Nigeria’s political class has always possessed an uncanny talent for confusing spectacle with substance and mistaking social media fame for authentic political influence. That confusion now finds expression in the so-called “City Boys” mobilisation scheme designed to sell President Bola Ahmed Tinubu to the South East ahead of the 2027 elections. The architects of this project appear convinced that if a few Instagram-famous Igbo socialites chant slogans loudly enough, millions of politically conscious young people in the region will suddenly abandon their convictions and fall in line.
The logic behind the campaign is embarrassingly simplistic. It assumes that nightlife celebrity status automatically translates into political authority. But influence in the digital entertainment economy does not necessarily convert into the moral or intellectual capital required to shape political consciousness among a population that has historically been fiercely independent in its political judgment.
At the center of this curious political experiment is Seyi Tinubu, who has emerged as the energetic face of the “City Boy” movement. His mission appears straightforward: recruit flashy, high-profile entrepreneurs from the South East whose online popularity might serve as a marketing bridge between the presidency and a skeptical youth population.
Among the most visible faces enlisted for this project are Obinna Iyiegbu—better known as Obi Cubana—and Paschal Okechukwu Cubana Chief Priest). Both men are celebrated figures in Nigeria’s nightlife and entertainment circuits. Their parties trend online. Their flamboyant displays dominate social media timelines. Their entrepreneurial successes in hospitality and entertainment are undeniable. But political legitimacy cannot be distilled from champagne theatrics.
The South East is not a political marketplace where online influencers can casually stroll in and rewire the convictions of millions of young voters. The region is populated by some of the most politically attentive, educated, and economically self-driven youths in Nigeria. The 2023 presidential election illustrated this clearly when large numbers of young voters rallied behind Peter Obi with a zeal that confounded the country’s traditional patronage networks.
That enthusiasm was not manufactured. It emerged from years of economic frustration, generational aspirations, and a growing impatience with a political culture built on patronage and spectacle. It was driven by grassroots civic engagement and digital activism—forces far deeper than the promotional power of nightlife celebrities.
Yet the City Boy project appears to assume that distributing palliatives and staging empowerment events can recalibrate this political consciousness. In reality, what such gestures risk doing is introducing what critics describe as a troubling culture of dependency—what some have metaphorically called “Almajiri politics”—into a region historically defined by self-reliance, enterprise, and commercial ingenuity.
The troubling optics of this approach were vividly illustrated on March 14 at Heroes Square in Owerri, where a so-called empowerment event reportedly descended into a chaotic scramble as young people rushed to grab distributed items. The scene was less a celebration of empowerment than a stark portrait of desperation. It exposed, more than anything else, the depth of economic hardship currently gripping many Nigerian households.
Rather than serving as a public relations victory, the spectacle functioned as a silent indictment of the very government the campaign seeks to promote. When citizens scramble for handouts in such a manner, it reveals not political enthusiasm but the crushing weight of economic distress.
There is also a striking irony embedded in the entire enterprise. Not long ago, figures now associated with this emerging City Boy campaign were among those who publicly echoed calls for the release of Nnamdi Kanu—a cause that resonates deeply across the South East. The sudden pivot from that position to enthusiastic participation in a political branding campaign for the same federal establishment invites inevitable questions.
The South East electorate is neither naïve nor forgetful. Young voters in the region track public statements and shifting allegiances with remarkable attentiveness. When public figures move abruptly from one political posture to another, the credibility deficit that follows can be difficult to overcome.
Ultimately, the attempt to deploy celebrity entrepreneurs as political persuaders may amount to little more than a noisy sideshow. Obi Cubana and Cubana Chief Priest have built impressive careers within the hospitality and entertainment industry. That is where their expertise lies. Politics, however, is a far more complicated terrain—one that requires ideological clarity, moral authority, and an intimate connection with grassroots realities.
The wiser course for them may be to concentrate on the businesses that made them successful while leaving the delicate business of political persuasion to those whose legitimacy emerges not from Instagram virality but from genuine public trust. The South East youth electorate has already demonstrated that its political convictions cannot be easily rewritten by celebrity spectacle.
