Zoning Or Sharing The Spoils? Nigeria’s Rotational Power Culture And the Politics Of “Our Turn To Chop” -By Isaac Asabor

In Nigeria’s political vocabulary, few ideas generate as much heat, and as little honest reflection, as rotational government, popularly known as zoning. Presented as a stabilizing formula for a deeply diverse society, zoning is meant to ensure that political power circulates among regions, ethnic blocs, and interest groups. Yet beyond official explanations lies a more candid public interpretation: a structured queue for access to state power and, by extension, state resources. In everyday language, zoning has come to symbolize a simple proposition, “our turn to eat”.

This perception did not emerge from abstract theory. It grew out of lived political experience. Across multiple tiers of governance and party structures, the rotation of offices is often justified as a tool of inclusion. But inclusion, critics argue, has frequently meant the redistribution of opportunity among elite networks rather than the transformation of governance itself. Power moves geographically, but the incentives attached to power remain largely unchanged.

At its core, the debate over zoning reflects a tension between representation and responsibility. The logic of rotational power is straightforward: in a country defined by ethnic plurality and historical mistrust, structured power-sharing reduces the fear of domination. By guaranteeing that different groups will periodically hold office, the system seeks to promote belonging and manage competition. However, the political culture that has grown around this arrangement tells a more complicated story, one in which access to leadership is often treated less as a mandate to serve and more as a window of opportunity.

This is where the language of “our turn to chop” gains explanatory force. The phrase captures a widespread belief that political office is not merely administrative authority but distributive privilege. When power rotates, expectations of reward rotate with it. Appointments, contracts, and development priorities are frequently interpreted through the lens of regional entitlement. Governance becomes transactional, and public service risks being reframed as group compensation.

Critics describe this dynamic as elite capture disguised as fairness. Instead of broadening access to opportunity, zoning can redistribute influence among competing political coalitions. Each rotation signals not a transformation of the system but a change in who benefits from it. The national table remains the same; only the occupants shift.

This interpretation is reinforced by what observers call short-term rent extraction. When leadership is framed as a temporary entitlement tied to group rotation, the incentive structure favors immediacy over durability. The emphasis shifts from building resilient institutions to maximizing immediate gains. Development projects are evaluated for symbolic regional impact rather than long-term national benefit. Political loyalty becomes a currency as valuable as competence.

The vocabulary surrounding this phenomenon is telling. Expressions such as “stomach infrastructure” and “politics of the belly” are not academic inventions but popular diagnoses. They reflect a shared public sentiment that governance often revolves around distribution rather than transformation. In such a climate, political competition is less about policy vision and more about negotiated access to resources.

Supporters of rotational power argue that these criticisms underestimate Nigeria’s structural realities. They contend that in a federation shaped by uneven development and fragile trust, formal mechanisms of inclusion are indispensable. Without structured rotation, they warn, political dominance by particular regions or blocs could deepen grievances and destabilize the system. Zoning, in this view, is not a perfect instrument but a necessary compromise, a way of managing diversity while preserving national cohesion.

This argument carries weight. Nigeria’s history underscores the risks of perceived exclusion. In societies marked by plural identities, legitimacy often depends as much on recognition as on performance. Rotational arrangements offer symbolic assurance that no group is permanently shut out of power. They acknowledge plurality as a permanent feature of the political landscape.

Yet symbolism alone cannot sustain legitimacy indefinitely. Inclusion that operates primarily at the level of elite representation risks becoming performative. When ordinary citizens observe that governance outcomes change little regardless of which group occupies office, the promise of rotation begins to erode. Representation without transformation can appear as a ritual rather than a remedy.

Another persistent criticism is that zoning narrows the field of leadership selection by prioritizing origin over merit. When offices are effectively reserved for particular zones within a cycle, competence becomes secondary to geography. The system may ensure distribution of opportunity among groups, but it may also constrain the emergence of the most capable leadership at any given moment.

This dynamic shapes political ambition itself. When access to office is linked to identity alignment, political mobilization gravitates toward group loyalty rather than performance credibility. Candidates appeal to belonging before competence. Over time, this weakens accountability. Leaders are defended not for what they accomplish but for who they represent.

The consequences extend beyond elite competition. Rotational politics influences how citizens interpret governance and dissent. Criticism of leadership can be reframed as hostility toward a region or group. Public discourse becomes polarized, and accountability is diluted by identity solidarity. Instead of a shared civic conversation, political debate fragments into competing narratives of entitlement and grievance.

Ironically, a mechanism designed to manage division can end up reinforcing it. By institutionalizing identity as a primary factor in leadership selection, zoning continually foregrounds difference. Rather than dissolving boundaries, it formalizes them. The political system becomes a framework for negotiated coexistence rather than integrated citizenship.

A deeper structural issue lies beneath this pattern. Rotational arrangements often treat access to political office as the primary vehicle of inclusion. Yet in a robust federation, inclusion should be embedded in institutions that distribute opportunity consistently, irrespective of who holds power. When development appears contingent on which group occupies office, competition becomes zero-sum. Every rotation is interpreted as a shift in advantage rather than continuity of governance.

Supporters respond that abandoning rotational principles without building trust could risk renewed concentration of power. That concern cannot be dismissed lightly. However, preserving a flawed system indefinitely because alternatives are challenging does not resolve underlying tensions. It merely manages them.

The central question, therefore, is not whether rotation exists but what governance means within it. If rotational power continues to function as a cycle of entitlement, it will remain vulnerable to the charge that it organizes access rather than performance. If, however, leadership across rotations is consistently evaluated by national outcomes, economic growth, institutional integrity, public welfare, the meaning of rotation could evolve from entitlement to stewardship.

Such a transformation requires a shift in political culture. Representation must be understood not as permission to distribute benefits selectively but as responsibility to govern universally. Leaders must be judged by measurable impact rather than symbolic origin. Citizens, in turn, must be willing to hold leaders from their own constituencies accountable with the same rigor applied to others.

Nigeria’s challenge is therefore not only institutional but psychological. The persistence of zoning reflects both a fear of exclusion and a normalization of transactional politics. Addressing one without confronting the other will not produce durable reform. A system designed to manage diversity must also cultivate shared expectations of governance that transcend identity alignment.

Rotational power, at its best, could function as a transitional mechanism, an instrument that acknowledges plurality while institutions mature. At its worst, it becomes a permanent choreography of access, a predictable rotation of privilege that leaves structural governance deficits intact.

The future of zoning in Nigeria will depend on whether it can move beyond symbolism toward performance. If it remains primarily a mechanism for sequencing access to resources, it will continue to be interpreted as organized consumption rather than collective stewardship. If it evolves into a framework where representation coexists with accountability, it could contribute to stability without sacrificing competence.

For now, public skepticism endures because experience has taught citizens to view rotation through the lens of distribution rather than transformation. As long as political office is widely perceived as a resource to be consumed rather than a trust to be exercised, the language of “our turn to chop” will persist, not merely as rhetoric, but as diagnosis.

Nigeria’s political evolution will ultimately be measured not by how power rotates, but by what power accomplishes when it arrives. Until governance consistently transcends entitlement, rotational politics will continue to hover uneasily between inclusion and indulgence, between representation and reward. And the central question will remain unresolved: is rotation sharing responsibility, or simply sharing the spoils?