Wike, Fubara, and the Danger of Godfatherism in Rivers State
Jerry Adesewo
Rivers State has always been a stage where drama, intrigue, and power struggles play out with the intensity of a Nollywood blockbuster. If it is not in turning out election-winning vote counts, it would be in scuffles between two opposing militant groups doing battle.
The latest episode, starring Nyesom Wike and Siminalayi Fubara, is a masterclass in irony, hypocrisy, and the perils of godfatherism. It’s a tale as old as time, or at least as old as Nigerian democracy: a godfather creates a protégé, the protégé grows a spine, and suddenly, the mentor becomes the antagonist. But what makes this Rivers State saga particularly delicious is that Wike, the godfather in question, once waged a bitter war against his godfather, Rotimi Amaechi. Ah, the sweet, sweet taste of poetic justice.
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Let’s rewind a bit. Nyesom Wike, the now-former governor of Rivers State, was once the golden boy of Rotimi Amaechi, his predecessor. Amaechi, as the godfather of Rivers politics at the time, handpicked Wike as his successor, believing he could control him. But Wike, a man with ambitions as vast as the Niger Delta creeks, had other plans. He turned against Amaechi, accusing him of being overbearing and out of touch. Wike fought Amaechi with the ferocity of a man who had nothing to lose, and in the end, he emerged victorious, effectively sidelining and allegedly chasing Amaechi out of Rivers State. It was a classic case of the student overthrowing the master.
Fast forward to 2023, and Wike is now the godfather. He handpicks Siminalayi Fubara as his successor, believing he can control him just as Amaechi once believed he could control Wike. But history, as they say, has a funny way of repeating itself. Fubara, much like Wike before him, has begun to show signs of independence, and the once-cozy relationship between godfather and protégé has soured faster than a pot of egusi soup left in the Port Harcourt sun.
The irony here is thicker than a bowl of akpu. Wike, who once railed against the evils of godfatherism, has become the very thing he despised. He now stands accused of being overbearing, micromanaging, and attempting to control Fubara’s administration from behind the scenes. Sound familiar? It should be because it’s the same script Wike used against Amaechi. The only difference is that this time, Wike is playing the role of the villain.
But let’s not pretend that Wike is the only one at fault here. Fubara, for all his playing the victim, is no saint. He knew exactly what he was getting into when he accepted Wike’s endorsement. In Nigerian politics, there’s no such thing as a free lunch, and Fubara’s meal ticket came with strings attached. Strings that are now tightening around his neck. If he truly wanted to govern without interference, he should have built his political structure from the ground up, rather than riding on Wike’s coattails. But that’s easier said than done in a state where political power is concentrated in the hands of a few.
The danger of godfatherism in Rivers State—and indeed, in Nigerian politics as a whole—is that it stifles democracy and perpetuates a cycle of dependency and betrayal. Godfathers handpick their successors not based on merit or competence, but on loyalty and pliability. They expect their protégés to be puppets, dancing to their tune and funneling state resources into their pockets. But when the protégé inevitably grows a spine and tries to govern independently, the godfather feels betrayed and launches a counterattack. The result of which is a political shenanigan that benefits no one except the godfathers and their cronies.
In Rivers State, this cycle has played out repeatedly, with devastating consequences for the people. Amaechi fought his godfather, Peter Odili; Wike fought Amaechi; and now Fubara is fighting Wike. Each time, the state is left divided, development is stalled, and the people suffer. It’s a vicious cycle that shows no signs of ending anytime soon. Should Fubara survive this assault, spend out his eight years, and anoint a successor, we are likely to find ourselves at this juncture again.
But perhaps the most tragic aspect of this saga is the fact that Wike, of all people, should know better. He was once the young, ambitious protégé who fought against a godfather. He knew firsthand how destructive godfatherism could be, yet he chose to perpetuate the same system that nearly destroyed him. It’s a classic case of “absolute power corrupts absolutely.” Wike, the once-fierce critic of godfatherism, has become the very embodiment of everything he once fought against.
So, what’s the solution? How do we break the cycle of godfatherism in Rivers State and Nigeria? The answer lies in strengthening democratic institutions and empowering the people to choose their leaders based on merit, not patronage. We need to create a political culture where leaders are accountable to the people, not to a handful of godfathers. This will require sweeping reforms, including campaign finance laws, anti-corruption measures, and grassroots political education. It won’t be easy, but it’s the only way to ensure that the people of Rivers State—and indeed, all Nigerians—can enjoy the benefits of true democracy.
In the meantime, we can sit back and enjoy the spectacle of Wike and Fubara’s political drama. It’s a cautionary tale, a satire, and a tragedy all rolled into one. And who knows? Maybe one day, a new leader will emerge who will break the cycle once and for all. But until then, the show must go on.