In life what goes around comes around
There is a popular saying that power reveals character. In the political theatre of Rivers State today, that saying has never rung truer. Recent events have shown that those who wielded power without restraint yesterday often struggle to adjust when the tables turn. The unfolding political crisis in Rivers State is not merely a contest of ambition; it is a stark lesson in leadership, humility, and the immutable law of cause and effect—what goes around, indeed, comes around.
Recently, the Minister of the Federal Capital Territory, Nyesom Wike, while addressing people during an outing to some Local Government Areas, admonished leaders to always listen to the people they lead. It was an ironic sermon, delivered with confidence, yet lacking self-reflection. Flanked by his usual headstrong supporters—those who chorused “Anywhere you go, we go follow you”—Wike told defectors that they had come to reap where they did not sow. This statement was an apparent swipe at supporters of Governor Siminalayi Fubara, many of whom were once loyal foot soldiers of Wike himself.
These men, now publicly dismissed as political liabilities, were not fringe actors in the past. They were the frontliners during Wike’s first and second terms as governor. They formed the backbone of his political machinery, sat prominently in elders’ forums, travelled with him everywhere, and, by many accounts, dared not question his decisions. They were expected to clap when told, shout when instructed, and remain silent even when the ship appeared to be drifting. Today, they are derided as opportunists. Politics, it seems, has a very short memory.
The intolerance that marked Wike’s administration did not stop with party loyalists. His relationship with traditional rulers—the custodians of culture, history, and communal stability was reportedly fraught with tension. Chiefs, whether first-class or second-class, were allegedly treated with disdain. Destoolment became a ready tool, deployed at the slightest provocation. In one widely spoken-of incident, a traditional ruler was reportedly reprimanded for leaving his throne to attend to pressing matters in Abuja. Under Wike’s watch, revered institutions that once commanded respect were dragged into public ridicule. The message was clear: authority was absolute, and dissent, even from royal stools, would not be tolerated.
Equally troubling was his administration’s posture towards education and social mobility. Wike famously opposed the sponsorship of indigent but brilliant students abroad with taxpayers’ money. His predecessor, Rotimi Amaechi, through the Rivers State Sustainable Development Agency (RSSDA), had sponsored such students to study in universities across the world. Many of these young people came from backgrounds where brilliance was their only inheritance. Upon assuming office, Wike discontinued the programme.
The fallout was tragic. Students stranded abroad protested on the streets of London and elsewhere, holding placards, pleading to be heard. Dreams were truncated. Some dropped out of school; others ventured into menial jobs and questionable survival paths. Parents wept, appealed, and begged for intervention. No assurance came. No relief followed. These are the same people that Wike’s son who schooled abroad while they returned home are expected to vote for to represent them at the National Assembly if the plan goes through.For a government that prided itself on infrastructure and bravado, compassion was in short supply.
The civil service, the engine room of governance, fared no better. Under Wike, it reportedly deteriorated to a level that embarrassed even the most hardened observers. The Rivers State Secretariat Complex, originally built under the military administration of Diete-Spiff—now the Amanyanabo of Twon Brass fell into alarming disrepair. I recall a visit to a commissioner’s office during that period. The lift, once a symbol of modern efficiency, had stopped working. Darkness enveloped the corridors. The stench from the lavatories was suffocating, an assault on dignity. Water was scarce; mairuwas—local water vendors pushed their carts in and out of the secretariat like traders in a rural market. It was a shameful sight.
When I asked workers what had gone wrong, one replied, almost resignedly, “It has been like this for years, since Wike came in as governor. I don’t think he is interested in workers’ welfare.” Beyond infrastructure decay, workers endured stagnation. Minimum wage was not paid. Increments, pensions, and gratuities were delayed or ignored. Promotions were scarce. Permanent secretaries were few. Commissioners operated under an atmosphere of fear, clinging to their positions like the proverbial Nigerian saying: “cow wey no get tail, na God dey remove fly from hin body.”
Leadership, however, is not measured by how loudly one speaks or how fiercely one controls. Wike was never known for calm engagement. His confrontational style often overshadowed governance. At times, his disposition brought to mind Shylock, the unforgiving moneylender in William Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice, who demanded a pound of flesh from Antonio without regard for life or mercy. Shylock was consumed by entitlement and vengeance, blind to reason.
The current attempt to politically suffocate Governor Siminalayi Fubara bears unsettling similarities. Yes, Wike played a role in Fubara’s emergence as governor. But political mentorship does not confer ownership of conscience or governance. Disagreement is not betrayal. Autonomy is not rebellion. Yet, because Fubara refused to dance to every tune, impeachment threats have become the weapon of choice. This is bullying—raw, relentless, and dangerous.
It is not just Governor Fubara who is being targeted; it is the people of Rivers State who are being held hostage to personal political survival. The repeated impeachment threats, the destabilisation of the House of Assembly, and the atmosphere of uncertainty all serve to distract from governance and endanger peace. Rivers people deserve stability, not perpetual tension.
Ironically, while this political onslaught continues, Governor Fubara has chosen a markedly different path. He has made peace with elders, embraced traditional rulers, and restored dignity to the civil service. Workers attest that his administration has given unprecedented support—paying salaries promptly, addressing welfare, and fostering dialogue rather than intimidation. Fubara speaks the language of the people. He governs without treating citizens as expendable or inconsequential.
There is also a moral dimension that cannot be ignored. As Wike campaigns openly with his son, reportedly positioning him for higher office or succession to a sitting House of Representatives member, one wonders what lessons are being taught. In African folklore, when the mother cow chews, the calf watches. Children learn not from sermons but from actions. What legacy is being modelled?
History teaches that political bullying rarely ends well. Power is transient. Influence fades. The same crowd that chants today may disperse tomorrow. The wheel turns. Rivers State has seen enough turmoil. For the sake of peace, democracy, and the collective good, this culture of intimidation must stop.
Leadership should uplift, not suffocate. Disagreement should be negotiated, not punished. Rivers State is bigger than any individual ambition. Those who forget this truth often learn it the hard way. In life, what goes around—without fail—comes around.
On the Frontline With Boma is published by The Port Harcourt Telegraph Newspaper authored by the Managing Editor.
