What many consider a recent development in modern politics is in fact a reality that has shaped the course of civilizations and continues to dictate the destiny of nations. In Nigeria today, the controversy over the presidential election of 2023 has brought the phrase “stolen mandate” to the centre of political and social debate. Many supporters of the Labour Party candidate, Peter Obi, still argue that their votes were subverted. They still allege that the electoral umpire connived with other democratic institutions to deny them the victory they deserved. And they claim that the judiciary later gave judicial cover to what was in fact a theft. To the disappointed electorate, this was betrayal. And to many political observers, it was a tragedy that could haunt Nigeria for years to come.
Yet, long before the Independent National Electoral Commission was even inaugurated, and long before Nigerian courts came to take their decisions on who won and who lost the elections, and long before democratic structures as we know them today, there was the story of another stolen mandate. It was a household affair, but its impact transcended the family and spilled across history, into geopolitics, and into the very conflicts that still rage today like hurricane fire.
The story is told in the Bible, in the book of Genesis. Isaac, the son of Abraham, was old and blind and counting his days on earth. He was ready to pass on the covenant blessing to his firstborn son, Esau. By every cultural and covenantal law of the time, the firstborn alone was entitled to this blessing. It was no ordinary inheritance but the promise God made to Abraham and his descendants. Whether she knew this or not, Rebecca, Isaac’s wife, conspired to rob Esau of his rightful inheritance. The Bible recounts that while Rebecca was pregnant, she experienced a troubling struggle in her womb. Seeking God’s counsel, she was told that two nations were within her, and that the older would serve the younger. This was a startling revelation, for in their culture, the younger could not usurp the destiny of the elder. Strangely, Rebecca never confided this vision to her husband, at least not according to the biblical account. For nine months of pregnancy and through the years of the children’s growth, she kept silent about what she claimed God had told her.
Theologians have debated why she did this. Some have speculated that perhaps she did mention the prophecy to Isaac, but he ignored it or chose to follow the way of tradition. Yet the text gives no such record. In fact, when the deception was carried out and Jacob disguised himself to receive the blessing intended for Esau, Isaac trembled violently when he realized he had been tricked. His entire body shook in fear because he understood the gravity of what had just happened. This trembling, many scholars argue, is evidence that he had never been informed of the revelation his wife claimed that God made to her. If indeed Rebecca had told him earlier that God had decreed Jacob would take precedence, there would have been no reason for Isaac’s shock, no cause for his terror. His trembling suggests that he was blindsided, that what had just taken place was not destiny being fulfilled in transparency, but destiny being manipulated in secrecy.
Rebecca’s actions remain difficult to justify. There is no record in Scripture that Esau ever disrespected his mother or disobeyed her. He was not portrayed as a rebellious son. Yet his mother conspired to dispossess him of what was rightly his, deceiving her own husband in the process. The betrayal was not merely personal. It altered the trajectory of history. From Jacob came the nation of Israel, and from Esau came the Edomites. The rivalry between the two brothers hardened into national conflict. The descendants of Jacob and the descendants of Esau became adversaries, a pattern of hostility that persisted across centuries. Today, some theologians and historians trace the intractable conflict between Israel and Palestine back to this ancient betrayal. What began as a stolen blessing in a tent has become a geopolitical firestorm that has defied the greatest peacemakers and consumed countless lives.
Israel today is wealthy and powerful, with influence stretching across the world. From finance to technology to military might, they are a people who have prospered. Nations ally with them for strategic and economic reasons, and their global presence is undeniable. Yet wealth has not erased the scars of history. The conflict with Palestine remains unresolved, and its roots lie deep in the story of a stolen mandate. Rebecca’s decision to hide her supposed revelation and to execute her plan in secrecy has left humanity grappling with consequences that extend far beyond her household.
This biblical episode bears unsettling similarities with Nigeria’s contemporary experience. In 2023, millions of Nigerians placed their hope in the electoral process. For many, Peter Obi of the Labour Party represented a generational shift, a break from entrenched political structures, and a chance for renewal. But when results were announced, allegations of manipulation and irregularities immediately surfaced. The Independent National Electoral Commission, entrusted with impartiality, was accused of bias. The judiciary, expected to serve as the last hope of the common man, later upheld what critics insisted was fraudulently contrived. Nigerians who believed their votes had been stolen felt the same sense of betrayal that Esau must have felt when he returned from the hunt to discover that his blessing had been stolen by his younger brother.
The parallels run deeper. Just as Rebecca’s silence and manipulation robbed Esau of trust in his family, the silence and complicity of Nigerian institutions robbed citizens of trust in democracy. Just as Isaac’s trembling revealed the horror of realizing that something sacred had been violated, Nigerians tremble under the weight of a democracy that is being undermined from within. In both stories, those entrusted with responsibility failed to act with transparency. Rebecca claimed divine justification for her secrecy; today’s political actors justify electoral manipulation in the name of stability, pragmatism, or national interest. In both cases, truth was sacrificed on the altar of expedience.
The danger of stolen mandates lies not only in the moment of theft but in the long shadows they cast. Rebecca’s decision birthed centuries of rivalry. In Nigeria, each stolen mandate further erodes the fragile trust binding a diverse and divided nation. When people lose faith in the ballot, they turn to other means—protest, unrest, or even violence. A society that tolerates stolen mandates teaches its young that deceit is acceptable, that betrayal is normal, and that justice is optional. The cumulative effect is moral decay and institutional collapse.
Stolen mandates matter because they strike at the heart of covenant relationships. For Isaac’s household, the covenant was spiritual—a divine promise binding Abraham’s seed to destiny. For Nigeria, the covenant is democratic—the sacred trust between citizens and leaders, sealed by the ballot. When either is stolen, the outcome is division, distrust, and conflict.
It is tempting to rationalize Rebecca’s decision as obedience to God’s prophecy, just as some rationalize electoral fraud as unavoidable in politics. But human manipulation of destiny only deepens division. If God had decreed Jacob’s ascendancy, He had the power to bring it about openly, without deceit. Likewise, if Nigeria is to grow, leadership must come through transparent processes, not clandestine arrangements. The lesson is clear: truth cannot be hidden forever, and mandates cannot be stolen without consequence.
The story of Rebecca warns us that when sacred trusts are betrayed, the fire can spread far beyond what the conspirators imagine. A family quarrel became a generational feud and a global conflict. In Nigeria, an electoral dispute may seem temporary, but its consequences can destabilize not only the nation but an entire region. Africa has already seen how fraudulent elections fuel insurgencies, economic collapse, and refugee crises. A stolen mandate in a country as large and influential as Nigeria will create the risk of igniting fire that no one can control. Stolen mandates, whether in the tents of ancient Canaan or the collation centres of modern Africa, carry within them the seeds of conflict, distrust, and destruction. They may appear to achieve short-term goals, but in reality, they set the world on fire. Rebecca’s silence and deceit remind us that the path of secrecy and manipulation never ends well. Nigeria’s present crisis is a modern reflection of an ancient truth: when what is sacred is stolen, no one escapes the consequences. For nations and for families alike, the only path to peace is transparency, justice, and the honouring of rightful inheritance. Until societies learn this lesson, stolen mandates will continue to burn like hidden embers—waiting for the wind that will turn them into flames.
Chief Sir Asinugo, PhD., M.A., KSC writes from the UK
