Africa
Mr. President, Will You Campaign in Rivers While Soldiers Stand Guard and Fubara Watches on TV? -By John Egbeazien Oshodi
The people of Rivers are watching, even if they are quiet. So are the elders. So are the cultural custodians, the religious leaders, the youths who feel betrayed, and the women who feel invisible. Even those in silence are recording. And beyond them all, history is watching—taking notes, storing names, and assigning meaning. History will ask: Did this president campaign beside soldiers? Did he allow elected officials to be reduced to ceremonial figures? Did he protect the republic—or protect power? You still have time to shape the answer. But remember: power fades. Uniforms retreat. Elections end. And only trust remains.

On May 29, 2025, Governor Siminalayi Fubara of Rivers State addressed the people with words wrapped in humility, political caution, and national duty. Standing before his supporters, he thanked President Bola Ahmed Tinubu for intervening in the dangerous political unrest that had engulfed the state for months. Fubara extended a hand of peace and forgiveness, urging his followers to embrace the reconciliation process and move forward. But as his voice carried across the state on Democracy Day, it was hard for many to ignore the dissonance between his words and the broader context. For many in Rivers, the celebration of democracy on that day felt hollow—more ceremonial than substantive. It was not a celebration of restored order, but a quiet acknowledgment that democratic norms had been suspended and replaced with something far more subdued. Behind every public thank-you, many citizens could feel the weight of political suppression. And so, while Governor Fubara honored the presidency with his words, ordinary citizens were left with deeper questions: what exactly has democracy come to mean in Rivers State? And more crucially, when the 2027 elections come, what version of democracy will the people be expected to participate in—one born of free will, or one shaped by quiet coercion?
When Peace Feels Like a Pause, Not a Restoration
In the weeks and months following the so-called resolution of the political crisis, the loud confrontations gave way to what appeared to be calm. But beneath that calm is an uncomfortable truth—Rivers is not truly at peace; it is being kept in check. A retired Navy officer has reportedly been installed as a sole administrator, a move that is alien to standard democratic practice. Civilian leadership, by constitutional design, must come from electoral mandates, not military retirements. Simultaneously, military officers—still active and visible—have become part of the everyday landscape across the state. Their presence around government buildings, strategic locations, and public functions is a visual reminder that peace is being monitored, not experienced. For many residents, this is not the return of order but the quiet imposition of supervision. The people who once walked freely to vote now live under the shadow of oversight. Their freedom may not be revoked, but it has certainly been conditioned. This form of “peace” is not reconciliation—it is control dressed in civility. And one must ask: if this is the model of stability being implemented in Rivers, what then is being normalized for the rest of the federation?
Will You Campaign with the Uniforms in 2027?
This brings us to the unavoidable—and perhaps uncomfortable—question. Mr. President, when you return to Rivers State in 2027 to seek re-election or campaign for your party, what will that look like? Will you be flanked by military officers on the campaign stage? Will your security convoys be reinforced by the very same forces that once locked courts and sealed legislative chambers? Will the crowds that gather come out of enthusiasm or out of institutional expectation? The imagery is not difficult to imagine. You in flowing agbada, raising your voice to promise democratic dividends, while soldiers stand at a distance, arms folded, eyes scanning. It would be difficult to talk about liberty and constitutional order with such a backdrop. The people will not forget that between 2023 and 2025, democracy in their state was interrupted not by votes, but by visible command structures. They will remember the boots. And they will quietly ask themselves: are we voting, or are we being managed again?
The Shadow That Governs: Nyesom Wike and the Hold on Power
Though Governor Fubara currently holds the constitutional mandate, it is difficult to dismiss the enduring dominance of his predecessor, now Minister of the Federal Capital Territory, Chief Nyesom Wike. His political footprint in Rivers State has not faded. His voice still shapes internal conversations. His influence continues to echo in decisions made in Port Harcourt. While his official post is now at the federal level in Abuja, Wike’s political presence remains heavily felt within the very institutions he once led. He is no longer seated in the Governor’s Office, but many in Rivers say his control never really left. Across markets, ministries, and among political elites, the prevailing sentiment is that Wike helped deliver Rivers to President Tinubu in 2023 “by all means necessary.” And now, the perception is that his favor must be repaid—not through recognition, but through ongoing deference. Yet, this type of arrangement quietly undermines democracy. A former governor should not continue to steer a state’s affairs from afar. Rivers State is not a political token, not a post-election compensation package, and certainly not a private domain to be administered from a distance. It is a democratic state whose people deserve the right to move forward, not be tethered to the enduring shadow of past authority.
Let Rivers Govern Itself Again
The solution to this creeping crisis lies in a return to constitutional clarity. Rivers State must be governed by its elected leader, not by the lingering hands of a former governor or the oversight of federal power brokers. Governor Fubara must be allowed to exercise his mandate in full—not just symbolically, but practically. Let the judiciary function independently again. Let the House of Assembly resume without fear or fragmentation. Let administrative decisions be made in Port Harcourt, not in Abuja dining rooms. And let Chief Wike focus solely on his responsibilities in the FCT. He is no longer a stakeholder in Rivers governance. His term ended. His power expired. And no matter the role he played in the past election, Rivers does not belong to him in perpetuity. Moreover, a retired military officer, no matter how disciplined or loyal, cannot become a placeholder for democracy. The people of Rivers deserve elected leadership—not technical supervision. They did not vote for co-governance. They voted, and that vote must be restored.
Forgiveness Without Justice Is Political Paralysis
It is to Governor Fubara’s credit that he continues to speak in the language of forgiveness. But forgiveness cannot exist without justice, and justice cannot exist without institutional balance. Forgiveness should not be interpreted as surrender. Peace is not real when it is conditioned on silence. And a state cannot function when its constitutional arms are reduced to spectators. Reconciliation that does not come with structural restoration is nothing more than a political mirage. The people of Rivers deserve more than televised meetings and orchestrated smiles. They deserve to know that their vote matters, that their courts will not be locked, that their lawmakers will not be threatened, and that their governor is truly in charge. Anything less is not reconciliation—it is paralysis.
Memory Will Be the Voter in 2027
As the country edges closer to the 2027 elections, the calendar may offer new opportunities—but the people will carry old memories. In Rivers State, those memories are sharp and unresolved. They remember 2025 not as a year of healing, but as one of quiet occupation. They remember the military trucks that became part of daily life. They remember the absence of their lawmakers. They remember the courts that went dark, and the silence that followed. And yes, they remember that while their governor was speaking of peace, others were speaking louder behind closed doors. Mr. President, you may come with speeches and crowds, but if those memories remain unaddressed, they will speak louder than any campaign banner. Democracy cannot survive on forgetfulness. It only survives when trust is rebuilt. And in 2027, it won’t be just your policies that are judged—it will be your silence, your associations, and your actions in 2025.
A Chance to Lead Differently—And Democratically
Despite all this, a window remains open. This moment offers the opportunity to write a new chapter—not only for Rivers, but for your own leadership legacy. You can choose to reassert democratic values over political convenience. You can reestablish the power of state institutions. You can end the culture of one-man dominance and replace it with one of institutional collaboration. You can show that political favors do not justify constitutional breaches. And when you return to campaign, you can do so with clean hands, a clear conscience, and a crowd that greets you with real trust—not institutional fatigue. You can remind the country that democracy is still possible—and still sacred.
The People Are Watching—And History Has the Final Say
The people of Rivers are watching, even if they are quiet. So are the elders. So are the cultural custodians, the religious leaders, the youths who feel betrayed, and the women who feel invisible. Even those in silence are recording. And beyond them all, history is watching—taking notes, storing names, and assigning meaning. History will ask: Did this president campaign beside soldiers? Did he allow elected officials to be reduced to ceremonial figures? Did he protect the republic—or protect power? You still have time to shape the answer. But remember: power fades. Uniforms retreat. Elections end. And only trust remains.
This writer does not know any of the individuals involved; the focus is solely on upholding democracy, truth, and justice.

Psychologist John Egbeazien Oshodi
Professor John Egbeazien Oshodi is an American psychologist, educator, and author specializing in forensic, legal, and clinical psychology, cross-cultural psychology, police and prison sciences, and community justice. Born in Uromi, Edo State, Nigeria, he is the son of a 37-year veteran of the Nigeria Police Force—an experience that shaped his enduring commitment to justice, security, and psychological reform.
A pioneer in the field, he introduced state-of-the-art forensic psychology to Nigeria in 2011 through the National Universities Commission and Nasarawa State University, where he served as Associate Professor in the Department of Psychology. His contributions extend beyond academia through the Oshodi Foundation and the Center for Psychological and Forensic Services, advancing mental health, behavioral reform, and institutional transformation.
Professor Oshodi has held faculty positions at Florida Memorial University, Florida International University, Broward College, where he also served as Assistant Professor and Interim Associate Dean, Nova Southeastern University, and Lynn University. He is currently a contributing faculty member at Walden University and a virtual professor with Weldios University and ISCOM University.
In the United States, he serves as a government consultant in forensic-clinical psychology, offering expertise in mental health, behavioral analysis, and institutional evaluation. He is also the founder of Psychoafricalysis, a theoretical framework that integrates African sociocultural dynamics into modern psychology.
A proud Black Republican, Professor Oshodi advocates for individual empowerment, ethical leadership, and institutional integrity. His work focuses on promoting functional governance and sustainable development across Africa.