Tinubu Must Act: A Minister Consumed by Rage and the Officer Who Displayed Integrity, By Psychologist John Egbeazien Oshodi

The Confrontation That Exposed a System

A disturbing video from Abuja’s Gaduwa District has once again exposed Nigeria’s growing leadership crisis — a crisis of temperament, self-restraint, and respect for law. The Minister of the Federal Capital Territory, Nyesom Wike, was filmed in a furious verbal confrontation with a serving naval officer, Lieutenant AM. Yerima, over a disputed parcel of land. What began as a property enforcement exercise quickly evolved into a psychological case study — of unregulated power meeting professional discipline, of ego colliding with integrity.

According to official and eyewitness accounts, Wike arrived at Plot 1946 in Gaduwa — a site reportedly linked to former Chief of Naval Staff Vice Admiral— after hearing that naval personnel guarding the area had allegedly threatened to shoot FCTA officials. He did not come as an administrator; he came as a combatant. Flanked by armed police, DSS operatives, and escorts, he entered a scene already tense with uniformed naval officers — also armed and on alert. Two arms of government faced each other in a dust-filled space of authority, rage, and restraint.

When the Minister Lost Control

What followed was not leadership — it was theatre, angry and dangerous.

Wike: “Because you are an officer? Nobody does that! The man took land because he was Chief of Naval Staff? You cannot continue to act with impunity! You are not the one to say you have documents. It does not matter!”

Lt. Yerima: “It matters, sir. I am an officer with integrity. I take orders from a three-star General.”

Wike: “There is no order than me! You are taking an illegal order. You will never develop this plot. I will never allow it!”

Yerima: “No problem, sir. I am only acting on my order.”

Wike: “If you want to kill everybody, kill everybody!”

Yerima: “We will not kill anybody, sir.”

Wike: “Will you keep quiet? Are you a big fool?”

Yerima: “I am not a fool, sir. I am acting on orders.”

Wike: “As at the time I graduated, you were still in primary school!”

That final insult — loud, proud, and childish — stripped the moment of all official dignity. Age became his weapon, arrogance his armour. Yet while the minister shouted to be feared, Yerima spoke to be remembered.

The Collapse of Temperament

Even if the land’s ownership was in dispute, or even if the naval claim was mistaken, Wike’s conduct was indefensible. Nigeria is not a jungle; a government minister has no right to storm a site, shout down an officer, and threaten chaos. The lawful path was clear — go to court, seek injunction, serve order, and follow procedure. Instead, this minister chose confrontation over civility, humiliation over justice. His outburst turned an administrative issue into a scene of national embarrassment.

And for once, the man who has long shouted others into silence finally met his match. Wike’s anger found no echo, only calm resistance. His insults bounced off the quiet discipline of a professional officer who refused to descend into chaos. The louder the minister became, the smaller he appeared. For the first time, his raw energy — once seen as confidence — looked like what it truly was: a lack of control. Power met principle, and power flinched.

Guns, Fear, and the Edge of Catastrophe

What Nigerians saw as drama on screen was, in truth, a national security nightmare.

At that site, guns were everywhere. The minister’s convoy was fully armed — police rifles, DSS carbines, and private guards on standby. The naval personnel were equally armed, trained for combat, standing their ground.

Imagine the tension: voices raised, weapons slung, every eye watching every hand.

It would have taken one wrong gesture — a bodyguard misreading a movement, a soldier mishearing a command — and Nigeria might have woken up to a bloodbath in its capital. That the scene did not explode was not proof of leadership. It was proof of luck and the professionalism of the naval side.

In psychological terms, this was an acute escalation under arms — where adrenaline, ego, and power meet in a space charged with fear. Such situations are volatile because humans, under emotional arousal, lose fine motor control and rational restraint. When guns are within reach, emotion becomes fatal.

The truth is simple: the minister risked not just his own life but those of his men, the officers, and innocent bystanders. His words — “If you want to kill everybody, kill everybody” — were not rhetorical; they were reckless. That sentence, shouted in anger, could have triggered disaster.

The Psychology Behind the Rage

Wike’s behavior in Gaduwa was not an isolated outburst; it was the public face of a deeper psychological condition: chronic emotional dysregulation in leadership. Over the years, he has shown patterns of volatility — frequent confrontations, public scolding of colleagues, exaggerated gestures of dominance. What Nigerians often misread as strength is, in truth, unprocessed anger — a defensive mechanism to cover insecurity and a craving for control.

His phrase — “As at the time I graduated, you were still in primary school” — was an emotional confession, not a boast. It betrayed a fragile ego that equates respect with submission. This is the mindset of a man trapped in power’s illusion: where hierarchy replaces humility and shouting replaces thought.

Therapeutically speaking, Wike exhibits classic symptoms of what psychologists call impulse-control distortion — a state where frustration instantly becomes aggression, where authority becomes an emotional weapon. Such leaders often rationalize rage as passion and confuse fear with respect. But true governance requires emotional regulation, the ability to stay composed under threat, contradiction, or pressure.

When Integrity Silenced Power

Lieutenant AM. Yerima became the unexpected moral compass of a nation losing its bearings. His calm line — “I am an officer with integrity” — will be remembered as one of the most honorable statements ever spoken in the face of political aggression. He did not shout, threaten, or retreat. He simply stood, anchored in duty, embodying what many of Nigeria’s political figures have lost — inner discipline.

His restraint prevented what could have spiraled into tragedy. Surrounded by weapons, cameras, and egos, Yerima’s composure defused a moment that could have stained the country with blood and shame. In silence, he reminded everyone — from citizens to cabinet members — that authority is not proven by volume or violence, but by calm adherence to principle.

In that single confrontation, Nigeria witnessed the difference between control and composure, between loudness and leadership. Lieutenant Yerima did not win an argument; he upheld the very idea of order. He turned a potential national disgrace into a quiet lesson about integrity, restraint, and emotional intelligence in service to the republic.

The Man Who Fights Everyone, Yet Finally Met His Match

He has fought governors, judges, journalists, activists, traditional rulers, party members, and now officers — yet at last, he met his match. In Abuja’s Gaduwa District, Minister Nyesom Wike’s fury collided with Lieutenant AM. Yerima’s discipline, and rage bowed before integrity.

What unfolded that day was more than a quarrel; it was a psychological x-ray of a wounded nation — a nation where power now behaves like the very disorder it was created to prevent. The confrontation did not simply expose one man’s temper; it revealed a deeper national crisis — the decay of emotional leadership in public life, where pride becomes policy and temper substitutes for truth.

At that dusty site in Abuja, two versions of Nigeria stood face-to-face: one loud, impulsive, and ungoverned by restraint; the other calm, professional, and loyal to duty. The contrast was painful yet instructive. It showed how the erosion of character at the top seeps downward, weakening the moral foundation of institutions meant to uphold order.

Now the moment belongs to President Bola Ahmed Tinubu. His response will determine whether Nigeria remains trapped in a culture of chaos — where fury masquerades as firmness and arrogance passes for authority — or whether the country begins to recover through discipline, decency, and respect for institutional boundaries. This is no longer about land; it is about leadership, maturity, and the moral direction of a nation still searching for its balance.

The President’s Responsibility

This incident is not gossip; it is a test of national leadership and moral courage. What occurred in Gaduwa was more than an exchange of words — it was a public exhibition of disorder from a man holding federal authority. A minister of the republic, surrounded by armed escorts, shouting down a commissioned officer, pointing his finger in his face, and spewing verbal abuse before cameras, is not exercising power — he is abusing it.

Lieutenant AM. Yerima, a man trained in control and restraint, was publicly humiliated by a civilian minister whose emotions overran his office. Wike’s behavior — the raised voice, the clenched jaw, the finger thrust toward a disciplined officer — was an act of provocation against both the individual and the institution of the Nigerian Armed Forces. In a country that has sometimes drifted toward lawlessness, such recklessness invites not only embarrassment but real danger. By behaving this way in a militarized environment, the minister exposed himself, his aides, and even bystanders to unnecessary risk.

He must apologize — not only to Lieutenant Yerima but to the Nigerian Armed Forces — for violating the principle of mutual respect that keeps civil and military authority in balance. An apology is not humiliation; it is recognition that restraint, not rage, sustains governance.

President Bola Ahmed Tinubu must act decisively. In every functioning democracy, a cabinet minister displaying this level of volatility would face immediate suspension pending investigation. Silence from the Presidency would translate into approval — and approval would deepen decay.

The President must:

1. Discipline Nyesom Wike.

2. Direct the Attorney-General to review the legality of the Gaduwa land transaction and any civil–military infractions involved.

3. Order Defence Headquarters to ensure protection and fair treatment for Lieutenant AM. Yerima and his colleagues.

4. Mandate a psychological evaluation and anger-management intervention for the minister prior to any reinstatement.

This is not punishment; it is preventive governance. A government that refuses to address its emotional disorder cannot cure its moral disease. Leadership without restraint is a danger not only to institutions, but to the very peace of the country itself.

The Therapy Nigeria Needs

From a psychological perspective, the recent episode reveals the value of emotional reflection for those in high public office. Minister Wike could benefit from guided introspection — a space where impulse, pressure, and perception can be examined without the noise of politics. Therapy, in this sense, is not a sentence but a safeguard; not a mark of weakness, but a step toward self-mastery.

A nation’s leaders must learn to manage the weight of emotion as carefully as they manage the affairs of state. Just as physical checkups protect the body, periodic emotional assessments protect the mind that governs it. Leadership in a tense and wounded society like Nigeria’s requires calm restraint, empathy, and emotional literacy — qualities that can be strengthened through mindful engagement and psychological balance.

In truth, emotional fitness is national fitness. The calm of one leader can steady millions; the anger of one can unsettle them all. Therapy, then, is not about one man, but about a culture learning to lead with composure. It is how a country slowly teaches power to listen to itself before speaking to others.

Beyond Wike: A National Lesson

Nigeria cannot continue like this.

A democracy that rewards fury will never build peace. A state that excuses verbal violence will inevitably justify physical violence. The minister who screams at soldiers today may inspire aides to brutalize citizens tomorrow.

This is larger than Wike. It is about a national temperament — a growing tolerance for emotional recklessness disguised as courage. Leadership is not a theatre for public anger; it is a discipline of self-control. A country that forgets this truth decays from the top down.

Mr. President, for the sake of Nigeria’s sanity and standing, act now. Suspend Wike. Investigate the Gaduwa confrontation. Protect the officer who chose restraint over rage. And begin the national reform we have postponed for too long — where psychological fitness becomes a criterion for public leadership.

The Final Mirror

History will remember that day in Gaduwa not for its noise but for its meaning — an angry minister shouting, “You are a fool!” and a calm officer replying, “I am an officer with integrity.” One voice endangered a nation; the other preserved its dignity.

That day, power met principle — and power blinked. That day, Wike finally met his match — not in another politician, but in a soldier’s silence.

For years, he has fought governors, journalists, judges, subordinates, activists, and traditional rulers — mistaking intimidation for influence. But at Gaduwa, the man who built a career on shouting others into submission reached the wall of integrity. The more he raged, the calmer the officer became. The more he pointed, the smaller he appeared. And when his fury peaked, his final command — “Get out from here!” — became his own act of retreat, for it was he and his entourage who turned back and left the scene.

It is this kind of reckless behavior, this public unraveling of authority, that makes the world see what U.S. President Donald Trump called Nigeria — the now disgraced country. When leadership turns into spectacle and temper becomes policy, the wound is not personal; it is national.

He should be quietly set aside, examined, and helped to confront himself. It could be time for public office therapy—time for leadership therapy, even anger therapy—to face the inner storms that fuel public outbursts. That is how a wounded nation begins to mend, not through denial or defiance but through the courage to look inward and recover its moral balance. Mr. President, when is enough enough?

About the Author

Prof. John Egbeazien Oshodi is an American psychologist and educator with expertise in forensic, legal, clinical, cross-cultural psychology, public ethical policy, police, and prison science.

A native of Uromi, Edo State, Nigeria, and the son of a 37-year veteran of the Nigeria Police Force, he has devoted his professional life to bridging psychology with justice, education, and governance. In 2011, he pioneered the introduction of advanced forensic psychology in Nigeria through the National Universities Commission and Nasarawa State University, where he served as Associate Professor of Psychology.

He currently serves as contributing faculty in the Doctorate in Clinical and School Psychology at Nova Southeastern University; teaches in the Doctorate Clinical Psychology, BS Psychology, and BS Tempo Criminal Justice programs at Walden University; and lectures virtually in Management and Leadership Studies at Weldios University and ISCOM University. He is also the President and Chief Psychologist at the Oshodi Foundation, Center for Psychological and Forensic Services, United States.

Prof. Oshodi is a Black Republican in the United States, but his allegiance is to justice alone. On every issue he addresses, he speaks for no one and represents no side—his voice is guided purely by the pursuit of justice, good governance, democracy, and Africa’s advancement. He is the founder of Psychoafricalysis (Psychoafricalytic Psychology)—a culturally grounded framework that integrates African sociocultural realities, historical consciousness, and future-oriented identity. A prolific thinker and writer, he has produced over 500 articles, several books, and numerous peer-reviewed works on Africentric psychology, higher education reform, forensic and correctional psychology, African democracy, and decolonized models of therapy.