By Olufemi Aduwo
There is no democratic or constitutional argument against Alhaji Atiku Abubakar’s right to seek the office of the President of Nigeria. In a republic governed by law rather than sentiment, political ambition does not expire with age and the ballot remains open to all who meet the formal requirements.
Atiku may, if he so desires, contest for office even at the age of one hundred. That, however, is not the question confronting Nigeria as 2027 approaches. The real issue is not eligibility, but judgement; not entitlement, but wisdom; not ambition, but its consequences for national cohesion. Politics, as Edmund Burke reminded us, is a discipline of discernment rather than dogma. Rights may be absolute, but their exercise is always conditioned by circumstance.
It is precisely the prevailing circumstances, social, demographic, historical and political that render Atiku’s prospective candidacy in 2027 politically injudicious. Age, though never a legal disqualification, but it has become an undeniable burden to Atiku and Tinubu as well. It is true that President Biden assumed office in his eighties and Donald Trump is leading at a comparable age, the political systems, institutional arrangements and socio-economic challenges in the United States differ fundamentally from in Nigeria and the health and stamina of those leaders were never in doubt. Americans knows the medical fitness of Biden and Trump. Biden knows when to step down.
Nigeria, by contrast, is a nation whose population is overwhelmingly young, impatient with recycled leadership and increasingly skeptical of political careers that appear interminable and unresolved. Atiku Abubakar’s decades long presence at the centre of national politics, stretching from the military era into the Fourth Republic, situates him symbolically as continuity without renewal.
Leadership, especially in a fractured and diverse society, is as much about representation as it is about competence. In 2027, Atiku would struggle to embody the ideal of a future-oriented Nigeria, instead, he would signify persistence without transformation, experience without persuasion. His candidacy risks being interpreted not as the culmination of wisdom, but as the persistence of entrenched privilege and the recycling of a familiar elite.
Compounding this difficulty is the widespread misreading of the so-called Obidient movement by opposition strategists. There is a growing but deeply flawed assumption that this movement can be transferred wholesale into any political coalition by elite consensus. This betrays a fundamental misunderstanding of political behaviour. The Obidient phenomenon is not institutional; it is personal. It is anchored not in party structures, but in Peter Obi himself. Some adherents may gravitate towards the African Democratic Congress, yet the central truth remains unaltered: wherever Peter Obi goes, the movement follows.
Any strategy that assumes otherwise is founded on illusion rather than evidence, and it risks strategic miscalculations of catastrophic proportions. Max Weber’s distinction between charismatic authority and institutional authority is instructive here. Charismatic legitimacy rests on personal trust and emotional identification, not on organisational allegiance. It cannot be inherited, subcontracted, or redistributed by political negotiation. To calculate Obidient support as transferable capital in Atiku’s favour is therefore not merely optimistic; it is analytically unsound.
Beyond individual personalities lies a far more consequential matter the informal but deeply binding understanding regarding rotational presidency between North and South. This gentlemen’s agreement, though unwritten, has served as a stabilising convention since 1999. It is not law, but it is political cement. By ensuring a sense of fairness and inclusion, it has mitigated the centrifugal forces that perpetually threaten Nigeria’s cohesion.
Since 2015, the North has held the presidency for eight uninterrupted years. In 2023, power shifted to the South. Equity, consistency and political prudence demand that the South complete its eight-year tenure in 2031. Any attempt to truncate this cycle in 2027 would not merely provoke controversy; it would fracture trust. Politics does not survive on constitutional text alone; it depends equally on shared expectations. Once such expectations are violated, cynicism replaces consent. Harold Lasswell warned that the erosion of common understandings is the prelude to political disorder. Atiku Abubakar, as a veteran of Nigeria’s power architecture, understands this reality. To disregard it would not be boldness; it would be recklessness masquerading as resolve.
Perhaps most damaging to Atiku’s current political posture is the absence of a clearly articulated, transformative vision. Beyond familiar criticisms of the incumbent administration and recycled economic orthodoxies, there is little evidence of a coherent programme that promises fundamental change. Elections are not won merely by pointing out failure; they are won by offering contrast. Atiku has yet to define what would be structurally different under his leadership what institutions would be reimagined, what assumptions overturned, what inherited orthodoxies abandoned.
Without such clarity, his candidacy risks appearing as an exercise in personal perseverance rather than national reinvention, as a demonstration of resilience unaccompanied by innovation. It is one thing to critique the existing state of affairs; it is quite another to articulate a vision compelling enough to inspire a divided nation to rally behind a candidate who has long been perceived as part of the establishment.
History moreover, weighs heavily. Atiku’s decision in 2014 to walk out of the PDP convention and defect to the APC remains a defining moment, not because of its drama, but because of what it revealed about political judgement. That decision was driven neither by ideology nor by principle, but by ambition. Ironically, it weakened the very political platform he would later seek to reclaim. Politics does not forget such moments; it archives them.
The lesson is clear: discernment and restraint are often more consequential than raw ambition. At a time when Nigeria faces a complex nexus of security, economic and social challenges, the electorate is increasingly intolerant of candidates whose political record is punctuated by decisions that appear impulsive or opportunistic. History’s scrutiny is unrelenting and Atiku’s past miscalculations continue to inform perceptions about his capacity to act judiciously.
There are however moments in political life when withdrawal constitutes statesmanship rather than defeat. History offers instructive examples. George Washington’s voluntary relinquishment of power established a precedent that secured the moral foundation of American democracy. Al Gore’s concession in the bitterly contested 2000 election, despite unresolved controversies, preserved institutional legitimacy at a moment of acute national tension.
In Nigeria, General Ibrahim Babangida’s withdrawal from the 2007 presidential race, despite encouragement from political opportunists, reflected an understanding that ambition must sometimes yield to prudence. These acts were not expressions of weakness; they were demonstrations of historical intelligence. Political maturity is often measured not by the accumulation of offices, but by the judicious exercise of restraint, the recognition that timing and context can confer legitimacy more effectively than persistence alone.
Atiku Abubakar today is surrounded by political jobbers whose survival depends on perpetual candidacy. Their advice is rarely strategic and never disinterested. They thrive on ambition deferred rather than resolved. A discerning politician must distinguish between counsel and manipulation. To heed such voices uncritically is to mistake noise for wisdom. Atiku’s place in Nigeria’s political history is already assured. That legacy need not be eroded by overreach. There comes a moment when the highest form of political action is not to compete, but to conserve to place national equilibrium above personal aspiration. Nigeria in 2027 does not merely require another election; it requires reassurance: reassurance that agreements still matter, that balance is not expendable, and that ambition will not override fragile unity.
If Atiku steps aside, not in resignation but in discernment, he would not be diminishing his relevance. He would be redefining it. He would be transforming himself from a perennial contender into a stabilising elder of the republic. As Burke cautioned, great nations falter not for lack of ambition, but for want of judgement. Nigeria can ill afford such a deficit at this delicate juncture.
Political longevity, unaccompanied by strategic sagacity, risks becoming a liability rather than an asset. To forego the 2027 contest under the aegis of prudence would be to consolidate influence rather than squander it, to safeguard not only personal legacy but the fragile cohesion of a nation perpetually on the precipice. It is precisely in moments of apparent opportunity that measured restraint can demonstrate foresight and statesmanship, qualities far rarer than ambition in the theatre of Nigerian politics.
*Aduwo is Permanent Representative of CCDI to the ECOSOC/United Nations, Tel: 08087047173, Email: olufemi.aduwof@ccdiltd.org
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