Olu Allen
For Desmond Elliot, the 270–11,385 scoreline was not merely an electoral defeat. For Siminalayi Fubara, the lesson may be that power in Nigerian politics is rarely held alone. Here is the uncomfortable counsel many whisper privately but rarely say aloud.
For Desmond Elliot, the message from the APC primary in Surulere was brutal. The reported margin of 270 votes against Barakat Odunuga-Bakare’s 11,385 was more than a political loss.
It suggested a collapse of structural protection.
In Nigerian politics, voters matter. But party machinery often matters more. Politicians survive not merely on popularity, but on alignment with the dominant currents inside the structure that produced them.
Elliot appeared to misunderstand that distinction.
The widespread interpretation within Lagos political circles is not simply that he lost an election, but that he lost favour within the ecosystem that had previously sustained him. Whether fair or not, that perception is now his greatest political problem.
His instinct may be to fight. That would likely worsen the damage.
A prolonged legal challenge or public confrontation with the party could deepen the impression of disloyalty in a political environment where survival often depends less on ideological conviction than on strategic submission.
The smarter path may be quieter: accept the outcome publicly, retreat from the headlines, rebuild relationships privately, and preserve whatever political capital remains.
Because in Lagos politics, exile is rarely declared formally. It is enforced gradually through silence.
The truth is harsh: his seat may already be gone. What remains salvageable is relevance.
For Siminalayi Fubara, the lesson emerging from Rivers State may be even more sobering.
His withdrawal from the APC governorship primary was officially framed as a sacrifice made in the interest of peace and unity.
But politically, it reinforced what the long-running crisis in Rivers has always demonstrated: godfatherism in Nigeria does not disappear simply because a successor enters office.
Fubara’s conflict with Nyesom Wike has evolved from a disagreement into a prolonged contest over political ownership, institutional loyalty, and control of the state structure.
Yet recent events suggest the balance of power remains uneven.
The governor’s challenge now is no longer how to dominate Rivers politics. It may simply be how to complete his tenure without triggering another round of political warfare.
That requires a different strategy: less confrontation, less symbolism, less visible independence.
In highly centralised political systems, survival often belongs not to the loudest actor but to the most adaptable one.
If Fubara attempts to aggressively rebuild an independent structure too quickly, he risks reopening the very conflict that nearly consumed his administration. If, however, he embraces a quieter and more cooperative posture, he may yet preserve enough institutional goodwill to exit office intact.
That may sound humiliating. But Nigerian politics has never rewarded pride as consistently as it rewards endurance.
And endurance, in this environment, is a form of power.
There is a broader lesson here for younger politicians.
Many study Machiavelli and conclude that politics is about ambition, force, and conquest. Nigerian politics often operates differently.
Networks matter. Patience matters. Silence matters. The ability to recognise when power has shifted matters most of all.
Desmond Elliot may not recover his seat. Siminalayi Fubara may never fully control the structure around him.
But both still have something more important than dominance: they remain politically alive.
And in Nigeria’s political marketplace, survival is often the first victory.
Allen writes on public affairs and advocates for good governance.
