Imolites And APC Membership: A Vote Of No Confidence Foretold

CAJETAN DUKE 

While it has become obvious that Imolites are undoubtedly fade up and disconnected with the ruling All Progressives Congress in Imo State, for its provocative failure to deliver meaningful socio-economic development across the state, what we do not know was the people’s impatience to wait for the poll day to deliver their verdict. Imolites could not bear the charade and deceit any longer hence their resounding vote of no confidence delivered in an unmistakable clarity.

What began with an air of overconfidence and exaggerated self-importance has quickly unraveled the ruling party in Imo State.

The party rolled out the red carpet for its nationwide membership revalidation and electronic registration exercise with characteristic grandiosity. Yet what was intended as a triumphant display of loyalty has instead become a comedy of errors, with Imolites treating the process like an unwelcome intruder at a family gathering.

Registration points across the state—adorned with beautiful banners and staffed by optimistic party officials—stand eerily quiet, broken only by the occasional sigh of boredom from agents. The turnout isn’t merely low; it’s abysmal, a stark testament to how disconnected the ruling party has become. While the APC might have anticipated fireworks, all it has received is a damp squib.

The party underestimated the people, expecting throngs of eager citizens queuing to reaffirm their allegiance. Instead, the exercise has drawn fewer participants than a rainy-day market stall. Reports from across Imo describe deserted centers where party agents far outnumber registrants.

In Owerri, the capital city, a handful of die-hard supporters appear, but in areas like Ngor Okpala, Mbaitoli, Owerri West, Ideato North, Ideato South, Obowo, Ahiazu Mbaise, Aboh Mbaise, Ohaji/Egbema, the situation is even bleaker: better imagined than witnessed. This isn’t mere apathy; it’s a deliberate snub, a collective eye-roll from a populace exhausted by the APC’s theatrical governance. How ironic that a party promising “shared prosperity” can’t even muster shared enthusiasm among its own ranks.

This dismal participation amounts to an early vote of no confidence—not delivered at the ballot box, but through empty registration lines well ahead of the 2027 general elections. Imolites are discerning; they’ve studied the APC’s playbook and found it unworthy of endorsement. Why renew membership in a club more exclusive in its failures than its successes? The low turnout previews electoral doom—a silent referendum where the people vote with their feet by staying away. APC strategists must be wondering where the magic disappeared, but the reflection in the mirror provides the answer: six years of bungled leadership and absentee governance.

At the heart of this rejection is a profound lack of accountability, the defining feature of the APC’s reign in Imo. Campaign promises evaporate faster than morning dew, leaving citizens chasing illusions of development. Budgets are announced with fanfare, but audits and explanations for misplaced funds remain as rare as hen’s teeth. The party’s culture thrives on opacity, where questions about public spending elicit deflection or hostility. Imolites, tired of being treated as gullible spectators in a poor magic show, are boycotting the encore. No wonder the registration drive feels like a ghost town: the absence of accountability has transformed loyalists into skeptics.

Human rights abuses under the APC’s watch have deepened this disdain, turning the state into a stage for tragic farce. Arbitrary arrests, intimidation of critics, and suppression of dissent have become routine, all cloaked in the guise of maintaining order. Imolites recall the heavy-handed tactics that silence grievances, where voicing concerns can lead to detention faster than one can utter “democracy.” The party’s disregard for basic freedoms mocks the constitution it claims to uphold. This registration flop serves as the people’s witty, non-violent retort against a government that coerces rather than convinces.

Reckless loss of life has further stained the APC’s tenure, making the party synonymous with preventable tragedies. From unchecked harassment of market women and artisans by government agents to the demolition of business premises, lives are treated as expendable. Families mourn loved ones lost to violence the government could have averted, yet apologies are scarce and justice scarcer. The blood on the APC’s hands is no metaphor—it’s a grim reality Imolites refuse to ignore. By shunning the membership drive, the people are saying, “Thanks, but no thanks—we’d rather not join a club that kills the vibe, and sometimes its citizens.”

Widespread destruction of property has left lasting scars across Imo. Bulldozers roll in under dubious pretexts, demolishing homes and businesses without fair compensation or due process. Markets are razed, farmlands seized—all under the banner of “urban renewal” that benefits only a select few. The wreckage is not just physical but economic, pushing families to the brink. Surveying the ruins of their livelihoods, Imolites view the registration exercise as yet another attempt to paper over these cracks. Low turnout? It’s poetic justice—a refusal to rebuild the party’s image atop the rubble of shattered dreams.

While the APC touts a few cosmetic projects in Owerri metropolis—shiny roundabouts and superficial facelifts—the facade crumbles beyond city limits. These token gestures are mere lipstick on a pig, meant to impress visitors while ignoring the rot elsewhere. Venture into any local government area, and the contrast is stark: Owerri’s polished veneer versus the neglected hinterlands. This selective development is no joke, and Imolites are no longer laughing. Uneven handouts have only fueled the boycott, proving that breadcrumbs in the capital cannot satisfy the state’s hunger.

Dilapidated road infrastructure dominates the landscape outside Owerri, turning commutes into perilous obstacle courses. Potholes large enough to swallow vehicles and crumbling bridges are the APC’s enduring legacy. Promises of rehabilitation languish in forgotten manifestos while citizens navigate death traps daily. The poor state of roads is more than inconvenient—it’s a metaphor for the party’s stalled progress. Fed up with dodging craters, Imolites are now dodging the APC’s registration desks. Who needs membership when the path to it is as broken as the government’s commitments?

Collapsed public schools and decayed primary healthcare centers further expose systemic neglect. Classrooms with leaking roofs, lack of teachers, and outdated materials mock the party’s education rhetoric. Health facilities, once symbols of hope, now stand abandoned—stocked with expired dreams rather than medicine. Children learn under trees; patients die waiting for care—all while APC officials trumpet phantom achievements. This decay has bred deep resentment, rendering the registration exercise a punchline. The low enthusiasm is schooled in the hard lessons of betrayal.

Finally, despite improved revenue allocation and local government autonomy, Imolites continue to grapple with hunger and deprivation under the APC’s watch—a cruel irony that mocks every promise. Fertile lands yield little for the people, as policies favor cronies over communities. Poverty grips the state like a vice, squeezing out hope while the elite feast. This registration flop is the people’s feast of resistance—a clear signal that the APC’s banquet of blunders is over. As 2027 approaches, the empty centers foretell a landslide of rejection.

Faced with this stark picture of resentment, the APC should urgently review its priorities and begin rearranging its shelves—starting with preparations for the exit door.

– Duke writes from his beautiful and warm community of Nguru Umuaro in Ngor Okpala LGA.