As Nigeria grapples with worsening insecurity and deepening economic hardship, public sentiment is turning against the administration of President Bola Ahmed Tinubu. The disillusionment, once a murmur, has grown into a nationwide chorus of regret. This frustration is no longer limited to opposition voices or political elites sidelined in the post-election spoils; it has spread to unexpected quarters—including some of the very celebrities who campaigned vigorously for Tinubu during the 2023 elections.

Yoruba Nollywood actors such as Ebun Oloyede (popularly known as Olaiya Igwe), Ibironke Ojo-Anthony (Ronke Oshodi Oke), Bukky Raji (Aminatu Papapa), and Ganiu Nafiu (Alapini) have issued public apologies for backing Tinubu, a Yoruba candidate, in a manner that challenges the long-standing ethnic and regional loyalties that have shaped Nigeria’s electoral landscape. Their remorse reflects a more profound national mood—one where even cultural affinity and tribal allegiance are no longer strong enough to mask the daily realities of suffering under poor leadership.

From Tribal Pride to National Disappointment

In a country where political allegiance is often shaped by ethnicity and religion rather than policy and performance, the public apology of high-profile Yoruba entertainers for supporting a Yoruba candidate is no small matter. Only a few years ago, anyone who hesitated to endorse Tinubu risked being labeled a betrayer of Yoruba interests. Today, even die-hard supporters are rethinking their choices—proof that economic desperation is beginning to dissolve the usual boundaries of tribal sentiment.

What’s striking is not just that these actors apologised, but that their apologies were received with understanding rather than tribal backlash. That public reaction suggests a growing consensus: people are fed up. However, this collective frustration does not necessarily translate into meaningful political change. The same factors that have kept Nigeria in a cycle of poor leadership—tribalism, religious identity, and symbolic politics—continue to shape how many people vote.

Voter Regret: Emotionally Powerful, Politically Weak

There is, understandably, a belief—especially among opposition movements—that widespread voter regret can serve as a catalyst for political transformation. As new coalitions begin forming in anticipation of the 2027 general elections, they appear eager to harness this dissatisfaction. But here lies a critical problem: regret does not equal reversal. In Nigeria, expressions of voter remorse rarely lead to altered electoral behavior.

Why? Because Nigerian elections are not fundamentally driven by assessments of performance. Instead, they hinge on identity politics—on religion, ethnicity, and a deep-seated desire to see “one of us” in power, regardless of what they deliver.

We need only look at recent history. Former President Muhammadu Buhari faced public humiliation during his second term, including being booed and pelted with stones. Yet, his party managed to retain power in many of those same regions during subsequent elections. This contradiction underlines a sobering reality: Nigerian voters often act in spite of government performance, not because of it.

Performance as Justification, Not Motivation

During campaigns, voters frequently cite a candidate’s track record to validate their support. However, these arguments often serve as moral cover for deeper, more visceral loyalties. To admit openly that one’s vote was driven by tribal or religious bias would be to appear irrational or biased. So, many voters turn to narratives of competence to justify choices already made on other grounds.

Famed anthropologist Margaret Mead once observed, “What people say, what people do, and what they say they do are entirely different things.” In Nigeria, this rings especially true. While political conversations are often dressed in the language of reform and progress, they frequently mask more entrenched motivations—motivations that rarely shift, even in the face of national crisis.

Cynicism, Symbolism, and the Collapse of Expectations

Underlying Nigeria’s electoral behavior is a deep and painful cynicism. Many citizens no longer believe in the capacity of governance to improve their lives. This despair breeds a politics not of hope or change, but of symbolic victory—where elections become less about solving problems and more about preventing perceived adversaries from gaining power.

When people vote based on religion or ethnicity, it’s not because they genuinely believe it will improve their personal circumstances. Rather, they seek psychological consolation in seeing their group represented. “At least it’s not them,” becomes the comfort slogan in the face of persistent hardship. Whether Muslim or Christian, Igbo or Yoruba or Hausa, many voters derive their political satisfaction from symbolic defeats of the “other side” more than from tangible improvements in their lives.

This is why many Nigerians who now complain about Tinubu’s administration will likely vote for him again—not out of confidence in his leadership, but to deny power to his main political rival, such as Peter Obi, or to reinforce their group’s dominance in national politics. In this distorted game, resentment triumphs over reason.

Every Leader Worse Than the Last?

Since 1999, Nigerians have endured a steady parade of disappointment. Under President Olusegun Obasanjo, life was hard. Under Umaru Musa Yar’Adua, hardship lingered. Goodluck Jonathan’s tenure was marked by insecurity and economic volatility. Then came Muhammadu Buhari, whose presidency many believed was the nadir—until Tinubu’s administration took incompetence to “the next level.”

Each cycle of failed leadership has lowered expectations further. Today, survival has become the average citizen’s benchmark of success. When people go to the polls, they are no longer voting for transformation—they are voting for relief from humiliation and for representation in a system they no longer believe in.

What Does This Mean for 2027?

If history is any guide, we can already predict the themes of the next general election. Religious mobilization will pit Muslims against Christians, as each group is told the other wants to dominate. Ethnic propaganda will rally Yorubas, Igbos, and Hausas against one another in the name of tribal preservation. Performance? That will remain an afterthought.

So, while headlines about voter regret make for compelling stories, they rarely alter the structural dynamics of Nigerian elections. People may lament, criticise, and even apologise for their past choices. But when the time comes to cast their votes again, many will return to the same old script: identity over ideas, sentiment over substance.

Final Thought: Regret Without Reform Is Futile

In a functional democracy, electoral regret would be the first step towards reform—an acknowledgment of past mistakes, followed by new, better-informed decisions. But in Nigeria, regret often exists in a vacuum. It lacks institutional support, civic education, and meaningful political alternatives to channel it into change.

Unless political actors and civil society groups can break the grip of identity politics and foster a culture of performance-based accountability, electoral regret will remain little more than emotional catharsis. It will not build hospitals, end insecurity, or put food on the table.

The real challenge for Nigeria is not just removing incompetent leaders—it is transforming the political culture that empowers them in the first place. Until then, we’ll keep voting, keep suffering, and keep regretting—on a loop that leads nowhere.