Godfatherism: Bitter lessons from Fubara, Desmond Elliot’s woes

Everything about Nigeria always seems to have its own unique features. Politics, of course, is one of them, and by extension, the nation’s electoral process. Some practices and realities are peculiar to Nigerian politics, so much so that our political culture has expanded the country’s political lexicon in remarkable ways. Terms such as money politics, vote-buying, ballot snatching, and political thuggery have become widely associated with the Nigerian democratic experience. Yet, one of the most enduring tragedies of Nigerian politics remains the phenomenon of political godfatherism.

Across the country, elected officials and aspiring politicians frequently rise not necessarily because they are the most popular, the most competent, or the most visionary. Rather, their greatest strength often lies in the backing of influential political patrons who reserve for themselves the power to determine who rises, who falls, and who remains politically relevant.

Whenever politicians secure the support of such powerful figures, they often celebrate it and describe the process as democracy in action. Yet the dangerous irony of godfatherism is that those favoured today can easily become targets tomorrow. The recent political turmoil involving Rivers State Governor, Siminalayi Fubara, and the controversies surrounding Lagos lawmaker and Nollywood actor, Desmond Elliot, once again expose the instability and unpredictability of a system where loyalty to powerful individuals often matters more than accountability to the people. Unfortunately, this culture neither started today nor shows any sign of ending anytime soon.

There is little doubt that in Nigeria, political success increasingly depends on elite endorsement. Political godfathers hold enormous influence within the nation’s electoral process. In many cases, they are the kingmakers, financiers, and controllers of party structures—all rolled into one. Politicians understand that ignoring them often comes at great political risk. This is why candidates frequently emerge through patronage networks rather than open and transparent competition. Political advancement has increasingly become tied to the blessing of influential individuals instead of democratic credibility.

The Fubara example illustrates this reality quite clearly. The Rivers State governor rose largely through the political backing of his predecessor, Nyesom Wike, and the powerful political structure he controlled in the state. Throughout the campaign period, Fubara appeared almost politically overshadowed, with Wike dominating campaigns and speaking forcefully on his behalf at public events. At the time, Fubara was widely projected as Wike’s trusted political son and loyal successor. But the relationship later deteriorated into open political conflict, and quite rapidly too, considering how early it happened within Fubara’s tenure as governor.

What followed was a prolonged political crisis characterised by impeachment threats, division within state institutions, legislative turmoil, and governance instability. Interestingly, neither camp has openly admitted the exact cause of the breakdown between the political godfather and his protégé. What we know is that at a point, they appeared to have settled their differences. But what manner of settlement agreement would include denying a sitting governor the right to seek a second term in office, contrary to constitutional provisions, as a condition for peace? Clearly, the governor must have negotiated from a position of weakness. One thing remains obvious: political sponsorship in Nigeria often comes with expectations of permanent loyalty, influence, and control. Once those expectations are perceived to have been violated, conflict becomes almost inevitable.

Nollywood star-turned-politician Desmond Elliot’s political troubles are not entirely different from Fubara’s experience. Elliot rose politically under the backing and influence of the Chief of Staff to the President, Femi Gbajabiamila, eventually becoming a three-term member of the Lagos State House of Assembly. At different times when he emerged as his party’s candidate and subsequently won elections, it was not necessarily because he was the best possible candidate available within the party or constituency. He clearly enjoyed strong political protection and elite backing at the time.

However, political fortunes changed. Elliot later became the subject of criticism, controversy, and political vulnerability within the same political environment that had once elevated him. Reports suggested that Gbajabiamila eventually shifted support elsewhere. Elliot reportedly resisted the move, but as the Yoruba proverb suggests, no matter how tall the okro tree grows, the farmer remains its master. In the politics of godfatherism, political protection is rarely permanent.

This troubling pattern did not begin today. One vivid example that clearly demonstrates the long history of the phenomenon is the case of former Lagos State Governor Akinwunmi Ambode, who, despite being an incumbent governor, was denied a second-term ticket. At the time, many observers believed Ambode’s performance in office was commendable. Yet the political machinery within his party moved decisively against him. The episode reinforced a harsh reality in Nigerian politics: even sitting governors can become politically disposable once they lose elite backing. Nigerian political history is replete with examples of sudden political abandonment and calculated isolation.

For politicians who currently benefit from godfatherism, the system may appear harmless or even beneficial—until the tables turn and they find themselves on the receiving end of the same arrangement. In truth, godfatherism is deeply dangerous to democratic growth. It weakens democracy because voters become secondary to elite decision-makers. Primaries and elections are often reduced to mere formalities designed to legitimise predetermined outcomes.

Godfatherism also discourages independent leadership. Public office holders become more concerned about pleasing political patrons than serving the people who elected them. The system breeds instability because conflicts between godfathers and their protégés frequently destabilise governance, as witnessed in Rivers State. Democracy inevitably suffers whenever political legitimacy flows more from individuals than from institutions.

The fear and silence created by godfatherism are equally toxic to governance. Politicians become afraid to express independent opinions, while public officials hesitate to take bold decisions because they constantly worry about the reactions of their political benefactors. In the end, governance itself becomes hostage to political calculations and elite interests. A political system built on fear can hardly produce courageous or visionary leadership.

Ironically, this anti-democratic culture is not limited to any particular political party. It cuts across parties, regions, and ethnic divides. It occurs at the federal, state, and local government levels. Godfatherism has now become deeply embedded in Nigeria’s political culture. The system survives largely because of weak party institutions, the monetisation of politics, dependence on wealthy sponsors, and the absence of genuine internal democracy within political parties.

Nigerians should be deeply concerned about this trend because public interest suffers greatly under such arrangements. Merit and competence are undermined, while political offices increasingly come to be treated as personal investments, inheritances, or rewards for loyalty. When one individual or a small clique possesses the power to determine political futures, democracy becomes dangerously narrow and exclusionary.

To reverse this trend, there must be stronger internal party democracy, transparent and credible primaries, reduced influence of money in politics, greater political participation by ordinary citizens, and stronger institutions capable of standing above individual personalities. Nigeria must deliberately move away from personality-driven politics toward institution-driven democracy.

No democracy can truly mature when the political future of capable men and women depends largely on the approval of a handful of powerful individuals. The experiences of Fubara, Elliot, Ambode, and many others merely reinforce a painful reality in Nigerian politics: today’s anointed candidate can easily become tomorrow’s discarded ally. In such a system, loyalty to godfathers often outweighs loyalty to the people, while competence, courage, and independent thinking become liabilities rather than strengths.

The danger extends beyond politicians trapped in these power struggles; it threatens democracy itself. Nigeria cannot continue to build a democratic culture on the unstable foundation of personal control, political patronage, and elite manipulation. Until institutions become stronger than individuals, the cycle of political promotion, betrayal, abandonment, and destruction will remain a recurring feature of the nation’s politics.