Let me begin with a personal clarification. I do not know Valentine Ozigbo well. I’ve met him briefly on a couple of occasions, exchanged pleasantries, and moved on. We are neither friends nor enemies. I have no personal axe to grind with him. But the moment he volunteered himself to run for public office, he became a public figure—one I observe, critique, and analyze like all others. Everything I know about him exists in the public domain: his defections, his contradictions, his hollow promises. My comments here are drawn from open secrets, verifiable facts, and his own glaringly inconsistent actions. Before he or his associates misinterpret this as a vendetta, let this be clear: my ire is not against Ozigbo the man, but against Ozigbo the symbol—a symptom of the disease of opportunism infecting Nigeria’s political class.
When I first heard whispers that Valentine Ozigbo had resigned from the Labour Party, I shrugged. Another day, another political defection in Nigeria’s circus of ambition. So what? I thought. These theatrics no longer surprise me. But minutes ago, when I saw the headline screaming “Ozigbo Joins APC Hours After Quitting Labour Party,” something in me snapped. The floodgates of anger burst open. What do these men take us for? How dare they shuffle between parties like cards in a deck, treating voters as fools and principles as relics? Here in the South-East, everyone wants to be governor, yet so few can even govern their own greed. Ozigbo’s latest stunt—a brazen, unprincipled leap to the APC—is not just a betrayal; it is a mirror held up to the rot festering in our political culture.
Valentine Ozigbo’s defection to the APC on February 20, 2025, was heralded by his campaign team as “historic,” a laughable descriptor for a man whose political career is a revolving door of opportunism. At his Amesi Ward registration, flanked by sycophantic APC officials, Ozigbo waxed poetic about his “grand vision for a brighter Anambra”—transformational leadership, economic development, and “people-centered governance.” But where was this “vision” when he called the APC a “party of failure” and “looters” just months prior? The same man who once accused the APC of turning Nigeria into a “laughingstock” now pledges “progressive governance” under their banner. The irony is as thick as the stench of betrayal.
Even more farcical is the APC’s giddy reception. Chidi Johnpaul Muokwe, APC Chairman of Amesi Ward, hailed Ozigbo as “the light in the darkness Anambra needs,” while Chief Godson C. Anyadike gushed over the “grace and excitement” he brings [reading these, I kept asking myself, what are these guys smoking?]. This is the same APC that Ozigbo spent years condemning for “economic policies designed to suffocate the poor.” Their embrace of him—and his of them—exposes a shared contempt for principle. Both parties are complicit in this charade: Ozigbo gets a platform, the APC gets a trophy defector, and Anambra gets empty promises.
Ozigbo’s defection was not a solo act. Chief Dr. Tony Offiah, a Labour Party chieftain, and Chief Sir Afam Okpalauzuegbu, Labour’s Secretary in Aguata LGA, joined him in jumping ship. This trio’s exodus underscores a disturbing trend: political loyalty in Nigeria is as durable as a Nollywood set. These men, who once postured as “progressive voices” in Labour, now flock to the APC—a party antithetical to Labour’s ideals—proving their activism was always a performance.
Kenneth Okonkwo’s recent resignation from Labour fits this mold. Like Ozigbo, Okonkwo leveraged Peter Obi’s movement for relevance before abandoning it when the winds shifted. Together, they epitomize a generation of politicians who treat parties like Uber rides: hop in, hop out, destination: power.
Ozigbo’s campaign statement touts his “distinguished” corporate career and “grassroots movement” in the South East. Yet, his political resume remains barren. His second-place finish against Soludo in 2021 is his sole “achievement”—a participation trophy in a race he framed as existential. Now, he peddles the same vague buzzwords: “economic development,” “unity,” “collective prosperity.” But what specific policies does he propose? How will he fix Anambra’s crumbling infrastructure, unemployment, or insecurity? Silence.
His defection statement claims a “deep-rooted belief in progressive governance,” yet he’s aligned with a party whose “progress” has meant regression for Nigeria. The APC’s legacy—economic collapse, rampant insecurity, and a currency in freefall—is well-documented. Ozigbo’s sudden faith in their “vision” is not just hypocritical; it’s delusional.
To the people of Anambra: Beware of Ozigbo’s rebrand. A man who condemns a party as “cancer” one day and joins it the next cannot be trusted. His pledges of “people-centered governance” are recycled rhetoric, hollow echoes of a man chasing relevance, not results. The APC’s warm welcome should alarm you—it reveals their desperation to co-opt any name, however tarnished, to maintain power.
Ozigbo’s defection is not a “new chapter”; it’s the same old story. Politicians like him thrive on our short memories and lower expectations. They weaponize buzzwords like “transformation” and “progress” to mask their emptiness. Demand concrete plans, not platitudes. Ask: What exactly will he do differently under the APC? How will he reconcile his past condemnations with his current alliances?
Let us revisit Ozigbo’s own words a bit more. As a PDP stalwart in 2021, he lambasted the APC as “a party of failure, incapable of securing Nigeria or managing its economy.” He accused them of turning Nigeria into “a laughingstock of the world,” citing unchecked insecurity, a collapsing naira, and “economic policies designed to suffocate the poor.” When he defected to the Labour Party in 2024, his rhetoric sharpened. He called the APC “a sanctuary for looters and political buccaneers,” vowing never to “align with those who destroyed our nation.”
So what has changed? Has the APC suddenly cured itself of the “cancer” Ozigbo once diagnosed? Has insecurity vanished? Has the naira magically regained its value? Are the “looters” he demonized now saints? The answer is glaring: nothing has changed. The APC remains the same party Ozigbo spent years vilifying. The only variable here is Ozigbo himself—a man whose principles dissolve at the first whiff of power.
Ozigbo’s political career is a masterclass in doublespeak. In 2021, he was the PDP’s “messiah,” promising to rescue Anambra. When Soludo crushed him, he vanished, only to reemerge in 2024 under the Labour Party banner, draped in Peter Obi’s halo. For months, he clung to Obi’s coattails, regurgitating slogans about “vision” and “rescue” while lambasting the APC’s “anti-people policies.” Now, barely a year later, he’s fled again—this time to the APC, the very party he once likened to a “sinking ship.” What has Ozigbo actually contributed to Anambra’s politics? Nothing but a trail of defections. No landmark legislation, no grassroots empowerment, no policy advocacy. His sole “achievement” is mastering the art of political tourism.
Ozigbo’s defection to the APC—a party synonymous with failed policies, economic ruin, and insecurity—is peak hypocrisy. This is the same APC that turned Nigeria into a punchline, yet Ozigbo now stands shoulder-to-shoulder with its architects. Bashir Ahmad’s gleeful tweet welcoming him as proof that “opposition structures will crumble” says it all: Ozigbo is not a leader but a trophy in the APC’s cabinet of opportunists. How does a man who once vowed to “save Anambra” justify joining a party that has unsaved Nigeria? Simple: he never cared about Anambra. He cares about power.
A former corporate CEO, he parades a CV polished for LinkedIn, not leadership. His speeches are hollow—grandiose promises with zero substance. What is his philosophy? His ideology? His plan? Silence. Even his brief stint with Labour Party reeked of opportunism. He piggybacked on Obi’s popularity, selling himself as a “protégé” while offering nothing original. Now, having squeezed what he could from Obi’s brand, he’s moved on. Ozigbo isn’t a politician; he’s a political parasite, feeding on whatever party grants him relevance.
A few weeks ago, another episode of Nigeria’s political soap opera unfolded. Kenneth Okonkwo—Nollywood actor turned self-styled “political commentator”—resigned from the Labour Party. The headlines screamed “BREAKING NEWS!” as if the nation’s fate hung on the decision of a man whose political relevance is as fleeting as his movie roles. Biko, what exactly is “breaking” here? A fifth-rate politician, who also piggybacked on Peter Obi’s populist wave, decides to exit a party? In a sane society, this would barely qualify as a footnote. But in Nigeria, a nation starved of real leadership, even the theatrics of clout-chasers are amplified into “news.”
Okonkwo’s trajectory mirrors Ozigbo’s. Both men latched onto Obi’s 2023 presidential bid, using his momentum to inflate their own political profiles. They became social media darlings, flooding timelines with performative outrage and moral grandstanding. But strip away the hashtags and camera-ready soundbites, and what remains? Two men with no discernible ideology, no grassroots legacy, and no record of public service—only a hunger for relevance.
Let’s dissect this duo. Ozigbo, a corporate returnee, and Okonkwo, a Nollywood veteran, share a common strategy: “borrowed legitimacy”. Obi’s moral values, principled rhetoric and image became their ladder to political visibility. They positioned themselves as Obi’s “disciples,” amplifying his message while slyly grafting their ambitions onto his movement. But when the spotlight dimmed, their loyalty evaporated.
As we’ve already mentioned, Ozigbo ditched the Labour Party for the APC within hours of resigning, proving his “principles” were negotiable. Okonkwo, meanwhile, spent months posturing as Labour’s “voice of conscience” before his own exit—a move telegraphed by his increasingly contrarian views. Both men, having milked Obi’s brand for clicks and clout, now fancy themselves as independent “leaders.” But leadership requires more than Twitter threads and press releases. It demands substance—a quality glaringly absent in their portfolios. What has changed? Nothing—except Ozigbo’s desperation for power.
Similarly, Okonkwo spent years railing against “corrupt old parties,” only to abandon the Labour Party at the first whiff of internal strife. These men are not reformers; they are political nomads, drifting wherever the winds of opportunity blow. Their defections expose a brutal truth: they never believed in Obi’s “Movement.” They believed in Obi’s “utility”.
Okonkwo and Ozigbo embody a toxic breed of Igbo Nigerian politician: the opportunist masquerading as an idealist. They speak in the plural—“we must rescue Nigeria,” “our people suffer”—but their actions scream “me.” Ozigbo’s leap to the APC, a party he once deemed “toxic,” reveals his true north: power. Okonkwo’s resignation, timed to maximize media drama, reeks of self-promotion. AND WE SHALL YET SEE WHEN THE WIND BLOWS…
What do these men offer beyond slogans? Ozigbo’s political CV is a blank page stamped with party logos. Okonkwo’s claim to fame? Playing a fictional villain in “Living in Bondage” and reciting partisan talking points on TV. Yet, they demand our trust, our votes, our silence as they hop from one platform to another.
The rise of Ozigbo and Okonkwo signals a deeper malaise: “the erosion of ideological politics”. Parties are no longer vehicles for governance but stages for ambition. Politicians are no longer servants but actors—scripting personas, chasing trends, and discarding principles when the audience tires.
Worse, the media enables this farce. Okonkwo’s resignation was “breaking news” not because it mattered, but because Nigeria’s political discourse has been reduced to a reality show. We celebrate noise over nuance, theatrics over thought. When men like Ozigbo and Okonkwo are framed as “leaders,” we insult true leaders who toil in obscurity, building communities without fanfare.
The South-East—and Nigeria—deserves better than political tourists. Ozigbo and Okonkwo are not anomalies; they are symptoms of a system that rewards hustle over honesty, noise over nobility. Their defections and resignations are not “strategic moves” but admissions of moral bankruptcy.
To the voters of Anambra: see these men for what they are. Ozigbo, who condemned the APC as “cancer” but now courts its embrace, is a hypocrite. Okonkwo [watch him closely], who weaponized Obi’s struggle for relevance but fled when the struggle required grit, is a fair-weather ally. Neither has earned the right to speak for you.
The fight for Anambra’s future begins with rejecting hollow gongs. Let us demand leaders who stay rooted in their convictions, who serve rather than scavenge. Time to pay closer attention—not to the noise, but to the silence of empty promises. Opportunists thrive only when we let them. Stop letting them.
The South East and Anambra need leaders, not leeches. It needs men and women who will confront decay, not careerists jumping from pillar to post in pursuit of a title. Ozigbo’s defection is a slap in the face to voters who once trusted him. It exposes a truth we’ve long ignored: in Nigerian politics, loyalty is dead. Parties are hotels, not homes. And men like Ozigbo check in and out based on room service, not principles.
Valentine Ozigbo’s journey—PDP to LP to APC in four years—is a parable of Nigeria’s political decay. He is not a leader but a warning. To Anambra’s voters: reject these chameleons. Demand better. Ozigbo’s defection is not just a personal failure; it is a call to arms. We must stop rewarding empty ambition and start demanding accountability. Anambra deserves leaders who bleed for its future, not mercenaries who bleed it dry. Ozigbo, with his latest leap, has proven he is not one of them. Let his name echo as a cautionary tale—a man who chose power over purpose, and in doing so, lost his soul.
Ozigbo, Okonkwo, and their ilk are not leaders—they are actors in a tragicomedy, reciting lines written by opportunism. Anambra’s future cannot hinge on men who swap principles for platforms. Let their defections serve as a rallying cry: reject political nomads.
To Ozigbo, we say: Your “historic” move is history repeating—a cautionary tale of ambition untethered from integrity. To Anambra: The power to rewrite this script lies with you. Demand leaders who stay rooted, who serve rather than scavenge. Stop applauding defections; start demanding accountability. The only “collective prosperity” these men seek is their own.
