BY the time 2022 arrived, the energy of Nigeria’s restless youth had already been shaped by decades of disappointments. From the stolen hopes of June 12, 1993, to the #EndSARS protests in 2020, a generation that had never seen a Nigeria that truly worked was now searching for something new. They wanted more than survival; they wanted dignity, accountability, and a country that valued its citizens. Out of this hunger came a movement that would shake the foundations of Nigerian politics; the Obidient Movement.
Unlike the politicians who often saw Nigerian youths as tools for violence, rented crowds, or faceless voters, Peter Obi represented something different. His name had floated through politics for years, as a former governor of Anambra State who built a reputation for prudence, humility, and a kind of quiet efficiency. He had been dismissed by many as “too stingy” because he refused to spend recklessly, but to a younger generation who had grown tired of flamboyance and waste, that very quality became his badge of honor.
When Obi declared his intention to contest for the presidency in 2022, first under the PDP before switching to the Labour Party, something unusual happened. His candidacy did not spread like the traditional machinery-driven campaigns of Nigeria’s past. Instead, it spread like wildfire through WhatsApp groups, Twitter threads, Instagram reels, and TikTok videos. It was not politicians who built his structure it was ordinary citizens, especially the youth, who took it upon themselves to campaign for him, design posters, organize rallies, and fundraise across the globe. For the first time in Nigeria’s political history, a candidate’s campaign became almost entirely people-driven.
The slogan “We are Obidient” was born, and quickly it was more than just a political catchphrase. It became a badge of identity. To be Obidient meant you were tired of corruption, tired of recycled politicians, tired of a system that demanded suffering from the majority while rewarding the few. It meant you believed Nigeria could still be saved. In city after city, rally after rally, the Obidient Movement revealed its power.
Young Nigerians turned campaign grounds into carnivals. In Lagos, the “Two Million March” filled the streets with music, dances, and chants. In Kaduna, thousands defied fear of political intimidation to wave Labour Party flags in solidarity. In Abuja, youths transformed the campaign into a festival of hope. The rallies were often self-funded, organized by volunteers, and decorated with homemade banners that carried not only Obi’s face but also the dreams of millions who had long been told their votes didn’t matter.
But the Obidient Movement was not confined within Nigeria’s borders. Nigerians in the diaspora, scattered across the UK, the US, Canada, and Europe, rallied in solidarity. They raised money, organized town halls, andlobbied international media to pay attention to the revolution bubbling in Africa’s most populous nation. They wore Obidient t-shirts in Times Square, held rallies in London, and even took the message to parliaments and think tanks abroad. For once, Nigeria’s political struggle was not just local, it had become global.
Of course, such energy did not go unnoticed by the political establishment. Obi’s opponents dismissed his supporters as “noisy social media children without structure.” But that mockery only fueled the movement further. The youths flipped the insult into pride: if having no structure meant rejecting the corrupt structures that had kept Nigeria underdeveloped, then they wanted none of it.
As the 2023 election drew near, it was clear that the Obidient Movement had shifted Nigeria’s political landscape. What was once thought to be a two-horse race between the ruling APC and the PDP had now become a three-way contest. Suddenly, a third force had risen, built not by moneybags but by passion, sweat, and the boundless energy of a generation that refused to be silenced.
Election day, however, brought its own heartbreak. Across the country, reports of violence, intimidation, and logistical failures filled the air. In some places, ballots were snatched. In others, voters were attacked. The Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) faced criticism for failing to transmit results promptly as promised, raising doubts about transparency. In Lagos and several southern states, there were allegations that ethnic profiling and threats were used to suppress Obidient votes.
Yet, despite the irregularities and controversies, the numbers told a powerful story. Peter Obi and the Labour Party, without the deep pockets or entrenched networks of the traditional parties, secured over six million votes nationwide, winning Lagos, the supposed stronghold of the APC candidate, and sweeping the South-East while making inroads in the North. For a party many had dismissed as irrelevant just a year before, it was nothing short of historic.
But perhaps the most remarkable victory of the Obidient Movement was not in the ballot box. It was in the minds of Nigerians. For the first time in decades, millions of young people who had never voted before found themselves at polling stations. First-time voters in their twenties and thirties turned out in droves, refusing to let apathy define them. The idea that “votes don’t count” was challenged head-on. Even in defeat, the Obidient Movement had expanded the democratic imagination of Nigeria.
After the election, the movement refused to die. Peter Obi challenged the results in court, and although the legal battles were met with disappointment by many of his supporters, the Obidient spirit remained alive. Social media spaces continued to buzz with political debates, advocacy, and demands for good governance. Civic education groups sprang up, determined to sustain the momentum. What had begun as an election campaign had now evolved into something bigger—a political awakening. In truth, the Obidient Movement carried the DNA of June 12 and #EndSARS. Like MKO Abiola’s campaign, it sought to bridge Nigeria’s divides and give hope to ordinary citizens. Like #EndSARS, it was decentralized, grassroots-driven, and heavily youth-led. It carried with it the scars of past betrayals, but also the determination to push forward. If June12 lit the torch of democracy, and #EndSARS reignited it with rage, then the Obidient Movement carried it into the twenty-first century with resilience and vision.
Today, critics argue that the movement is in “ICU” weakened by the weight of political realities and the frustrations of unmet expectations. Yet even if it struggles, it has already changed Nigeria in ways that cannot be undone. A generation that once saw politics as a dirty game has now entered the arena, armed with smartphones, voices, and an unshakable belief that tomorrow must be better than today. The Obidient Movement may not have won the presidency in 2023, but it won something more enduring: it restored belief. It proved that Nigerians, especially the youth, can dream of a country where leaders are accountable, elections are competitive, and the people, not godfathers, hold the true power. And just like June 12 and #EndSARS, it stands as a reminder that every movement, no matter how bruised, is a seed for the future.
The story of the Obidient Movement is not finished. It is still being written in the actions of young Nigerians who refuse to give up, in the conversations happening in living rooms and lecture halls, in the courage of those who organize, agitate, and advocate for justice. It is a story that belongs not to one man, but to a generation that decided to believe again.
And so, in the trilogy of Nigeria’s youth-led movements for change, the Obidient Movement stands as the latest chapter. June 12 gave us a symbol of hope. #EndSARS gave us the cryof resistance. The Obidient Movement gave us a glimpse of what is possible when the people themselves, without waiting for politicians, rise to take ownership of their destiny.
The question that remains is simple: Will this generation let that fire die, or will they carry it forward until the dream becomes reality?
