When Our Activists Join Politics, Who Do We Rally Behind?
In Nigeria, society is often perceived as being divided into two broad groups: the masses and the establishment — the political class. Among many Nigerians, there is a widespread sentiment that politicians primarily serve themselves rather than the people. Fairly or unfairly, many citizens believe that those in power are more concerned with personal enrichment and securing privileges for themselves and their families while neglecting the welfare of ordinary Nigerians. There is also a prevailing belief that public funds meant to improve citizens’ lives are often mismanaged or diverted, while policies capable of lifting people out of poverty are either poorly implemented or completely abandoned. While these accusations may not always be individually proven against every politician, the sentiment remains deeply rooted in the minds of many Nigerians.
Because of this distrust, many Nigerians naturally gravitate toward voices they perceive as independent of the political establishment — activists, labour leaders, commentators, and public advocates who openly challenge power and speak on behalf of ordinary people. Figures such as Adams Oshiomhole during his years as a labour leader, Aisha Yesufu, Peter Akah, popularly known as Randy Peters, lawyers like Inibehe Effiong, and media personalities like Rufai Oseni are often viewed as voices willing to confront authority and articulate the frustrations of the masses. In the minds of many citizens, these individuals represent a counterbalance to political power — people seen as standing with ordinary Nigerians rather than with the establishment.
This perception became even stronger during the controversy surrounding the suspension of Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan from the Senate. During that period, activists like Aisha Yesufu and Peter Akah spoke forcefully and fearlessly in her defence, openly criticizing what they — and many Nigerians — considered injustice and oppression. Their advocacy resonated strongly with citizens because they were seen as defending someone perceived to have been unfairly targeted by the political establishment. To many ordinary Nigerians, they once again embodied resistance against abuse of power and became rallying voices for people who felt unheard.
The recent decision by Aisha Yesufu to join the senatorial race for the Federal Capital Territory, alongside Peter Akah’s move to pursue political office in Cross River State, has therefore stirred deep reflection in me and among many Nigerians who think similarly.
It raises an uncomfortable but important question: when our activists eventually join politics, who then becomes the voice of the people? Who do the masses rally around when those who once challenged power eventually become part of the establishment they once confronted?
Nigeria has seen this pattern before. A good example is Adams Oshiomhole. During his days as a labour leader, he was widely admired and respected. He was seen as the authentic voice of the common man — a fearless advocate who constantly confronted government policies and stood shoulder to shoulder with ordinary Nigerians. At the time, he frequently clashed with political authorities, leading strikes and resisting policies considered harmful to the people. In those moments, he resonated deeply with the masses. To many Nigerians, he represented resistance against oppression and governmental insensitivity.
However, public perception of him began to change once he crossed into partisan politics — first as governor and later as senator. Gradually, many people no longer saw him as one of them but as part of “the other side” — the political class he once challenged. The same man who once symbolized the frustrations of the people slowly came to be viewed as part of the establishment.
This naturally leads many people to wonder: if this current crop of activists eventually joins politics, will history repeat itself? Will the masses also begin to see them as part of the establishment they once criticized? Will they, like some of their predecessors, slowly lose the moral authority and public trust that made people rally around them in the first place?
And beyond that lies an even deeper question: if these activists eventually cross over into politics, who then becomes the rallying point for ordinary Nigerians? Who will the masses listen to? Who will they turn to in moments of frustration, injustice, and perceived oppression? Who will speak for the people when those once seen as defenders of the masses eventually become part of the system itself?
On the other hand, one could also argue that these activists are not betraying the masses by joining politics but are instead attempting to position themselves where real decisions are made. After all, activism can only pressure the system from the outside for so long; perhaps entering politics is their way of seeking the power and authority needed to implement the very changes they have long advocated for.
Op-Ed by Arinze Aninworie, Freelance Journalist
NewsMaximum