TAYO MABEWEJE
There comes a time in politics when the loudest noise comes not from a rising movement but from an empty chamber where echoes mistake themselves for applause. Prof. Iyabo Obasanjo’s latest outburst against Senator Solomon Olamilekan Adeola (Yayi) belongs squarely in that category.
Her tirade is less a declaration of political strength than an exhibition of wounded pride dressed in borrowed confidence. It is a masterpiece of self-consolation, where imagination is mistaken for reality and wishful thinking is marketed as political momentum.
It is ironic that someone of her academic pedigree would abandon the discipline of evidence for the convenience of fantasy. Great minds persuade with facts; fading politicians comfort themselves with fiction.
She now finds herself exactly where she appears to belong—the PDP, a party many critics have mockingly described as the “Party Deceiving People.” Perhaps there she has found companions equally committed to convincing themselves that defeat is merely delayed victory. If self-deception were an Olympic event, they would surely be perennial gold medalists.
Her latest performance recalls the old saying: “A man who applauds himself should not mistake the sound for a standing ovation.” The applause she hears exists largely within the walls of her own imagination.
She asks the public to believe she is “unbeatable.” By whom? Based on what? Politics is not won by declarations into microphones; it is won through years of visible engagement, enduring relationships and the confidence of ordinary people.
Where is the political machinery she boasts about? Where are the ward structures? Where are the loyal foot soldiers? Where are the crowds that naturally gather behind a genuine grassroots leader? A tree does not announce that it bears fruit; the weight of its harvest bends its branches for all to see.
Her claim that she would have defeated Senator Adeola had she remained in the governorship race belongs in the museum of political fairy tales, alongside every “would have,” “could have,” and “should have” ever uttered by defeated ambition.
The attempt to paint herself as the aggrieved heroine of a political drama is equally unconvincing. Politics is neither a family inheritance nor a lifetime entitlement. Every election resets the clock. Every aspirant must earn relevance afresh.
The greater irony is that she appears determined to convince herself that Ogun politics has stood still, patiently waiting for her return. It has not. Politics is a fast-moving river. Those who step away for years should not expect to return and find the current frozen in their honour.
One cannot ignore the symbolism of her new political association. Standing shoulder to shoulder with Ladi Adebutu, another politician whose ambitions have repeatedly collided with electoral reality, creates the image of travellers consulting one another after both have lost the map. It is difficult to lead others when those at the front are still searching for the road.
As Abraham Lincoln wisely observed, “You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you cannot fool all of the people all of the time.” Ogun people have become far too discerning to confuse political nostalgia with present-day relevance.
There is also an old African proverb that says, “The masquerade dancing alone in the marketplace should not assume the whole village is celebrating.” Solitary excitement is not mass support.
Senator Solomon Olamilekan Adeola does not need to answer every emotional outburst thrown in his direction. Mountains do not descend to debate with echoes. His political credentials have been built through years of public engagement, legislative service and grassroots organisation—not through media dramatics.
Prof. Iyabo Obasanjo should therefore be allowed to enjoy her conversations with the mirrors that continue to reflect electoral invincibility back at her. The people of Ogun know the difference between substance and spectacle, between genuine political capital and expired political currency.
History remembers names, but elections reward work. In politics, pedigree may open a door, but only the people decide who remains in the room.