The exclusion of Imo State from President Bola Tinubu’s 32-member ambassadorial list is not a bureaucratic footnote. It is a political earthquake rumbling beneath the surface of national appointments, exposing how power is allocated, how loyalty is measured, and how the machinery of influence operates within Nigeria’s ruling party. When a state that has been the most stable APC foothold in the South-East since 2015 fails to secure a single slot, the omission demands deeper interrogation.
In reconstructing how the list emerged, a consistent pattern becomes impossible to ignore. The President’s choices overwhelmingly reflected the preferences, interests, and political debts of his closest allies. This was not a technocratic selection. It was a reward structure—a compensation sheet for those who stood with him before, during, and after the turbulent 2023 presidential race.
Take Senator Orji Uzor Kalu. A political baron with long-standing ties to Tinubu, Kalu’s influence was unmistakably stamped onto the nominations with the inclusion of his daughter, Neya Kalu. It was a gesture that captured the spirit of this list: personal proximity mattered. Alliances mattered. Political gratitude became diplomatic capital.
Similar currents run through the nominations linked to former Governors, Ifeanyi Ugwuanyi and Okezie Ikpeazu, both members of the G-5 rebellion that splintered the PDP and ultimately assisted Tinubu’s ascent to the Presidency. Their support carried weight during a defining political showdown. Today, their political wagers have yielded dividends in the ambassadorial roster.
The rise of other figures such as Reno Omokri, Femi Fani-Kayode, Florence Ajimobi, and Rotimi Pedro further confirms that the list was not shaped by geopolitical fairness but by the gravitational pull of Tinubu’s inner circle. These are individuals with varying histories of advocacy, loyalty, or tactical alignment with the President’s political life. Many publicly defended him in high-stakes moments, amplified his messaging, or reinforced his political architecture. Their presence on the list underscores that the administration is comfortable building state representation around those who have proven their loyalty, not necessarily those who reflect broad national diversity.
It is within this matrix of reward and reciprocity that the omission of Imo State becomes both puzzling and politically embarrassing. Imo has been a reliable APC state for nearly a decade—a rarity in a region resistant to the ruling party’s advance. If political loyalty was the currency that bought ambassadorial seats, Imo should have been first at the counter. Instead, it was left outside the room entirely.
One argument now floating quietly around is that a second batch is coming. That is cold comfort to those who understand the symbolism of first-batch selections. Political prestige lies in priority. Those who matter are front-loaded. Those who are peripheral are deferred. Why would Imo be relegated to a hypothetical “Phase Two” when it has been at the core of APC administration in the South-East since 2015?
For years, Imo’s political elite have sold a singular narrative to their people: membership in the APC, and alignment with the ruling power bloc, guarantees access to the “national grid.” Power, influence, federal appointments—these were meant to be the benefits of unwavering loyalty. Yet despite carrying the party’s banner through elections, internal crises, and turbulent leadership transitions, Imo has found itself missing from a list that should have amplified its national relevance.
Even more striking is the fact that Imo has produced the Chairman of the APC Governors’ Forum twice. The forum is the most powerful pressure group within the ruling party—its influence extends into federal appointments, national strategy, and the political survival of administrations. Rochas Okorocha once held that role; today, Governor Hope Uzodimma holds it. In theory, this position should translate into substantial leverage. In reality, however, the ambassadorial list suggests a different story.
The core question becomes unavoidable: If Uzodimma, with the weight of the APC Governors’ Forum behind him, could not secure even one ambassadorial nomination for his state, what does that imply? Either his influence within the Tinubu structure is overstated, or the President prioritizes personal networks above institutional party hierarchies. Neither interpretation is flattering for Imo’s political standing.
Meanwhile, Abia—governed by the Labour Party—secured two ambassadorial slots. The irony is unmistakable. If party loyalty were the metric, Abia would have been far down the ladder. Instead, its political godfathers, its behind-the-scenes power brokers, and its strategic alliances gave it an advantage that trumped formal party affiliation. In this administration, the APC label is not the access card; direct relevance to Tinubu is.
For Imo, the consequences are symbolic and strategic. The state that has carried the APC’s flag for a decade now finds itself watching from the sidelines as those with more recent or more transactional loyalties reap federal rewards. The ambassadorial omission signals that the state’s political capital within the Tinubu presidency may be weaker than previously assumed. And until another list appears—if it ever does—Imo’s absence hangs heavily over the state’s political landscape.
Ultimately, the ambassadorial list is more than a set of diplomatic postings. It is a political mirror reflecting who matters in the President’s inner circle. And for all its loyalty, alignment, and longevity within the APC, Imo State did not make the cut. The silence of its name on that list is not just an omission. It is a revelation.
