by Uchechukwu Okoroafor, Abuja
In a move as disappointing as it is dangerous, the Nigerian House of Representatives has once again turned its back on the core principles of unity, fairness, and inclusivity. The recent rejection of a constitutional amendment bill that sought to institutionalize rotational presidency among Nigeria’s six geopolitical zones is more than a missed legislative opportunity—it is a national disgrace and a profound betrayal of millions who have long been excluded from the highest office in the land.
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The bill, sponsored by Deputy Speaker Benjamin Okezie Kalu, was a bold attempt to stabilize Nigeria’s fragile federation by ensuring that leadership rotates equitably across the geopolitical zones. It was not about tokenism or mediocrity, as its opponents lazily argued—it was about justice, representation, and healing. That such a commonsense proposal met fierce resistance within the halls of power is not only telling, it is alarming.
At the heart of this proposal was a powerful, unifying idea: that in a country as complex and diverse as Nigeria—with over 200 million citizens, more than 400 ethnic groups, six distinct geopolitical zones, and sharp religious and cultural divides—leadership must mirror that diversity. To deny this is to deny Nigeria’s very nature.
Let us be clear: the call for rotational presidency is not a call for incompetence. It is not about lowering the bar. It is about creating a level playing field where every part of Nigeria has an equal opportunity to lead. As Deputy Speaker Kalu rightly pointed out, competent leaders exist in every region of this country. What is lacking is the political will to let them rise—especially when they come from regions not favored by the current political establishment.
It is an undeniable fact that since the return to civilian rule in 1999, the presidency has rotated between the South West, North West, and South South. And even that South South presidency was the product of an accident—a tragedy that brought Goodluck Jonathan to power after the untimely death of President Umaru Musa Yar’Adua. And how hard the beneficiaries of the rigged status quo worked to ensure that the South South never enjoyed a full eight-year term!
The South East, a region central to the making of Nigeria, has never held the presidency. What message does this persistent exclusion send to the people of that region? That they are good enough to vote but not to lead? That they can die for Nigeria but not preside over its affairs? That their sacrifices and contributions mean nothing in the power calculus of a country they helped build? This is not democracy—it is structural injustice. And it is indefensible.
The rejection of this bill under the guise of “meritocracy” is intellectually dishonest. When a system repeatedly produces leaders from the same zones while others are perpetually sidelined, it is not meritocracy—it is ethnic domination, religious favoritism, and political rigging dressed up as democracy.
Some lawmakers claim that Section 14(3) of the Constitution already provides for inclusivity through the federal character principle. But if federal character is good enough to guide appointments into ministries and federal institutions, why is it suddenly unfit for the highest office in the land? The hypocrisy is stunning.
Others, like Rep Sada Soli, warned that the bill would lead to mediocrity and ethnic rivalry. But what could be more divisive than the current system, which fuels resentment, breeds alienation, and entrenches the feeling among entire regions that they are second-class citizens in their own country? If we are serious about unity, then we must be serious about equity.
Let us not be fooled by the high-sounding rhetoric from the bill’s opponents. What they fear is not mediocrity, but a redistribution of power. They fear losing the grip they have long had on the political machinery. They fear the empowerment of zones that have been historically marginalized. And so, rather than build a nation on fairness, they double down on selfishness.
Rep Clement Jimbo captured the spirit of the bill perfectly: it was meant to cure an age-long injustice. Yet, those who benefit from that very injustice ensured it was crushed before it could take root. And so, Nigeria continues on its path of exclusion, imbalance, and inequality.
This rejection also highlights the failure of the House of Representatives as a true reflection of the people’s will. The House exists not to preserve elite privilege, but to legislate in the interest of the nation. When it chooses to do the opposite, it ceases to be a people’s parliament and becomes a protector of the status quo.
The argument that democracy must be about open competition ignores a basic truth: competition is only meaningful when the playing field is level. You cannot have a fair race when some competitors are permanently handicapped by geography, religion, or ethnicity.
Rotational presidency would not have erased these inequalities overnight. But it would have sent a powerful signal that Nigeria is ready to be one nation in truth, not just in slogans. It would have told every Nigerian child, no matter where they are born, that they too can dream of becoming president. That dream remains alive for some—but not for all.
If Nigeria is truly “one nation,” then its leadership must reflect its diversity. If it continues to exclude certain zones, it risks reinforcing the idea that it is not a nation, but a fragile federation barely held together by lies and lip service.
Those who continue to shout “One Nigeria” while opposing every attempt to make Nigeria more inclusive should be reminded that unity is not built on convenience—it is built on justice. And if this injustice continues, the road to Czechoslovakia may not be far away.
The rejection of this bill is a setback, but it should also be a wake-up call. Nigerians—especially those from marginalized regions—must not be silent. The South East, in particular, must continue to demand what is rightfully theirs: a fair shot at leadership. This demand is not a favor—it is a constitutional necessity and a moral obligation.
This must not end as just another failed bill. It must become the start of a nationwide campaign for political justice, inclusion, and structural reform. Because a Nigeria where only a few zones can dream of the presidency is not a republic—it is an oligarchy.
History will remember this moment. It will remember who stood for fairness and who stood in its way. The House of Representatives may have slammed the door for now, but the people still hold the key.
Good morning, the young people of Nigeria!