By a Political Analyst and Columnist, Pamela O.
In the fluid theatre of Nigerian politics, loyalty is rarely a fixed point. Hon. David Idris Zacharias, the two-term member representing Idah/Ibaji/Igalamela-Odolu/Ofu Federal Constituency, has offered a fresh illustration.
Elected and re-elected on the APC platform, he now stands as the PDP flag-bearer for the same seat in 2027—while the state he represents remains firmly under APC control. The move is neither novel nor particularly shocking. It is, however, a revealing case study in how personal political survival is increasingly detached from party brand.
Zacharias’s journey has been packaged, not without some justification, as one of resilience: from modest beginnings to the Green Chamber, where he chairs the Committee on Safety Standards and Regulations.
That narrative of humble ascent and constituency accessibility has been useful. Yet the decision to cross to the PDP for the next cycle suggests that even a functioning personal brand and the advantages of incumbency were not enough to guarantee him a comfortable path inside the APC.
Whether the blockage was a primary contest he could not win, a zoning calculation, or a simple loss of internal support, the result is the same: a sitting APC lawmaker now campaigning against the party that gave him two terms.
Such switches are often framed by their architects as principled realignments and by their opponents as opportunism.
Both descriptions can be true at once. In a system where tickets are frequently allocated by godfathers, money, and last-minute deals rather than open competition, politicians treat parties as vehicles rather than homes.
Zacharias is simply reading the same map many of his colleagues have read before him. The PDP, for its part, gains an incumbent with name recognition, local networks, and an existing structure in a large Igala-speaking constituency—assets that are not easily manufactured in the short window before 2027.
How the gamble turns out is less certain. Incumbency remains a powerful currency in constituency races, and a well-funded, organised challenger can sometimes overcome a party label.
At the same time, Zacharias must now campaign in a state whose governor, Ahmed Usman Ododo, is APC and whose broader political machinery is aligned with the ruling party.
Local APC structures that once worked for him can be redirected against him. Voters who previously backed him partly because he carried the APC ticket may recalculate; those who opposed him may warm to the new label.
The Igala political space has its own internal fault lines of clan, local government, and personality.
A defection can either consolidate support among those who feel sidelined by the APC or expose the candidate to charges of inconsistency that erode the very trust he has cultivated.
The broader risk is not personal to Zacharias alone. When elected officials treat party platforms as interchangeable, the already weak link between manifesto and mandate grows weaker still.
Constituents are left to judge candidates less on the coherence of any governing philosophy and more on the distribution of resources, the strength of personal networks, and the simple question of who can “deliver.”
In that environment, the 2027 contest in Idah Federal Constituency will likely be decided by ground organisation, the quality of the APC candidate who emerges, and the mood of voters who have watched this particular lawmaker change jerseys mid-stream.
Zacharias may yet win. He may also discover that the same flexibility that allowed him to secure a PDP ticket has diluted the loyalty that once sustained him.
Either outcome will be instructive. In Nigerian politics, the stunt is rarely the switch itself. The stunt is the assumption that voters will continue to treat the switch as irrelevant.
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