By Nkanu Egbe
In 2015, Nigerians discovered that social media could win elections. APC “social warriors” waged relentless online campaigns against the PDP, and their victory entrenched digital warfare in the public sphere. Then came #ENDSARS in 2020: a youth‑led uprising against police brutality, the Lekki toll‑gate massacre, and the impunity of the state. Out of that anger, the Obidients—Obi‑loyal supporters, many of them #ENDSARS veterans—emerged. In 2023, they helped Peter Obi win Lagos State, and the INEC iReV portal showed a clear pro‑Obi landslide in many wards. But by the time the final tally was declared, the gap had narrowed, the EC8A‑driven collation had shifted the narrative, and Bola Tinubu was declared president in the closest‑fought election in modern Nigerian history.
Now, as 2027 approaches, the question is whether Lagos and Nigeria will reward Obi’s digital‑native rebellion or concede that Tinubu’s decades‑long strategy of party‑building, alliance‑making, and collation‑room control remains too strong to beat. The contest is not just between candidates, but between iReV and EC8A, between Obidient rage and Tinubu’s cold calculation.
Lagos and the 2023 Verdict: iReV, EC8A, and the “Stolen Mandate” Narrative
In the 2023 presidential election, Peter Obi won Lagos State. Media tallies and independent data trackers show Obi with 582,454 votes in Lagos, compared with roughly 541,850–572,606 votes for Bola Tinubu, giving Obi a margin of about 10,000 votes—a narrow but clear victory. In many wards, the trend on the INEC Result Viewing (iReV) portal was even more optimistic for Obi, suggesting a near‑landslide lean in his favour.
Throughout election day and the night, Lagos voters watched iReV like a live scoreboard: Obi was leading, the trend was steady, and the city seemed to have broken decisively from Tinubu’s political base. Yet when the final collation was done manually at the State and National Collation Centres, using Form EC8A, the lead shrank and the narrative shifted. Nationally, Obi ended up in third place, with Tinubu winning 8,794,726 votes (about 36.6%), Atiku Abubakar 6,984,520 votes (about 29.1%), and Peter Obi 6,101,533 votes (about 25.4%).
For Obidients, this became the core of the “stolen mandate” thesis: Lagos and the national tide clearly leaned Obi on iReV, but the final outcome, shaped by manual EC8A‑based collation, rewrote that story. The sense that the people’s will, captured electronically, could still be narrowed—or reversed—on paper created a deep and lasting distrust of the system. In Lagos, that betrayal is not just a statistic; it is a lived memory.
INEC, iReV, the Amended Electoral Act 2026, and the EC8A Loophole
The 2023 election exposed a fatal contradiction in Nigeria’s electoral system: electronic transparency on the screen versus paper power in the collation room. INEC promised that polling‑unit results uploaded to iReV would be the heartbeat of the 2023 process, and voters saw those numbers in real time. In Lagos, iReV showed Obi leading; in Rivers and several other states, the portal similarly suggested Obi or other opposition gains.
But the Electoral Act 2022 and its 2026 amendment say that if electronic transmission “fails” due to network or technical issues, the signed Form EC8A becomes the primary source for collation and declaration. In practice, this means a presiding officer can walk into a collation centre with an EC8A form that contradicts the iReV record, and the law will back the paper. Citizens and observers in Lagos and elsewhere reported that some iReV figures and EC8A tallies did not match, yet the manual EC8A result became the official record.
Former INEC Resident Electoral Commissioner Mike Igini has repeatedly warned that this loophole turns the promise of transparency into a façade. He described the 2023 polls as a “shock”, arguing that the same pattern of EC8A‑driven manipulation seen in past elections was repeated under the cover of “technical failure.” In 2026, when the Senate passed an amendment that kept EC8A as the primary source in the event of failure, Igini warned that the law was now being weaponised by “election riggers,” giving them a constitutional‑level alibi for distortion.
For Lagos and for Obi’s 2027 ambitions, this is critical: if the law is not changed so that iReV is the only authentic record, then Lagos and other swing states may again see their electronic leads narrowed—or even reversed—at the collation centre, no matter how clearly the people vote at the polling units.
From #ENDSARS to the Obidients: The Roots of the Movement
The Obidients did not emerge from nowhere. Many of them came directly from the #ENDSARS movement—the 2020 uprising against police brutality, the Lekki toll‑gate massacre, and the systemic impunity of the state. Iconic figures such as Aisha Yesufu, who became a national symbol of the #ENDSARS struggle, later joined or aligned with the Obidients, lending the movement moral credibility and a sense of continuity between the street protests and the 2023 polls.
For many first‑time voters in Yaba, Surulere, and Ajah, the Obidients symbolised a break from the old, party‑baron politics that had long dominated Nigeria. They were the digital shock‑troops of the Obi campaign: they organised rallies, flooded Lagos with branded posters, and marshalled funds and volunteers with the efficiency of a tech‑savvy start‑up. The movement felt like something new—a civic project built on outrage, hope, and the belief that the people’s will, expressed through the ballot, could finally resist the machinery of power.
Yet structurally, the Obidients have no clear leader and no formal hierarchy. The movement operates as a loose, online‑driven coalition, where the loudest, fastest, and angriest voices often set the tone. That structure helped it grow quickly, but it also made it vulnerable to the chaos of a free‑for‑all culture war.
The Obidients: Strength Eroded by Toxicity
In 2023, the Obidients looked invincible. They were the vanguard of the Obi campaign, storming social media with memes, organising on‑the‑ground logistics, and projecting a sense of historic momentum. For many young, educated Lagosians, they were the embodiment of the “new politics” promised by #ENDSARS.
But by 2026, the movement is a double‑edged sword. Across Nigeria, a growing number of Obi‑sympathetic voters still like his ideas about fiscal responsibility, anti‑corruption, and public‑service reform, yet they have “turned their backs” on him because of how his online supporters behave. The Obidients are now widely seen as:
- Always insulting and ill‑mannered, using sarcasm, personal attacks, and “cancel‑culture” tactics to police the opposition space, even targeting fellow reformers and #ENDSARS veterans who disagree with them.
- Relentlessly vitriolic, turning even moderate criticism of Obi’s 2023 performance or his party‑hopping from the Labour Party to the African Democratic Congress (ADC) into accusations of “betrayal,” “haterism,” or “mental slavery.”
- Politically immature, bullying Atiku and Amaechi supporters within the ADC, framing internal coalition debates as personal battles rather than strategic choices, and dismissing dialogue as surrender to the APC.
The sense among many Nigerians is that Obi has never publicly called them to order. His occasional jokes about “Obidient humour” and his willingness to share their memes are read as quiet endorsement, which makes him seem complicit in their worst excesses. The image of Obidients as a “private army” with a license to insult—a movement that claims moral authority from the blood of #ENDSARS yet wields its anger like a cudgel—has begun to erode Obi’s broader appeal, especially among older, more conservative voters and those who value civility over culture‑war energy.
In Lagos, where swing voters are highly media‑literate, this is a major liability. Many residents say they still support Obi in policy debates, but they refuse to be associated with “that toxic crowd.” The movement that once looked like the vanguard of a new politics, born from the streets of Lekki and the online militancy of #ENDSARS, now risks shrinking Obi’s coalition from a broad, youth‑driven front into a narrow, uncritical core. Unless Obi clearly draws a line between passionate debate and undisciplined abuse, the Obidients may become the reason he loses Lagos in 2027 almost as much as any INEC‑level manipulation.
What Peter Obi Initially Stood For – And Whether the Euphoria Is Fading
Peter Obi’s political brand was built on a very specific promise: the rejection of Nigeria’s “old politics” in favour of a cleaner, more accountable, and economically rational alternative. When he first emerged as a serious presidential contender in 2023, he was widely seen as the antithesis of the usual party barons: a former Anambra governor known for never defaulting on workers’ salaries, managing debt carefully, and governing with visible frugality. His message centred on fiscal prudence, anti‑corruption, and public‑service reform, packaged in a language that resonated with young, urban, and digitally‑savvy Nigerians.
For early Obidients, Obi was not just a candidate; he was the hope of a new template. The movement embraced slogans like “no money for terrorism,” “no more siphoning public funds,” and “service‑driven leadership,” positioning Obi as a technocrat who would treat the treasury like a balance sheet, not a piggy bank. In Lagos, where private‑sector professionalism and informal‑sector hustle collide, many voters saw Obi’s “business‑like” style as the antidote to the wastefulness and grandstanding of the usual politicians.
Yet between 2023 and 2027, the question is whether this vision has solidified into steady loyalty or dissipated into fading euphoria. On one side, there is evidence of resilient adherence. Many core Obidients still insist that Obi’s core values have not changed. They see his move from the Labour Party to the African Democratic Congress (ADC) as a tactical shift to build a broader national coalition, not a betrayal of principle. In student circles, tech‑company offices, and middle‑income suburbs of Lagos, Obi’s talks on fiscal discipline, tax policy, and the need to “stop fetishising big government” are still treated as the most coherent policy narrative in the race.
On the other side, there is growing evidence of euphoria erosion. The same Obi who once seemed to stand above party politics has now negotiated with bigwigs, changed party homes, and accepted the realities of back‑room politics. Some former supporters complain that the “Obi the technocrat” they admired now looks more like “Obi the negotiator,” trading purity for viability. Others point to the ADC’s internal squabbles and the Obidients’ tendency to attack anyone who questions this shift as proof that the movement has become more about personality loyalty than policy loyalty.
In Lagos, where political memory is short but social‑media memory is long, the divide is visible. Swing voters who were once electrified by the sight of Obi topping the iReV tally in 2023 now ask: “Is he still the same project, or has he become part of the machinery he once promised to dismantle?” For some, the answer is yes, they are still loyal, even if silently, because they see no other credible alternative to Tinubu’s APC. For others, the Obi euphoria has cooled into quiet disappointment, and they now sit on the fence, watching whether Obi can rebuild a movement that is as principled in tone as it is in policy.
The 2027 election may test whether Obi’s base is a fan‑base built on momentary rage or a constituency anchored in sustainable belief. If the Obidients’ toxicity fades and Obi can clearly re‑anchor his message in the original promise of responsible governance, steady loyalty could still win the day. But if the movement remains defined more by its anger than by its ideas, even die‑hard adherents may begin to ask whether the Obi project they once believed in has slipped away.
Tinubu, the Master Strategist – An Elephant That Cannot Be Ignored
Standing above the noise of #ENDSARS, Obidient rage, and INEC‑form controversies is the elephant in the room: Bola Tinubu is, by any measure, one of Nigeria’s most effective political strategists of the last three decades. His impact stretches from the destruction of the PDP’s earlier attempts at a Lagos takeover, through the construction of the ACN–APC machine, to his 2023 presidential victory despite widespread doubts about his age and physical condition.
In 2003, when President Olusegun Obasanjo’s federal government was at its peak, Lagos State’s FAAC allocations were reportedly withheld as part of a broader political pressure campaign against the then‑Alliance for Democracy (AD), which Tinubu headed. Yet even under that pressure, Tinubu’s AD shrugged off the federal muscle, retained control of Lagos, and laid the foundation for what would later become the Action Congress of Nigeria (ACN) and eventually the All Progressives Congress (APC). The rest of the South‑West initially slipped into PDP hands in 2003, but over successive elections, the region returned to Tinubu’s fold, first state by state, then almost entirely. This long‑run consolidation did not happen by accident; it was the result of alliance‑building, patronage networks, and strategic defections orchestrated from Lagos.
In 2023, when Tinubu’s age and frailty made him look, on paper, like a vulnerable candidate, he still pulled off a masterstroke: he secured the support of Nyesom Wike, then governor of Rivers State. Wike, widely seen as a formidable political tactician in his own right, took Rivers—long a PDP stronghold—into the APC fold. On the iReV portal, Rivers’ polling‑unit data strongly suggested that Peter Obi had actually won the state. But the final manual collation at the Rivers State collation centre reversed the outcome in favour of Tinubu. Investigations later revealed that Tinubu’s declared vote total in Rivers was inflated by over 100,000 votes compared with the iReV‑level tally, while Obi’s count dropped significantly.
In other words, Tinubu’s 2023 victory in Rivers—and in the broader South‑South narrative—was not just a matter of votes on the ground, but of strategic positioning and collation‑room politics. With Wike on his side, the APC’s machinery in Rivers could shape the collation to match the desired national profile, even as the electronic record told a different story. The message to the South‑South and the rest of the country was clear: if you want to win, you align with the APC centre.
Today, that same strategic logic reigns. As of March 2026, 31 out of 36 Nigerian governors—about 86 per cent—are members of the APC. Some of these are political heavyweights who once considered themselves kings in their own right, but they now orbit the Tinubu presidency, whether by loyalty, patronage, or the quiet pressure of the APC’s national dominance. Even as governors rotate out or face internal crises, the party’s ability to absorb and reconfigure them into Tinubu’s network is a testament to the enduring power of his strategic calculus.
The 2027 election will be fought not just in the streets of Lagos or on X (Twitter), but in governors’ chambers, collation centres, APC party secretariats, and the corridors of the Federal Capital Territory—all spaces Tinubu has long treated as theatres of power. For all the noise about Obidient energy, EC8A loopholes, and Lagos’ inner‑city anger, one fact remains: Tinubu has repeatedly turned apparent weakness into strategic advantage, and in 2027 he will be relying on that same pattern once more. To ignore his record as a master strategist is to misunderstand the very terrain on which Peter Obi and the Obidients must now fight.
Obi’s 2027 Prospects: ADC Primaries, Fragmentation, and the Lagos Battleground
Peter Obi’s 2027 challenge is both institutional and reputational. Institutionally, he must navigate the ADC’s internal contradictions: a party that is meant to be a broad opposition coalition but is already fracturing under the weight of Obi–Atiku–Amaechi rivalries. Many ADC members and potential allies say the APC’s strategy is to exploit these tensions, sowing discord and forcing Obi’s base to choose between ideological purity and electoral pragmatism. If the ADC primaries descend into a public war, Lagos voters may conclude that the opposition is too divided to govern and default to the “safe” option of Tinubu, even if they dislike his economic record.
The Lagos‑centric nature of Obi’s 2023 win also means that 2027 will be a test of whether he can hold the city again under the same iReV–EC8A pressure. Obi needs Lagos not only as a symbolic victory but as a practical engine of votes. If Tinubu can chip into Obi’s margins in key wards or re‑engineer the final collation to shrink the Obi lead—as was suspected in 2023—then Obi’s national math collapses. The 2027 campaign in Lagos will likely be fought in three places simultaneously: at the polling units, on iReV, and inside the State Collation Centre, where the written EC8A forms will once again decide whether Lagos’ electronic will survives contact with the paper record.
Beyond Lagos, Obi must also win or at least make deep gains in the South‑East, parts of the South‑South, and key swing states in the North. In 2023 he carried the South‑East and three states in the South‑South, Lagos, FCT and two states in North-Central, but to win presidency he needs a broader coalition. That task becomes harder because many voters who once admired his anti‑corruption stance are now put off by the tone of the Obidients. In churches, professional networks, and family WhatsApp groups across Lagos, a growing number of soft‑supporters say they still respect Obi’s ideas but will not vote for him as long as his online army treats dissent as treason. Unless Obi can publicly separate robust debate from personal abuse, the 2027 campaign may become a referendum on the Obidient temperament, not Obi’s policy blueprint.
Tinubu’s 2027 Arsenal: Incumbency, Social Media, and the Economy (For and Against)
Bola Tinubu enters 2027 with a formidable arsenal of advantages, anchored in incumbency, party machinery, and an evolving narrative on the economy.
First, the incumbent factor gives him control of the APC, access to federal resources, and the ability to reward or punish governors and party actors. Incumbency also means he can frame the 2027 election as a continuation of the “structural reforms” he has already begun: fuel‑subsidy removal, FX‑market liberalisation, and tighter tax collection. In 2023, he won the presidency despite losing Lagos and several other states; in 2027, his campaign will lean heavily on the argument that “you change the captain in the middle of the storm only if the alternative is proven and united”—and that the fracturing opposition is neither.
Second, the APC’s online fighting force is now more sophisticated than in 2015. The party runs a network of pro‑Tinubu accounts, Kinsella‑style commentators, and regional pages that amplify the narrative of “experience and stability” versus Obidient rage. Where Obidients attack, APC apologists counter with memes, slogans, and talking points that frame the Obidients as “hate‑driven keyboard warriors” and the APC as the party of order and continuity. In Lagos, this narrative can resonate with homeowners, entrepreneurs, and older voters who prioritise predictability over idealism.
Third, the economic narrative is Tinubu’s strongest double‑edged sword. His supporters argue that the current pain—high inflation, naira depreciation, and rising costs—is the price of unavoidable structural reforms. They compare the situation to the 1980s and 1990s, insisting that the long‑term benefit will be a more transparent, efficient, and investor‑friendly Nigeria. In Lagos, where many professionals understand the global logic of these reforms, this story has real purchase.
But the perception among ordinary Nigerians is that reforms are “pro‑institution but anti‑people.” Households see their wages eaten by inflation, their savings eroded by FX volatility, and their services barely improved. The Obidients have turned this into a powerful narrative of betrayal, but the danger for Obi is that the online energy may not translate into the disciplined, ward‑level mobilisation that wins collation‑centre battles. In 2027, the economy will be Tinubu’s lifeline and his biggest risk: if he can show that the reforms are working in Lagos, he may win a second term; if the pain deepens without visible benefit, the Obidients may finally drag enough voters into his defeat.
Lagos, Collation, and the 2027 Verdict
By 2027, the 2023 election will be read in Lagos as a warning shot: a moment when the people’s will, as captured electronically on iReV, almost broke the old order, but the same old collation‑room politics came back to re‑write the script. The Obidients, born from the righteous anger of #ENDSARS, now stand at a crossroads: either they evolve into a more disciplined, less toxic movement that can hold Obi to his original promise of accountability, or they become the very reason he loses Lagos and the national vote.
Tinubu, in contrast, remains a master strategist of the existing system. He took Lagos from the PDP, rebuilt the South‑West around his party, co‑opted Nyesom Wike and Rivers State in 2023, and now presides over a country where over 80 per cent of governors wear the APC brand. In 2027, he will fight from the high ground of power, law, and the collation‑centre advantage—unless the law is changed so that iReV is the only authentic record of the people’s will.
The 2027 election in Lagos may ultimately be decided not by who shouts louder on X, but by who trusts the ballot box more than the party machine. If Lagos voters can again produce a clear iReV‑driven Obi lead—and if the law finally protects that record from EC8A‑style reversal—then the city may finally deliver the mandate that 2023 felt it had already earned. But if the same loopholes, the same Obidient rashness, and the same APC machinery remain in place, Bola Tinubu may yet write the final chapter: a second term, shaped as much by Lagos’ rage and Lagos’ structure as by any single candidate’s charisma.
