Kebbi APC: Maidoki’s Long Awaited Goodbye
By Abubakar Sani
Politics in Nigeria has a curious habit of rewarding reinvention. Today’s sworn loyalist becomes tomorrow’s aggrieved victim; yesterday’s beneficiary suddenly rediscovers principle the moment political comfort begins to slip through his fingers. Party defections, resignations and dramatic exits have become something of a political pastime, often accompanied by carefully rehearsed, almost ritualistic speeches about “internal crisis,” “loss of direction,” or “irreconcilable differences.” The truth however, is that much of these stale statements are simply about ambition changing address.
It is within this familiar political theatre that Senator Garba Maidoki’s recent resignation from the APC must be situated. Like almost everyone, Maidoki has cited internal wrigglings within the APC in Kebbi as the reason for his exit. Fair enough. Resigning from a political party is entirely within his democratic rights. No one should be chained to a platform they no longer believe in. But there is also a responsibility that comes with political exits, and that responsibility is honesty. If one must leave, at least spare the public the unnecessary fiction.
As a keen observer of events in Kebbi State, I find Maidoki’s explanation deeply unconvincing. The truth is simple: there is no such existential division within the APC in Kebbi to justify the scale of grievance he now seeks to manufacture. If anything, recent political developments suggest a party that remains relatively organised and considerably stronger than many of its opponents. Certainly, stronger than it was in periods where real internal turbulence existed.
What the people of Kebbi deserve, therefore, is candour. They deserve a senator willing to tell Nigerians plainly why he is leaving rather than dressing personal political calculations in the language of party instability. Politics, after all, need not insult public intelligence every election season.
From my vantage position, let me tell all who care to listen, that the real problem confronting Maidoki is not party crisis. It is political rejection. Somewhere between campaign promises and time in office, the senator appears to have drifted dangerously far from the confidence of his constituents. Conversations around his political future no longer inspire enthusiasm but fatigue. In many places, even the mere mention of a re-election bid reportedly attracts more sighs than excitement. And, truth be told, the senator has himself to blame.
When Maidoki himself reported that communities across parts of his constituency found themselves crushed beneath the weight of insecurity, when entire settlements reportedly lived under fear and displacement, and when stakeholders struggled to find pathways toward protection and stability, Maidoki adopted a curious posture.
Rather than functioning as a stakeholder invested in solutions, he increasingly appeared more comfortable weaponising insecurity for political commentary. This point deserves emphasis.
Security is not an abstract talking point in Kebbi. It is flesh-and-blood reality. Families have lived through displacement, livelihoods have been shattered, and communities have spent years negotiating fear as daily routine. In such circumstances, a senator who campaigned and won on the promise of providing security should not be dealing in offensive political grandstanding.
Governance, especially around insecurity, is collective work. No serious stakeholder—certainly not one occupying the office of senator—can pretend to stand outside responsibility while pointing fingers from a safe distance.
If Maidoki genuinely believed the government of the day was mishandling insecurity, then what exactly stopped him from engaging meaningfully? Why did he absent himself from several stakeholder engagements aimed at finding lasting solutions? Why not bring proposals to the table? Why not leverage legislative influence, federal connections, or institutional networks toward practical outcomes?
Interestingly, Maidoki’s position is a clear contradiction of campaign promise. He openly campaigned on the promise of helping restore security to communities devastated by banditry. By his own telling, over 200 villages had suffered abandonment or takeover by criminal elements whom he described as “economic terrorists.” Security, therefore, was not an issue imposed on him by fate. It was central to the moral contract he signed with voters.
Here then, is where the real question must be asked. Has Maidoki fulfilled this promise? What was approaches was he hoping to use towards delivering on his campaign promises when he was making them?
Beyond television appearances, political blame games and public commentary, what measurable interventions can be pointed to? How many substantive motions did he move on the floor of the Senate specifically geared toward compelling institutional response to the security crisis affecting his constituency? What sustained pressure did he mount to redirect federal attention, funding or operational resources?
You cannot campaign on a promise, wear it like ceremonial clothing during elections, then spend four years explaining why someone else failed to fulfil it. That’s a very dry political script, that should, frankly, not be associated with a senator.
Where action was required, Maidoki decided to turn himself into something of a national television regular, offering what he perhaps believed were insights into security matters. Unfortunately, some of these interventions felt less like constructive contribution and more like political performance. Worse still, there were moments when commentary drifted dangerously close to territory that responsible public office holders ordinarily treat with caution, especially in matters touching operational security.
I believe Maidoki’s greatest undoing is believing that visibility is the same as usefulness. That’s not always the case in politics. Appearing on screens does not automatically translate into impact on the ground. The notion that every publicity is good does not apply to politics where margins can be tight and the people very unforgiving.
The displaced farmer in a vulnerable village who doesn’t even own a TV is not comforted by television appearances. Communities battling insecurity do not survive on political analysis. They need practical interventions, sustained advocacy, legislative seriousness and stakeholder collaboration.
Maidoki failed on all these fronts and from his public convictions, it’s impossible for one not to get the feeling that somewhere in his head, Maidoki confused political activism with political responsibility. And there is, contrary to popular assumptions, a difference between politics and activism. Where an activist can afford permanent outrage, a senator cannot.
A stakeholder in power cannot continuously behave like an external commentator watching events unfold from the sidelines. Politics imposes obligations, where office demands responsibility. You do not stand in the middle of institutional power, enjoy its privileges, claim proximity to governance and then suddenly reposition yourself as if you were merely an innocent observer documenting failures from afar.
The people are often far more discerning than politicians imagine. Which is perhaps why Maidoki now finds himself politically vulnerable.
Let us call things by their proper names. The senator knows the political mood around him. He knows the terrain has shifted. He understands, perhaps better than many observers, that securing another APC ticket on the strength of his current performance may prove considerably difficult. That possibility, more than any manufactured narrative of party division, appears the more believable explanation for this dramatic resignation. And, there is nothing criminal about political survival. In fact, I admire the man for it.
If Maidoki wishes to seek alternative political shelter elsewhere, that is entirely his right. Nigerian politics has long normalised migration. Politicians move, parties adjust as voters decide. It’s the same trinity.
What becomes irritating, however, is the insistence on decorating political calculation with sensibility insulting morality. Just say you are leaving because the numbers no longer favour you. Just say you are exploring better political chances. The public may disagree, but at least honesty would survive the transaction. Claiming party disunity where none actually exists only insults public sensibilities.
And let me say this plainly, and I invite everyone to bookmark it for future reference: based on present realities, Maidoki’s chances of electoral redemption appear slim regardless of platform. I say this safe in the knowledge that politics can forgive many things. Perceived absence, however, is rarely one of them. People forgive mistakes faster than neglect. They forgive imperfection quicker than indifference.
If anything, this moment may offer Maidoki an opportunity for reflection. Not exile; reflection.
When stripped of noise and entitlement, politics often humbles even the loudest voices. Perhaps time outside the immediate spotlight may allow for deeper introspection about teamwork, governance, stakeholder engagement and the limits of perpetual blame shifting.
Maybe in those quiet moments, Maidoki would learn the one stubborn truth that ‘security is everybody’s business.’
And that no senator can promise security, only to later disclaim responsibility and hope voters will not notice the contradiction. Equally, no governor alone can wave a magic wand and solve insecurity overnight. Governance works through institutions, collaboration and collective responsibility. I suspect that Maidoki understood this reality well enough to campaign on it. It was in the application of it, that he failed. Which is precisely why voters now ask: where was the ownership after victory?
Ultimately, Maidoki’s political story should stand as caution to politicians everywhere. You cannot spend four years blaming others for promises you personally made and still expect applause when the electorate demands accountability. Politics is not activism, governance is not punditry, and leadership certainly cannot survive forever on explanation.
At some point, the people stop listening to excuses and begin counting outcomes. When that moment comes, even the loudest political exit begins to sound less like protest and more like what it truly is: the noise of accountability finally arriving.
Sani writes from Birnin Kebbi