Editorial
The visit of a group known as Owerri Zone United to Okigwe zone leaders last week Friday, once again brought to the fore, the issue of Imo Charter of Equity.
The visit once again rekindled the question that has defined Imo State’s politics for more than two decades: who gets to govern, when, and on what basis. The Imo Charter of Equity, an informal agreement among the political elite to rotate the governorship among the state’s three senatorial zones, has moved from backroom understanding to front-page controversy. What was conceived as a peace pact is now being tested by ambition,and the growing impatience of a younger electorate.
For context, Imo is made up of Owerri, Okigwe and Orlu zones. Since 1999, no other zone has held the governorship for more than eight years consecutively except Orlu zone but the sequence has never been codified. The Charter of Equity first emerged in 1999 as a gentleman’s agreement to ensure that power moves around, to prevent the perception that one area is permanently in charge. In a state with deep intra-ethnic rivalries and a history of bitter contests, the logic was simple: share power, share peace. Unfortunately,that Charter was truncated in 2011.
Those who defend the Charter argue that equity is not the enemy of excellence. They contend that rotation builds trust. It reassures communities that roads, schools, and appointments will not be concentrated in one corridor. Proponents also point to the fragile nature of Imo’s politics, where elections have often been marred by tension. To them, abandoning the Charter now would reopen old wounds and reward the politics of domination over the politics of accommodation.
The counter-argument is just as forceful. Critics ask whether a state can afford to choose a governor by geography first and competence second. They cite the 1999 Constitution, which makes no provision for zoning, and warn that informal charters can be manipulated by party cabals. There is also the charge of mediocrity: that zoning protects entrenched interests and shuts out capable candidates who happen to come from a zone deemed “not due.” For many young professionals and civil society groups, the debate is no longer about zones, but about delivery.
Matters have come to a head in the last two electoral cycles. Allegations that the spirit of the Charter was breached,particularly in 2011, have fueled agitations, and acrimonious political situation. Sone party leaders have invoked the Charter to justify tickets, while aspirants have gone to court to challenge its validity. Traditional rulers, clergy, and town unions have also been dragged in, asked to bless or condemn arrangements that were never written into law. The result is a political atmosphere where every appointment and project is read through a zonal lens.
Beyond the governorship, other issues are arising. First is the question of legal standing. Can a political party enforce an agreement that is not in its constitution? Second is representation. Women and youths say the Charter talks about zones but says little about inclusion within those zones. Third is development. When the governorship rotates, does policy also rotate, or do we get abandoned projects every four to eight years? These are not abstract questions. They affect budgets, continuity, and investor confidence.
The governance impact is real. Under a strict rotation mindset, commissioners, board chairs, and even LGA allocations are often pre-bargained by zone. That can promote balance, but it can also entrench quota politics. On the other hand, ignoring equity entirely risks alienating large sections of the state. Imo’s challenge is to manage diversity without being held hostage by it. The Charter was meant to be a bridge, not a cage.
A comparative view helps. Several Nigerian states practice some form of zoning – notably Anambra, Abia, Enugu and Ebonyi – formally or informally. Where it works, it is backed by transparent party rules and a commitment to performance metrics. Where it fails, it becomes a tool for godfathers. Imo can learn from both. The goal should not be to abolish sensitivity to balance, but to subject that sensitivity to rules, timelines, and public scrutiny.
What then is the way forward? Nigerian Horn believes that the Charter can not remain a secret handshake. If Imo wants equity, let it be debated openly and, where possible, reflected in party constitutions with clear criteria. Second, equity must be married to fairness, justice and good conscience. Third, the conversation must expand beyond the governorship to include women, youths, and people with disabilities, so that “equity” does not mean the same few families rotating power.
Ultimately, Imo’s stability will not come from a document alone, but from statesmanship. The Charter of Equity was born out of a desire to keep the peace. To keep that promise alive in 2026 and beyond, political leaders must depersonalize the debate, respect the truth, and place Imo’s collective interest above zonal arithmetic.
The people are watching, and they are asking for one thing: a government that works. If the Imo Charter of Equity must survive a strict test in 2027, zonal irredentism and blind arguments must give way for sound and rational reasoning.
