By Boma Nwuke
Port Harcourt, once a bustling oil city where politics and commerce collided in noisy vibrance,now carries the uneasy silence of a city under occupation. In the past week, the military presence has swelled beyond anything residents can remember. Armoured vehicles stand menacingly at junctions,soldiers mount checkpoints from Trans – Amadi to Garrison, and patrols sweep through the manicured GRA Phases 1 and 2 with unnerving regularity.
On Friday, the eve of the August 30 local government election, the deployment of troops trippled across the city. Residents braced themselves for Saturday, when the number of military personnel is expected to swell even further – overshadowing the very exercise that is supposed to represent democracy at the grassroots.
For many, the election is less a democratic exercise and more a theatre of power, with ballots allegedly written in advance and soldiers ensuring the people’s silence. What should be an ordinary grassroots poll has now raised extraordinary questions.Who really governs Rivers today – elected leaders,or men in uniform, retired or active backed by federal authority? And as Nigeria watches,is the nation’s democracy itself sliding closer to dictatorship?
Soldiers on the Streets
The presence of military armoured vehicles in broad daylight is more than just security; it is spectacle, a theatre of power. The soldier at the checkpoint does not need to say much—his weapon and stance communicate everything. For ordinary citizens trying to go about their daily routines, the silent question hangs: who really controls Rivers today—the elected representatives of the people, or men in uniform backed by federal authority?
Old residents recall that even at the height of the Niger Delta militancy, when Port Harcourt was plagued with kidnappings and gunfire, the federal government did not deploy such numbers. What then explains the current show of force? To many, it is less about security and more about political muscle.
The Election That Was Already Written
At the center of this militarization lies the so-called local government election. By law, it should be a democratic exercise—grassroots politics at work. By practice, it has become a charade. Allegations are rife that results have been written in advance, long before the electorate ever lines up to cast a ballot.
The Rivers State Independent Electoral Commission (RSIEC), the body saddled with conducting the poll, finds itself in the eye of controversy. Critics point to the chairman’s alleged ties of origin with the state’s military administrator, Vice Admiral Ibok Ete Ibas retd .To them, this is no coincidence but a deliberate alignment meant to ensure the election produces only one outcome: victory for those already in power.
August 30: The Day of Occupation
If residents thought the military presence was intimidating before, it is not unlikely that it will triple on Saturday,
August 30—the very day of the local government election. Already,armoured vehicles have appeared at virtually every major junction, patrols are unrelenting, and soldiers stand guard as if the state is on the brink of insurrection. For an election already alleged to be pre-determined, the scale of militarization feel excessive and unnecessary, further reinforcing the view that Rivers had been reduced to a conquered territory.
Lawyers Cry Aberration
Legal practitioners have been forthright in their assessment. Conducting a local government election in the absence of functional democratic structures, they argue, is a legal and political aberration. Democracy is meant to be built bottom-up, not imposed top-down. Yet the powers that be appear unmoved, assured of their federal backing and emboldened by their command of the streets through military force.
Their message is chilling in its simplicity: nothing will happen.
Fear in the Air
The mood in Port Harcourt today is subdued. Market women speak in hushed tones. Taxi drivers grumble about roadblocks and patrols. University students whisper about elections they believe are already decided. The once-vocal civil society is muted, drowned out by the roar of convoys and the fear of reprisal.
In a city famous for its political debates and noisy dissent, silence itself has become a sign of conquest.
The Grip of Absolute Power
What Rivers is experiencing is not just a political maneuver; it is the psychology of power at its rawest. The deployment of soldiers serves two functions—practical and symbolic. Practically, it secures the terrain. Symbolically, it sends a message to opponents: resistance is futile.
The election may be dressed up with ballot boxes and polling stations, but beneath the surface, it is a stage-managed coronation. For the ruling powers, it is about control, not consensus.
History Repeating Itself?
Nigeria has witnessed similar moments before. From the annulled June 12 election of 1993 to the use of security forces in various controversial polls across states, the pattern is familiar. When the military or presidency places its thumb heavily on the scales, democracy gasps for breath. Rivers, however, adds a new layer to this story—the fusion of military presence and pre-written electoral outcomes, operating in broad daylight, with little effort at disguise.
A People Subdued
For Rivers people, this season feels like an insult added to injury. Long burdened with the paradox of oil wealth and environmental devastation, they now watch their political will stripped away. The conquered state is not only subdued by armoured vehicles but also by the creeping realization that votes no longer matter.
This erosion of faith is perhaps the greatest danger. When citizens no longer believe in the ballot, they either retreat into cynicism or turn to alternative, often violent, expressions of power.
Civil Society’s Dilemma
Civil society organizations in the state face a delicate choice: to speak out and risk confrontation with armed authority, or to stay silent and preserve themselves. Many have chosen the latter, aware that statements and press releases carry little weight against armoured vehicles. The streets, once a theater of protest, are now arenas of intimidation.
What the Presidency Gains
The involvement of the presidency in Rivers’ election saga raises deeper questions. Why would the federal government back such an exercise? For observers, the answer is simple: control. Rivers is too strategic a state—politically, economically, and symbolically—to leave in uncertain hands. By ensuring absolute dominance, the presidency cements its influence over oil resources, political structures, and the region’s narrative.
When the Unthinkable Happens
If the militarization of Rivers shocked Nigerians, another episode sent tremors through the country’s democratic conscience. It is unheard of, indeed unthinkable, that a military administrator would sit in the Federal Executive Council (FEC) alongside elected governors. Yet, Vice Admiral Ibok Ete Ibas was invited to do so by the Tinubu-led government.
For many, this was the clearest sign yet that Nigeria is sliding back towards dictatorship—if it hasn’t already gone there. A military administrator, unelected and unaccountable, occupying the same space as governors chosen by millions of Nigerians, symbolically erases the line between democracy and military rule.
Democracy Hollowed Out
What is unfolding is democracy in form but dictatorship in essence. Ballots are printed, polling units are marked, and officials are sworn in—but the spirit of choice is absent. What remains is a hollow shell, an empty ritual meant to give legitimacy to what is, in reality, imposition.
The Danger of Precedent
If Rivers can be subdued this way, what stops other states from suffering the same fate? If elections can be written in advance and soldiers deployed in overwhelming numbers, what becomes of Nigeria’s democratic experiment? The danger is not just for Rivers but for the federation as a whole.
Rivers: Proud, but Cornered
It is worth remembering that Rivers has always been a proud state—its people resilient, its culture bold, its politics fiery. The current conquest, however, has cornered that spirit. For now, voices are muted, and dissent feels risky. But beneath the silence, anger simmers.
History has shown that no power, however absolute, lasts forever. The conqueror may celebrate today, but tomorrow belongs to the people whose spirit cannot be permanently crushed.
The Verdict of History
In the end, history—not propaganda, not soldiers—will render the final verdict. The current rulers may succeed in writing results and parading victories, but they will not escape the judgment of posterity. They risk being remembered not as leaders but as conquerors who mistook suppression for governance.
For Rivers, the road ahead is uncertain. The question remains: will the state rise again to reclaim its democratic dignity, or will it remain subdued as a conquered land?
For now, the evidence lies on the streets—armoured vehicles, silent citizens, and a ballot already written before it is cast. Rivers, it seems, is living the tragedy of democracy reduced to conquest.
