Last Friday, Governor Abba Kabir Yusuf of Kano State resigned from the New Nigeria Peoples Party (NNPP) on which he came to power in 2023. His estranged political godfather, Senator Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso, took it personally, christening January 23 as a ‘Day of Betrayal’. Beyond the fact that such declaration is quintessentially Nigerian in its victim narrative, it also raises a fundamental question that speaks to the rot at the heart of Nigerian politics: betrayal of what, exactly?

Both Kwankwaso and Yusuf were founding members of the ruling All Progressives Congress (APC) to which the latter has now returned. But Yusuf has been a long-time follower of Kwankwaso whom he had served in various capacities since 1999. The relationship was so close that Kwankwaso gave Yusuf his daughter to marry, effectively making him a family member. So, it is understandable that he would feel let down that a son-in-law has elected to exit his (Kwankwaso’s) political orbit. But if an elected governor chooses to chart his own path rather than the dictates of a political benefactor, has he committed an act of treachery? The answer to this question reveals everything wrong with the godfather culture that has turned Nigerian democracy into a feudal marketplace.

I am aware that many Nigerians read their texts upside down, so it may be important to state this very quickly: I do not endorse the opportunism that makes every politician believe they must leave their party to join the APC whose broom seems big enough to wipe away every crime. Nor should elected officials in the ruling party be more obsessed with political ‘mergers and acquisitions’ than in making a difference in the lives of the people. Besides, not a few Nigerians would snigger at a governor leaving Kwankwaso to hide under the wings of Abdullahi Ganduje. These are issues for another day. My main concern today is how public officials who owe their political success to godfathers easily become entangled in having to choose between serving the public interest and appeasing their benefactors. This is at the root of the problem in many states where policy decisions, allocation of resources, and appointment of key officials must be dictated by the godfather or they can expect mayhem.

Before I come back to the specific charge of Kwankwaso, let me reiterate that godfatherism comes in different variants, as I stated in my ‘Platform Nigeria’ presentation in June 2024. And it is neither peculiar to Nigeria nor altogether bad. The Philippines has a history of political dynasties and godfathers where powerful families control local politics, perpetuating their influence across generations. Italian politics has also seen its fair share of godfathers, particularly in regions such as Sicily where the influence of Mafia families in elections has been well-documented. The politics of Kenya is also replete with influential figures who shape electoral outcomes. These ‘kingpins’ control party nominations and funding.

The consequences in those jurisdictions, of course, include compromised governance and limited accountability. Unfortunately, that seems to be the model we have adopted in Nigeria. And this is precisely what makes the godfather phenomenon particularly pernicious: it transforms what should be mentorship into mercantilism, and political support into indentured servitude. It therefore goes without saying that most political godfathers do not invest in others because they believe in their vision or capacity for service. They invest expecting returns: power to make appointments and award contracts, unhindered access to treasuries, unquestioned loyalty to their person, etc.

Consider, by contrast, how political mentorship works in functional democracies. When a young Barack Obama was a community organizer in Chicago, he was supported by established politicians. Men like Emil Jones Jr. helped him navigate the Illinois State Senate, and other influential figures in the Democratic machine who saw Obama’s potential also helped. These relationships mattered. They opened doors, provided counsel, and created opportunities. But at no point did these mentors claim ownership of Obama’s political future or demand tribute for their support. They understood that their role was to nurture talent, not to purchase loyalty.

The same pattern holds across Western democracies. Young politicians are mentored, supported, and guided by more experienced hands. But the relationship is predicated on mutual respect and shared ideals, not on a transactional calculus where the mentor expects to govern by remote control or insists that their mentee live perpetually under their shadow. More importantly, these relationships are transparent and accountable to the electorate. No one pretends that the elected official is anything other than the people’s representative.

In Nigeria, we have inverted this model entirely. Our godfathers are either business patrons who demand returns on investment or political buccaneers who seek to rule by sleight of hand. And when their carefully selected proxies dare to remember that they were elected by the people, not appointed by the godfather, we get ‘Betrayal Days’. Therefore, the question we should be asking is not whether Yusuf betrayed Kwankwaso, but whether the latter’s expectations were ever legitimate in the first place. If we accept that a governor’s first duty is to his godfather rather than his constituents, have we not abandoned any pretense that what we practice is representative democracy?

On Monday, a former Special Adviser on Political Affairs to President Goodluck Jonathan (who also served as NNPP National Chairman until he resigned), Professor Rufai Alkali, released a joint statement with the party’s former National Organising Secretary, Senator Suleiman Hunkuyi and former National Legal Adviser, Professor Bem Angwe. “Not surprisingly, critics have framed the decision (of the governor) as betrayal. That is the lazy language of some selfish politicians,” wrote these former associates of Kwankwaso in a statement that endorsed the governor’s action. “In truth, what we are witnessing is something unique and rare: a politician refusing to be trapped by a collapsing internal disorder, simply to satisfy the romantic expectations of mentors and political merchants.”

Now to the pertinent question: If, as stated earlier, godfatherism is not unique to Nigeria and is not entirely a bad proposition, where lies the problem? Interestingly, this was the central theme at the public presentation of ‘The Loyalist’, a memoir by the National Publicity Secretary of the African Democratic Congress (ADC), Bolaji Abdullahi on Tuesday. In the book, Bolaji takes readers through his journey with the former Senate President, Dr Bukola Saraki, who headhunted him and nurtured his political career until they eventually parted ways. It is a delicate story well told. With the ceremony attended by many politicians, including ADC National Chairman, Dr David Mark and presidential hopefuls—former Vice Peresident Atiku Abubakar, Mr Peter Obi, Mr Rotimi Amaechi and others—the conversation centred around the place of gratitude to a political benefactor.

It was Amaechi who began the conversation by saying that after God, he owes whatever he may have achieved politically to former Rivers State Governor, Dr Peter Odili. Claiming to have been ‘pushed away’, Amaechi then added that he cannot be blamed for how this godfather-godson relationship eventually unravelled. And since he doesn’t want to offend, writing his memoir becomes difficult. On his part, former Ekiti State Governor, Dr Kayode Fayemi, who co-presented the book with his former Sokoto State colleague, Senator Aminu Tambuwal said such relationships need not be seen as that between master and servant because they could be mutually beneficial. But former Osun State Governor, Rauf Aregbesola, who had apparently been looking for such a platform, took a totally different slant. He said loyalty should not be to individuals but worthy causes while also throwing jabs at the current administration headed by a man who could be considered his own political godfather before they fell apart.

However, Bolaji’s thesis, to which I fully subscribe, is that gratitude to a benefactor is necessary while genuine political mentorship, including a godfather-godson relationship, could actually strengthen our democracy if properly channelled. “As we start out in our journeys, we all need someone to lean on, to hold our hands, to give us opportunities to show what we can do,” he stated in his message of appreciation at the end of the book presentation. “But ultimately, this relationship must be built on an ideal, a vision of society, a set of principles, something higher and bigger than the selfish interests of the two parties.” That precisely is the central argument of his memoir to which I am privileged to have contributed the foreword. “It may sound ironic, but some relationships can only be saved through an amicable divorce,” Bolaji wrote in the last lines. “In such cases, we could at least hope that someday, if God wills, what was lost might be recovered.”

Meanwhile, Bolaji also raised some pertinent questions on Tuesday: “Why does it appear that every relationship between a godfather and the godson must end badly? Why do governors keep entrusting their succession to someone that they trusted most only for the trustee to cut them lose or even drive them out of town soon after taking power?” He attempts an explanation. “We can give several examples of this. And where the relationship did not end in such calamity, it is most likely because one of the two parties has surrendered and agreed to holding the shorter end of the stick,” according to him. “To my mind, this is because the relationship had not been built on any other thing but self-interest. My conclusion is that there is nothing inherently wrong in a godfather relationship.”

While Bolaji is correct, our experience in the last 27 years should serve as a cautionary tale as we interrogate the power dynamics that drive this phenomenon. Yes, young politicians need experienced guides who can teach them the art of governance, help them navigate complex bureaucracies, and provide wisdom earned through years of service. But this cannot happen in an environment where mentorship is indistinguishable from ownership, and breaking free from a patron’s grip is considered the ultimate political sin. Respected retired bureaucrat, Dr Hakeem Baba-Ahmed, who reviewed Bolaji’s book on Tuesday reinforced this position.

Whether we want to admit it or not, the variant of godfatherism common in Nigeria is one that restricts the emergence of credible candidates who can genuinely serve the public. It is therefore no surprise that we continue enthroning people who have no business in governance. To change the narrative, political parties have a role to play. Their leadership selection processes must be freer, fairer, and less transactional. Imposition of surrogates almost always ends in tears for the godfathers. Transparent party primaries are the only way to produce popular choices.

All factors considered, I subscribe to the notion that every young politician requires experienced shoulders to lean on. But we must redefine the rules of engagement. Until we can separate mentorship from mercantilism in Nigerian politics, we will continue to produce public officials who govern not for the people who elected them but for the godfathers who sponsored them. And when political relationships are defined by transactional obligations, we will also continue to have ‘Betrayal Days’, which are nothing but elaborate performances of victimhood by political patrons who mistake endorsement and support for ownership.

Onoshe Nwabuikwu @ 60

For more than a quarter century, Onoshe, who is married to my friend and colleague on THISDAY Editorial Board, Paul Nwabuikwu, was a major chronicler of Nigeria’s broadcasting and movie sectors. A quiet woman with big impact, her column, AIRTIME, published by PUNCH and THISDAY at different times, was avidly read (and feared by some) for its hard-hitting critique of radio and television programmes as well as the emerging Nollywood movie industry. Onoshe’s work to promote the Nigerian movie industry has also taken her to the Cannes Film Festival in France and other film festivals in South Africa, the United Kingdom etc. She’s living a much quieter life today, rounding up a PhD programme in Canada after obtaining master’s degrees in communications and (what else) film studies. But to cut a long story short, tomorrow is the 60th birthday of this remarkable lady. I wish Onoshe Nwabuikwu long life and good health. Congratulations!

By Amadu Sesay

Dear Segun, I could not stop reflecting on the important issues you so vividly discussed in your last column on the horrendous massacre of a family in Kano. If our security agencies were on top of their act, the young man would have long been removed from society for good. I have read a few media reports on some responses to the incident, including that of the governor who offered a hajj trip and a house to the bereaved man. A ‘go-fund-me’ drive is reported to have also raised N25 million for the man. As helpful as all these are, I am not sure they are the priorities of the man presently. What the man needs most urgently, and above all else at the moment, are reliable and sustainable PTSD sessions to be paid for by the government of Kano State. I believe that everything else will have no meaning until he has been put through credible successful PTSD sessions to help him cope with his monumental loss.

Finally, and as you rightly illustrated in your brilliant piece, the whole ugly story is a total indictment on our society. I also think that it represents, unfortunately, the level of our present socioeconomic development. In advanced societies where psychiatric facilities exist and are accessible, the mal-normal dispositions/behaviours of the young man would have been detected at a much younger age. He would have been put on a treatment regime to address his monstrous tendencies, and promptly isolated from the rest of society if that failed. Once again, thanks for calling attention to such a horrendous tragic failure on the part of those who are supposed to protect us at different layers of society.

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