On The Frontline With Boma
For some time now, Rivers State—the coastal jewel long celebrated as the Garden City and blessed with abundant natural and human resources—has found itself under relentless public scrutiny. Sadly, the attention has little to do with development milestones or governance breakthroughs. Instead, the state has once again been dragged into the familiar and exhausting theatre of political intrigue, succession battles, and the perennial struggle over who controls what.
Rivers is not new to political storms. What makes its case troubling is the recurring pattern: the inability of successive administrations to hand over power smoothly without acrimony, suspicion, or outright confrontation. Each transition seems haunted by unresolved ambitions, wounded egos, and the politics of godfatherism—an unending relay race of loyalty demanded and betrayal alleged.
The issue of succession, particularly the desire of outgoing governors to anoint their successors, has historically been a tall order in Rivers State. From the twilight of Dr Peter Odili’s administration through the era of Rotimi Amaechi, attempts at imposing preferred candidates often ended in political fiasco. The electorate, party machinery, and internal power blocs repeatedly disrupted these carefully laid plans. In Rivers, political succession has never been a gentleman’s agreement; it has always been a battlefield.
When Nyesom Wike announced Sir Siminalayi Fubara as his preferred successor, many Rivers people heaved a sigh of cautious relief. For once, it seemed that the script might change. There was hope—perhaps even optimism that a symbiotic relationship would emerge between predecessor and successor, ensuring continuity, stability, and peace. The expectation was simple: a peaceful handover followed by focused governance.
But that hope barely survived four months.
Almost immediately after Governor Fubara’s inauguration and Wike’s elevation to a powerful ministerial position at the federal level, cracks began to appear. What initially looked like harmless political differences soon escalated into what now appears to be an irreconcilable rift. To date, no one can state with certainty what triggered the fallout. The news mills speculate endlessly, but the dominant narrative points to one familiar culprit—control of the state’s political structure and resources.
In a bid that many interpreted as strategic realignment, Governor Fubara decamped to the All Progressives Congress (APC). To some observers, this move signaled the end of hostilities and the beginning of unhindered governance. But Rivers politics rarely follows a straight line. Rather than calm the storm, the decampment seemed to reset the conflict on a new frequency. New disturbances emerged, new alliances formed, and once again, Rivers became headline material—not for progress, but for crisis.
Today, Rivers State is arguably more popular for political instability than for its economic potential or cultural vibrancy. The crisis threatens to tear apart the fragile fabric of unity painstakingly woven by the founding fathers of the state. Governance has become secondary, while power tussles take center stage.
I recall a conversation with a colleague about fifteen years ago. She remarked, almost prophetically, that Rivers State might never experience a truly successful transition from one government to another, given the recurring cycles of mistrust, disloyalty, and political vendetta. At the time, I dismissed her fears as exaggerated pessimism. Looking back now, her words sound less like speculation and more like a sober diagnosis.
Interestingly, during that same period, prayers were offered across churches for the “soul of Rivers.” Some pastors went as far as suggesting that the state was entangled in marine spirits and occult forces. Many scoffed, others nodded quietly, but most moved on. Years later, the crisis of succession remains unresolved, and peace continues to feel elusive.
Only two weeks ago, a prominent cleric in the state, Pastor David Ibiyeomie, reignited the spiritual angle during a church programme, declaring that Rivers State’s problem is spiritual. His statement echoed sentiments expressed years earlier—that unseen forces were fueling visible chaos. Whether one subscribes to this spiritual interpretation or not, the persistence of the crisis forces a troubling question: why does Rivers repeatedly eat itself at every political transition?
Today, a new word dominates the political vocabulary of the state—treachery. But treachery begs a question: who betrayed whom?
Betrayal, it must be said, is not new to human history. It is woven deeply into the fabric of human ambition. From the very first man, who defied his Creator, to Judas Iscariot, who sold Jesus Christ for thirty pieces of silver at His moment of vulnerability, betrayal has always carried consequences. Adam paid dearly. Judas met a tragic end. But in modern politics, especially in Nigeria, betrayal often comes without punishment and sometimes even with rewards.
Politicians betray allies, parties, and even the people with alarming ease, driven by the singular desire to seize or retain power. In Rivers State, betrayal has become both accusation and defense, weapon and excuse. Each camp claims victimhood; each side insists the other drew first blood. Yet the real victim is neither camp—it is the state itself.
If we examine the Rivers crisis closely, identifying real-time betrayers is not difficult. What is difficult is admitting collective responsibility. Leaders betray trust. Followers betray principles. Institutions betray their mandates. And the people, exhausted and disillusioned, are left to bear the burden.
This unnecessary crisis is eating deep into the soul of Rivers State. Investors grow wary. Civil servants become anxious. Ordinary citizens wonder whether governance has been permanently subordinated to political survival. Development slows while political fires rage unchecked.
Rivers State deserves better than endless power struggles. It deserves leadership anchored on service, not suspicion; cooperation, not control; loyalty to the people, not to political patrons. No individual, no matter how powerful, is bigger than the state.
For the sake of Rivers, there must be peace. Genuine peace—not the silence of intimidation or the pause between battles, but a conscious decision by political actors to put the state above ego. The people should not continue to suffer for the selfish interests of a few who see governance as a personal estate.
History is watching. Future generations will ask whether those entrusted with power chose legacy over lust for control. Rivers State stands at a crossroads. Whether it continues down the familiar path of treachery and turmoil or charts a new course of reconciliation and maturity depends on the choices made today.
And the time to choose wisely is now.
On The Frontline With Boma is published by The Port Harcourt Telegraph Newspaper authored by the Managing Editor
