“Unity is not a luxury in politics—it is the only currency that spends.”

As a student of political science, there is a story I have heard a thousand times: how divided armies, despite superior numbers and better ideas, lose wars they should have won simply because they could not agree on who would lead. That is the story of Nigeria’s opposition in 2023. The ruling APC did not win because it was loved, trusted, or visionary. It won because it watched its challengers break themselves into pieces, each convinced it could carry the day alone. It won because it understood something the opposition still refuses to grasp: unity is not a luxury in politics; it is the only currency that spends.

Ask yourself, what would have happened if Atiku Abubakar, Peter Obi, and Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso had decided to lock themselves in a room and not leave until one of them emerged as a consensus candidate? What if they had formed a single front, a shared ticket, a national machine of resistance with a clear message and an airtight strategy? We may never know. But the numbers suggest that our collective history would have taken a very different turn. In a race where President Bola Ahmed Tinubu secured just over 8.7 million votes, Atiku had 6.9 million, Obi 6.1 million, and Kwankwaso over 1.4 million. Together, they had more than 14 million votes—nearly double Mr. President and the APC’s tally. Therein lies the tragedy.

This is not merely a critique of poor coordination. It is an indictment of political ego. Nigerian opposition parties and leaders behave like chefs in a burning kitchen, each insisting their recipe is best—while the food, the kitchen, and the restaurant all go up in flames. Boutique political platforms with overlapping ambitions and conflicting messages pop up every election cycle, diluting votes and confusing the electorate. Unity has become a photo-op, not a plan. What is needed now is not a handshake but a covenant—one that commits to power-sharing, ideological coherence, and national inclusion. One that answers the hard questions: Who leads? Who follows? And who sacrifices ambition for the sake of the collective?

But a coalition alone means nothing without a curriculum—a real one, not the glossy manifesto templates we have come to expect. Nigerians are tired of recycled promises. They want clarity. They want policy that does not sound like poetry. They want to know how, exactly, inflation will fall. They want to see a blueprint that connects the market woman in Kano to the graduate in Uyo, the artisan in Ibadan to the fisherman in Bayelsa. The north wants security. The east wants inclusion. The west wants reform. The south wants fairness. And they all want jobs, roads, light, peace, and dignity.

If the opposition wants to be taken seriously, it must show it knows this country beyond Abuja lounges and Twitter trends. It must speak to the daily life of the Nigerian—whose experience is not theoretical but visceral. Do not tell the people what is wrong. They know. Tell them what is next. Show them why it will be different. Show them the path. Don’t just promise to fix the nation. Promise to stop insulting its collective intelligence.

Nowhere is this disconnection clearer than in how the political class treats Nigeria’s young people. During the last election, the young people did not merely participate—they became the engine. For example, Peter Obi’s rise was not a solo act. It was a generational uprising. It was WhatsApp groups, online crowdfunding, neighbourhood organising, and word-of-mouth campaigns across every region. And yet, when it came time to make decisions, to shape the inner workings of campaign strategy and post-election tactics, the young people were sidelined—treated as a support group, not as equal stakeholders.

This has to stop.

Young Nigerians are not a demographic—they are the political majority. And until the opposition builds structures that reflect that reality, they will continue to lose the one group that is capable of carrying them over the finish line. It is not enough to appoint a few media-savvy youth aides or trend clever hashtags. It is not enough to speak to the youth. You must speak with them. You must build platforms where they do not just vote, but also lead. Where they are not just mobilizers, but decision-makers. Otherwise, the next youth movement will not be behind a ballot—it will be on the streets.

And then, of course, there is the vote itself—the process that no longer inspires faith. The 2023 election was a case study in betrayal: of public trust, of institutional competence, of judicial impartiality. INEC over-promised and under-delivered. BVAS, heralded as the tool of transparency, turned into an alibi for confusion. The courts, faced with mountains of evidence and the weight of public expectation, chose legalism over legitimacy. Nigerians watched—and learned. The lesson was brutal: the vote, in its current state, is a performance.

If the opposition cannot defend the process, it cannot claim to represent the people. Electoral defence must become an obsession. That means building pre-election legal teams. It means funding independent vote monitoring. It means pushing for real-time result transmission and jail terms for electoral officers who compromise the process. The vote is not just a right. It is a battleground. And unless the opposition treats it like one, it will continue to be ambushed.

And let us speak plainly about the rot within. One of the most corrosive forces in Nigerian politics is defection—politicians switching parties with the speed and shamelessness of mercenaries for hire. The ruling party has mastered the art of absorbing opposition defectors, not for their talent, but for their symbolism. Every defection tells a story: that ideology is dead, that loyalty is negotiable, that opposition is a phase, not a position.

To break this, the opposition must offer more than access to power. It must offer identity. It must offer purpose. It must be a movement built around shared values and enforced discipline. Internal disputes must be settled swiftly. Factions must be managed, not multiplied. Because when a party stands for nothing, it will fall for anyone.

Nigerians are not indifferent. They are exhausted. But exhaustion is not apathy. It is repressed energy. All it needs is ignition. The question is—who will strike the match?

We must see 2027 as the final exam. Not just for the political parties, but for the very idea of opposition in Nigeria. Do you want to win elections, or do you want to change the country? Because if the answer is the former, the ruling party will always be one step ahead. But if the answer is the latter—if you believe in reform, in justice, in leadership that serves rather than extracts—then you must act like it. Today.

Not in 2026. Not when it is time for rallies. Now.

Organise or be forgotten. Unite or be humiliated. Plan or be played.

The time for classroom politics is over. The curriculum has been written. The test is coming. And this time, the people have learned how to grade.

All eyes are now on the opposition.

How will they respond?

Olu Onemola writes from Abuja. He tweets @Onemola.

Views expressed by contributors are strictly personal and not of TheCable.