Oyo State is shaking once again, not because of Seyi Makinde’s succession question or any regular propaganda push by Oyo APC or Accord, but due to a crown-sized squabble rekindling centuries-old rivalries and reopening historic wounds. The battle? Who should be the permanent chairman of the Oyo State Council of Obas and Chiefs. Now, at the middle of the storm is a new amendment bill presently before the Oyo State House of Assembly. The bill looks to reinstate the Alaafin of Oyo as the permanent chairman of the council, an honour the position once held before the law was amended in 2011 under the late Governor Adebayo Alao-Akala to rotate the position among leading monarchs across the State. Today, a return to tradition is being sold as progress. However, from Ibadan to Ogbomoso, not everyone is buying that narrative.
Is it a call of tradition restored or supremacy revived? To the people of Oyo, particularly following the enthronement of the 46th Alaafin, Oba Owoade, this proposed amendment is justice long overdue. After years of uncertainty following the demise of Oba Lamidi Adeyemi, many see the restoration of the Alaafin’s authority as a symbolic comeback, a move to restore the monarchy’s place as the heartbeat of Yoruba history and leadership. Yes, supporters of the bill argue that the Alaafin’s lineage, tracing back to the legendary Oranmiyan, accords him unrivaled stature among Yoruba kings. They point to the existing Council of Obas and Chiefs Law (Cap. 37, Laws of Oyo State, 2000) which originally set the Alaafin as permanent chairman. In their eyes, the amendment is not an imposition, it’s merely a return to order.
However, what some consider the return of honour, others view as a blatant attempt at cultural abolition. First is Ibadan’s fierce defiance, saying “We Bow to No Crown” From the heart of Ibadanland, a different song plays. The Council of Mogajis, Central Council of Ibadan Indigenes (CCII), and a host of traditional and political figures have rejected the bill outright, staging protests, issuing strong press statements, and warning lawmakers not to “awaken sleeping lions.” Their argument sounds historical and also political. Ibadan, which rose as a military republic after the fall of Oyo-Ile in 1837, became the fence against Fulani invasions that hovered over to Islamize the entire southwest. Ibadan wasn’t just a city, it was a protector of the Yoruba identity. They also argued that during colonial and post-independence times, Ibadan stayed central to political evolution, with leaders like Chief Obafemi Awolowo rising through Ibadan’s political corridors to national prominence. To make the Olubadan subservient to the Alaafin, they argue, is to change history through a very narrow, nostalgic lens. In their view, the rotational chairmanship initiated in 2011 by Governor Akala was a fair middle ground, respecting each city’s contribution without hierarchy.
Yes, Ogbomoso also enters the arena, stating “We Too Wore the Crown.” Ogbomoso, often seen as the third force in this royal chessboard, is no less vocal. Five famous Mogajis from the town have totally condemned the proposed amendment, describing it as an “affront to post-Oyo Empire history.” They opined that the Alaafin’s political supremacy died with the destruction of old Oyo, and the Yoruba socio-political structure has grown into a multi-polar reality. Ogbomoso, they insist, was not a passive observer in this history. The town offered refuge to fleeing Oyos and helped stop the Fulani expansion. They also pointed to legal precedents, including a 1984 Supreme Court ruling in favour of Ogbomoso in a land dispute with Oyo, as evidence of their autonomy and historical relevance.
Now, on paper, this amendment might look like a minor legislative adjustment, some protocol, a tweak in who chairs what meeting. However, in truth, it touches deeply into the nerve centre of identity, pride, and collective memory. Now the question remains, does restoring the Alaafin’s permanent chairmanship heal old wounds or reopen ancient rivalries?
Supporters say it brings structure and dignity. Critics say it codifies inequality and sparks ethnic supremacy in a delicate federation. But again, does tradition trump fairness? While history is sacred, the Yoruba kingdom has always evolved, military titles once mattered more than birthright. So, should we insist on a hierarchy frozen in the pre-colonial past? Is this just cultural housekeeping or a political powder keg?
Apparently in today’s Nigeria, we are already battling ethnic tensions and disenchantment with the elite framework, reducing leadership to titles and origins could look explosive. What happens when tradition becomes weaponised? Hence, caught in the middle of this “royal drama” is Governor Seyi Makinde. His administration backed the appointment of Oba Owoade as Alaafin, a decision cheered in Oyo but now attracting scrutiny in Ibadan, his hometown and political base. The same governor who prides himself on balancing the old with the new may now be forced to choose between legacy and peace. Would he?
Again, with the 2027 elections approaching, the political stakes are also rising. Alienating either Ibadan or Ogbomoso could have electoral consequences. However, remaining silent could be seen as an abdication of responsibility in a time of cultural reckoning. Now beyond the thrones what’s really at stake? this debate isn’t just about who chairs council meetings. It’s about adjusting Yoruba history, or preserving it, depending on who you ask. More broadly, it raises national questions, who writes history? Whose story gets to shape institutions? And how do we balance this for cultural heritage with fairness in democratic governance? Moreso, in a period when younger generations question monarchy relevance, and Nigerians push back against all forms of elitism, this struggle of crowns in Oyo State is more than symbolic. It’s a mirror of how Nigerians negotiate power, pride, and people’s place in history.
Now, as the new king, Oba Owoade steps into the shoes of Alaafin, history offers him two roads, one of assertion and another of unification. Instead of presiding over a divided house, this could be the opportunity for him to call for unity across towns. A peace summit among Yoruba monarchs could perhaps form a new model of cooperation, one that honours tradition while recognizing evolution. After all, even crowns must adjust to the weight of an evolving world.
Finally, whether or not the bill passes, this saga has pushed the necessary conversations. It has reminded the people of their past, tested their present, and challenged them to rethink the future of Yoruba leadership. This isn’t just about Oyo, Ibadan, or Ogbomoso. It’s about how identity, power, and history are negotiated in a modern democracy. So, as the Oyo lawmakers deliberate and the monarchs lobby, one question remains, Who truly deserves the crown of leadership in Oyo State? Tradition or transition? Let the people decide.
Let us know your thoughts. Should the Alaafin be permanent chairman? Or should the council remain rotational?
Ogungbile Emmanuel Oludotun writes for Oyo Affairs
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