In the aftermath of the 2023 presidential election, a curious phenomenon took hold among supporters of Peter Obi—a prolonged, almost unyielding celebration of a victory that never was. For more than three years, a significant segment of his support base has remained locked in a narrative that places him at the pinnacle of an election he officially finished third in, behind President Bola Tinubu and former Vice President Atiku Abubakar.
This insistence on an alternate reality has proven not just misleading, but politically damaging. Rather than serving as a springboard for introspection and strategic recalibration, it has fostered complacency, frustration, arrogance, and, ultimately, stagnation.
Elections, by their nature, are brutal teachers. They expose structural weaknesses, test alliances, and reward preparation. Yet, for Obi and many of his followers, the lessons of 2023 appear to have been ignored. Instead of asking hard questions—why did he come third? Why was there a gap between enthusiasm on social media and actual votes at polling units nationwide?—his movement doubled down on denial. The consequences of this approach are now glaring.
Nearly nine months to another election cycle, there is little evidence of meaningful political groundwork. There have been no widespread tours to consolidate grassroots support, no deliberate coalition-building with key regional or political actors, and no structured efforts to convert online enthusiasm into electoral machinery. What exists instead is a lingering nostalgia for a “stolen mandate” that has not translated into forward movement.
Politics is not sustained on sentiment; it thrives on structure. And this is where Obi’s greatest weakness lies.
Despite the fervour of his 2023 campaign, his political operation remains largely skeletal and, critics would argue, overly personalised. A national movement cannot be built on sporadic energy and perceived moral rhetoric alone. It requires painstaking organisation from ward to local government to state and national levels. Yet, Obi’s political architecture still resembles what critics have described as a “kindergarten structure”—fragile, sectional, inconsistent, and easily penetrated.
This structural deficiency has had real consequences. The Labour Party, which served as the vehicle for his surprising 2023 outing, has since witnessed a wave of defections. A significant number of its National Assembly members have crossed over to the ruling All Progressives Congress, eroding whatever legislative foothold the party once had.
Even more symbolic is the departure of key figures who once gave the party a measure of credibility. The only governor elected on the Labour Party platform has distanced himself from the structure, seeking political survival either within a fractured party or elsewhere, without following Obi to his new but uncertain alignment with the African Democratic Congress (ADC). This steady haemorrhaging underscores a deeper issue: a lack of cohesion and loyalty within Obi’s political ecosystem.
Compounding the problem is Obi’s apparent ideological inconsistency. During the 2023 campaign, he positioned himself as a reformist, advocating bold economic measures such as the removal of petrol subsidies and the unification of foreign exchange rates. These were difficult but necessary policies, and they resonated with a segment of voters seeking change.
However, as the current administration began implementing similar reforms—with all the attendant economic pains—Obi appeared to retreat from his earlier stance. This shift has created the impression of a leader unsure of his convictions, willing to recalibrate not on principle, but on prevailing public sentiment.
Leadership demands clarity. It requires the courage to stand by difficult decisions, even when they are unpopular. Without this, a political figure risks appearing opportunistic rather than visionary.
Equally troubling is the absence of sustained engagement. Since the last election, there has been little to suggest that Obi or his core team have invested in building momentum. There have been no major policy workshops to refine his agenda, no consistent nationwide engagement to deepen support, and no visible attempt to forge alliances that could broaden his appeal beyond his existing base.
In contrast, successful political movements are relentless. They organise, adapt, and expand. While the ruling party continues to make inroads and welcome new converts, Obi appears to be retreating into the very “structure” he once openly criticised.
While the ruling party recognises that elections are won long before ballots are cast, Obi’s approach, by comparison, feels episodic—intense during campaign season, then largely dormant afterward, at times reducing his public presence to that of a symbolic figure rather than an active political organiser.
This has led to a growing perception that his 2023 surge was less a foundation and more a fleeting moment—a flash in the pan. A movement driven more by emotion than by enduring strategy.
None of this is to deny the genuine enthusiasm Obi appeared to inspire, particularly among a segment of young Nigerians. That energy was real and, at the time, unprecedented. But enthusiasm without direction is like wind without sails—it creates noise, not progress.
The tragedy of Obi’s political journey is not that he lost an election. Losses are part of democratic evolution. The real disappointment lies in what followed: the failure to convert defeat into growth, to transform a moment into a movement, and to replace illusion with intention.
Today, what remains is a fractured base, a weakened party structure, and a candidate whose political direction appears increasingly uncertain. For someone who once symbolised disruption, the current trajectory is, at best, underwhelming.
If there is any lesson to be drawn, it is this: in politics, belief must be anchored in reality. Without that anchor, even the most promising movements risk drifting into irrelevance.