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Anthony Obi Ogbo

Toward 2023: The Igbo cause and structure of the Nigerian politics

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3 years ago

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How can a lame-duck president with zero legislative support lead a people out of system inequality in a predominantly hostile political environment? In a democracy, the president does not have the authority to make laws or facilitate major structural transformations.  The Igbo community is yearning for equal justice and equity through sweeping governance restructure. So, what kind of candidates or parties should they be looking for? Are they better off backing an immobilized president with Igbo DNA or negotiating with a congressional majority to push their agenda?

In the past six years, major Igbo political leaders encouraged the combative agitation for statehood stirred up by a separationist group, the Indigenous People of Biafra (IPOB). Elected Igbo representatives or officials used IPOB and their often extremely divisive crusades for political convenience. However, they did not weigh some long-term political implications of those messages.

For instance, IPOB championed violent “no-referendum-no-election” operations that unleashed bloody violence at political rallies and polling stations where election workers and individuals were simply participating in the process. IPOB also recklessly destabilized the commercial sector in the Southeast. Most Igbos ignored numerous warnings from political observers about the long-term destructive nature of the trend of pushing forward their agenda of a national system that would serve their communal interests.

Astonishingly, just recently, a few months before the general election that would usher in another regime, the Igbos have been all over Nigeria’s political scene grappling with how to align themselves to attain relevance. The group has been unsuccessful in its negotiations to attain a presidential ticket in the two major political parties. However, Peter Obi, a charismatic former governor of Anambra State, defected a few days before his People’s Democratic Party primaries to become the Labor Party’s flagbearer.

Obi’s candidacy soon picked up unprecedented momentum among the youth, especially those of his Igbo ethnicity, who are now mobilizing themselves for a historic voter-registration drive to push his candidacy. Strangely enough, the same activists who championed the movement to isolate the Igbo youths from the political process because they wanted a Biafra are now flying the Labor Party flag and leading the “Obi-kere re nke” campaign mantra in a push for an Igbo president. It was precisely this cause that they had opposed for over six years. So, where does this leave the Igbos?

The purpose of this article is not to predict the electability of any candidate, nor is it to sugarcoat the prevailing rocky political environment; rather its goal is to provide some empirical insights as well as lay a more realistic foundation to enable competent Igbo thinkers to explore the prevalent political options before making any meaningful decisions about the 2023 general election.

In a democracy, interest, not tribe, drives party affiliation and support

Politics facilitates communal interests. In a democracy, interest, not tribe, drives party affiliation and support. In other words, communities look for candidates who have the capacity to make decisions not just on their behalf but also in accordance with their interests.  Therefore, it would be worthwhile to first identify the interests of the Igbos.

The majority of the problems Igbos are facing today originate from the country’s constitution and its current governance structures. In a nutshell, their demands focus on the following:

  • Reconstruction of the current constitution to impartially address revenue and resource allocations, electoral maps, the structure of state and local governments, and the draconian federal character.
  • Reconstruction of the current constitution to overhaul the current security structure and decentralize internal security.
  • Laws to protect Nigerian citizens, their families, homes, and businesses in every part of the country.
  • Laws to address marginalization or quota and guarantee equal opportunities to all Nigerians

With the aforementioned crucial needs, how could voting for a lone candidate without considerable legislative support help the Igbos? In Nigeria’s organizational structure, the executive function does not make the laws; it carries them out. The judiciary evaluates the laws but often has the power to preside over very crucial decisions. The National Assembly,  which consists of a Senate with 109 members and a 360-member House of Representatives, exerts much power in making structural changes. In fact, should the President reject a bill, the Assembly could pass it by two-thirds of both chambers and overrule the veto —in which case, the President’s consent would not be required.

Under the current legislative structure, in the Senate (109 seats), the All Progressives Congress (APC) has 66 seats; the People’s Democratic Party occupies 38 seats while others have 2 seats and 3 vacant seats. In the House of Representatives (360 seats), the APC occupies 227 seats; the People’s Democratic Party has 121 seats while others have 11 seats with one vacant seat.

There are Igbos advocating for individual candidates and others embracing the Labor Party to appease their strong desire for an Igbo president. The latter needs to bear in mind that, currently, the Labor party has no seat in the Senate and only one seat in the House of Representatives. Is the Labor party projecting to win significant seats in the forthcoming election? If not, how could a president of Igbo descent, with one shaky legislative seat out of 360 help the Igbos under the current constitutional structure?

It may also be interesting to note that anytime a national election is polarized along tribal lines, the first major loser is the Igbo tribe because they do not have the numbers to succeed nationally, and they are not trusted by other regions to collaborate in good faith. The much-hyped rotational presidency is not a constitutionally mandated process but an arrangement by political parties. Thus, legislative support is needed to enshrine most of the demands of the Igbos in the constitution.

It might be hard to swallow, but the truth is that the problem of the Igbos is not in Aso Rock but lies within the legislative axis. The current get-out-and-register exercise inspired by Obi is commendable, but a harsh truth remains: it is going to be a rough and bumpy ride to 2023. Igbos must set aside their emotions and put on their rational, critical-thinking caps to play hardball politics.

♦Publisher of the Guardian News, Professor Anthony Obi Ogbo, Ph.D. is on the Editorial Board of the West African Pilot News. He is the author of the Influence of Leadership (2015)  and the Maxims of Political Leadership (2019). Contact: anthony@guardiannews.us

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Anthony Obi Ogbo

Burna Boy, the Spotlight, and the Cost of Arrogance

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10 hours ago

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November 27, 2025

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“Humility is the anchor that keeps greatness from drifting into delusion.“ —Anthony Obi Ogbo

Fame is a dangerous flame. It warms, it dazzles, and if you hold it too close, it burns straight through the layers of judgment that keep a person grounded. In its hottest glow, fame convinces artists that applause is permanent, talent is immunity, and fans are disposable. Arrogance doesn’t erupt overnight—it grows in the quiet corners of unchecked power, in entourages that never challenge, and in audiences that forgive too easily. But the world has a way of reminding every superstar of one brutal truth: no one is too famous to fall.

This season, Burna Boy is learning that lesson in real time. The Grammy-winning giant—hailed globally as the “African Giant”—is now facing one of the most dramatic reputational meltdowns of his career. Five U.S. arena dates on his NSOW Tour have reportedly been cancelled due to poor ticket sales and a fierce wave of fan backlash following his Denver debacle. What was supposed to be another triumphant American tour has spiraled into an expensive public relations disaster.

It all ignited on November 12, 2025, at the Red Rocks Amphitheatre in Colorado. The show started late. Energy was high. Then Burna Boy spotted a woman in the front row who had fallen asleep. Instead of performing through it, he halted the show, called her out publicly, ordered her partner to “take her home,” and refused to continue until they left. The humiliation would have been bad enough on its own. But later reports revealed she wasn’t drunk or uninterested—she was exhausted, mourning the recent death of her daughter’s father.

The internet demanded empathy. Burna responded with contempt. A sleeping fan, he said, “pisses me the f*** off.” And then the line that detonated the backlash: “I never asked anybody to be my fan.” Those ten words may become the most expensive sentence of his career.

This wasn’t an isolated flare-up. Burna Boy has long danced on the edge of arrogance, and the public has kept receipts. In 2019, he halted a performance in Atlanta to eject a fan who wasn’t dancing—handing the man money and telling him to leave. In Lagos in 2021, a fan who attempted an innocent stage hug was shoved off by security, sparking outrage over excessive force and coldness.

The following year was worse. In 2022, his security team was accused of firing shots in a nightclub after a woman allegedly rejected him, injuring multiple patrons and triggering legal headaches that trailed him for months. Fast-forward to January 2023: at his “Love, Damini” concert in Lagos, he arrived hours late, berated the crowd, and left fans feeling disrespected and insulted.

By 2025, the pattern was undeniable. He kicked a fan offstage during a New Year’s performance. Months later, he brought a Colorado concert to a standstill until an “unengaged” couple was escorted out. The incidents piled up, painting a portrait of an artist increasingly out of touch with the people who made him a global phenomenon.

This latest incident, however, has delivered the sharpest consequence yet: the U.S. market—a notoriously unforgiving arena—has pushed back.
Cancelled shows. Sparse crowds. Boycotts. Refund demands.
For perhaps the first time, an African artist of Burna Boy’s magnitude is experiencing a full-force American-style public accountability storm.

If African entertainers are paying attention, they should treat this moment as a case study in how fame can be mismanaged.

The first lesson: Fan value is sacred. Fans are not props. They are not subjects. They are not inconveniences in an artist’s emotional universe. They are customers, supporters, ambassadors, and—most importantly—the foundation on which every stage, every award, and every paycheck rests.

The second: Empathy is not optional. A superstar who cannot pause long enough to consider that a fan might be grieving, ill, exhausted, or battling something unseen is a superstar who has forgotten the humanity at the core of all art.

The third: Professionalism is currency. Arriving late, publicly shaming fans, halting shows, and weaponizing power in moments of irritation are choices that corrode trust. And once trust is broken, even a global superstar can watch ticket sales collapse in real-time.

Burna Boy is an extraordinary artist—brilliant, groundbreaking, and influential. His musical legacy is secure. But greatness in artistry is not the same as greatness in character. Fame tests the latter far more than it rewards it. And the spotlight, no matter how bright, does not protect anyone from the consequences of their own behavior.Humility is the anchor that keeps greatness from drifting into delusion. Burna Boy’s current storm is a brutal reminder that talent without restraint can become tyranny, and fame without introspection can become a curse. Artists rise because people believe in them, invest in them, and support them. When that respect is abused, loyalty evaporates. The lesson is stark: the higher the pedestal, the harder the fall—and the fall always comes. What matters is not the applause you command, but the humanity you maintain long after the music stops.

♦Publisher of the Guardian News, Professor Anthony Obi Ogbo, Ph.D., is on the Editorial Board of the West African Pilot News. He is the author of the Influence of Leadership (2015)  and the Maxims of Political Leadership (2019). Contact: anthony@guardiannews.us

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Anthony Obi Ogbo

When Dictators Die, Their Victims Don’t Mourn

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5 months ago

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July 14, 2025

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“Buhari’s legacy is not a national treasure—it is a cautionary tale of tyranny cloaked in uniform and democracy.” —Anthony Obi Ogbo

In many cultures, including mine, it’s considered immoral to speak ill of the dead. But tradition should never demand silence in the face of truth, especially when that truth is soaked in blood, broken promises, and the battered dignity of a nation. General Muhammadu Buhari, former military dictator and two-term civilian president of Nigeria, has finally departed this world. He died in London, a city he frequented not as a diplomat or global statesman, but as a medical tourist—fleeing the ruins of a healthcare system he helped wreck with decades of authoritarianism, tribalism, and economic blundering.

Muhammadu Buhari emerged from the rotten womb of Nigeria’s corrupt military order — a regime where brute force outweighed intellect, and the rattle of an AK-47 silenced the rule of law. In this twisted hierarchy, competent officers were buried in clerical backrooms while semi-literate loyalists were handed stars, stripes, and unchecked authority. It was a theater of mediocrity, where promotion favored obedience over merit and ignorance was rewarded with rank. Within this structure of absurdity, Buhari thrived — a man with no verifiable high school certificate, yet elevated above the constitution, above accountability, and tragically, above the very people he was meant to serve. He didn’t just symbolize the decay; he was its product and its champion.

Let’s not sugarcoat his legacy. Buhari was no hero. He was a man whose grip on power twice disfigured Nigeria’s soul — first with military boots from 1983 to 1985, then under the guise of democracy from 2015 to 2023. His government jailed journalists, brutalized citizens, crippled the economy, and widened tribal divisions with unapologetic bias. His infamous Decree No. 2 sanctioned indefinite detentions. His so-called “War Against Indiscipline” terrorized the innocent. His economic policies were textbook disasters.

Buhari governed with the cold logic of a tyrant who believed brute force was a substitute for vision — and silence a substitute for accountability. The Southeast, in particular, bore the brunt of his vengeance-laced leadership. His disdain for the Igbo people was barely concealed, a poisonous remnant of civil war bitterness he never let go. In his death, that venom remains unresolved, unrepentant.

Let the record reflect that many of us do not weep. We remember.

Even more damning is the legacy of hypocrisy. After decades in power and access to untold national wealth, Buhari could not trust the hospitals he left for ordinary Nigerians. He died where he lived his truth — in exile from the very system he swore to fix. That is not irony. That is an indictment.

And now, as scripted eulogies pour in — from paid loyalists, political survivors, and the ever-hypocritical elite — let us not be fooled by the hollow rituals of state burials and national mourning. Let the record reflect that many of us do not weep. We remember.

  • We remember the students gunned down.
  • The protesters beaten in the streets.
  • The journalists silenced.
  • The dreams buried beneath military decrees and broken campaign promises.

We remember that Buhari was not simply a failed leader — he was a deliberate one, whose failings were not accidents but strategies.

And so, here lie the cold remains of one of Nigeria’s most divisive and mean-spirited leaders — a man who brutalized the democratic process with the precision of a tyrant and the coldness of a man utterly void of remorse. As Muhammadu Buhari begins his final, silent descent into the earth, one can only imagine him entering eternity still questioning the justice of creation: Why did God make women? Why did He place oil in the Niger Delta and not in Daura? And why, of all things, did He dare to create tribes outside the Fulani?

It is not my job to mourn a dictator. My duty is to chronicle them — how they ruled with iron fists, trampled their people, choked the press, and finally died, not as legends, but as small men stripped of all illusions. Dictators are counterfeit gods, tormenting peaceful nations while their delusions last. But sickness humbles them. Death silences them. And in the end, all their grandstanding collapses like dust in a grave.

As a journalist, I will record Buhari’s death with precision, not reverence. I will report the pomp, the propaganda, and the hollow eulogies that will rain down like cheap perfume on a corpse. I will write the truth, because history must never confuse power with greatness — especially when evil wore both the uniform and the ballot.

Let the living learn. Let the wicked sleep. And let the truth outlive them all.

I will not mourn a man who ruled through fear and died surrounded by foreign doctors while his people die waiting in overcrowded hospital corridors. I will not pretend this is a time for unity or healing. This is a time for reckoning. For too long, Nigeria has recycled tyrants and renamed oppression “leadership.” Buhari’s death should not be a moment of forced reverence but a pause for honest reflection. Let his final chapter be a lesson carved into our collective memory: that power without purpose, and rule without empathy, always ends in disgrace. History should not be kind to tyrants simply because they are no longer breathing. If we are ever to break the chains of corruption and cruelty, we must bury the lies with the bodies — and speak truth, even at the graveside. Let the living learn. Let the wicked sleep. And let the truth outlive them all.

♦Publisher of the Guardian News, Professor Anthony Obi Ogbo, Ph.D. is on the Editorial Board of the West African Pilot News. He is the author of the Influence of Leadership (2015)  and the Maxims of Political Leadership (2019). Contact: anthony@guardiannews.us

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Anthony Obi Ogbo

Dunamis Digital Dilemma: Why Shutting Down Virtual Worship May Alienate a New Generation of Believers

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5 months ago

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June 30, 2025

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“Spirituality is no longer confined to physical sanctuaries” —Anthony Obi Ogbo

The demands of the digital and virtual age, especially in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic, are both undeniable and irreversible. The pandemic didn’t merely disrupt norms—it reshaped them. From global commerce to education and religious observance, the shift to digital platforms is now a defining feature of contemporary life. The surge in e-commerce has revolutionized how consumers behave, compelling organizations to reinvent their digital presence through social media, targeted marketing, and immersive experiences like augmented and virtual reality.

Yet, while many institutions have adapted to these realities, some remain entrenched in pre-pandemic mindsets. One recent example is the Dunamis International Gospel Centre in Abuja, Nigeria, under the leadership of Pastor Paul Enenche. The church announced the suspension of its live-streamed services, citing the biblical imperative for believers to gather physically, as referenced in Hebrews 10:25.

While the theological rationale was emphasized, the practical implications—particularly financial—were conspicuously understated. Churches around the world have successfully embraced virtual platforms not just to foster spiritual connection but also to maintain financial stability through online giving systems. In contrast, Dunamis’s move appears to prioritize physical attendance at the expense of accessibility and inclusivity.

In today’s digitally integrated society, suspending virtual worship risks alienating many who have come to rely on these platforms. Individuals with health challenges, mobility issues, or who live far from church facilities depend on livestreams to remain spiritually connected. More importantly, younger generations increasingly seek faith experiences that mirror their digital-first realities—flexible, inclusive, and globally accessible. By disregarding these expectations, churches may unintentionally push away the very audiences they aim to engage.

Pastor Enenche’s decision, while perhaps grounded in spiritual intent, may prove counterproductive in practice. The younger demographic—tech-savvy, mobile, and globally aware—now expects more from institutions of faith. They are turning toward worship centers that treat digital engagement not as an afterthought but as a vital dimension of spiritual life. The hybrid church model—integrating both in-person and online elements—has emerged as a powerful strategy for expanding reach while honoring traditional values. It allows churches to be both rooted and relevant.

The decision to suspend livestreaming church services reflects a deeper tension between tradition and innovation, between preserving ritual and adapting to contemporary realities. Faith institutions today are not just places of worship; they are also cultural anchors navigating an increasingly digital society. Ignoring this evolution risks rendering the church irrelevant to a generation that lives, works, and worships online. Spirituality is no longer confined to physical sanctuaries—it’s present in podcast sermons, Zoom prayer meetings, WhatsApp devotionals, and YouTube gospel concerts.

Virtual engagement is not a dilution of faith; it is an extension of it. It makes the message of hope and redemption accessible across boundaries of geography, ability, and circumstance. The pandemic revealed this, but the future will demand it. Churches that fail to embrace digital tools risk becoming spiritual silos—isolated, inflexible, and out of touch with modern believers.

Leadership in ministry, like leadership in any other sphere, must evolve with the people it seeks to serve. Pastor Enenche and others in similar positions should not view digital transformation as a threat but as an opportunity—an opportunity to reach farther, touch deeper, and uplift more lives. The gospel, after all, is meant for all—and now, more than ever, everywhere.

♦Publisher of the Guardian News, Professor Anthony Obi Ogbo, Ph.D., is on the Editorial Board of the West African Pilot News. He is the author of the Influence of Leadership (2015)  and the Maxims of Political Leadership (2019). Contact: anthony@guardiannews.us

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