By Kelvin James

There are moments in the life of a state when politics sheds its pretence and reveals its naked hunger for power. Presently, Rivers State is living in such a moment. What began as a smooth democratic transition has been deliberately weaponized into a prolonged siege against governance itself. What began as a seamless hand-back of power in the ‘Treasure Base of the Nation” has devolved into a scorched-earth political war that has pushed Rivers State to the edge of a constitutional precipice. And at the centre of this storm stands one quiet, unyielding question: “Who is afraid of Siminalayi Fubara.”

From the very first day Governor Sir Siminalayi Fubara took the oath of office in May 29, 2023, it became evident that his emergence did not translate into freedom to govern. The shadow of political godfatherism loomed large. Expectations were clear in certain quarters; loyalty over law, obedience over independence, submission over service. But Fubara chose a different path, the dangerous path of constitutionalism, restraint, and loyalty to the people rather than to political overlords. A choice that lit the fuse.

The crisis that has since engulfed Rivers State did not erupt by accident. What has played out in the state is no ordinary disagreement over power, control of structure, it is a sustained siege against the will of the people, driven by fear, wounded ego, and the shock of a man who refused to be remote-controlled. It was manufactured, nurtured, and sustained by forces uncomfortable with a governor who refused to be a puppet. From whispered threats to open insults, from legislative ambushes to legal landmines, the objective was singular; break Fubara or break Rivers.

In October, 2023, barely 5 months into his administration, lawmakers loyal to former Governor and current FCT Minister, Nyesom Wike, moved to clip the wings of the new governor. Impeachment threats surfaced almost immediately. The House of Assembly became a battlefield, and institutions meant to stabilize democracy were turned into tools of intimidation.

On 29 October 2023, the hallowed chambers of the Rivers State House of Assembly went up in flames on the eve of an impeachment move. Rather than allow investigations to run their course, a propaganda machine swung into action. Wild allegations were pushed into the public space, derogatory labels were hurled at the governor, abuse replaced evidence and noise replaced truth.

Yet, through it all, Fubara remained silent.

In a political culture addicted to shouting matches and chest-thumping, Governor Fubara chose restraint. While his name was dragged through the mud, while allies of his predecessor took turns on media platforms to insult, ridicule, and threaten, the governor refused to descend into the gutter. No sponsored mobs, no retaliatory rhetoric, no incitement of violence. Instead, he kept repeating one message, peace, law, and the future of Rivers State must come first. That silence unsettled his adversaries. They wanted reaction, they wanted chaos, they wanted an excuse.

Again, the defection of 27 lawmakers, the emergence of parallel assemblies, court orders and counter-orders, budget nullifications, resignations of commissioners, legislative ultimatums, all these were not isolated incidents. They were coordinated pressure points in a sustained attempt to paralyse governance and portray the governor as weak, illegitimate, or lawless.

Still, Fubara governed. He presented budgets where possible, reshuffled cabinets to keep governance alive, implemented court orders even when he disagreed with them and continued paying salaries and maintaining calm in a state that could easily have exploded.

When told Rivers had “no House of Assembly,” he did not mobilize thugs. When locked out of legislative quarters when he went to present the 2025 budget, he did not deploy force. When abused publicly and called names unbecoming of a sitting governor, he did not retaliate. Instead, he trusted time, truth, and the people.

Perhaps the most ironic chapter in this saga was the declaration of a state of emergency in March 2025. A governor who consistently preached peace was suspended in the name of restoring order. A state kept relatively calm by restraint was placed under emergency rule. Yet even then, Fubara did not burn bridges, rather he accepted reinstatement. He embraced dialogue, pledged to work with all stakeholders and those who expected vengeance were disappointed again.

When on 17 September, President Bola Tinubu suspended the Rivers State emergency rule, reinstating the Executive and Legislative Arms of government, Governor Fubara unequivocally lauded the President for his role in restoring peace in the state. However, the perceived peace deal seems to be a façade, with recent events suggesting that it is not yet uhuru.

In January, the protracted feud escalated into a fresh impeachment crisis, worsening the struggle for political control of the state following Fubara’s defection to the federal government-controlled All Progressives Congress (APC). On January 8, 2026, the 27 members of the State House of Assembly, led by Speaker Martins Amaewhule, initiated a third impeachment process against Fubara and his deputy, Professor Ngozi Odu.

The lawmakers relying on Section 188 of the 1999 constitution as amended and other extant laws, accused the executive of gross misconduct, including the purported expenditure of public funds without legislative approval and directed the State Chief Judge, Justice Simeon Amadi, to set up a panel to investigate the allegations, but Judge Amadi declined the request, stating that he was legally restrained from acting due to subsisting interim injunctions issued by a High Court.

The Governor and his Deputy had filed a separate suit on January 16, challenging the impeachment process, particularly the alleged improper service of notices of allegations, and a Rivers State High Court, Oyigbo Division sitting in Port Harcourt, presided by Justice Florence Fiberesima adjourned the suit indefinitely following confirmation that two separate appeals by the lawmakers been formally entered at the appellate court.

The move to impeach Governor Fubara took many Nigerians by surprise, particularly those who believed President Bola Tinubu’s intervention, marked by the previous declaration of a state of emergency, had permanently resolved the political tensions rocking the state.

Again, the series of declaration by the Minister of the Federal Capital Territory, Nyesom Wike during his “thank you visit” to local government areas in the state, that he will never support Governor Fubara again in his political life, saying his successor was “ungrateful”, no second chance for Fubara, citing failure to provide effective leadership and criticising him over claim of being the “001” of the All Progressives Congress (APC) in the state following his defection from the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) also portrays a clear picture that there is a sour relationship.

Indeed, from the very first impeachment attempts against Governor Fubara on 30 October, 2023 to 20 December, 2023 when the lawmakers withdrew the impeachment notice after the 18 December 2023 signing of the presidential peace deal between Fubara and Wike at a meeting convened by President Tinubu at the Presidential Villa, Abuja, the script was clear. Loyalists of the former governor and FCT Minister, Nyesom Wike, embedded within the State House of Assembly, moved not in defence of democracy but in service of political ownership, to break the Governor or break the system.

The first impeachment attempt was not born out of constitutional breaches or governance failure. It was a message, submit or be removed. A governor elected by the people was expected to rule by proxy, to defer authority to interests outside Government House. When Fubara chose independence over obedience, restraint over recklessness, governance over godfatherism, the knives came out.

When impeachment failed to break him, escalation became the strategy. A second impeachment plot emerged, more desperate, more aggressive, and more destabilizing. The tension was deliberately heightened until the unthinkable happened; the declaration of a State of Emergency. This was the height of irony. Those who claimed to be defending democracy became the architects of its suspension. Rivers State was pushed to the edge not because it was ungovernable, but because it was no longer controllable by one political interest.

Behind the scenes, they boasted openly. They reminded everyone, sometimes arrogantly, that they had appointed all commissioners, all local government chairmen, all councillors across the wards, and all key appointments into boards and agencies. They bragged that once the Governor returned from the emergency rule, he would be politically paralysed. According to them, governance would grind to a halt.

But they were all wrong. Against all predictions, against all sabotage, Governor Fubara returned, and governance did not collapse. Rivers State did not descend into anarchy. Projects continued and between December 10 and December 23, 2025, the state did not merely witness the inauguration and flag off of projects, but the emphatic reawakening of governance, a decisive return of purpose, momentum and constitutional order.  

It was indeed a defining two-week stretch that muted cynicism, punctured propaganda, and sent an unmistakable message across the state and beyond: the Fubara administration is back, focused, firm, and fully committed to its development mandate. Also, salaries were paid, institutions functioned, the people were protected and democracy breathed.

The present impeachment proceedings are a recycling of the same tired script. Same actors, same motives, same fear. But the context has changed. The people are watching, and the mask has fallen. This is no longer about performance in office; it is about punishment for disobedience. It is about teaching a lesson to any future leader who dares to think independently. It is about proving that political godfatherism must not be challenged.

So, who is afraid of Fubara. Why the relentless persecution? Why the obsession with impeachment notices, public threats, and constant attempts to humiliate a sitting governor. 

The answer is simple and uncomfortable; they are afraid because Fubara is not weak, but he is strong without being loud. They are afraid because Fubara represents a break from the tradition were governors’ rule by permission, they are afraid because he has shown that Rivers State is bigger than any one man. Despite not appointing their commissioners, despite not controlling their councils, despite every obstacle placed in his path, Fubara continues to function, he continues to lead, he continues to command loyalty, not through intimidation, but through calm authority and moral clarity. 

They are afraid because Fubara represents a dangerous idea to entrenched interests, the idea that a governor can be loyal to the people alone. They are afraid because, Fubara represents political independence, he survived impeachment without selling his soul. He endured emergency rule without losing legitimacy. He governs without chaos, even under siege. He has shown patience that disarms provocation. He has exposed the myth that Rivers State can function without one political overlord. He represents the fear that Rivers State may finally belong to its people, not to political empires. He represents the dangerous idea that power can be exercised with humility, patience, and respect for institutions. That is what frightens his opponents.

Governor Fubara may be silent, but silence is not surrender. It is the patience of a man who understands that history does not reward noise-makers, but honours those who stood firm when it mattered. Long after insults fade and conspiracies collapse, one truth will remain; in the darkest season of Rivers politics, he chose peace over provocation, governance over grudges, and the future over fear. And that, more than anything else, explains why some people are afraid of him.

Governor Fubara’s patience is not ignorance, it is foresight. His silence is not surrender; it is strategy. His calm is not fear, it is confidence. He understands what agitators refuse to learn: leadership is not a street fight; it is stewardship. He believes that power does not need to shout to be real. Authority does not need insults to be effective. 

As the elders say: “He who hates advice hates his own future.” In times like these, counsel sounds like arrogance to the proud, correction feels like oppression to the insecure, and truth becomes lonely. Fubara listens to institutions, to elders, to the law, and to the long-term interest of Rivers people. He chose governance over grandstanding. When wisdom retreats, mediocrity celebrates. When the wise are mocked, the reckless feel validated. 

Leadership becomes performance, not service. Emotional impulses replace reason. This was the trap laid for Governor Fubara. He refused to fall into it. He absorbed insults without retaliation, endured misrepresentation without malice, and chose survival over spectacle. This is why they are afraid of Siminalayi Fubara.

Kelvin James is a Public Affairs analyst and writes from Port Harcourt.