On Saturday, June 14th, 2025, an incident occurred at the International Conference Centre in Gombe that should alarm every patriot. It was not an isolated outburst, nor a routine political disagreement. It was a stark symptom of a democratic order sliding dangerously into authoritarian fragility. The scene was surreal: the National Vice Chairman (North East) of the All Progressives Congress (APC), “Comrade” Salihu Mustafa, was violently assaulted by members of his party – not for corruption or betrayal, but for failing to offer sycophantic praise to President Tinubu and endorse Vice President Kashim Shettima.
Security agents had to intervene to save him from further harm. The charged atmosphere – thick with hostility – was not a gathering of ordinary citizens, but of party elites. If this is how APC leaders treat one another behind closed doors, what might await dissenting voices in the wider civic space?
The APC was born in 2013 out of popular frustration with the impunity of the then-ruling People’s Democratic Party (PDP). It presented itself as a national salvation platform, a coalition of progressives committed to uprooting elite complacency, reasserting accountability, and giving Nigerians hope. But today, the party has not only betrayed its founding ideals, but it has also exceeded the PDP in cynicism, repression, and elite self-preservation. The Tinubu presidency, particularly in its “emi lokan” phase, has become the most overt embodiment of state capture since the return to civil rule in 1999.
The attack in Gombe is not an isolated episode of intra-party frustration; it is the logical consequence of a larger climate of democratic suppression, executive overreach, and strategic humiliation of the North, the very region that delivered Tinubu the presidency. What Salihu Mustafa symbolized in that moment was not individual cowardice, but institutional decay. In a party where dissent is punishable by violence, what hope remains for internal democracy? If the Vice Chairman of a ruling party’s zone is not safe from physical assault for expressing even passive neutrality, how safe is the average citizen who dares to speak against poor governance?
What many of the President’s enablers – including the “Comrades” who hope to curry favour through flattery – fail to grasp is the long-term danger of Tinubu’s skewed approach to governance. A presidency that neglects equitable inclusion, that treats entire regions as transactional fodder for political gains, does not merely risk electoral backlash – it undermines the very foundation of national unity. When leadership decisions appear tailored to reward cronies and punish those deemed politically inconvenient, a sense of alienation sets in. Over time, this resentment calcifies into institutional mistrust and ultimately secessionist agitation – all outcomes with costly historical precedent.
In fact, Nigeria’s modern democratic journey is littered with warning signs. From the annulled June 12, 1993, election to the military’s manipulation of “transition programmes,” the nation has often flirted with democratic promise, only to see it stifled by elite machinations. The Tinubu government now walks a similarly perilous path – using instruments of state to isolate opponents, consolidate power, and intimidate alternative leadership.
This includes calculated media narratives, selective anti-corruption crackdowns, and the orchestrated political demolition of figures deemed “threats.” Such tactics do not only stifle competition, but they also rob the nation of the very leaders and thinkers capable of offering credible alternatives. The political space, in the absence of principled voices, is then occupied by mercenary actors – political entrepreneurs like the “Wikes” and the “Comrades” – whose loyalty lies not with the people, but with the spoils of power.
Even more troubling is the ongoing commodification of party defections. What we are witnessing is not a genuine ideological realignment, but the hollow spectacle of political migration for rent and favour. The flood of opposition figures into the APC is not a sign of strength; it is a sign of systemic rot. A democracy without opposition is not a democracy – it is a managed consensus, an echo chamber where dissent is punished and mediocrity rewarded.
True democracy thrives on friction – on open debate, competitive ideas, and the checks and balances offered by a viable opposition. When defections are induced by coercion, bribery, or intimidation, the balance of power collapses, and the political landscape becomes barren of conviction. The Tinubu administration’s orchestrated absorption of defectors undercuts any pretense of democratic maturity and reinforces the dangerous belief that governance is a winner-takes-all game, rather than a collective stewardship.
What the spectacle in Gombe and Bauchi reveals is a deepening crisis – not just within the APC, but within Nigeria’s entire political architecture. Our democratic journey is not failing because Nigerians are apathetic, but because political institutions have made it nearly impossible for principled voices to survive, let alone thrive. When parties are reduced to fan clubs, when national offices are distributed like patronage tokens, and when violence is deployed to enforce conformity, democracy becomes a hollow ritual, devoid of meaning.
It is imperative that Nigerians – leaders, intellectuals, civil society, and the electorate – awaken to the threat. Safeguarding democracy is not the job of the government alone. It is a collective responsibility that requires vigilance, institutional reform, and moral courage. We must restore the culture of principled disagreement, ensure the independence of institutions, and demand that political competition is grounded in ideology, not idolatry.
President Tinubu and the ruling APC must be reminded that history is unforgiving. The legacies of leaders are not measured by how many opponents they silence, but by how many voices they accommodate. It is time to reverse course, to rebuild trust across regions, and to open the political space to genuine dialogue. Otherwise, the very fabric of Nigeria’s nationhood – already fraying – may not hold much longer.
Democracy, as Babangida once reminded us with tragic irony, can be “dribbled.” But every dribble has an endpoint. And if we do not heed the warnings, that endpoint may come not as reform, but as rupture.