Nigeria’s history has been defined by deep fractures. From its foundation, our country has struggled to forge true unity among its more than 250 ethnic groups, multiple religions, and diverse regional identities. These differences, while a source of cultural richness, have too often become tools for division and conflict.
Time and again, we have seen ethnic tensions escalate into violence — as in the tragic events in Jos, where longstanding grievances between communities have led to repeated clashes and loss of lives. In the South, the struggle for resource control in the Niger Delta has fueled militancy, kidnappings, and environmental destruction, rooted in feelings of marginalization and exploitation. In the North, the herder-farmer crisis has pitted communities against each other, with devastating consequences for lives and livelihoods.
Religious divides have also left deep scars. The Boko Haram insurgency in the Northeast, initially framed as a religious rebellion, has morphed into a brutal campaign against the state and civilians, causing the deaths of over 350,000 people (according to UNDP estimates) and displacing millions. The constant tension between Christian and Muslim communities, especially in the Middle Belt, often flares up during elections or crises, reminding us how fragile our coexistence can be.
Political disagreements further deepen these wounds. In many elections, leaders have risen to power by exploiting tribal and religious loyalties rather than offering genuine solutions. The post-election violence of 2011, which left more than 800 dead and thousands displaced, is a painful example of how quickly political rivalries can turn into communal bloodshed. Even in recent years, debates over zoning the presidency have rekindled fears of domination and exclusion among different regions, with accusations of marginalization fueling distrust in the national project.
Amidst these layers of division stands Peter Obi — a figure who, for many Nigerians, represents the possibility of a new beginning. His appeal cuts across regions and religions, driven not by tribal slogans but by a message of competence, accountability, and shared prosperity.
Obi’s track record as governor of Anambra State showed that good governance can transcend ethnic or religious biases. He left ₦75 billion in savings, prioritized education (moving Anambra to first place in national WAEC rankings), paid salaries consistently, and invested heavily in health and infrastructure. He resisted the culture of political patronage, focusing instead on long-term growth and transparent governance.
His 2023 presidential campaign sparked a rare sense of unity among young Nigerians and disillusioned voters nationwide. With over six million votes and twelve states won, his movement showed that Nigerians can come together around shared values, not just shared identities.
Choosing Peter Obi is not merely about giving the Southeast a long-awaited chance; it is about choosing a new national story — one where integrity and competence guide leadership rather than ethnicity or religion. It is about proving that we can rise above the fault lines that have kept us stagnant for decades.
This is not to say Obi is perfect; no leader is. But his emergence offers us an opportunity to heal, to start bridging old wounds, and to show that Nigeria can be united by common dreams and shared aspirations.
As we move toward 2027, we must ask ourselves: Do we continue to allow the ghosts of tribalism, religious intolerance, and political manipulation to define us, or do we take a bold step toward unity and progress?
A new Nigeria is possible, but only if we choose to see each other as Nigerians first — and choose leaders who embody that vision. Peter Obi symbolizes that choice, and perhaps, our last best chance to rebuild a truly united nation.
