Drummers and masquerades

Adams Oshiomhole, national chairman of APC, said that he and his party were not bothered by the defection of some of its legislators in the national assembly to the rival PDP. In a rather colourful language, he described the defectors as “big masquerades with no electoral value.” He does not need me to tell him he should be worried and worried stiff about the big masquerades. The threat to his party is real and not a laughing matter.

Since his initial reaction one state governor, Samuel Ortom of Benue, has defected to PDP. The online media are full of speculations about more governors and legislators on the verge of defecting.

Oshiomhole was, in his signature combativeness, handily dismissive of what is happening to and in his party. No shaking, right?  Because, according to him, the defectors are mercenaries. He seems to have a penchant for choosing words that are appropriate as a labour leader rather than as the leader of a party in crises. Insulting the defectors is not the way to go. Some of them acted on principle and not for mercenary reasons. In any case, what is so strange about politicians who do things for money? In politics, the money language is the only language everyone speaks.

Oshiomhole’s reaction is characteristic of the arrogance of those who choose to live a lie in the face of the searing stare of the truth. I thought he could be more humbly discerning than that. I expected his reaction to be sober, measured and statesmanlike. I thought his reaction would be persuasive and conciliatory and thus help to create room for dialogue with the defectors to make them return to the party with dignity. Oshiomhole may have blown it. 

There are, at least, three good reasons why the national boss of APC should be worried about this chaotic development in his party. One, defections exert a dangerous psychological effect on a political party. It is worse for a ruling party that appears impregnable. The right word for defection is desertion. What happened to PDP in 2014/15 has become a reference point in the pronounced instability in our national politics. No leader of a political party, no matter how self-righteous or self-confident he might be, would regard the desertion of his party as a good omen for its survival or electoral success.

Two, Oshiomhole was actually brought in to save the party. By the time he came in, the party ship was already in turbulent waters buffeted by the storm of grievances over real or perceived unfairness and injustice. It was heading for the hulk of a sunken ship in the dirty waters of our national politics. That the storm is getting worse under the brief watch of the former labour leader number one cannot but be a source of worry for him. I doubt he is sleeping soundly despite his posturing to the contrary. No man can sleep soundly when the big masquerades are in the market place.

The defections seem to point to the possibility that the problems of the party are either too messy or beyond the chairman’s diplomatic temperament. In ordinary Ajegunle English, we dancing with one leg. His ability to rally and hold the troops together is beginning to have the feel of troops in disarray in the face of battle.

Three, defections are bad for political parties; they are bad for the polity. They destabilise whatever gains we may have made so far in grappling with the nuances and the intricacies of making the political parties drive good governance and national development. This to-ing and fro-ing in election seasons cannot achieve that desirable objective. 

The rest of us outside the political party loop might find it amusing that our politicians, without a sense of shame and even honour, are once more fighting in the market place without covering their essential body parts. It is not an amusing spectacle.  We will laugh now only to cry later, unless we collectively invoke the holy ghost fire to rain on politicians who think more of themselves and less of the Nigerian nation. Holy ghost! Fire!!

Defections hack at the fundamentals of our national politics. They expose the weaknesses and the instability in the system. In our 19 years of democracy, as I have repeatedly pointed out in this column and else where, we have pathetically failed to evolve political parties worthy of the name. We still make do with slapping names on a group of men and women who come together to fashion out a vehicle for a comfortable ride into the political kingdom. If political parties do not have ideologies that drive their sense of public service, it is a crass misuse of words to call them political parties. Such parties cannot count on the loyalty of their members. Political ideology is the glue that holds political parties together. There is nothing big grammar-ish about this. A simple commitment by a political party to the people through a development system that promises a better life is all it takes for a political party to sell its ideology. 

The hollowness of our political parties is that they do not stand for anything ideologically. Do you know what APC stands for? Do you know what PDP stands for? Contrast their ideological hollowness with those of the parties in the second republic. NPN stood for agriculture and shelter and took steps to give effect to this policy by building low-cost houses known as Shagari houses throughout the then 19 states of the federation. It also embarked on land development throughout the country to assist our peasant farmers and encourage them to go into co-operative farming.

UPN stood for free education, a gospel preached and given effect to by Chief Obafemi Awolowo as premier of the Western Region. PRP led by Aminu Kano, championed the cause of the poor, known in Hausa as the talakawa.

If people do not join political parties because they believe in and identify with their core principles or ideology, they are only there for the opportunity. If the storm threatens, they jump ship. They have no commitment to the party and would not care to save it. It happened to PDP in 2014. It is happening to APC now only four years later. 

APC is bleeding. Oshiomhole has a duty to stanch it. I suppose he can – if he manages to be less combative.