannot be placed upon government alone, though government undoubtedly bears the greatest burden. Parents must reclaim their primary role as the first custodians of their children’s future. No society can outsource parental responsibility indefinitely without paying a devastating price. Bringing children into the world is not merely a biological accomplishment; it is a lifelong commitment to nurturing them intellectually, morally and emotionally. Every father who abandons that sacred obligation contributes, however unintentionally, to the reservoir from which insecurity continually draws its recruits. Religious scholars equally occupy a position of profound influence. The reverence they command across Northern Nigeria places upon them an enormous moral responsibility to champion reforms capable of restoring the dignity of Qur’anic education. There is nothing inherently contradictory about a child memorising the Qur’an while simultaneously learning mathematics, science, languages and digital literacy. Indeed, the earliest Muslim civilisations flourished because they pursued revealed knowledge alongside intellectual inquiry, producing physicians, mathematicians, astronomers, philosophers and jurists whose contributions transformed human civilisation. The false dichotomy between religious and western education has inflicted immeasurable damage upon our society and deserves to be discarded with urgency.

Traditional institutions must also become active participants in this transformation. Emirs, district heads, village chiefs and community leaders remain the custodians of values and possess the moral authority to mobilise their people in ways government policies alone cannot achieve. Throughout history, the North has relied upon these institutions to preserve peace, resolve disputes and safeguard communal interests. The educational future of our children should command the same level of commitment.

Government, on its part, must continue to expand access to free, compulsory and qualitative basic education. Building schools alone will not suffice. Schools must be adequately staffed, properly equipped and strategically located to ensure that no child is denied education simply because of geography or poverty. Teachers must receive continuous professional development and appropriate welfare, for no educational reform can surpass the competence and motivation of those entrusted with delivering it. Beyond infrastructure lies the equally important responsibility of making education attractive enough for parents to embrace and accessible enough for every child to benefit from. Poverty alleviation must accompany educational reforms if lasting success is to be achieved. It is unrealistic to expect families struggling to provide a single daily meal to prioritise education without meaningful economic support. Social investment programmes, school feeding initiatives, conditional cash transfers and vocational empowerment schemes all possess the capacity to reduce the economic pressures that often compel parents to withdraw children from school. The fight against insecurity is therefore inseparable from the fight against poverty. One reinforces the other, just as their solutions complement one another.

Equally imperative is the need for governments at all levels to treat the alarming number of out-of-school children as a national emergency rather than an inconvenient statistic recited during conferences. Every child roaming the streets today represents a future that remains unwritten. Within that child may reside an accomplished surgeon, an innovative engineer, an exceptional teacher or a visionary leader whose potential may never find expression if society continues to look away. Nations are diminished not only by the talents they fail to produce but by the opportunities they fail to provide. Technology, too, offers unprecedented opportunities to bridge educational inequalities. Digital learning platforms, community learning centres and innovative teaching methods can complement conventional classrooms, particularly in underserved rural communities. While technology cannot replace teachers, it can significantly expand access to knowledge and reduce educational disparities if deployed thoughtfully and equitably.

Perhaps the greatest obstacle confronting meaningful reform is neither finance nor policy but our collective reluctance to confront uncomfortable truths. For too long, conversations surrounding the almajiri system have oscillated between sentimental nostalgia and political correctness. We have feared that honest criticism may be interpreted as hostility towards religion or Arewa culture. It is neither. On the contrary, the greatest expression of love for any tradition is the courage to preserve its strengths while correcting its weaknesses. A physician who diagnoses an illness does not hate the patient; he seeks to save him.

Northern Nigeria now stands at a defining moment in its history. The region can continue to watch generations of children drift through lives circumscribed by ignorance, poverty and vulnerability, or it can summon the courage to embrace reforms that reconcile faith with modern education, tradition with progress and cultural identity with contemporary realities. Neutrality is no longer an option. Every year of hesitation condemns another generation to circumstances they did not choose. History is replete with societies that transformed themselves through education. They discovered that classrooms are stronger than prisons, that books are cheaper than bullets and that teachers often accomplish what soldiers cannot. Security agencies can arrest criminals, but only education can reduce the number of those willing to become criminals. Military victories may restore temporary peace, yet enduring peace is cultivated in schools where children are taught not merely to read and write but to think, innovate and hope.

Northern Nigeria has produced some of Africa’s finest scholars, administrators and statesmen. It possesses an enviable intellectual heritage that should inspire confidence rather than despair. Our challenge is therefore not one of capacity but of commitment. We must refuse to surrender our future to a cycle that has already extracted too heavy a toll on our people. We owe our children more than sympathy; we owe them opportunity. We owe them more than charity; we owe them dignity. Above all, we owe them an education capable of liberating both their minds and their circumstances. The almajiri question is not fundamentally about children begging on our streets; it is about the future of Northern Nigeria itself. Every neglected child diminishes our collective tomorrow, while every educated child expands it. The choice before us is remarkably simple, though decisively consequential. We may continue to irrigate the fertile fields of insecurity through neglect, or we may redirect that same stream towards the cultivation of knowledge, productivity and hope. Posterity will judge us not by how passionately we defended inherited systems, but by how courageously we reformed them for the benefit of generations yet unborn.

Long Live Northern Nigeria, Long Live the Federal Republic of Nigeria.

Sani Abdulrazak, PhD, is a researcher, writer and public commentator based in Zaria, Kaduna State.

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