The Coalition of 2026: A Marriage of Convenience or the Birth of a New Nigerian Consensus? By Eugene Nanven
The Coalition of 2026: A Marriage of Convenience or the Birth of a New Nigerian Consensus? By Eugene Nanven
Writing an article on the 2026 political realignments requires us to step away from the polished, clinical summaries of a machine and step into the smoky, restless rooms where Nigerian power is actually brokered. If you look at the landscape this January, you can almost smell the desperation and the calculating silence of men who have spent decades learning that in our politics, a friend is just an enemy whose price you haven’t yet met. The talk of a “Grand Coalition” for 2027 is everywhere, dominating the front pages and the dinner table conversations from Ikoyi to Kaduna. But to call this a movement for national salvation is to ignore the very DNA of the people involved. What we are seeing in early 2026 is a frantic, naked scramble for relevance by a political class that suddenly realizes the ground is shifting beneath their feet.
The logic behind this new alliance is as simple as it is cynical. The major opposition figures have finally done the math and realized that if they continue to fight as scattered tribes, they will be picked off one by one by an incumbency that has mastered the art of the long game. They are trying to build a tent big enough to hold every grievance and every ambition, but the tent is already beginning to buckle under the weight of the egos inside it. When you put a former Vice President, a former Governor with a cult like following in the North, and a populist hero from the South East in the same room, you are creating a ticking time bomb. Each of these men believes that the universe has ordained him to be the next President. They talk about “consensus” in public, but in private, they are sharpening their knives, waiting to see who will blink first when it comes time to choose a single candidate.
The tragedy of this coalition is that it underestimates the Nigerian voter of 2026. People are tired. They are tired of the inflation that makes every market trip a battle, and they are tired of the same faces telling the same lies every four years. The youth movement that shook the foundations of the country in 2023 hasn’t gone away; it has just grown more cynical. These younger voters are looking for a reason to believe, but all the coalition offers them is a recycled version of the past. You cannot claim to be the future when your strategy is built on the patronage networks of the 1990s. The opposition thinks that by merely standing together, they become an alternative. They forget that an alternative needs an actual idea, not just a shared hatred of the person currently in power.
There is also the quiet, invisible hand of the ruling party to consider. In Nigeria, the APC has turned political infiltration into a high art form. Even as these opposition leaders meet to plan their takeover, some of their most trusted lieutenants are likely already on the payroll of the state. This is the “Infiltrator Factor” that makes our politics so uniquely treacherous. You never truly know if the person sitting across from you at the strategy table is working for the alliance or merely gathering intelligence for the enemy. This atmosphere of paranoia is the poison that kills most Nigerian coalitions before they even reach the ballot box. It makes real trust impossible, and without trust, a coalition is just a collection of people waiting for a better offer to defect.
We also have to look at the regional tensions that underpin every single move. The North is restless, feeling that the current power arrangement hasn’t delivered on its promises of security and prosperity. The South remains defensive, wary of any move that might cut their perceived “turn” at the presidency short. The coalition tries to paper over these cracks with vague talk of “national character,” but the cracks are deep and historical. One wrong move in the zoning conversation and the whole structure collapses. You cannot satisfy a northern power broker and a southern populist with the same set of promises. One of them will eventually feel cheated, and in our politics, a cheated leader is a leader who will burn the house down rather than let someone else live in it.
Ultimately, the Coalition of 2026 feels like a movie we have seen before, and the ending is always the same. It is a marriage of convenience where the bride and groom are already planning their divorces before the cake is cut. To be truly genius, to be truly revolutionary, this alliance would have to do the one thing Nigerian politicians find impossible: they would have to sacrifice their individual hunger for power for a collective vision of a better country. But as we watch them move through the first month of 2026, there is no sign of that sacrifice. There is only the same old calculation, the same old ethnic balancing, and the same old belief that the Nigerian people can be fooled one more time by a change of name and a new logo. We are watching a masterclass in political theater, but the audience is no longer clapping. We are just waiting to see if anyone in that room actually cares about the country, or if they are all just afraid of being left out in the cold for another four years. Well, that is it for now.
Eugene Nanven writes from Abuja.
