There was a time when political affiliation in Nigeria carried weight. It meant something about how you saw the country, how you thought power should be used, what the government owed its people. Crossing party lines was not casual. It demanded explanation. Sometimes it came with consequences.
Today, a politician can be firmly planted in the Peoples Democratic Party on Friday and appear fully embraced by the All Progressives Congress by Saturday, smiling as if yesterday never happened. And even that has evolved into something more troubling. Now, many politicians no longer bother to defect at all. They remain in one party while quietly, sometimes openly, working in the interest of another. They undermine their own platforms, echo rival narratives, and weaken their organizational coherence, all without consequence.
No sanctions. No shame. No reckoning. To understand how far we have drifted, let’s help to look back.
In 1979, Nigeria returned to civil rule with parties that were imperfect but distinct. The Unity Party of Nigeria, led by Obafemi Awolowo, stood unapologetically for welfarism, free education, and robust social services. On the other side, the National Party of Nigeria, under Shehu Shagari, represented a more conservative, elite-driven vision. You could disagree with either side, but you could not confuse them.
By 1983, those ideological lines were still visible, even as corruption and political tension grew. Running under a party meant carrying its idea. Crossing lines was costly because the electorate still cared about convictions.
Then came 1992, and the brief Third Republic. The Social Democratic Party and the National Republican Convention were deliberately ideological. M.K.O. Abiola’s leadership in the SDP tied his name to a vision that tried, however briefly, to connect prosperity with social responsibility. That mattered because voters knew why they were choosing him.
Even in 1999, as Nigeria transitioned again to democracy, parties still reflected identifiable orientations. The Alliance for Democracy carried the progressive tradition of the South-West. The Peoples Democratic Party presented a broad national platform. The All People’s Party leaned conservative in different regions. Leaders like Olusegun Obasanjo and Bisi Akande operated in a landscape where labels still meant something.
Across 2025 and into December 2025, a cascade of defections from the PDP to the APC has deepened the sense of ideological erosion. Rivers State Governor Siminalayi Fubara, long a notable figure in his region, formally left the PDP and cited loyalty to President Bola Tinubu as a motivation. His move came just days after 17 lawmakers from his own state assembly crossed to the APC.
Enugu State’s Governor Peter Mbah also defected to the APC, bringing with him a cadre of federal and state lawmakers. Bayelsa Governor Douye Diri resigned from the PDP in November 2025, accompanied by 23 state assembly members, in a shift that stunned stakeholders in the South-South. Earlier in the year, Governors Sheriff Oborevwori of Delta and Umo Eno of Akwa Ibom crossed to the APC, followed by clusters of senators, House members, and state legislators. Even three senators from Kebbi State left the PDP in mid-2025 after a meeting with the presidency.
Collectively, these movements are not just a shuffle of political chairs. They are reshaping Nigeria’s political landscape ahead of the 2027 general elections. The opposition major party, once the dominant voice for alternative visions and a counterweight to the ruling APC, now risks shrinking into a shadow of its former self.
For citizens watching from the outside, especially those old enough to remember earlier eras, this shift is painful. Politics once demanded belief, even if that belief was contested. Today it demands alignment with power. Yesterday’s warnings become today’s praise. Yesterday’s enemy becomes today’s benefactor. And the public is expected to forget, again and again.
Younger Nigerians feel this acutely. Many have never experienced a political system where ideas were taken seriously. They see politicians argue fiercely during campaigns, only to reconcile effortlessly afterward, without explanation. It teaches a dangerous lesson: that politics is not about conviction, but about access.
Nigeria faces challenges that require ideological honesty. How should resources be shared? What role should the state play in education and healthcare? How do we balance markets with protection for the vulnerable? These are questions that cannot be answered by political gymnastics.
Yet our system rewards those who avoid answers and punishes those who insist on them.
The mass defections erode opposition space and concentrate power in a way that unsettles Nigeria’s multi-party promise. Many opposition leaders publicly warn that such exoduses risk pushing the country toward a de facto one-party state ahead of 2027, weakening accountability and encouraging complacency.
This erosion did not happen overnight, but it is now complete enough to be visible. Parties hesitate to discipline disloyal members because power calculations come first. Politicians hedge their bets because belief is risky. Voters grow tired, cynical, and distant.
For parties to regain relevance, especially the PDP, soul-searching must replace expediency. Internal cohesion matters. Ideological clarity matters. Fresh leadership willing to articulate and defend a coherent vision could begin to restore trust. That means nurturing young voices with ideas, embracing policy debates that resonate with everyday realities, and insisting that loyalty to principle carries real consequences. It means rebuilding from the grassroots up, not just collecting big names.
Until then, the pattern will persist. Friday in one party. Saturday in another. Or worse, staying in one while serving the other.
And the nation, older now and more skeptical, will keep watching a political class that has forgotten what it once stood for, and what it still owes the people.
Henry Odeh writes from Ibadan, the capital city of Oyo state.