The Izon Nation and Wike's Rant

By edentu OROSO

FCT Minister, Nyesom Wike (File)

Power is a heady wine, dark and beguiling, its bouquet laced with the whispers of dominion. Those who dare to sip soon find themselves ensnared, lulled into a rapturous haze, blind to the creeping tendrils that tighten with each indulgence, until the cup is no longer theirs to set down.

The more the indulgence, the more they begin to assume that they embody the mythical essence of the gods, invincible and infallible. Power’s sweet wine courses through their livid veins, granting them the irresistible strengths of the genies of the spheres. Yet, beware, for its honeyed taste can forever trap one in a maelstrom of boastful and arrogant grandeur.

Untamed ambition is a heady brew, the elixir of self-anointed demi-gods who stride across the spheres like towering colossi, bending reality to the force of their whims. Nowhere is this more evident than in the realm of political power—a tempest that reshapes the landscape with an unrelenting hand. When the ego runs unbridled and the terrain is both vast and treacherous, power ceases to be a mere instrument; it becomes an insatiable force, a marauding spectre that leaves an indelible mark on history itself.

And power, when plundered from the collective wealth, becomes a double-edged sword – a tool of coercion and manipulation wielded by those who have usurped it. Individuals who never envisioned themselves in positions of authority, yet stumbled upon power through cunning and pilfered resources, become consumed by its intoxicating influence.

The unbridled might that power affords, coupled with the allure of dominance, transforms these unlikely rulers into unapologetic autocrats. Reckless abandon becomes their modus operandi, as they disregard the consequences of their actions, leaving a trail of devastation in their wake. The axiom 'might makes right' becomes their guiding principle.

In this distorted sense of the world, money – regardless of its origin, legitimate or ill-gotten – serves as the catalyst for political power. It becomes the primary currency in the calculus of influence, allowing those who wield it to dictate the terms of the political game. As the old adage goes, 'money talks,' and in this realm, it screams loudly, drowning out the voices of reason and accountability.

The purveyors of power often overlook a fundamental paradox: the currency of power is inextricably linked to its transience. Like sandcastles on the shores of time, power is ephemeral, susceptible to the erosive forces of fate, fortune, and the whims of human nature.

Whether wielded with impulsive fervour or calculated precision, power's intrinsic impermanence remains an immutable constant. Yet, those intoxicated by its allure frequently fail to acknowledge this fundamental truth.

Blinded by the dazzling aura of influence, they become oblivious to the precarious nature of their position. Theirs is a world of hubris and complacency, where the seductive trappings of authority lull them into a false sense of security.

But when the inevitable reckoning arrives, their mighty edifices of power come crashing down, leaving only ruins and regret in their wake. The once-mighty brokers of influence are left to ponder the transience of their ascendancy, their names becoming cautionary tales etched in the annals of history.

Against this backdrop, we turn to the latest outburst and political brinkmanship of the former Governor of Rivers State, Nyesom Wike, now Minister of the Federal Capital Territory—a spectacle that lays bare the intoxicating grip of power, wealth, and influence. His tirade against the Ijaw (Izons), the very custodians of Nigeria’s oil wealth, is more than a reckless verbal assault; it reeks of a calculated bid to assert dominance.

Buoyed, perhaps, by his close alliance with President Bola Tinubu, he appears emboldened to lash out at the Ijaw people with little regard for the fallout. Yet, beneath the surface of this vendetta lies a deeper, more personal war—an unresolved rift with his protégé-turned-rival, Governor Siminalayi Fubara, now playing out on the grand stage of power and ego.

This petty squabble has exposed the minister’s true character, revealing a man consumed by the very trappings of power he once wielded as Governor. His actions are symptomatic of a deeper malaise – one that stems from the corrupting influence of ill-gotten power, money, and influence. Chinua Achebe in his timeless creative work, Things Fall Apart, alluded to the fact that “those the God’s want to destroy, they first make mad.”

As this political spectacle unfolds, one must ask: has the minister’s relentless pursuit of power and relevance consumed him to the point of forsaking decorum and responsibility? Time will reveal the answer, but one thing remains indisputable—the people of Rivers State, particularly the Ijaw community, deserve better from their leaders.

The Ijaw people, a formidable force in Nigeria, number approximately 14.39 million, making up 6.1% of the country’s population and standing as its fourth-largest ethnic group. It is both troubling and telling when figures as influential as Minister Wike dismiss their significance with cavalier remarks like “Who are the Ijaws?... They're a minority…” Such rhetoric not only distorts reality but also disregards the undeniable role the Ijaw people play in shaping Nigeria’s economic destiny.

As custodians of the Niger Delta’s vast oil wealth, the Ijaw people provide the very lifeblood of Nigeria’s economy. Without their resources, the corridors of power—where individuals like Wike now revel in luxury—would be far less gilded. Yet, despite their indispensable contributions, they continue to battle the twin burdens of environmental devastation and systemic neglect.

To downplay the Ijaw’s importance is to ignore the truth: they are not mere footnotes in Nigeria’s story but central figures in its economic and political landscape. Recognising their struggles and contributions is not just a matter of fairness—it is a necessity for building a nation that values all its people, not just those who momentarily wield power.

Henry Ehler’s view of progress is refreshingly unromantic: a linear shift from bad to good is a mirage, for every advance in one sphere of life invariably extracts a toll in another. Nowhere is this paradox more apparent than in the volatile theater of politics, where gains are often shadowed by unseen forfeitures. For Nyesom Wike, the trajectory of progress post-governorship meant ascending to the role of Minister of the Federal Republic—an elevation that, by necessity, required relinquishing control of Rivers State. That is the natural order. Not a steamrolling of perceived lesser forces simply because he wields Federal influence.

If his legal education and political tutelage were meant to cultivate knowledge—defined as the capacity for clear thinking and professional competence in a chosen vocation—it must also embrace a higher purpose: the formation of a truly civilised individual. As John E. Smith posits, such a person possesses self-awareness, self-restraint, a sense of duty, and an unwavering commitment to justice and freedom—qualities essential for life in a truly civilised society. Without this moral and intellectual grounding, Smith warns, "all of our knowledge is vain, and our vocations and professions fall to the level of mere competitive struggles for money and power."

Minister Wike must grasp a fundamental lesson in strategic thinking: a man's center of gravity is also his weakest point. At present, Federal Might is Wike’s strength, his anchor. But as with all things mortal, power is ephemeral. The Nigerian proverb captures it best: the stick used to whip the first wife still hangs, waiting for the second.

Today, Wike may be the favoured bride of the ruling All Progressives Congress (APC), basking in the President’s trust. But he would do well to remember that the political whip that lashed the likes of former Kaduna Governor Nasir El-Rufai and his own predecessor in Rivers State, Rotimi Amaechi, hovers perilously close. If he continues to revel in the intoxication of power and speak from the side of his mouth, he may soon find himself on the receiving end.

Lastly, the Izon people remain an unpredictable force—a wild card Wike underestimates at his peril. If he sees them as a people to slight, he courts his own downfall. For, as Chinua Achebe aptly reminds us, those whom the gods wish to destroy, they first make mad.