By David Nzekwu
For twenty-five years, Nigeria has walked the tightrope of democracy, swaying between hope and despair. One would expect that after over two decades, this democracy—like a young adult stepping into maturity—would be deeply rooted in principles of justice, good governance, and the rule of law. Instead, we have an unsettling masquerade, a political theatre where the puppeteers no longer hide behind the curtain. Unashamed, they have stepped onto the stage, their strings visibly pulling the levers of power. The crisis in Rivers State, a significant event in this masquerade, has peeled back the thin veil of our democracy, exposing its true nature-a system rigged and controlled by invisible hands.These are not leaders but master manipulators, architects of a grand deception. They have perfected the sinister craft of power capture, bending the judiciary, reducing the legislature to a ceremonial echo chamber, and issuing decrees disguised as democratic decisions. The Constitution? A plaything in their hands, twisted and interpreted to suit their whims.
When it suits them, they install leaders. When those leaders dare to breathe independence, they are swiftly reminded that their existence is conditional. Fubara, the embattled governor of Rivers, is merely the latest victim of this vicious cycle—a cycle he once benefited from but is now crushed under. His attempt at autonomy was met with an overwhelming show of force as if a sledgehammer were needed to squash an ant.
Some people naively expected President Bola Ahmed Tinubu to step in and check Wike’s excesses. But that was wishful thinking. Tinubu is not just a participant in godfatherism; he is its grandmaster. He has spent over two decades perfecting the art of centralized political control, where loyalty is absolute and dissent is heresy. Like Wike, he understands the unspoken rule of Nigerian politics—one man must always sit at the apex of the pyramid, unquestioned, unchallenged, and unshaken. Tinubu’s political machinery, honed over decades in Lagos, has now expanded to a national scale, making him the most formidable force in Nigeria’s political landscape. His seeming silence in the Rivers crisis was not an oversight; it was a strategy. He understands that consolidating power sometimes means allowing the chaos to play itself out while subtly steering the outcome in his favour.
It is why our democracy today bears an uncanny resemblance to a military regime. According to the International Institute for Democracy and Electoral Assistance, Nigeria ranks among the lowest in Africa for electoral integrity, with widespread reports of voter suppression and election rigging in the 2023 elections. The process of taking power has changed—from coups to rigged elections—but the philosophy remains the same: power belongs to the strongest. The media, particularly in Lagos, plays its part, muting dissenting voices and amplifying propaganda, ensuring the people remain distracted, disillusioned, and divided. This manipulation of the media is a key tool in the hands of those who seek to control our democracy.
Once upon a time, these power brokers operated in the shadows, their influence whispered rather than declared. Today, they no longer hide. They manipulate elections in broad daylight, openly dictate judicial rulings, and impose leaders with brazen impunity. The Rivers State crisis is merely a reflection of this audacity. For all his bravado, Wike has been seemingly reduced to a pawn in a much larger game. His past victories, fueled by his grip on Rivers’ vast resources, have now turned into liabilities as the very system he helped uphold turns against him.
Why is Rivers so important? The answer lies in its oil-rich economy. Rivers contribute over 40% of Nigeria’s crude oil production, making it a financial powerhouse. It bankrolled the APC’s rise in 2015. It sustained the PDP in opposition. Controlling Rivers means controlling a golden goose that lays electoral eggs. The stakes are high, and the godfathers know it. But beyond oil wealth, Rivers has a symbolic significance—it represents the lifeblood of political financing in Nigeria. The control of its resources is not just about governing a state; it is about determining the financial fate of national elections.
At first, Wike thought he was playing the game. He sought to remove Fubara via impeachment, replacing him with a puppet who would dance to his tune. But Tinubu had other ideas. He played along, let Wike make his moves, and then struck when the moment was right. The Supreme Court ruling in favour of Wike was followed by a shocking state of emergency, wiping out Wike’s political structure overnight. A military-backed administrator was installed, answering directly to the presidency. Wike had been outplayed. Tinubu’s strategy was one of patience and precision. He understood that letting Wike run unchecked for a time would make his fall all the more impactful. When the hammer finally dropped, Wike was left isolated, and his influence in Rivers was reduced to a whisper. Unless there is more to this than meets the eye. The relationship between Wike and BAT in time to come will justify or nullify this hypothesis. Now, the very power that Wike had that made him relevant to BAT is out of the way, the structure of their relation has tilted more vertically.
Wike finds himself adrift. The once-feared godfather is suddenly vulnerable, abandoned by those who once flocked to his side. He is politically homeless, a king without a kingdom, a man who dug only one grave for his enemies, forgetting he needed a second for himself. His downfall is a cautionary tale of how quickly power shifts in Nigerian politics. The system that elevated him may soon cast him aside, leaving him no allies or refuge.
The political landscape has been reshaped with Wike outmanoeuvred, PDP cash cow seized, and Rivers State firmly under federal control. But the questions linger—was this about the upcoming 2027 elections? Was this an orchestrated strategy to control the financial lifeline of opposition parties? Or was it a trial balloon, testing just how far the Nigerian people would tolerate a democracy that is democratic in name only? The timing of this power struggle is suspicious, occurring at a moment when economic hardship and insecurity dominate the national conversation. It is possible that this entire episode serves as a grand distraction, diverting attention from the more pressing issues of governance failure and economic decline.
However, this is not a time for despair, but for unity and collective action. If a state as economically significant as Rivers can be captured so easily, then no state is safe. The precedent has been set—discontent, dissent, and defiance will not be tolerated, and those who step out of line will be politically erased. But together, as a united front, we can resist this erosion of our democracy and ensure that the voices of the people are heard and respected.
But this is bigger than Wike and Fubara. The Rivers crisis is a warning to every Nigerian. If Rivers can be seized today, tomorrow, it will be another state. If today, power can be snatched in broad daylight, tomorrow, elections will be mere formalities. Fela Kuti once said, “Democracy is nothing if the people do not have power.”
This is the time for action. The masqueraders must be unmasked, and the puppeteers must be confronted. If we do nothing, we will wake up to find democracy reduced to a hollow shell, a name with no meaning, a relic of what once was.Nigeria’s democracy is at a crossroads. The masquerade must end, the actors exposed, and the script rewritten. Rivers State is only the beginning. The fight for democracy is here. The question is: will Nigerians rise to defend it?
Dr David Nzekwu is a Public Affairs Analyst. You can reach him on dnzekwu@gmqil.com
