Tinubu’s Plateau Gambit – Yilwatda, 2027, And The Return Of The Machiavellian Strategist

ABDULLAHI O. HARUNA HARUSPICE

In the fog of Nigeria’s ever-churning political theatre, only a few ever grasp the long game. Most react. Some plot. But a rare few—like Bola Ahmed Tinubu—execute. Not merely for the day’s applause, but for the echoes of future triumph. The recent strategic surfacing of Prof. Nentawe Yilwatda into Nigeria’s national conversation is no coincidence. It is a deliberate move—a Plateau gambit—played by a man whose style of power politics echoes the ancient tacticians of empire: calculated, subtle, and precise.

 

To understand Tinubu is to accept that he operates more like a chess grandmaster than a democratic populist. He moves pieces far in advance. Like Niccolò Machiavelli’s “Prince,” Tinubu’s actions are rarely romantic, but always rational. And in Nigeria’s turbulent political terrain, where loyalty is fleeting and identity politics trumps ideology, rationality is a rare and dangerous weapon.

That Prof. Nentawe Yilwatda is rising again—whether by appointment, endorsement, or realignment—is not a routine political development. It is a signal wrapped in strategy. Yilwatda, a respected technocrat and former gubernatorial candidate in Plateau State under the APC and now minister, represents more than competence. He is a son of the soil in a state that is both a geographical and political bridge between North and South. Plateau is Nigeria’s metaphor—a melting pot of faiths, tribes, and turmoil. Whoever stabilizes Plateau is not just winning votes; he is mastering Nigeria’s middle-belt heartbeat.

Tinubu understands this. With 2027 on the horizon, his re-election ambitions will require more than federal incumbency—it will demand regional stability, ethnic equilibrium, and trusted surrogates across Nigeria’s fault lines. Prof. Nentawe offers all three.

By aligning with Nentawe now, Tinubu is not just preparing for Plateau; he is pre-positioning for the entire northern arc. In a zone where Christian minorities often feel alienated and Muslim majorities jostle for dominance, a Yilwatda candidacy or appointment becomes a bridge—both symbolic and strategic.

If one were to reach into the pages of political history for an analogue to Tinubu’s maneuvering, they’d find shades of Otto von Bismarck, Zhuge Liang of the Three Kingdoms era in China, or the masterful Roman general Scipio Africanus. These were men who understood that wars were not won on the battlefield alone, but in the careful cultivation of alliances, psychological superiority, and timing.

Like Bismarck, Tinubu is not a man of mass emotional charisma, but of elite consensus-building. Like Zhuge Liang, he knows that appearing to lose a battle today can set the trap for tomorrow’s decisive victory. And like Scipio, who defeated Hannibal by not confronting him head-on but by attacking his support base in Iberia, Tinubu is working the peripheries—regions like Plateau—to weaken the opposition from within.

The 2027 general election will not be just another contest. It will be the first real referendum on Tinubu’s presidency. If 2023 was won on the back of a divided opposition and an energized South West base, 2027 will test whether Tinubu’s “Renewed Hope” has taken root nationally.

By 2025, the signs are already taking shape. The opposition remains fragmented—with the PDP still bleeding from internal fractures and Peter Obi’s Labour Party unsure of whether it is a movement or a party. But Tinubu, never one to be complacent, is consolidating—quietly, effectively.

From reengineering federal appointments to reflect both competence and vote-calculation, to strategic economic messaging and social palliatives, the President is positioning himself not just as a Yoruba statesman but as a pan-Nigerian force. In this context, the elevation of figures like Prof. Nentawe becomes doubly potent—it is both reward and recon.

It must be said that Nentawe Yilwatda is not a mere pawn. He is a metaphor of Tinubu’s politics: data-driven, quietly intense, and regionally strategic. In his 2023 gubernatorial run, Nentawe was no lightweight. He carried the APC’s flag in a hostile terrain, spoke the language of digital transformation, and presented himself as a symbol of generational shift. Though he lost, his defeat was not political death—it was simply deferred deployment.

What Tinubu appears to understand—and what his opponents often ignore—is that the future is not always built with winners of yesterday, but with the promise-bearers of tomorrow. By drawing Nentawe close now, Tinubu is investing in a narrative of youth, innovation, and ethnic balance.

The timing is also instructive. With political tempers cooling in Plateau and legal skirmishes giving way to developmental anxieties, Nentawe’s return sends a comforting message to the region: that the federal center has not forgotten them. It also warns the opposition: Tinubu is not resting.

Machiavelli wrote that a Prince should be feared rather than loved—if he cannot be both. But in Tinubu’s case, he prefers to be respected. And respect, in Nigerian politics, is born not from slogans but from survival—of elections, of betrayal, of doubt. Tinubu has survived them all. And with the slow reconfiguration of Nigeria’s political geometry—through people like Nentawe—he is preparing not just to win again, but to dominate the narrative.

The lesson here is clear: while others count votes, Tinubu counts variables.

Where others react, he recalibrates. Where others retreat, he repositions. And where others sleep, he selects—people, places, plans.

So, when the history of Nigeria’s Fourth Republic is written, it may say of Bola Tinubu what was once said of Richelieu in France: “He did not need to shout; he simply rearranged the furniture of power.”

And right now, that furniture is quietly being moved to Plateau.

Strategically musing