I was jolted from a peaceful afternoon nap—not by the rumble of Abuja traffic or breaking news of national importance—but by a friend’s nudge and the familiar words: “Wike is on air again.” With weary curiosity, I turned on the television, only to witness yet another episode in what has become a signature series of media spectacles starring none other than the Minister of the Federal Capital Territory, Nyesom Wike.
It is no longer surprising that whenever political calm dares to descend, Wike steps forward to stir the waters with flamboyant declarations and controversial claims. This time, he turned his rhetorical guns toward Bayelsa State, declaring—without flinching—that he was responsible for the political ascension of my brother, the current governor. According to Wike, he “made” him a two-term governor and now labels him a “serial betrayer.”
This isn’t the first time the minister has played the kingmaker card, and it likely won’t be the last. Yet, his obsession with being seen as the architect of others’ political destinies exposes more about his self-image than the facts. It is troubling that someone in his position sees public service not as stewardship but as a stage for self-glorification and score-settling.
Political loyalty is not bondage. It is earned, not imposed. And if betrayal is defined by the mere act of independent thought or deviation from Wike’s expectations, then he may be misunderstanding politics as a lifelong oath of allegiance to his personal ambition.
Let us be clear: Wike is no godfather in Bayelsa politics. His relentless attempts to cast himself as the puppeteer behind every political success story in the South-South reveal a dangerous addiction to relevance. He thrives on chaos, and his interviews increasingly resemble solo performances—half confession, half vendetta.
But Wike must remember that no man is infallible. Even Goliath fell. Even the brightest stars fade. There is a time for everything—a time to rise and a time to recede. Pride, as the old adage goes, comes before the fall. Wike’s persistent media tirades, veiled threats, and public shaming of past allies do not elevate him. They diminish the very stature he claims to uphold.
More dangerously, his words are not without consequence. His utterances, often laced with divisiveness, have the potential to erode public trust in democratic institutions. They embolden sycophants, silence dissent, and turn political debate into personalized warfare. Nigeria’s democracy is fragile enough—we do not need elected officials who treat governance like a boxing ring.
It is deeply unfortunate that President Bola Ahmed Tinubu appears unwilling—or unable—to call his minister to order. Wike speaks as though he is not only untouchable but above the presidency itself. If unchecked, this posture sends a worrying signal: that brashness, not performance, is the currency of power.
Let it be known: Rivers State does not belong to Wike. Neither does Bayelsa. Power is held in trust for the people, not as personal property. As the 2027 general elections draw near, Nigerians are watching. Political winds shift quickly, and today’s kingmaker can become tomorrow’s cautionary tale.
In the end, Wike must decide whether he wants to be remembered as a builder or a bulldozer. One who lifted others, or one who lived to remind them of his help. Only the fly that refuses to heed warning follows the corpse into the grave.
History does not remember the loudest voices. It remembers those who built, who united, and who served with humility. Wike still has a chance to rewrite his legacy—but time, like political goodwill, is running out.