SOME lessons of history demand constant remembrance, lest we fall into the same pitfalls. Edmund Burke captured this sentiment when he warned that “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” The unabating crisis in Rivers State is more than a mere political skirmish; it is history playing out in familiar fashion. The power struggle between godfathers and their political protégés is a recurring theme in governance, and Rivers State is no exception. This struggle is not an anomaly; rather, it fits into a broader pattern of political godfatherism, where benefactors expect unflinching loyalty from their protégés. History offers a striking parallel, reminding us that Niccolò Machiavelli, in The Prince, taught that political power is maintained through cunning, strategy, and sometimes ruthless pragmatism. Wike’s hold on Rivers State politics follows the Machiavellian blueprint. As a former governor who played a key role in installing Fubara, he expected unwavering loyalty. However, history teaches us that political godfathers often lose grip on their successors. This once again mirrors classic Machiavellian teachings: power is never given; it is taken. Wike’s strategic alliances, influence over the state assembly, and continued federal relevance as Minister of the FCT suggest he is not ready to relinquish control, while Fubara’s recent moves to assert independence show his attempt to break free from political tutelage.
Yet, as history has shown, godfathers who refuse to let go often face a reckoning. One cannot help but recall the fate of Chief S.L. Akintola in the First Republic, whose political maneuverings and attempts to hold onto power at all costs led to chaos and, ultimately, the collapse of democratic rule in Nigeria. The infighting within the Western Region escalated to violent clashes, parliamentary crises, and ultimately, a coup that shattered the First Republic. Wike’s desperation to maintain control over Rivers State eerily mirrors that past, raising the question: will history repeat itself? That being said, many former governors have successfully installed their successors without descending into open conflict.
Bola Tinubu’s transition to Babatunde Fashola in Lagos, Rabiu Kwankwaso’s handover to Abdullahi Ganduje in Kano (before their later fallout), and Peter Odili’s smooth transition to Rotimi Amaechi in Rivers State all demonstrate that political succession can occur without public disputes. Other examples include Kayode Fayemi’s handover to Biodun Oyebanji in Ekiti, Udom Emmanuel’s transition to Pastor Umo Eno in Akwa Ibom, Usman Ododo in Kogi succeeding Yahya Bello and Ifeanyi Okowa’s succession by Sheriff Oborevwori in Delta etc…These cases prove that godfathers can relinquish power without unnecessary strife. The key difference in Wike’s case is whether he is simply too overbearing or if this is yet another example of political greed overshadowing governance.
Transitioning from history to political theory, Elite Theory suggests that societies are always ruled by a small group of elites, regardless of democratic or authoritarian structures. The Rivers State crisis exemplifies this theory. The battle is not one between the ruling class and the masses but a conflict within the elite itself. Both Wike and Fubara belong to the upper echelons of political power, yet their struggle leaves ordinary citizens as mere spectators. Despite the rhetoric of democracy and governance, real power remains concentrated among a few individuals who manipulate institutions and structures to maintain dominance. Moreover, as Max Weber observed, true authority derives from adherence to rational-legal structures rather than personal loyalties or charismatic influence- a principle that crumbles when informal networks and godfather politics override institutional norms.
Maria Ressa once remarked, “Democracy is fragile. You have to fight for every bit, every law, every safeguard, every institution, every story. You must know how dangerous it is to suffer even the tiniest cut. This is why I say to us all: we must hold the line.” This brings us to the claim by some of President Tinubu’s supporters who attempt to justify the President’s unconstitutional intervention by citing former President Olusegun Obasanjo’s past actions. Yes, former President Olusegun Obasanjo illegally suspended governors and declared a state of emergency, but what was possible under the former President is impossible to replicate today. The times and seasons are different. Nigeria’s democracy was still nascent, social media was non-existent, and the news cycle was slow. In 2003, a sitting governor, Chris Ngige, was abducted and held hostage for hours, yet the political establishment managed to suppress the uproar.
That era is long gone. Today, with increased democratic awareness, a vibrant media landscape, and heightened political consciousness, such illegalities are harder to sweep under the carpet. If Obasanjo were president today, even he would not attempt such a brazen assault on democracy. As Maria Ressa warns, “If you want to rip the heart out of a democracy, you go after the facts. That’s what modern authoritarians do. You lie. All the time.”
Moreover, a glaring contradiction in Tinubu’s policies deepens this crisis. Even more hypocritical is President Tinubu’s stance on military rule. In the early years of his administration, when a coup occurred in Niger Republic, he threatened military intervention and condemned military dictatorship. Yet today, he has effectively imposed a military dictatorship in Rivers State by suspending a duly elected governor and installing a retired military officer as sole administrator. This contradiction exposes the selective application of democratic principles—defending democracy abroad while subverting it at home.
The contradictions deepen with the Supreme Court’s recent ruling, which affirmed that Governor Fubara could not spend money without legislative appropriation. Now, a sole administrator, who is unelected will spend the same funds without any appropriation. How does the judiciary reconcile this inconsistency? As the guardian of constitutional order, the Supreme Court must ask itself whether its rulings are being respected or manipulated for political expediency. Furthermore, President Tinubu has clearly taken sides in this crisis. Instead of playing a fatherly role, he has suspended an elected governor while retaining an unelected minister Wike in his cabinet. This selective justice further delegitimizes his actions and exposes the partisan nature of his intervention.
Echoing Ressa’s call to defend our democratic institutions at all costs, we must now turn to the timeless wisdom of history. As Winston Churchill once declared, “Democracy is the worst form of government, except all those other forms that have been tried from time to time.” This observation sets the stage for understanding the current crisis. The illegality of the President’s intervention was further amplified by the National Assembly’s shameless endorsement of the unconstitutional proclamation. The manner in which they vetoed it—through a mere voice vote—exposes the depth of our institutional decay. Such a critical issue, which demanded thoughtful deliberation, was casually decided through a mechanism ripe for ambiguity and manipulation. As John Adams warned, “Liberty cannot be preserved without a general knowledge among the people,” yet this rubber-stamp legislature betrays that very principle by reducing itself to little more than a tool for validating executive recklessness. Rather than serving as a bulwark of democratic accountability, the National Assembly has, in effect, facilitated the erosion of democracy itself. Furthermore, the failure of our legislative bodies to act as a meaningful check on executive power not only erodes democratic accountability but also sets the stage for the inevitable corruption of authority itself. Drawing from the enduring insight of Lord Acton, who so poignantly observed that “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely,” we are reminded that authority is a double-edged sword. Power is intoxicating, but it is also fleeting. President Tinubu should heed a fundamental lesson of politics: when you use power to intimidate one elite, others begin to fear they could be next. Lateef Fagbemi, the Attorney General, alluded to this in his press conference, suggesting that similar actions could soon be taken in other states. While the political class may outwardly bow to President Tinubu today, inwardly, they are already plotting his downfall. History shows that when power is wielded recklessly, it inevitably attracts resistance—from the most unexpected quarters.
Building on this understanding of the precarious nature of authority, consider Abraham Lincoln’s admonition: “Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.” Wike, too, must remember that power is transient. Many before him—military rulers and political strongmen alike—once wielded absolute authority, only to fade into political irrelevance. He should recall the fates of men like Sani Abacha, Muammar Gaddafi, and Nicolae Ceaușescu, whose downfalls serve as stark reminders that no leader remains untouchable forever. Lastly, this crisis highlights the undeniable link between the rule of law and economic prosperity. No serious investor will pour money into a country where the judiciary is compromised, the legislature is weak, and the executive acts with impunity. Political instability deters Foreign Direct Investment (FDI), as businesses seek environments where laws are predictable and property rights are protected. The continued erosion of democratic institutions will not only harm Rivers State but Nigeria’s economic prospects as a whole. Ultimately, the Rivers State crisis is a cautionary tale about the dangers of unchecked ambition, elite infighting, and the erosion of democratic institutions. If democracy is to serve its true purpose, citizens must assert their rights and demand accountability. Otherwise, as history warns, the cycle of power struggles will only continue, with devastating consequences for governance and development.
As Aristotle wisely said, “The fate of empires depends on the education of youth.” Nigerians must learn from these political misadventures and take an active role in shaping their future. If political godfathers continue to prioritize personal control over the public good, democracy will remain an illusion, and history will keep repeating itself.
Charles is a political scientist, political strategist and public affairs analyst.
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