In a political season where betrayals have become the currency of survival, the recent defection of Delta State Governor Sheriff Oborevwori and his predecessor, Ifeanyi Okowa, to the All Progressives Congress (APC) has sent shockwaves across the nation. Not because defections are uncommon—far from it—but because of what this particular move represents: the collapse of a political dynasty, the crumbling of party loyalty, and the growing irrelevance of ideology in Nigerian politics.
Delta State has been one of the crown jewels of the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) since the advent of the Fourth Republic. It was here that the PDP’s flag flew high for more than two decades. Okowa, a man once considered the PDP’s backbone in the South-South, was the party’s vice-presidential candidate in 2023. His political journey has been almost entirely paved by the PDP—from commissioner to senator, governor, and ultimately, running mate to Atiku Abubakar.
Now, in an ironic twist, the same Okowa has crossed over to the ruling APC—the party he campaigned aggressively against just a year ago. Accompanied by Governor Oborevwori, the message is clear: political self-preservation now trumps loyalty.
But Nigerians are not buying it.
This defection comes at a time when the ruling APC is battling record levels of inflation (33.2% as of March 2025), currency devaluation, crippling fuel and electricity crises, and an alarming rise in poverty levels, with over 133 million Nigerians now classified as multi-dimensionally poor. If there was ever a time to stand with the people and challenge the ruling elite, this was it. Yet, some of the PDP’s most prominent sons chose instead to jump ship and swim towards perceived safety—ironically, in a vessel many believe is already taking on water.
One cannot help but draw parallels with Nigeria’s recent history. In 2020, then-Ebonyi State Governor David Umahi defected to the APC in a similarly dramatic fashion. His reasoning? That the South-East had been marginalized by the PDP and would fare better under APC’s “zoning structure.” But what happened to the hopes of the South-East under APC? Little to nothing. Umahi became a minister under President Tinubu, yes—but at what cost? His people are still waiting for the dividends.
The same can be said of Edo State’s Godwin Obaseki, who defected from APC to PDP when the tides turned against him. He cried victim at the time, but has since remained a reluctant actor in his adopted party. In Nigeria, party platforms have become revolving doors, and politicians change jerseys more frequently than footballers in a World Cup.
The situation isn’t unique to Nigeria. In the United States, political crossovers are rare and often punishable by political extinction. The infamous 2001 party switch of Senator Jim Jeffords from Republican to Independent dramatically shifted the power balance in the U.S. Senate, but came at a political cost that saw his influence dwindle over time. Political survival, yes. Political trust, lost forever.
And that is the crux of Nigeria’s crisis: trust. The electorate is no longer inspired by party slogans or election manifestos. They’ve been here before—sold dreams, only to wake up in the nightmare of dashed hopes. They remember Peter Obi in 2023—an underdog without a single governor backing him, yet he won over 6 million votes, including victories in Lagos, the FCT, and multiple states across the country. That alone proved that power no longer lies in party machinery, but in the hearts of the people.
So, while Okowa and Oborevwori may now enjoy the privileges of the ruling party—the red carpets, the Aso Villa invitations, and temporary immunity from scrutiny—their legacies may not survive the judgment of history. The question being asked across Delta today is simple: was this defection a strategy or a sell-out?
In the final analysis, the 2027 general elections may not be about who controls the most states, but who resonates with the suffering masses. Nigerians are becoming politically sophisticated. They are taking notes. They are naming names. They are recording betrayals.
And come 2027, they might just remember who stood with them—and who ran when the heat was on.