The All Progressives Congress (APC) is celebrating what appears, on the surface, to be an extraordinary political triumph. With the defection of no fewer than eight sitting governors from opposition parties, alongside lawmakers, commissioners, and grassroots power brokers, the ruling party has dramatically expanded its national footprint ahead of the 2027 general elections. But beneath the optics of growth and dominance lies a far more complicated—and potentially dangerous—political reality.
In Nigerian politics, defections are often framed as endorsements of performance or ideology. Yet history suggests they are rarely about conviction. More often, they reflect calculations of survival, access to power, and proximity to federal influence. The current wave into the APC fits that familiar pattern. As the party tightens its grip on the centre, politicians seeking relevance naturally gravitate toward it. The question, however, is whether the APC is growing stronger—or simply growing heavier.
The ruling party’s leadership seems aware of the risks. The closed-door meeting between APC governors and the National Working Committee signals a recognition that unchecked expansion can trigger implosion. Managing defectors is not just about issuing party cards; it is about power-sharing, ego management, and reconciling long-standing party loyalists with newly arrived political heavyweights who come with their own structures and ambitions.
This is where the real test lies. In several states, entrenched APC leaders are already resisting the accommodation of new blocs. Old members fear displacement; new entrants demand influence proportional to what they bring. If not carefully handled, these tensions could erupt during ward, local government, and state congresses—stages that traditionally expose fault lines within Nigerian parties. The APC has lived this story before, with internal disputes spilling into courtrooms and costing it key electoral battles.
There is also a deeper democratic concern. When opposition governors defect en masse, the immediate winner may be the ruling party, but the long-term loser is pluralism. A weakened opposition reduces accountability, blurs ideological distinctions, and reinforces the perception that political parties are mere vehicles for power, not platforms for ideas. For voters, this fuels cynicism and disengagement, undermining trust in the democratic process itself.
The electronic registration and revalidation exercise further complicates matters. While presented as a reform tool, it is also a weapon in the struggle for delegate control ahead of the national convention. Who controls the registers controls the congresses, and who controls the congresses shapes the party’s future leadership. In such a high-stakes environment, even minor disputes can escalate quickly.
Ultimately, the APC’s defection boom is a double-edged sword. It strengthens the party numerically and strategically, but it also magnifies internal contradictions and governance risks. Political dominance without internal cohesion can be fragile—and history has shown that Nigerian parties often collapse not from external opposition, but from internal excesses.
As 2027 approaches, the APC must decide whether it wants to be merely the biggest party, or a disciplined and coherent one. Growth, after all, is not just about numbers. It is about balance, inclusion, and the ability to manage power without being consumed by it.
