Lagos Politicians and the Shrinking Imagination of Power
In the grand theatre of Nigerian politics, Lagos has always enjoyed top billing. It is the self-proclaimed “Centre of Excellence”, the commercial heartbeat of Africa’s largest nation, the city where tribes mix, hustle thrives, and every dream is supposedly possible.
But in recent months, Lagos has been performing a different kind of play; not the bustling drama of commerce or culture, but the farce of small-mindedness. Faced with pressing challenges; collapsing infrastructure, chaotic transportation, rising insecurity, and annual floods that reduce whole districts into aquatic theme parks, the Lagos State Government has chosen its latest priority: renaming streets.
Not just any streets. Streets named after Igbo figures.
The iconic Ozumba Mbadiwe Road on Victoria Island; known to every Lagosian, immortalised in countless directions, and a vital artery of the city, has been stripped of its name and rebadged with a Yoruba label. Similarly, Charly Boy Bus Stop, an unmissable landmark for commuters, has been rechristened. The Igbo imprint on the Lagos landscape is being painted over, one road sign at a time.
The Politics of Erasure
Of course, governments rename streets all the time. But context matters. And in Nigeria, context is everything. This spree comes against the backdrop of the 2023 elections, in which Bola Ahmed Tinubu; Lagos’ political landlord and now President, lost Lagos to Peter Obi, an Igbo candidate.
The optics are impossible to ignore: the Igbos embarrassed the Jagaban at the ballot box, and now Lagos politicians are retaliating with erasers and new signboards. It is democracy by deletion. Retaliation not through governance, but through the symbolic demolition of memory.
This is not policy. This is political vendetta disguised as urban management. It is less about roads than about reminding a community that dared to vote differently who really holds the keys to the city.
The Hypocrisy of Lagos’ Gatekeepers
But let us pause and admire the breathtaking hypocrisy at play. Lagos’ political class speaks of defending Yoruba heritage as though the city were some village shrine under threat of desecration. Yet these same leaders are only too happy to cash Igbo cheques, tax Igbo businesses, and rent properties to Igbo families.
Every election cycle, they demand Igbo votes for their preferred candidates, invoking slogans of “Lagos is for everybody.” But let the votes swing against them, and suddenly Lagos is not for everybody after all. It is a gated estate where your tribe determines whether your name can adorn a street sign.
We must ask: why is the Igbo presence threatening only at the level of symbolism, never at the level of revenue? When containers arrive at Apapa and Igbo traders pay customs, their identity is not offensive. When they build markets, apartments, and even entire suburbs, their ethnicity is no obstacle. But when they lend their names to a road, suddenly it becomes a cultural emergency? The contradiction would be laughable if it weren’t so tragic.
The Smallness of Lagos’ Priorities
Even if we ignore the ethnic undertones, what does it say about Lagos’ priorities that street renaming ranks high on its list of governance achievements?
This is a city where traffic congestion remains a daily torment, where public schools cry out for investment, where flooding annually displaces families, and where insecurity is rising. Yet the political class devotes time, energy, and resources to signboards.
It is as though the government has mistaken symbolism for substance. Perhaps they believe that once Ozumba Mbadiwe is erased, the potholes on the renamed road will miraculously fill themselves. Or that Charly Boy Bus Stop, stripped of its name, will suddenly sprout streetlights and working drainage. Lagosians know better. They suffer daily under governance that prefers cosmetic adjustments to concrete solutions.
The Dangers of Tribal Score-Settling
Make no mistake: the consequences of these actions extend far beyond cartography. Nigeria is a country still burdened by the memory of civil war, still scarred by mutual suspicion among its ethnic groups. In such a fragile federation, the politics of erasure is dynamite.
To tell Igbos, through the casual removal of their names from public space, that they do not belong in Lagos is to feed the separatist narrative that Nigeria is irredeemably hostile to them. It strengthens the hand of agitators who insist that integration is a myth, that the federation cannot be trusted, and that the Igbo destiny lies outside Nigeria’s borders.
What Lagos politicians treat as a petty triumph may, in fact, be fuelling the fire of disintegration. History has shown that Nigeria does not fracture in one dramatic moment; it crumbles slowly, through accumulated slights and symbolic betrayals. This is one such betrayal.
History Cannot Be Renamed
Let us remember: Lagos itself is a city of migrants. Its modern greatness was not built by one tribe but by many. The Brazilian returnees who shaped its architecture, the Hausa communities who settled for centuries, the Igbo traders whose markets underpin its economy, and countless others. To pretend otherwise is to rewrite history with the blunt tool of chauvinism.
If Lagos’ leaders are truly interested in renaming streets, perhaps they should begin with more honest titles. Corruption Crescent in honour of missing billions. Flooded Expressway to immortalise the annual water carnival of Lekki. Power Outage Boulevard to mark the city’s eternal darkness. These names would at least reflect reality, not propaganda.
The Legacy of Small-Minded Leaders
What future do these politicians imagine for Lagos? A city where every street bears a tribal seal of approval? A metropolis policed by ethnic gatekeepers, where cosmopolitanism is sacrificed at the altar of political insecurity? That is not a vision; it is a tragedy.
Leadership is not the art of deleting opponents. It is the courage to govern for all, even those who reject you at the ballot box. The true test of Lagos’ greatness lies not in its ability to erase Igbo names, but in its capacity to honour every community that has made it home.
In their haste to settle political scores, Lagos’ leaders are forgetting a crucial truth: history has a long memory. Long after today’s politicians have left office, Lagosians will remember their renamings not as acts of pride, but as monuments to insecurity. They will be remembered as men who, faced with the towering challenges of a global city, chose instead to fight street signs.
A Warning for the Nigerian State
Nigeria’s survival depends on the belief that no tribe is permanently excluded, no group permanently diminished. By undermining that belief, Lagos’ leaders are not just diminishing their city; they are weakening the Nigerian project itself.
The renaming of roads may appear small, but it carries the heavy weight of symbolism. And in politics, symbols matter. They shape identities, fuel grievances, and either heal or deepen divisions. Lagos has chosen the path of division.
The question now is simple: how many more acts of small-mindedness can Nigeria endure before the centre gives way?
Dr. EK Gwuru can be reached at Nkolo Ikembe.
